This one is much, much longer! This time, I wanted to write about an experience of accidental magic that we hand't heard about yet. I thought of the time Harry appeared on top of a building to scape Dudley and his minions, and this is what came out. When I was little, I broke my bathroom's sink without realizing it and had a really bad time. Thankfully Harry here had a different experience. Originally i had not planned on continuing this, but the last chapter made me feel very weird, and i somehow felt compelled to keep on writing about this very traumatic period not many seem to write about. I promise I'll write something more lighthearted next time.

I'll answer guest reviews at the end, so for now, please enjoy:

Harry Potter was used to weird things happening around him, but nothing had surprised him yet as much as when he un-broke his aunt and uncle's bathroom sink. In fact, now that he thought about it, the breaking of the sink had been a very weird event itself.

His aunt had sent him upstairs to take a shower after making him deep clean the cabinets. Nevermind that they weren't that dirty in the first place; Harry even had to dust corners of the kitchen he didn't know existed. They had started at it in the morning, when Uncle Vernon had taken Dudley on a father-son outing, and they had been working well past lunchtime. Harry had eaten cheese sandwiches, which Harry was glad for, (both because she had allowed him seconds, and because sandwiches were one of the things even Aunt Petunia couldn't ruin for him) and his aunt had made herself a very gourmet-looking ham sandwich. After they had finished, Aunt Petunia had taken a look at him that had quickly set an expression of disgust on her face, and sent him up after telling him to try not to touch the walls or rub against anything. He didn't really understand what she meant; Harry was very certain he wasn't a rag, to be dragged on top of the furniture! He guessed she didn't want him to smear anything with sweat; but still Harry climbed the stairs silently.

Harry's legs felt like they were made of lead and his arms felt a little useless just hanging beside him, yet he felt strangely elated. Perhaps, if his aunt was as tired as he was, she would forget about giving him anything more to do until supper, and Harry would be allowed to hang around the back yard enjoying the fine weather that had come to Little Whinging that day. He had been thinking of the bench in the garden and the cool breeze that started to come at the end of July when it all happened. If you asked him, he would never be able to tell all the exact details, but one thing was for sure: he had washed his face -still thinking of the possibilities of the day ahead of him-, he had slipped, had tried to stop his fall by grabbing the sink, he had heard a very loud creak and crash, and then there had been water pouring all over him, pain blossoming in his right side, and he was on the floor. He was a bit slow to react –he was so focused on the pain he was feeling-, and he heard a loud squeak and what he guessed were Aunt Petunia's thundering steps coming upstairs. Harry picked himself up to quickly lock the door before his aunt could get inside the bathroom like a wrecking ball and make everything much worse than it already was.

But how bad was it? Harry tried to assess the damage.

The sink was hanging from the wall like a withering plant, the plumbing spraying water everywhere, and there was a puddle that he was afraid at some point it would start to really look like a lake. He looked around frantically for something that could help him stop the chaos. Aunt Petunia was already rapping the door and her voice sounded panicky and shrill. ("Open up, boy! Open the door right this moment!") But right at that moment Harry was more concerned on fixing the mess. He almost jumped to the perch where he had hung his towel, ignoring his throbbing shoulder and hip, and threw it on the floor, hoping it'd absorb most of the water, but it quickly became darker as it dampened. It would not hold for long. What was he going to do now? He tried very hard not to let the panicked, and desperate bubble he felt in his throat come out of his mouth. What was he going to do? He watched the knob rattle dangerously, and Harry realized -feeling the horror run down his back- that Aunt Petunia had gotten tired of asking nicely and had taken matters into her own hands. He backed against the still gushing sink until he was clamping his hands on the porcelain with a viselike grip, as if the sink was his anchor. Harry shut his eyes tightly and tried to prepare himself for what was sure to come.

The door burst open, and Aunt Petunia burst in.

"You dim-witted, stupid boy!" She gripped his arm and hurled him around so he was facing the wet towel in the floor. "What happened here?!" She threw him to the floor. "Pick it up! Pick it up! Now!"

Harry tried to ignore the sharp pain and the anger he felt when he fell on his knees, and started gathering the sopping wet towel from the bathroom floor. "I slipped! I'll just fix it!" He got up as quickly as he could, frowning.

"I - don't - care!" Aunt Petunia said, shoving him into the shower stall, towel and all. "You're almost nine years old!" She turned both valves on, and water started to rain down on him. "Disgusting, is what you are! You should have a better control of your body by now!"

Suddenly, Harry understood perfectly what Aunt Petunia thought had happened. His face burnt with embarrassment. He decided to clear up this whole misunderstanding right away before her head got to even more stupid conclusions. "It was the sink, Aunt Petunia!-" He pointed to the sink's general direction. "Don't you see?-I broke it! And now there's water all over!"

"You filthy liar! There's absolutely nothing wrong with the sink!" His aunt slammed the door of the bathroom closed, but kept yelling at him through it. "Stop making stupid excuses for your actions!" He heard her walking away. "And you will wash the rugs when you're finished cleaning up!" Then he heard her muttering away about disgusting boys and recently washed bathroom rugs.

Harry tried to fight the humiliation. "I- I didn't lose control of my body! Can't you see? The sink is spraying water from the plumbing right over-" But where the sink currently was, he never got to say, because he suddenly became more interested in the sink's condition rather than its location. You see, Aunt Petunia was right: There was absolutely nothing wrong with the sink. Nothing wrong at all.

He washed his face twice or thrice, and even shot his hand out of the stall to grab his glasses and shove them in his face. He had thought he wasn't seeing clearly, but he was wrong. There was nothing wrong with the sink at all. But he had been sure it was broken! The water hadn't shown up out of nowhere, and it definitely hadn't been the product of his lack of control of his bodily functions. The sink had definitely been broken! He was as certain about it as the fact that his name was Harry Potter.

Weird…

Perhaps it hadn't really been broken? Perhaps it was already loose, and he had shifted it out of place when he slipped? Then he had pushed it back into place when he had backed into it, waiting for his aunt to show up…

Yes. That had to be it.

After all, actually-broken porcelain sinks couldn't fix themselves, could they?

"Guest chapter 1 . Feb 21

Psychological abuse is so pervasive, intrusive and sinister. Well done."

Thank you very much. To be honest, your review had me stumped, but it was ultimately the reason I decided to continue this. I hadn't consciously written in the psychological abuse. I was thinking of an episode in my childhood and thought it'd be something that could likely happen to young Harry here.