THC – Round Three
House: Slytherin
Class: Herbology
Category: Drabble
Prompt: [Last line] And that was when the rain began to pour down
Word Count: 891
Disclaimers/TWs:
Beta's: The Slytherin Team
Harry liked riding on the trains. It's how he spent most of his summer, with his head against the train windows, not paying attention to the tunnel going by but closing his eyes and imagining he was heading to Hogwarts. This was how he avoided trouble with Dudley, and how he avoided his aunt and uncle.
No one bothered him.
No one would talk to him, and no one cared that he was there.
Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, was exactly how he liked it.
One morning, as usual, he woke up and got dressed. He decided not to bother to brush his hair and made sure he had his wallet and wand in the back pocket of his trousers and jogged down the stairs. He ignored the chatter coming from Aunt Petunia and Dudley, both of them talking in hushed voices. He almost reached the door, but he froze just as he reached the doorknob.
"Boy!"
Harry closed his eyes, shaking his head. He had been so close to escaping, so close to not having to deal with the Durselys. Apparently, after a month of doing as he pleased, time caught up. He sighed internally, stepping away from the door and following the sound of Uncle Vernon's voice, which led him to the living room.
He kept his facial expression as neutral as he could, as Uncle Vernon moved the newspaper that was covering his face, underneath his chin as his eyes narrowed. Harry gulped, wondering what he had done this time to warrant the wrath of his Uncle.
"I thought I told you, no magic in my house."
Harry frowned. He had been good, he hadn't done anything to get himself into trouble, he hadn't said anything to Dudley, what was Uncle Vernon– "I…" He started, but trailed off, not knowing what to say or how to defend himself when he had done nothing wrong.
"The newspapers in your room. Petunia found them yesterday. Moving pictures, boy!"
"They aren't harming anyone, it's not–"
"Are you coming back for dinner?"
Harry frowned, not sure why Aunt Petunia suddenly asked that question. What was going on today? They could usually go by ignoring him, so why weren't they doing that now? Why couldn't they let him be? And more importantly, why was Aunt Petunia looking at him like… Like he was some sort of disease, or like dirt that she couldn't get off her high heels?
"Y-yes, Aunt Petunia," He stuttered. Even after so many years, she still terrified him. Perhaps even more than what he had been through at Hogwarts.Okay, that was an exaggeration, he thought as he sucked in his breath. But he couldn't help but worry, glancing between the Dursleys, wondering what was going to happen next.Was he even going to make it to his sixteenth birthday?
Here, he was unprotected. Here, he couldn't do magic. Here, he was vulnerable.
He hated it.
"Go to the chippy and get us some food on the way back. And we better not catch you eating anything of ours. Off you go."
"Petunia…"
"Would you rather he stay here, disrespecting us?"
He nodded, ignoring every instinct he had to argue; to tell them all that he was better than what they thought. That he didn't care about their opinion, that he knew that if his parents were still around, they wouldn't let them get away with this. He ignored the burning feeling in his stomach, and walked away.
The walk turned into a light jog.
The light jog turned into a run.
The run turned into a sprint.
And he didn't stop.
Later, much, much later, Harry entered the chip shop on the walk home.
"The usual," Harry said, giving the server a small smile, who nodded in return. "Can I get scraps as well, please?" He asked, and the server nodded once again.What? He thought, what Aunt Petunia didn't know won't hurt her.
It didn't take long to get to the Dursely's home, and when he gave them the food, he was unpleasantly surprised when Uncle Vernon didn't let him cross the threshold.
"You're not coming in until I see you're ready to leave magic out of my house. Come back at ten o'clock and I'll tell you if I'm satisfied with how grateful you are."
Leaving no room to argue, Uncle Vernon shut the door on his face.
He knew it had been too good.
Too good to be true.
Freedom never lasted for him, and today just proved that.
As he made his way to the park, he thought back to the times when he had practically begged Professor Dumbledore to let him stay at Hogwarts over the summer. But after two years of solid 'no's, he had given up. No one listened to him. No one knew just how bad it was.
Or perhaps they did, and they just didn't care.
He didn't know.
Maybe he'd never find out.
He sat down on the park swing and sighed heavily, his heart twisting and turning as he tried to tune out his thoughts. He placed the scraps (which had just looked like rubbish to the Dursleys) on his lap and looked up at the night sky. He didn't notice his tears until one landed on his lips.
And that was when the rain began to pour down.