Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; I just read and enjoy the series.
Summary: One-shot Five-year-old Harry Potter does not have the easiest life. Neglect is a horrible thing, but everybody has someone who loves them; even if they're not there.
There are only so many things a five-year-old can do, and very little of that constitutes to work. However, for Harry Potter, his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had decided that he could at least help out in some ways, even if he couldn't do anything like touch the stove, or do the dusting (Aunt Petunia was terrified he'd smash all of their precious ornaments and other bits and bobs).
So, Harry was doing his part by weeding the garden. Having only recently started being given this chore, Harry still found to be fun, in a strange way. He got outside for some fresh air, and was allowed to play about in the mud (or at least, weeding was something that Harry considered to be 'playing'). Sometimes he would rest or run around, prolonging the time before he had to come inside.
It wasn't that Harry didn't like the Dursley household – he didn't particularly care. It was his family that worried him. He didn't have any toys; they were all Dudley's and he knew not to touch them. Likewise, he wasn't really allowed to watch television, and an absence of anything to do bored him – and when he was bored and restless, inexplicable things tended to happen…
For instance just the other day he'd been watching Dudley scribbling on paper, drawing some kind of picture and Harry, in a childish compulsion, wanted to use them because his cousin was. He knew not to do this and didn't attempt it – instead he imagined drawing. With no inspiration on what to draw, he thought of drawing his family and started colouring his Aunt Petunia's hair in typical childish fashion (meaning with unusual colours and a lot of scribbles). Unfortunately, he found his mind-drawing interrupted when Uncle Vernon, his face so angry that it seemed to be turning magenta, suddenly yelled, "Boy!"
Looking up, Harry was startled to see Aunt Petunia with very badly drawn purple hair and black eyes, the black colour stretching over her face where it had gone 'out of the lines'. Aunt Petunia had obviously felt something going on, as she was shaking in a strange sort of fear.
Harry gulped. He couldn't help these strange occurrences, and despite the fact he'd been over the other side of the room, he was still blamed for it. He didn't so much mind this as the fact that this sort of event got him stuck in his cupboard, which was his not-so elegant bedroom.
So Harry was quite content to be outside, ignoring his family just as they did him.
"Muuuum," a voice suddenly wheedled, and Dudley - Harry's cousin who was probably about as much over the average weight of a five-year-old as Harry was under – walked through the open front door, shooting Harry a suspicious glance as he did his weeding (his parents treatment of Harry had obviously rubbed off on him). Harry stopped and listened to what was going to happen, curious.
"Yes, Dinky Diddums?" answered Aunt Petunia's fond voice, an expression that Harry had never found when he was the subject of discussion and secretly hoped to hear from someone.
"I wanna go the paaark," he whined in a voice that he used to manipulate his parents into letting him do just about anything and turn a blind eye to any wrongs he might have.
There was a slight pause – perhaps Aunt Petunia was checking the time or something, but Harry did not want to go in to check his presumption – and then Aunt Petunia announced brightly, "Alright Duddykins." Dudley gave a whoop of joy, and ran out to the front of the house. Harry quickly resumed weeding.
Aunt Petunia walked out of the front door, then turned to him and pursed her lips. Just then, it dawned on Harry what the problem was. Mrs Figg – the nice, if a little cat-obsessed old lady who lived across the road with whom Harry usually stayed on such occasions – had gone away on holiday.
"Wash those hands and change your clothes," she snapped at him eventually, though Harry really didn't understand what the point was; he was still stuck wearing Dudley's old cast-offs that looked dreadful, but he presumed other people sometimes had to share clothes with family members of equal age, so it wouldn't really matter.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he said, and ran off, really very excited about going to the park.
The park, Harry had decided, was not as fun as he presumed. He was staying as far away from Aunt Petunia as he could as this not only made him feel safer, but he felt relieved to be away from their watchful eye, even if only for just a while.
For a while, he'd run around, silently whooping with joy, but now he was tired, and felt that other children were giving him funny looks, while adults looked a little concerned about the fact that he was on his own. Harry yawned and strode forwards, before seeing a bench that he bolted to and bounced on, closing his eyes slightly.
He tried to fight the sleep that was trying to pull at him, as he knew Aunt Petunia wouldn't be pleased if she found out he was sleeping outside like some kind of tramp – he only really knew the word, he'd never bothered to ask the meaning, however he knew it was derogatory.
He gave another colossal yawn and rubbed his eyes, then opened them, wondering if that would help him stay awake. He looked around and jumped. Apparently during the time Harry had been getting comfy, another man had sat down next to him – a man wearing glasses that seemed to hide his hazel eyes. He had black untamed hair, and was sitting reading a newspaper.
Harry started.
"Uh, hello, sir-"
The man turned to look at him and gave him a bright smile, which Harry - albeit being very confused - promptly returned. And before Harry's eyes the man seemed to start to fade until, when Harry tried to grab him because something very weird was happening, there was nothing there but thin air.
Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Scanning the park quickly, he caught sight of his Aunt Petunia and Dudley not far away. "Aunt Petunia, Aunt Petunia! You'll never guess what just happened…"
"PEOPLE DO NOT JUST DISAPPEAR, BOY!"
Harry was quite noticeably back at Number 4 Privet Drive. At the park Aunt Petunia had listened to his little story and went white as sheet, practically dragging both Harry and Dudley back home, despite Dudley's screaming protests. When they'd arrived, she'd told Uncle Vernon in a hushed voice, who'd sent Dudley outside to play then turned to Harry, his face purple and almost looking inflated – if Harry hadn't been so scared, he'd have found it hilarious.
Needless to say, Uncle Vernon was not impressed with Harry's story. He looked like he was about to explode, and like he had a great amount of stress on him. "GO TO YOUR CUPBOARD… NOW!" The man suddenly screamed, before practically collapsing into a chair.
Harry turned and ran for his cupboard, crying. He'd told the truth!
Sometimes he really didn't like his family – but the sad thing was, Harry knew that he had nobody else. It was this that made him curl up and cry, staring hopelessly at a little spider on the floor, reaching for it with a hand. It ran in the opposite direction.
"Do you hate me too? I don't want to be alone, come back…" he asked, crying harder. That night, he cried himself to sleep.
And just before Harry fell asleep, he could have sworn he heard a tearful voice reply with, "you're not alone, sweetheart." And then, the quiet but sweet tones of a lullaby could be heard…
"Hush little baby,
Don't cry for me,
I'll be with you forever,
This I hope you'll see.
Hush little Harry,
Don't let them get you down,
Things will look up soon,
So turn that frown upside down."
And Harry, in his sleep, suddenly rolled over and gave a contented smile.
A/N: Wow, that was a bad ending, wasn't it? Anyway… review, please. I'll love you all if you do. (Heh.)