Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters therein belong to JKR. I am using them for non-profit purposes. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: slash (male-male relationship), AU (alternate universe).
Harry was awoken the next morning by the knocking at his door. He tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but then it came again, a bit louder. Before he had time to do more than roll over and groan, Uncle Vernon was pushing the door open and poking his head inside.
"Are you deaf, boy?" he whispered hoarsely. "Get up and get downstairs, your aunt needs you."
Harry reluctantly pushed himself up into a sitting position, dizzy with vertigo. Apparently satisfied with that effort, Vernon left, with a last stern glare over his shoulder before he closed the door.
Though he wanted nothing more than to lie back down again, Harry forced himself to his feet and, after a momentary pause to get his bearings, headed for the door. He was still wearing the clothes he'd put on yesterday morning, and his cheek was sore where his glasses had been digging into it all night. He was sure he looked like a mess, but he didn't really care.
He found Aunt Petunia in the kitchen, making breakfast. She pointed him to a piece of paper posted to the refrigerator.
"Your uncle asked me to make you up a list of chores," she said. "He thinks he can teach you obedience and discipline, though I have my doubts." She paused, flicking her eyes to the stove to be sure the sausages weren't burning, and continued. "You'll start on that after breakfast. There's cereal in the cupboard, and milk and orange juice in the fridge. Glasses and bowls are above the sink."
Harry trudged over to the cabinet and pulled out a bowl. He wasn't really hungry, but he knew he'd need at least some energy to get through the day. He poured himself a bowl of Cheerios and a glass of orange juice and took them out to the dining table. The quiet sounds of Petunia working in the kitchen were a welcome change from the cacophony of the night before.
He ate absently, staring off into space, not really thinking about anything. When he finished, it took him a minute to realize that his spoon was scraping the bottom of an empty bowl. Picking up the empty dishes, he brought them to the sink, then went to take a look at the list of chores Petunia had written out for him.
It was written in a tight but feminine cursive, and it read:
Do laundry
Clean windows
Wash dishes
Dust
Mow lawn
Well, crap. This was going to be harder than he'd thought.
He'd had chores before, of course. Every kid did. But they'd been more along the lines of, "Make your bed in the morning!" and "Clean your room!" with the occasional "Wash the dishes!" He had a general idea of how to dust and clean windows and the like, but he had no idea how to do laundry. Weren't there different settings for different kinds of clothes and stuff?
He was going to have to ask Aunt Petunia for help, and he could only imagine how well that would go over. But there was nothing for it—whatever she said, it couldn't possibly be as bad as what would happen if he messed up and turned Uncle Vernon's socks pink or some such.
He plucked the note off the refrigerator, and approached Petunia as she was putting bread in the toaster.
"Aunt Petunia?"
She started, then turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Was there something you needed?"
"It's- it's the chores," he said, looking down at the sheet in his hand.
"Now don't you complain, boy. I went easy on you today, gave you plenty of time to unpack or lay about or whatever strikes your fancy. You should thank me." She uncrossed her arms mid-speech and began punctuating her remarks with sweeping gestures. Harry was unfazed.
"I don't know how to do them," he persisted. "I need you to show me what to do."
"What?" She looked half shocked, half outraged. "You're telling me you don't know how to do simple chores like these?"
Harry was pretty sure Dudley had no idea how to do any of them either, but wisely remained silent on that count. He tuned out the subsequent tirade on "spoiled boys who don't lift a finger to help out around the house!" (again, not mentioning Dudley, though he was mildly tempted to do so at several points), nodding at appropriate points and making a token effort to look attentive so that she would shut up sooner. He gave up following her across the room as she rushed back and forth preparing the various parts of the breakfast and just stood by one of the counters, turning his head at the proper times.
She ran out of steam soon enough, and told him to come back for instruction after Vernon had had his breakfast, with an admonishment to shower and get changed beforehand.
He trudged back upstairs and scrounged for toiletries and clothes in his unpacked bags. He didn't know what was where—his things had mainly been packed by well-meaning relatives with completely alien systems of organization—and had to go by trial and error, going through about half the bags in the room before he found what he needed.
He made his way to the bathroom, where he took an embarrassingly long time figuring out how to work the Dursleys' shower. When he was finished, he dried off and got dressed, squishing over the other towels on the rack to make room for his.
As he exited the bathroom, he heard quiet voices coming from downstairs; Vernon having his breakfast, no doubt. He didn't feel like unpacking, so he just sat around in his room until he heard the sound of the front door slamming and a car taking off.
He sat there a few minutes more, as long as he thought he could get away with, then grudgingly pushed himself to his feet and went downstairs for his first lesson in cleaning from Petunia.
