When Harry was seven, he lost his temper. In the most spectacular manner. Dudley, of course, was the cause, dropping food onto the freshly swept floor as he ate a second helping of breakfast.
"Quit it, Dudley," said Harry as he swept the floor again.
"What are you going to do about it?" Dudley spat, his half chewed breakfast spreading across the table.
"Ugh!" Harry jumped back. "Could you be anymore gross?"
Dudley snickered. "You better get to work, Cousin, before Mum sees the mess you made."
"Why don't you get off your fat arse and help?"
"Because I don't have to." Dudley knocked his glass over, letting his orange juice spread across the table and delighting in Harry's horrified look. "That's your job."
"Everything is my job." Harry sulked, as he hurried to catch the juice before it landed on the floor as well. The table was sticky and he'd have to scrub it several times before he got it all off.
Dudley, finally finished with his breakfast, poked Harry in the chest and goaded, "You're just jealous cause Mum and Dad love me more." He kicked Harry in the back of his leg as he rounded the table.
Harry hit the table and tumbled to the floor, falling on his wrist. Bugger, that hurt. He probably was jealous, but he'd never admit it. "As if I wanted them in the first place." Why couldn't he have what Dudley had? Why couldn't his aunt and uncle take his side, just once? Was it too much to ask? He stood, clenching his fists at his side.
One time. He did everything he was asked, but it never seemed to matter. His Aunt would find always find one crumb and he'd have do the kitchen all over again. He'd be thrown in his cupboard. No dinner.
"Mum! Dad! He's doing it again!"
Startled, Harry swung around to find Aunt Petunia's dishes hovering in the air. "Oh, no." He dove to catch them before they fell. He only managed to save one. He was toast.
"You're really going to get it now, Harry." Dudley was positively giddy. Harry groaned as his Uncle stomped into the kitchen.
"BOY! What did you do?" Uncle Vernon jerked the dish from his hands.
Harry cringed against the counter and tried to make himself as small as possible. "Nothing! They just fell!"
"Things don't just 'fall'. You dropped them."
"I didn't do it. There were just there and..."
"Don't you take that tone of voice with me, you ungrateful brat. You destroyed Petunia's dishes on purpose. I have half a mind to throw you out of the house right now!"
Harry stomped his foot in frustration. "It wasn't my fault!" Tears streaked down his cheeks at the unfairness of it all.
"I suppose they just leapt out all by themselves!"
"Yes!"
"Vernon, what is going on?"
"The boy is throwing a tantrum over cleaning up his mess."
"I won't have this! Vernon, you get a hold of That Man right now. I will not have the boy destroying my home."
Chaos erupted around Harry. The cabinets and drawers shook. Glasses tumbled from the kitchen table onto the floor. He grew more angry and more frustrated and scared. It wasn't him!
And as suddenly as the anger had come, it was gone, leaving a crushing weight behind. It was like trying to breath underwater.
"You will get a hold of yourself." His aunt scowled and smacked him across the cheek. "Clean this up."
Harry shuddered and breathed. There was silence, broken only by sound of an owl landing on the sill with a soft hoot. "Yes, Aunt Petunia," said Harry. "I'm sorry." He didn't know what he was sorry for, nor did he care, but it lessened his aunt's glare. He was always sorry.
It took most of the day to clean up the mess.
"Boy, get up here!" Aunt Petunia called from the stairs. "And bring the dust pan with you! You need to clean up the mess you made in Dudley's room."
He climbed the stairs and stood in the doorway waiting for Aunt Petunia to tell him what to do.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Aunt Petunia demanded and then pointed to the bedside. "Clean that up." Nodding, Harry slid over to the broken lamp and knelt down to pick up the larger shards. He gasped as he sliced his palm open. Wiping his hand on his shirt, he finished sweeping up the smaller pieces before standing.
"Where should I put all this?" Harry asked since his aunt was still fussing over Dudley. The lamp from the guest bedroom was currently casting shadows over Dudley's bedside where he was holding his arm and howling about a cut that was minor at best.
"In the bin, you idiot. Get out of my sight," his aunt snarled. No one followed Harry to the trash to make sure he did as he was told. Harry tipped the bits into the bin and then unscrewed the bulb from the broken lamp. He put it in his pocket before tiptoeing to the sink to rinse out his wound.
"Bed."
"Yes, sir." Uncle Vernon went back into the lounge and his programme leaving Harry to do as he was told. "Good night, Uncle Vernon." A grunt from the lounge was his only answer. Harry closed his cupboard door and with the small glow coming from the slats, he unscrewed the burnt out bulb. He quickly screwed in the other.
Harry put his head out of his cupboard listening for relatives. Aunt Petunia was still upstairs with Dudley and Uncle Vernon was deeply engrossed with yelling at the telly. Harry snuck to the bin and opened the lid. He reached in, placed the burnt out bulb on top of the broken glass hoping that it wouldn't shift and create any noise. Letting out careful breath of relief, he crept back to his cupboard avoiding the squeaky board just before the door. He'd reached his bed just in time as Uncle Vernon shut the telly off.
"No noise from you tonight, Boy."
"Yes, Uncle Vernon."
The lock snapped shut. The vent cover slammed closed.
Harry counted the steps as his uncle climbed the stairs. He waited until he heard both his aunt and uncle finish in the toilet and head for their room. The house settled around him, quiet as a graveyard.
Harry beamed as he reached up and turned on his light. He'd never had a light in his cupboard before. No one ever questioned where the bulb came from.