Hand-Me-Down Clothes
Spoilt Rotten or Neglected Waif
As an enthusiastic Harry Potter pulled Dumbledore out of the sitting room, a fat boy came racing down the stairs and purposely bumped into Harry in the hallway.
"Ooops!" the boy exclaimed, clearly not sorry at all for knocking the smaller, by far thinner boy into the wall.
"Who are you?" he then asked of Dumbledore, casting a curious look at the man who wore a banker's suit with a bushy long white beard and hair to rival Father Christmas' own.
"I am Mr Dumbledore," replied Albus, giving his best disapproving stare over his half moon spectacles, "You must be Dudley Dursley."
"Yep. Are you a friend of Dad's?"
"I am here to visit Harry," explained Dumbledore, leaving the question of whether he was a friend or not of Vernon Dursley's for later, after he had inspected Harry's room and life in general.
"Harry!" snorted Dudley, "Why'd you want to visit him?"
"I knew Harry's mum and dad, and I am his guardian if anything should ever happen to your parents."
Dudley just wrinkled his nose, as if Harry was a bad smell, throughout the conversation he had blatantly ignored Harry's presence, except for knocking him into the wall that is.
"Dudley!" Petunia Dursley had opened the kitchen door on hearing her son's voice, "Come in here Darling, Mummy's got an ice lolly for you!" She glared at Dumbledore with barely concealed hatred, and after Dudley had eagerly gone in behind her she snapped, "You leave my son alone, 'Mr Dumbledore'!" and slammed the door to.
Harry stayed still for a moment, leaning against the wall in his over sized clothes, apparently deep in thought, and sighed, looking rather disconsolate.
"What is it Harry?" queried Dumbledore, perceiving that something was on his little friend's mind.
"I'd like an ice lolly."
"Well, why don't you ask for one?" smiled Dumbledore.
"I'm not allowed them." Harry shrugged, then moved away from the wall, Dumbledore's smile had faded at that simple little statement that showed so much about Harry's life.
"This is my bedroom," Harry flashed a quick smile at Dumbledore as he lifted the latch of a small door, that appeared to be a cupboard or perhaps a place to hang coats, beneath the Dursleys stairs.
The door, a sloping flimsy one, wallpapered to blend in with the rest of the hallway, was pulled open and Harry disappeared inside, Dumbledore stood in the hall, utterly confused.
"Harry?"
"In here!" called Harry, and Dumbledore could see his feet sticking out, he was evidently sitting on something inside what looked to be a little storage facility. Dumbledore, puzzled, walked up and stuck his head in cautiously, inside, Harry was sat on a small fold up bed, there was a shelf nailed just above its head and a long dangling switch to an overhead light.
"Come and sit down!" Harry patted the bed beside him and Dumbledore obligingly ducked his head and placed his weight warily on the aged looking bed, his head banged the ceiling, so he sat with his back humped, Harry giggled.
"Well I'm glad you think it's funny," complained Dumbledore, mock glaring at Harry, and rubbing his sore head, the ceiling in here sloped accordingly to the stairs, so that there was less height towards the end of the bed.
"I presume this is your playroom?" Dumbledore inquired.
"This is my bedroom." Harry looked around, surveying the slightly musty cupboard thoughtfully, but proudly, it was, after all, his own.
"Yes, but where do you actually sleep?" Dumbledore patiently asked.
"Here!" replied Harry, looking surprised at such a strange question.
"Here?" Dumbledore repeated, tilting his head, "Be serious Harry, I'm asking you where you sleep, where all your clothes and belongings are stored."
Without a word, Harry got down and knelt on the small patch of floor beside the bed, reaching beneath he pulled out a pair of mustard yellow socks many many sizes too big, a few pairs of pants, a pair of trousers, stopping to pull a spider off. A school shirt, a hairbrush with the majority of its bristles missing and a faded denim jacket, he placed them all on the bed and then patted down the bed to locate his hand-me-down pyjamas, which he presented to Dumbledore as proof that he slept here.
Dumbledore took the pyjamas, they were thin, having been worn many times by another owner, but soft, cotton presumably, he was trying to understand what he was seeing, trying to make sense of it, knowing that there must be a logical explanation.
"I suppose that you have to stay here, just for the moment, because they're redecorating upstairs?" Dumbledore smiled assuredly at Harry, who still knelt on the floor at his feet.
"No Mr Dumbledore, I always stay here, this is my bedroom," Harry was now confused, because Mr Dumbledore kept asking the same sort of questions, and ignoring Harry's answer.
"This is where you have slept for the last six years?" Dumbledore asked again.
"Yes Mister."
"This cupboard is your bedroom?"
"Yes Mr Dumbledore."
"You sleep here every night?"
"Yes Mister."
"This is your bedroom!" Dumbledore's hands twisted the material in his grasp, a dreadful certainty was growing in his mind, and he could feel the onset of his anger like an irresistible tide, pulling him in.
"Tell me, Harry, where does you cousin sleep, can you show me that, please?"
"Yes Mr Dumbledore."
Harry got up with a bounce that showed he was still small enough not to worry about knocking his head, Dumbledore followed somewhat more carefully. They headed up the stairs to a deeply carpeted landing, five doors were immediately apparent, one stood ajar, another was open and was obviously the bathroom. Harry led Dumbledore to the adjacent door upon which was scrawled a childish sign saying 'Dudley's Bedroom', inside the room was messy and full of various things in a state of general disarray, as if the child here had a short attention span. The bed had been made and Dumbledore noticed it had a bright, attractive 'Spider-Man' cover, the walls were covered in big posters sporting fancy logos and various comic book heroes.
Someone had evidently made an attempt to tidy up; CD's were piled up alphabetically beside a gaily-lit stereo, Game Boy games were stacked alongside a big sweetie jar and a silver-grey toy robot, on top of a set of drawers. Moving forward Dumbledore curiously opened one of the drawers and found it full of clean clothes, some in neat rows, others completely jumbled up, but all of it of the finest quality and the latest fashion. He carefully made his way back to the doorway where Harry had remained, this was a child's bedroom as it should be he thought, as he prised a sticky sweet wrapper from his boot and asked Harry:
"This is your Cousin Dudley's bedroom?"
"Yes."
"I see. The three other doors lead to your Aunt and Uncle's room and…?"
"And the spare bedroom," supplied Harry politely, "for when Aunt Marge comes to stay."
"Does Aunt Marge come to stay often?"
"No, about twice a year, sometimes she brings her dog." Harry made a hideous face, indicating that Aunt Marge wasn't his favourite person in the whole world by a long shot, he made Dumbledore smile. They opened the spare bedroom door to view a room over decorated in the theme of flowers, possibly marigolds, although the artist had been a little liberal with his artistic license.
Dumbledore quickly closed the door again, seeing nothing of interest, and that left only one door unexplored, he opened it to find another room, but what a room! Hardly a space to be seen for the gadgets and toys that had been flung in there, most of it was broken or bent, only some jigsaws and books seemed to have survived the mass mutilation.
"Dudley's playroom," said Harry, peering beneath Dumbledore's arm that was still holding the door open (against the weight of a birdcage behind it).
"Why don't you have this room, for your bedroom Harry?" wondered Dumbledore aloud, not really expecting an answer to his question.
"Because I'm a freak," said Harry quietly.
There was a silence, Dumbledore stood very still, holding open the door to a room that contained the diary of a spoiled child, whilst standing beside a neglected child, his hand was slowly tightening it's hold on the door handle, knuckles showing white.
"They do a lot for me, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, a roof over my head and food, I should be grateful." Harry didn't sound particularly grateful, but he did sound sad, as if he believed this was all he was worth.
The silence continued, Albus Dumbledore could not believe what he had seen today, nor what he had heard, an iron weight in his belly was reminding him of Lilly and James Potter's love for their child when they had been alive. He felt incredibly guilty that he had allowed this to happen, that this was the first time he had thought to check up on Harry in six years, and that he had betrayed Lilly and James' trust in him.
"I mean, they could have just taken me to the orphanage, and I would have been like Oliver Twist, wearing rags and having to work."
At this Dumbledore awoke from his bitter self-recriminations.
"Rags? You are wearing rags Harry!"
"They're not that bad Mr Dumbledore!" protested Harry weakly, trying to unsuccessfully tuck his overflowing shirt in again, Dumbledore released the door from his iron hold and knelt in front of the young boy.
"Do you like it here Harry? Do you feel safe and happy?" he took hold of the boy's shirt and folded it before tucking it beneath the twine that acted as a belt for Harry.
Harry was silent, before shrugging unhelpfully.
"Do you remember your parents Harry? They loved you very much."
"No Mr."
"You don't remember what happened?" Dumbledore actually very much hoped not, Harry had been very young though, just one year old.
"The car crash? No, although sometimes I think I remember a flash of green light, I don't know why."
"A car crash?" exclaimed Dumbledore, confused.
"That's how my mum and dad died," Harry explained practically.
"No Harry, your parents did not die in an accident!"
"Oh," said Harry, rather briefly, Dumbledore sighed and started from the beginning again.
"Do you like it here Harry?" he held Harry's eyes with his own, raising an eyebrow in query.
"Not very much Mr Dumbledore," Harry blushed, as if this was a shameful thing to say, Dumbledore smiled, encouraged to be getting somewhere.
"Well, I don't like it very much either Mr Harry Potter, what say we do something about it!"
"Like what?" asked Harry.
"You don't have to live here Harry, in fact I would rather you didn't. I can't particularly see them changing their minds over the way they treat you." Dumbledore muttered the last to himself under his breath.
"I think it's time I had another word with your Aunt Petunia," he told Harry in a determined tone of voice, and standing, he took Harry's hand and they marched back down the stairs, towards the kitchens, and freedom…
Author's Notes: Hi everyone, have finally got this up, sorry that it took so long, really hope that you enjoy it, but must now go sleep because am ZZZzzzzz, sorry wazzzup, uh, ahhh yes *snore*, um, Thank You to ALL Reviewers you guys inspire me and make me smile (none have yet made me cry (thankfully!). Keep it up, I enjoy the comments and c/c.
