Legal Disclaimer: I own my stuff, but not the original source material. That belongs to whoever. Also, the opinions and interpretations I use here may not reflect the same in said whoever that owns the source material. Look, I'm just a poor college librarian. Suing me isn't going to get you anything but tears.

Warning: This work may be offensive to some readers. Additionally, this story deals with multiple instances of child abuse & endangerment. Feel free to back out if need be.

Author's Note: This fic is really heavy on the hurt and only a brief glimpse of the comfort. Just to let you know.

Submitting Info:
Stacked with: Hogwarts (Term 15); MC4A (Year 4)
Individual Challenges: n/a
House: Slytherin
Assignment No.: Term 15 – Assignment 03
Subject (Task No.): Healer Studies (Task#1: Write a fic with the genre Hurt/Comfort.)
Other Hogwarts Challenges: Auction [16.2](Locked Out); 365 [148](Petunia Dursley)
Other MC4A Challenges: SuB [](); AU [5A](Bookstore);Chim [Dextrin] ("Wait for It" from Hamilton); Fire (Smasher); Garden [Such a Kidder](Family)
Representation(s): Harry Potter & the Dursleys; Petunia Dursley
Primary & Secondary Bonus Challenges: n/a
Tertiary & Generic Bonus Challenges: n/a
Word Count: 848 words

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Fairness & Luck
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Harry didn't mean to be late.

He had just gotten distracted on his way home from the play park that Aunt Petunia had left him at after Dudley had finished playing. It had been a new one, closer to the primary school and just a block away from the art studio that had kicked Dudley out after only one lesson. Aunt Petunia said that the permanent suspension was because the teacher had just not understood Dudley's creative genius and rambunctious nature. Harry thought that throwing paintbrushes at the other students probably had more to do with it.

Aunt Petunia had been more than happy to take Dudley to the park to play. Of course, that had ended until a bunch of the parents had taken offense that Dudley kept picking on their kids. Unlike the parents who frequented the play park close to Privet Drive, these parents did not believe any of Aunt Petunia's claims that Dudley was innocent and just misunderstood. When she had gone for her standard backup of blaming Harry, more than a few of them had even seemed alarmed.

She had been flustered as she had packed Dudley away into the car. Maybe Harry should have hid how funny he found everything. Next thing he had known was that Aunt Petunia had smacked him with her hand so hard that for a moment he thought that she had somehow pulled a frying pan out of nowhere. With clipped words in a frosty tone, she had ordered him to walk back.

Harry had done so, and he had been so proud of remembering the route. Then he had seen the new bookstore that had opened up where the weird smelling herb shop had been. He was only going to stop in for a few minutes to rest his feet a bit after walking so far. He didn't expect to get distracted by all the books and lose track of time. He hadn't even noticed how late it was getting until a nice lady had given him a pasty from the small cafe attached to the bookstore.

Now he was late.

Aunt Petunia and Dudley would have made it home before Harry regardless of if Harry had stopped or not. Harry would have been in trouble for that alone. He had long forgotten what it was like to not need to stifle the initial flare of temper from the injustice of things like that. Life wasn't fair, and Harry knew the lesson well.

But now he was late enough that Aunt Petunia would have been forced to make dinner. As he ran down Privet Drive towards Number Four, Harry had already resigned himself to not getting even his usual scraps that night. He probably wouldn't get anything for breakfast or lunch either, given how late it was and how mad Aunt Petunia had already been because of the other parents at the play park.

He paused to catch his breath on the front stoop. He also made sure to thoroughly wipe his feet on the bristly welcome mat. The last thing he needed was to upset Aunt Petunia further by tracking in muck. Both goals achieved in short order, he then reached up to carefully turn the doorknob. Maybe if he was quiet enough, he would be able to get to his cupboard without aggravating his aunt and uncle too much.

The doorknob did not turn.

Harry felt like a lump of ice had settled in his stomach. This couldn't be happening. They couldn't have just locked him outside. Aunt Petunia barely even liked letting Harry out of the house unless she was sending him to Mrs. Figg's house the next street over or similar activities that required that Harry actually be seen by people. He was fairly certain that she would not have even sent him to school if keeping him home wouldn't make the neighbors talk.

But no matter how he turned the knob, it wouldn't budge.

His hand trembled as he raised it to knock on the door. He knocked softly at first. Then he knocked a little harder. His eyes stung with tears that he refused to let fall. He wasn't a baby like Dudley. He couldn't just cry his way out of punishments. His knuckles were starting to hurt from knocking.

A curtain in the living room twitched aside, just long enough for Harry to see Aunt Petunia's face. Her blue eyes were so cold, just like the frost that still covered the grass in the mornings sometimes. As the long moments stretched without Aunt Petunia coming to unlock the door, Harry's hopes sank like a stone into the river at the end of town.

Resigned to spending the night outside, Harry sat down on the stoop in the space between the door and the rose bushes planted beside the stoop. He wrapped his thin arms around his knobby knees. Maybe he would get lucky, and it would be one of the warmer nights of late spring. He didn't think it would be, though, because when had Harry ever been lucky?