Here it is ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've been waiting for! The crossover transition fully into the realm of JKR's world, and Harry's origin begins to be unveiled...
Surrey, 1986
In the quiet suburbs of Little Whinging, far from the hot sun of Sicily or the dark streets of New York, very little could be said of things that were out of the ordinary. The middle-class township was famed for its safe and cozy living away from the stresses of city life, promising pleasant living at affordable housing prices.
This, however, like many suburban dwellings, was the hiding place of buried secrets and dark realities given a pleasant mask to hide in plain sight. Where the stereotypical habitation of the nuclear family partook of postcard activities that exemplified modern-day idealism, under its surface was the ugly truth of marital unfaithfulness, familial betrayal, gossipers, and domestic abuse.
The subject of one such harsh reality sat in a classroom at St. Gorgory's Elementary, counting down the seconds until the school bell rang.
"Come on. Come on…" Harry muttered under his breath, fidgeting in his seat as he waited with bated breath for the clock above the chalkboard to chime. The minute hand worked its way to the sixth-hour mark as the second hand traveled towards the twelfth position while the teacher droned on. Though Mrs. Fowler, the first-year school teacher, was loud with a lisp that made her S's sharp and stab at one's ears, all Harry could hear was its ticking.
'Tick. Tick. Tick. Riiing!' The school bell rang, signaling the end of the school year while igniting the excited chatter of the students. But even as the teacher was dismissing them, Harry was flying out of his seat, barely saving himself from tripping on his oversized pants as he raced to the door.
Harry was making good time as he maneuvered through the hallways of St. Gregory's, avoiding most of the gathering crowd of students piling into the hall. However, just as he was about to make a dash for the main doors, Harry flinched as a pudgy hand clasped his shoulder.
"Where do you think you're going, Harry?" The owner of the hand said nastily, saying the smaller boy's name as though it were a curse.
Dudley Dursley was a fat pig of a boy, as brutish and mean as he was dim-witted. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed, Dudley held an air of superiority that was comparable to a member of the aristocracy with none of the grace nor wit, but with a mean attitude that he made a habit of taking out on the boy he held tightly in his grasp. The two were cousins as it turned out, even growing up in the same house, though any familial bond one might expect from the two boys ended with those few facts.
"You shouldn't move so fast, you know. How else will you be able to play with me and the guys if you run off?" Dudley asked with an innocent smile that was anything but, roughly shoving the nervous boy down the hall. Harry's panic grew more evident as he was dragged to the exit, hoping desperately for some miracle.
"Mr. Dursley?"
Dudley tensed and spun on his heels, his flabby body jiggling as he placed his hands behind his back, "Yes, Mrs. Fowler?"
Mrs. Fowler had stuck her head out of the classroom door, her hand on the knob as she looked at the two boys. As usual, she seemed to be oblivious to what was going on before her, "I'd like to talk to you about your current performance in class and how this may affect your placement next year."
"Of course, Mrs. Fowler," Dudley said with false politeness, a talent he had perfected after two years of dodging punishment for beating on the smaller children.
After Mrs. Fowler moved back from the door, Dudley gave his cousin a final shove before walking back to the classroom. Harry let out a sigh of relief, hefting his school bag over his shoulders as he made his way out of the school doors.
Harry breathed as the hot summer air blew into his face once he stepped outside the school while the other children ran hurriedly to their parents waiting to pick them up. Harry moved along, discovering long ago that he disliked the way some of the adults looked at him and his oversized clothes. Harry kept his eyes surveying his surroundings for any of Dudley's friends, wanting to avoid being caught by one of them for their idea of a 'game'. He was quick to spot Piers Polkiss standing on the other side of the street by the stop sign and walked in the other direction, knowing he would have to take the long way home if he wanted to spend his afternoon in peace.
Harry didn't mind, however, as it was fine weather for a walk through the local streets. The town was a traditionalist community that played suburbia in northern Surrey, whose houses were built on demand after the Second World War. Its neighboring town of Greater Whinging, however, was a modern business district layered with many industrial companies that were built upon the River Thames.
Harry's uncle worked at one of these factories by the name of Grunnings, a drill manufacturing company that distributed products ranging from dental tools to construction equipment throughout the United Kingdom. Vernon Dursley was a sales manager in the business and spent many evenings working late.
Personally, Harry wished that the man would stay there.
Further along the way, Harry passed the town's market strip, a stretch of three blocks on the eastern side of town that lay between the highway to London and a woodland area to the south that connected back to Magnolia Crescent and Privet Drive. The strip was a collection of densely packed mom-and-pop shops and grocers, holding on by the skin of their teeth against the expansion of monopolized, name-brand business.
It was a good thirty-minute walk after leaving the elementary that Harry made it to the entrance of Magnolia Crescent. He could of course walk a little further onto Wisteria Walk but chose the former as he knew his lazy cousin wouldn't want to take the curving street that would add a good 10 minutes to his walk compared to the arrow-straight pavement of Wisteria. Better to avoid a renewed game of 'Harry Hunting' that way, the boy thought bitterly.
Sure enough, by the time he had crossed the length of Magnolia onto Privat Drive, Harry was beset by Dudley and his gang of hooligans, who ran up fast from behind him, each swatting him in the back of the head as they passed. While unpleasant, it was preferable to the alternative, as the Dudley knew and instructed the others not to inflict Harry too harshly within the confines of their neighborhood.
Finally, Harry crossed the lawn of Number Four, gearing himself for any sort of trouble as he opened the front door of the house and quickly made it in, wasting no time in storing his bookbag in the stairway cupboard and presenting himself in the kitchen of the house, where his aunt resided.
"Oh, you're back then, are you?" His aunt said in a snide tone, gazing upon him with pinched eyes as though she were looking at something unpleasant.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, even-toned and respectful.
"Well? What are you waiting for? You know the routine, get to the dishes!" The woman, whose lanky body towered over the boy, snapped irritably like a biting horse, an animal that she astonishingly resembled.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia!" He said obeyed immediately and without complaint, knowing the consequences of rebelling against the Dursley's authority.
They had started inflicting more and more work upon him since the beginning of the school year, citing that he needed to 'pull his weight' as his education cost money. He wasn't sure exactly how much it cost, but the threat of a two-week-long period of no food quieted his need to question the claim.
Therefore Harry remained quiet as he washed the dishes by hand, scrubbing the grim left over from Vernon and Dudley's gluttonous eating excursions, all the while ignoring the scrutinizing presence of his aunt breathing down his neck when she wasn't occupied with dusting the cupboards. The moment he was finished Aunt Petunia quickly inspected his work with critical, narrowed eyes.
"Well then, might as well make yourself useful," Petunia grunted begrudgingly as she ripped a page from her kitchen notepad, scribbling a selection of groceries down before thrusting it into his hands along with a twenty-pound note, "Here's a list of what we need and the money to pay for it."
Harry nodded his head and hurried to leave the room as quickly as possible, yelping however as Petunia grabbed him by the ear and dragged him back, uncaring of the way he winced from the pain.
"You best not have me catch you stealing from us, boy! I know exactly how much each item costs, so you best bring my exact change back, and not a penny less! Do you understand?" She scolded, pinching his ear between her fingers.
"Y-Yes Aunt Petunia!" He answered as she let go, rubbing his now reddening ear, holding back hot tears as he ran out of the kitchen and the front door, knowing not to keep his aunt wanting any longer than necessary.
-/ↀ\-
Harry was still rubbing his ear even as he made it to the halfway point between Privet Drive and the local grocery downtown.
Though if he was being honest with himself, despite the pain he preferred to have the time to himself. He didn't know what he had done to make the Dursleys treat him so harshly, he could only assume it had something to do with his parents. They made it a point to drill it in his head that they were no good refuse, Aunt Marge being particularly nasty with insinuations that they were drunk drains on the system living on the back of the State.
Harry wasn't sure he believed it, but there wasn't much else to go upon to draw his own conclusions. He could only assume there was some truth that they had died in a car crash, as there was no other explanation for how he got the wicked scar that cut into his forehead. Everything else he chose to believe were lies, if nothing more than it gave him a romanticized version of his parents who had loved him. It was to him a far-off fantasy, but it was one he often indulged in late a night inside the cupboard under the stairs he was forced to sleep in by his relatives.
The reality of his world in contrast to that fantasy was limited, strict, and demanding. Cleaning and gardening were the main labors that were expected of him, with spontaneous chores such as grocery shopping popping up every now and then. Harry suspected that more chores would be added to that list moving forward into his bleak future, but he hoped that some of them might be as quiet as the walks to town tended to be.
Harry, despite the circumstances of his living arrangements, tried to keep an optimistic outlook on the situation. While it was true that the Dursleys demanded a lot from him, he was well aware it wasn't without reason. While listening in on their talks Harry knew that they weren't getting a government dividend on the grounds that it had been deemed by the social services community that Vernon's position at work was technically sufficient to provide for both children. Technically being the key term, as it would have required the family to live from paycheck to paycheck with little to pay for luxury.
This predicament forced his uncle to work harder than would have been required if only Dudley was in the picture, which resulted in Vernon often coming home stressed and in a foul mood, which in turn pushed him to often drink to calm his nerves. Further, the Dursleys were privy to cutting corners in his care, as they believed the bare minimum was the minimum required. He was fed, sheltered, and clothed, even if the quality of these things weren't in any way ideal. The food was premade and bland with little flourish, the rooming cramped and small, and the clothing hand-me-downs from his whale cousin that were always three sizes too big.
The only time conditions became worse for him was when he was in trouble, where he would be exiled to the cupboard for weeks at a time with nothing but what amounted to prison rations for him to eat. Therefore Harry made it a priority to toe the line, though sometimes there were unforeseen 'accidents'.
What he really had to worry about was the wrath of his ape-like cousin, who resembled a bad-tempered gorilla both in strength and intelligence. The discussion of weight was still up for debate for Harry, as he theorized that Dudley actually weighed more.
Harry had a healthy respect for that resemblance, as he had been well acquainted with his cousin's fists on more than one occasion. Add his hooligan friends into the mix and that would lead to a world of hurt that he had no desire to be reintroduced to. He had to look out for himself, he couldn't rely on the Dursleys to police their son, as he was a perfect angel in their minds who could do no wrong, the golden apple in their eyes.
If anyone were to tell that Harry, he would respond that he was only a golden apple in a pig's eye.
Worse case, he'd been ambushed by Dudley and his gang in the past and had learned his lesson to pay attention to any sign of their approach. Which proved useful as he spotted the fat whale chugging down the opposite end of the street pointing at him.
"There he is!" Harry turned tail and ran even as Dudley shouted behind his shoulder, knowing better than to give his cousin's gang any chance of catching up with him. He cut through town almost running into several agitated adults, building a good distance between himself and the pursuing bullies.
Cutting around a corner Harry ran into an alleyway between a print shop and the local post office. With only seconds left before his cousin's gang would enter the narrow passage after him, Harry slipped into a hidden alcove in the wall. He worked to get his breathing under control, peeking his head behind the corner to see what happened next.
Through the swirling mists of the alleyway grates, Harry scrutinized every detail. Dudley and his friends were looking around for any sign of where he had gone, angry that they had lost their quarry. There was Gordon Wright, a blonde-haired neanderthal who like to kick smaller kids in the ribs, looking up and down the empty alleyway stupidly as though expecting Harry to pop out of thin air. Malcolm Davies, a quiet boy with a blue cap and a chip on his shoulder, had quickly lost interest in finding Harry was now roughhousing with the second dumbest member of the group after Dudley named Dennis Williams, who appeared stupid just by the sight of him with his dim-witted look and horse's teeth.
Finally, there was Piers Polkiss, the worst of the lot after Dudley, helping the lumbering idiot lift up the bin lid to peer inside to see if Harry was hiding inside. Harry scoffed at the thought, as if he'd throw himself inside a smelly dumpster! Aunt Petunia would have his hide if he came into her house smelling of rotten banana peel.
Piers was Dudley's best friend, though he played the role of a follower rather than an equal. He acted as the mastermind of many of their youthful schemes due to the fact that out of the five boys, his brain was the only one that could be confidently described as functioning. He prided himself on two things, his stupid wispy mohawk that he thought was cool, and the ability to plan out some sort of trouble, such as figuring out ways for the boys to steal money from their mother's purses without being caught, or how to find the hideaway spots where they could beat up some unfortunate kid who ended up their entertainment for the day right under the teacher's noses.
All in all, he was a bullying, scrawny, rat-faced little shit.
As he watched Dudley's goons lose interest and run down the other end of the alley, Harry was yanked backward by a pair of arms and thrown into the wall. Stunned by the impact force, Harry took a few moments to lean forward when he was shoved back against the bricks, a child's arm pinning his neck to the wall. Eyes watery, gasping for air, Harry looked at the person holding him.
"I swear to God, I'll knock your ass into next week if ya scream." The kid threatened, holding his fist up primed to strike Harry's jaw. Though the boy was not much bigger than he was, it was clear that he was both older and stronger than him, an observation that convinced Harry to become still in the older boy's grasp.
"Smart kid." The boy smirked, easing up slightly though staying focused on any sudden move Harry might make, "Ya got money? Food?"
Harry's eyes bulged, shaking his head in denial. This did little to convince the boy of his honesty, as he began to frisk him from top to bottom.
"Ya better hope I don't find anything after I asked, ya little punk." The boy grumbled as he forced Harry to turn around, patting down his pant legs. Harry whimpered in despair as his aunt's list and money were pulled from his pockets.
"What the fuck is this then, hmm? Nothing on ya my left ballsack!" The kid shouted hoarsely, waving the twenty-pound note in Harry's face. Harry flinched at his vulgarity as he went on a rant.
"Twenty quid! Twenty fuckin' quid! I oughta pound you!" The boy shouted as he shook an angry fist in the smaller boy's face.
"Fuck." The curse came out as a sigh s the boy shoved him away, kicking a glass bottle laying on the ground as he walked away, watching it clatter its way down the narrow alleyway until it shattered. Tears threatened to fall from Harry's eyes as he lay on his side, thinking of how much trouble he would be in if he didn't come home with Aunt Petunia's groceries. The thought of what his uncle would do to him spurned him into action, jumping up to run after the other boy.
"Stop!"
"The fuck?" The Boy turned and stared in perplection as he watched Harry catch up to him and grab his shirt.
"P-Please! Don't take the money, it's not mine!" Harry begged, holding onto him as though his life depended on it.
"No shit, I took it, remember?" The boy held the wadded bill in his hand, "See? Mine." He said with a smug look of pride in his own sarcasm even as he pushed Harry to the ground.
Grunting at the discomfort of landing hard on his ass, Harry unrelentingly got up again to plead with him, "Please, I'll get in trouble if I don't buy the food my aunt told me to get, honest!"
"You're gonna be in a shit-ton of trouble if ya don't beat it!" The boy growled, suddenly annoyed by his antics as he raised his fist as a warning. Harry flinched but stood firm, tightening his hold on the boy's shirt. The boy raised a perplexed brow in response.
"Ya serious?" The Boy asked. Harry nodded his head rapidly.
"She wrote it on that paper if you don't believe me." He pointed to the note still in the boy's hand, prompting him to investigate it with a queer look in his eyes. Looking down at it and back up at Harry, he appeared to study him as if looking for something, and Harry held his breath in the hope he wouldn't have to suffer a beating on top of whatever punishment he would receive if he didn't get that money.
The boy blinked after a moment, his mind catching up to his motions as his hand reached out to the kid and handed him the money. Harry snatched it up and held it close to his chest, as if afraid someone else would try to steal it from him, looking up at the boy in surprised confusion.
Harry wasn't one to look a gifted horse in the mouth. Without hesitation, he backed away and ran from the alley without a look back. The boy took a moment to watch him running away, a curiosity resting in his mind. Then he snorted and shook his head, turned on his own way.
-/ↀ\-
A few days later Harry was let out of the house again, though with less dignity this time as Aunt Petunia slammed the front door in his face with a sharp word making it clear that he better be home by supper.
Harry was only grateful he had managed to get enough on Petunia's good side that he was actually allowed outside instead of being banished to his cupboard, if only so that she didn't have to think about him being in close proximity while she enjoyed her noonday soaps.
Harry roamed the streets looking for something to do, ideally wandering into the laneway behind the houses of Wisteria Walk looking for thrown-out toys. Harry wasn't particularly picky, the Dursleys would give him the toys Dudley would break to play with after all, but sometimes he'd get lucky and find a toy car or tin soldier in good condition when he when treasure hunting. Seeing that it was a Thursday, the homeowners would put out their trash for the garbage man to come around on Friday morning, making it the perfect day for him to go exploring for useful trinkets. Harry just hoped the peace would last, knowing that Dudley and his gang could pop up at any mo-
"Hey, freak!"
Well, speak of the devil and he will appear.
Harry peered over his shoulder as Dudley and his friends came running up behind him and immediately began to sprint, knowing his peace for the day had ended. He ran a good twenty feet and had made a good distance between himself and the slower bullies when he smacked right into the waiting arms of Piers who had been waiting for him behind a pair of rubbish bins.
Harry struggled and kicked as hard as he could to get out of Pier's grasp, but the boy held firm even as he leered down at him with that rat-like grin as he steered him around so that his face and stomach were in position for his friend's blows.
"Ah, Harry whatsamatter? We just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Harry turns six today, did you know that, boys?" Dudley said as he caught up with them, smiling back at his friends before driving his fist into Harry's stomach, knocking the wind out of the boy who bent forward gasping like a fish.
"Did you know birthday boys get a good slug for each year on earth, Dud? It's tradition." Piers said with that simpering voice of his.
"Good idea, Piers. Wouldn't want to break tradition, would we? And since there's six of us, well, it's only fair we each get a good lick in. Whaddya think, freak?" He asked as he grabbed a handful of Harry's hair to force him to look at him.
"There's five of you, Dud. I see you still can't count" Harry looked up with a grin, never one to back down from his cousin's taunts. Unfortunately, this also meant he didn't know when to keep his mouth as he earn a right hook to his cheek.
"How about we each get to hit you six times instead of just the one for each? Wanna do the math for that, freak?!" Dudley spat angrily. Dudley had a penchant for being terrible at even the most basic of math and took it personally when it was thrown in his face, which he demonstrated by driving his fist upward into his abdomen.
Harry went limp in Piers' arms and slumped to the ground holding his stomach, forcing down the bile that threatened to rise in his throat even as Dudley began to wallop him in the ribs and shoulder. "Get up, freak!" He demanded as he rained blow after blow onto the boy. When he finally realized he wasn't getting anywhere with his method, he began kicking him in the back, prompting the other boys to join in.
Gordon, the professional punter of the gang, was gearing up to drive his foot into Harry's chin when from out of nowhere a strip of hard metal whacked him in his upper back, sending him forward with a startled scream. The other boys looked up just in time to watch as another boy, twice their age and twice their size, swung a heavy metal wrench right into Malcolm's upper shoulder, dropping the boy to the ground with a pained wail.
Piers and Dudley ran forward while Dennis stood back not knowing what to do. The two delinquents probably thought they could take the older both together, an idea that proved ridiculous when the boy drove his foot up right between Dudley's legs, dropping him like a stone as he clutched his balls while turning an interesting green color.
Piers, on the other hand, was held back by one hand against his head, aimlessly swinging his arms to try to get a hit in on the older boy who was simply too far for any of them to land. Harry thought the sight was beyond funny to look at as Piers tried to push his weight forward against the boy's hand. It seemed that the boy had found it funny too by the way he was grinning before he finally let go and swung his fist forward, filling the laneway with the crunch of shattered cartilage as Piers fell backward clutching his now bleeding nose in pain.
"You want some too, Mule-teeth?" The boy called out pointing his wrench at Dennis, who shook his head and looked as though he were about to piss himself now that the boy's attention was on him, "It better stay that way or I'll knock your teeth in, then everyone will start callin' you 'Gums'."
The threat made, the boy stepped over Piers, moving over to Dudley as he leered down at him, "Who do you think you are, coming in on my turf?"
"We were just playing a game of 'Harry Hunting', it's just a bit of fun, honest!" Dudley groaned with his hands still between his legs.
"Whose Harry? Four-eyes? He's mine. No one gets to beat on him except for me!" The boy declared. Harry gulped, thinking of the beating that was still to come.
"We had him first!" Dudley gasped stupidly, regretting it an instant later when the boy stomped his foot down on his crotch.
"Shut up, lardass!" He sneered down at the fat lump, pushing the end of his wrench into his pudgy cheeks, "I don't give a shit if you had him first, I'm claiming pumbling rights, if you don't like it I can start in on you and you fuckwit friends!"
"'Ou 'an't ak all uf us!" Piers garbled, his words coming out nasally and broken as a steady flow of blood pooled down between his fingers and onto his shirt.
"Do I look scared, Rat-face? Get out of here before I get really pissed and put ya all in hospital! Take Weasel and Bitch-Blonde with you." He jabbed his thumb back at Malcolm and Gordon who were still on the ground rubbing the bruising spots where the wrench had made contact. The boys took that as their leave and bolted, hoisting up their friends and running away down the alley, groaning in pain all the way.
The boy watch to make sure they left before he turned, his eyes gazing into Harry's as he considered him critically before a look of recognition came over him.
"Oh, it's you again."
Harry looked up at him curiously, wondering where he had met the older boy before. It came to him like an anvil when he remembered the same face pinning him to an alleyway wall threatening to beat his face in. The boy saw Harry beginning to panic and rushed to ease him down.
"Hey hey, it's cool, less ya got another twenty?" He joked, laughing when Harry began shaking his head furiously.
"Jeez, I'm just pullin' your leg, kid. Loosing' up a little, people'll think you're a poof actin' like you've got somethin' lodged up your ass."
Harry tried to keep his face straight, though it proved to be a difficult task as the corners of his mouth quivered trying to suppress his laughter at such an absurd claim.
"See? There ya go, I knew there was more to ya than a dopey mug." The boy grinned before he stared off into the direction the gang of bullies ran off, "What are you doin' here, anyway? Do ya go outta your way to get yer arse kicked?"
"I don't look for trouble! It just finds me!" Harry said, feeling defensive as the reputation of being a troublemaker followed him around Little Whinging and served as a bit of a raw spot for him.
"But ya don't know when to quit, do ya? I heard you insultin' tubby. Baddest shit I've ever seen. Are you stupid or do ya just have big cajones?"
"Why would I have coconuts?" Harry said honestly, misunderstanding the unfamiliar word. The boy gaped at him, and Harry began to think he had said something wrong when the boy began a hard belly laugh.
"You're a weird kid, you know that?" The smile fell away from Harry's face before his gaze fell to the ground. Though he was no longer looking at him, the boy could see Harry's eyes reflecting hurt as he bit his lower lip.
The boy frowned, wanting to avoid causing the kid to start bawling his eyes out, making a scene. Hoping to get on the kid's good side he shrugged his shoulders, "Whatever, your kind of weird can come around here if you want."
"R-really?" Harry asked, his eyes wide and fearful of being tricked, though he couldn't help the hopeful smile from returning to his lips as he followed behind the boy.
"Yeah, just don't cry. I can't stand crying, kids." The Boy waved him away, then spun around and looked at Harry, offering his hand to help him up, "Name's Saul, by the way. Saul Thompson."
"Harry." He said as he took his hand, "Potter." Harry said again as he was hoisted up, though there was a slight pause filled with uncertainty, as though he was unaccustomed to speaking his name often.
"You look hairy, what with that mop on your head," Saul said as he looked down at the bruise forming on Harry's cheek, wincing as he noticed the shinner that was beginning to form.
"You're not gonna beat me up, are you?" Harry asked worriedly, remembering that Saul had 'claimed' pumbling rights over him.
Saul smirked. "Naw, ya look like you've had enough anyway." He pawed the bruise and gave a look of sympathy when Harry flinched back.
"That looks like it hurts somethin' fierce. Probably gonna be tender for the next few weeks, too. I can help with that if you want." Saul offered, causing Harry's eyes to widen.
Harry was unaccustomed to others offering to help him with anything. So caught off guard, he fell back on his natural response to deny any need for help, "Oh no, it's… it's fine. You don't need to trouble yourself for me."
"It's no trouble. I mean yeah, I get it, not wantin' to look like a pussy, but that's gonna be a whole lot worse if you don't get it looked after."
Saul walked over to a nearby bin and pulled out a shoulder bag, placing his wrench under the flap before swinging it under his arm, "Come on, I can fix it over at my place. It's a little ways outside of town."
Harry bit his lip as he contemplated his options, unsure if it was wise to go along with the boy. Saul was a stranger whom he knew little about, and he was sure his relatives would want him back home as soon as Dudley went blubbering to them about getting picked on by a big kid.
'Then again,' Harry thought, 'It's not like aunt Petunia is going to be in a good mood with Dudley crying all over her. Seeing me with this bruise will probably flip her lid.'
"Hey! Are you coming or not?" Saul called back, snapping Harry out of his thoughts, noticing that the older boy was now on the other end of the laneway having climbed over a wire fence staring back at him. Harry sighed and nodded, running to catch up with the boy, taking Saul's hand as he hosted him up over the fence, leading him out into the street at the other end.
-/ↀ\-
For the next hour the boys walked in relative silence as they broke from the urban expanse of Little Whinging into the forested countryside bordering the town. Saul occasionally tried to drum up conversation, but between the pain in his eye and cheek and general apprehension with someone he didn't know, the words tended to be left hanging in the air.
Fortunately, Saul didn't seem to take any offense in this, chattering away about motor parts and adders he'd had to clobber over the head with his wrench. Harry was beginning to wonder why he had even agreed to come along with Saul in the first place. Not that he had any desire to be rude, but he found a certain irony that he was now hanging out with a kid twice his age that only a few weeks ago had threatened to knock his lights out. It's funny how life seems to make funny little turns of fate like that. Harry thought as his ear picked up on the last syllable of Saul's sentence.
"-ahead."
Harry blinked as he caught on that Saul had tried to tell him something in the last thing he said. "What?"
"I said it's just up ahead," Saul repeated, gesturing forward to a coming clearing in the trees. Harry moved forward alongside the older boy guiding him through the woods, curiosity overcoming him each step of the way. They brushed through layers of thick branches that threatened to snap back to smack them in the face, but it was made all worth it when they cleared it all and Harry was presented with the sight before him.
Saul's home was an old worn-down barn house like the ones you'd see advertised in Christmas cards, set at the far end of the green field layered with the varying colors of Nigellas, Iris, Baby's-breath, and Sunflower. Cultivated fruit trees that had been abandoned now overtook the outer ring of the field, where saplings sprouted beneath the fruiting canopy of apple and cherry trees not yet ripened.
"You live here?" Harry asked in awe.
"I know, isn't it great? It's not much by any means, but for me, I have everything I need, and can you beat that view?" Saul smiled as he gestured towards the field of flowers that rolled down into a bank of thick treeline.
"Come on, I'll show you inside," Saul called over his shoulder as he made his way through the grass. Harry wasn't too far behind still somewhat in a daze as he marveled at the sight. Harry couldn't think of a more peaceful spot anywhere near the drab urbanized neighborhood of Number Four. There was something in the air here that made him feel renewed, lighter in a way that he somehow knew instinctively a world of concrete and asphalt could never live up to.
Saul bounded forward and lifted the latch on the front doors of the barn, swinging the wide door in to let them both in. Stepping inside, Harry was momentarily met with pitch darkness, idly listening to Saul banging around before his eyes had to squint at the sudden illumination that sprung forth from hanging light fixtures and the rumble of a loud motor.
"Welcome to Château de Thompson! Mi casa es su casa!" Saul joked as he gave an extravagant bow, standing proudly next to a gas-powered generator as he allowed Harry to take it all in.
For anyone looking in, one might say that Saul's setup was rather basic and lacking in some major essentials. The barn was drafty in the rafters, the various holes in the roof exposing the interior to the elements when it rained or snowed, leaving much to be desired when insulating heat. Splinters and rusted nails littered the place giving an alarming concern for tetanus, and his bed and furniture were little more than moth-ridden lumpy mattresses with springs sticking out held together by duct tape.
But Harry, who was more mindful of the functionality of the living space, was beyond impressed as he began to look around. Saul had managed to scavenge a functioning ice box that held whatever perishables he was able to get his hands on, as well as a working microwave and gas stove.
Saul was particularly proud to show off a full entertainment setup with television, stereo, speakers, and various cassette and VHS players. There was also a workbench that Saul was leaning against that had various gizmos he seemed to be in the process of tinkering with, as well as a working faucet sink that he had built on his own with seemingly random parts.
"How did you get all of this stuff?"
"Some of it was left behind by whoever used to own the place, I wouldn't have gotten anywhere if it weren't for that generator. Some of it I pull out of Miller's Junkyard by the train tracks. You'd be surprised what people will throw out. I can build whatever I want with the right parts so long as I have my trusty survivalist guide!" He held up a book that lay upon the workbench he was leaning on proudly in his hand, "Whatever I can't get I'll steal. Of course, you knew that already."
Saul laughed as he bounded over to the ice box, reaching in after pulling up the lid to fish out a strip of deep red strip meat he had inside.
"Here, press this against your eye. It'll help, honest." He handed the strip of unfamiliar meat to Harry, who after a moment reluctantly obeyed and pressed it against his tender skin, surprised to feel the immediate relief it provided.
"Thanks," Harry spoke as Saul plopped down on an old couch, and Harry followed his lead, hiking up his pants before he sat down, an action that didn't go unnoticed by Saul.
"You comfortable wearing those rags? How do you even get them to hold up?" Saul asked, looking at Harry's hand-me-downs in disapproval.
Harry blushed in embarrassment and said indignantly, "They keep me clothed, that's all that matters. Sides, I can adjust them with a needle and a bit of yarn." He defended.
Saul blinked, "You know how to sow?"
"Gotta know if I want to maintain what little I have," Harry said nonchalantly.
"Could you fix a patch in a hole in a pair of pants of mine? I'm shit at it if I'm honest." Harry nodded as Saul got up and brought over a pair of blue jeans with a tear at the crotch and a spool of navy blue thread he had stolen from a hobby store. Harry took it and threaded the needle and started in on the jeans. He watched as Harry worked, impressed by the precision on display by the young boy. "How old are you, anyway? Four?"
"I just turned six today," Harry answered absent-mindedly as he focused on his work.
"No shit? I'm eleven, myself. Been two years since I headed out from my parent's house." -Harry looked up from his needlework. Saul noticed the sympathetic look in Harry's eyes- "…Ah, don't feel bad for me, I enjoy being on my own. That's why I left, ya see?"
"Wasn't it good living there? Don't you miss your parents?"
Saul gave pause upon hearing the question, but brushed it off quickly, "Nah, couldn't stand the rules. They were upper-class, hoity-toity types, you dig?"
Harry shook his head not really understanding at all. Saul shrugged his shoulders, looking at the old, oversized clothes Harry wore held up by string, "Six, you said? Don't look it. What alley do you live in?"
Harry blinked, somewhat offended that Saul assumed that he was some kind of bum, "I don't, I live with my aunt and uncle."
Saul nodded his head, "Browning Street, then. Poor side of town."
Harry didn't correct the boy, wanting to avoid questions he wasn't comfortable answering. Instead, he decided to focus on his sowing, looking up momentarily when he noticed Saul pulling out a familiar-looking white carton from his pocket that he had seen many adults fumbling with. Harry gave a squeak of surprise as he watched Saul pulled an unlit cigarette out from the carton of Winstons, bringing up a lighter to ignite the end.
"Y-You smoke?" He stammered out, drawing Saul's attention to him as he pulled the lit tobacco out of his mouth with a brow raised.
"Yeah, so what? Are ya not on the up? Not gonna squeal on me, are ya?" He joked before handing the butt of the cigarette over, "You wanna try?"
Harry was about to decline, however, he found himself drawn to being seen as 'on the up' as Saul had said. He also had a curiosity to satisfy, as he had seen so many adults puffing on the sticks, so found himself reaching over automatically to take the offered drag from the boy's hand.
Harry placed the cigarette to his lips, inhaling as the end glowed orange. He regretted it a moment later, his eyes watering as he hacked up the black smoke to Saul's amusement.
"Yeah, they're always a bit rough the first time!" He wheezed as he patted Harry on the back.
"Why does anyone use those things?!" Harry questioned allowed as he hacked up his lungs.
"I found that they help keep me warm in the winter. After a while I just learned to enjoy them, I guess." Saul offered, taking back the cigarette to take another drag. He looked over at harry as the boy slowly recovered, a question on his mind as Harry gave an audible sniff.
"So, why do you live with your aunt and uncle?" He asked, watching as Harry eyed him carefully.
"My parents were unemployed drunks. They died when I was a baby. Hit a tree one night while I was in the backseat." Harry said in a somewhat automated, monotonous tone.
There was a pause, Saul looking over the smoke to consider the way Harry stiffened as he talked about his parents. Something about it felt off, so he decided to lead with a second question as he asked, "You believe that?"
Harry frowned, "That's what my relatives told me."
Another pause and Saul could tell that there was a degree of hurt in Harry's voice when he said that. "Well, if they say so…" He said, deciding to drop it. Harry took the opportunity to look over to a beat-up desk clock that Saul had placed on the stand holding the tv, startled as he realized that it was getting close to four-thirty in the afternoon.
Harry shot up from his seat to Saul's confusion, making him blush as he rushed to explain in embarrassment, "Umm, thanks for showing me your place, but I really have to go. My relatives won't be happy if I'm not home by supper. I'm done with your pants, by the way!" He stammered out as he threw the repaired jeans at Saul.
"Oh, thanks." Saul almost seemed disappointed as Harry spoke as he turned his eyes away, "Yeah yeah, I get it. It's just…" Saul looked at him for a moment as if thinking something over, then smiled before he sprung to his feet, "Six, right? Hold on, I got somethin' for ya."
Harry turned to watch as Saul scurried away into the back of the barn, perplexed by the occasional obscenity that echoed over the sound of tossed clutter and banging metal. A few minutes later Harry heard an elated, "Ah ha!" as Saul came back from the accumulated pile of junk with a covered leather box in hand.
"Here, take this." He held out his hand to present the box, allowing Harry to cautiously reach forward to take the box. Opening the lid Harry looked down in shock to find a pristine wood handle pocket knife with the label 'Schrade Heritage' engraved on the handle in silver.
"I-I can't, I've never even-!" Harry protested, but Saul wasn't having any of it.
"Sure, ya can! Every kid should get a pocket knife when they turn six. My old man gave me one when I was your age, and now I'm givin' you one. Just seems right, ya know?" Saul offered. Seeing that Harry still looked reluctant, he decided to sweeten the deal, "I'll tell ya what. You come around every once in a while, and I'll show you how to carve Celtic idols with it." Harry's head bolted up to look at him wide-eyed, the shock of the offer evident on his face.
"R-Really?" Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing, having never met anyone who wanted him to hang around.
Saul shrugged, misinterpreting Harry's question, "Sure, why not? Who knows, ya might even be good at it. God knows I'm not, but I'll show you the basics anyway!" He laughed at his own joke.
Harry looked down at the knife for a long moment, processing what he had been told before saying aloud in an almost inaudible whisper, "I can really come back?"
Saul looked at the boy with a frown, not understanding at first why he would be so caught up on being allowed to come around. Upon thinking it over, however, he began to piece together the likelihood that Harry didn't have many friends if any at all. He already knew he was the prime target of a gang of bullies, so it would stand to reason that perhaps no one had had the guts to be his friend for fear of being treated the same way by the circus freakshow. Realizing this, Saul looked down on Harry with pity, placing his hand on the young lad's shoulder.
"Hey, kid. I don't usually get along with the creeps around here. Bunch of spoiled middle-class kids whose parents are tryin' to play high society. But you're cool. I let ya go after I tried to mug ya and ya didn't squeal, which makes ya okay in my book."
Harry looked up at Saul, then down at the knife, gingerly taking it in his hand before nodding his head and placing it in his pocket. Saul smiled and ruffled his hair, and Harry found himself smiling at the playful act as he looked up at the boy with a light in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He made his way out the door and waved back at Saul as he departed, setting off at a sprint to get back to Little Whinging as soon as possible.
That night as Harry lay on his mattress inside his cupboard, his thoughts drifted back and forth between everything that had transpired that day. He couldn't believe that when he had set out to find discarded toys that morning that he would come across someone who actually scared Dudley! The fact that Saul was so cool made Harry feel special in a way, as it was uncommon for a social outcast his age to find their way into the graces of some like him. 'Maybe that makes me cool, too?' Harry thought, his young mind making an outlandish comparison as he pondered if meeting Saul was like meeting a rock star.
For a moment Harry considered what it would be like to live on his own away from his relatives as his own man, but the idea died away with a guilty feeling in his stomach. Despite the cards he was dealt, Harry didn't want to write off his relatives as though they meant nothing to him. As far as he knew they were the only family had in the world, and no matter how crumby they might be, he saw the prospect of giving up on trying to build the bond he saw other children had with their guardians as a failure on his part. It wasn't though what they asked was unreasonable. Do your chores. Pull your weight. Don't do freaky things.
Only the last one Harry found any difficulty following, God knew he tried, but that was neither here nor there. Life might not be good or fair, but the events of that day would make it tolerable. He didn't care if he now had a shinner under his left eye that made his eyes water when he had to blink, or that aunt Petunia had harped onto him for starting fights. He had made a friend today, one that Dudley and his gang of delinquents couldn't scare away. He could stand to go to bed hungry for the night for an unjust punishment because as far as he was concerned, making a friend made today the best birthday ever.
-/ↀ\-
The next three weeks of summer were spent hanging around the barn and were in Harry's opinion the best days of his life. Though always careful to make it back home before six in the afternoon, Harry made it out to the remote countryside hovel by seven in the morning as long as he didn't have any chores his aunt wanted him to do. That was how he found himself wandering down the now-familiar country path toward Saul's barn with a complete erector set in his hands on the twenty-second of August, smiling in anticipation for what they might end up doing today.
It seemed as though there was always something to do at the barn, from watching the collection of Clint Eastwood films that Saul seemed to adore, to learning how to use tools to fix electronics and other appliances. Saul would even play games with him, spending noontimes partaking in typical boyhood sports like football and rugby or relaxing inside under a homemade fan learning how to play blackjack. He was getting better at more physical activities as he began eating better food and recovered from his injuries. He had long gotten over the pain of his last 'Harry Hunting' experience, though the black eye he had earned from Dudley was only now starting to fade.
Speaking of Dudley and his friends, the gang of bullies had been avoiding Harry for the most part, though Dudley still gave him grief within the safety of the Dursley's home where Saul couldn't get at him, who he and the other troglodytes had started to fearfully refer to as 'The Wrench'. Harry had a good laugh at that, occasionally hoping that they might try something when Saul was around so he could see them get the wrench again.
Harry laughed at the thought as he broke through the foliage, briskly ambling his way across the field of summer flowers to the barn's front door. Setting the heavy box under his left arm with some effort, he didn't want to set it down and look like a wimp, Harry knocked on the door and waited for Saul to appear, smiling when he heard the clatter of tools getting knocked around before the door swung open.
"You're here! What'cha bring me, kid?" Saul had taken to calling Harry 'kid' as a joke, playfully teasing Harry for his smaller age and size.
"I found this tossed out onto the curb yesterday when I got home. Dudley must have decided that actually building was too much trouble and chucked it." He flipped the latch and opened the case to let Saul peer inside, "See? It's got a bunch of parts for building stuff and everything! I thought you might be able to use it to work with stuff you got around here."
"Great, set it over there, I wanna show you somethin'!" Saul gestured to the table next to the couch before rushing back inside to the designated 'bedroom'.
His curiosity peaked, Harry walked inside to set the box down, raising a brow when Saul rushed past him with a couple of pairs of what looked like boxer shorts and out the door. Harry followed the older boy outside, wondering what had gotten him so excited.
"Come on! It's just down the bank here." Saul ushered him forward as he ambled down the hillside beside the barn and into the trees out of sight. Harry rushed to join him, working his way down the hill and three the thick layer of trees. When he squeezed his way through, the view before him made him stop and take it all in with a hill gasping in awe.
Beyond the treeline set the lazy flow of a branch stream of the River Thames, the water sparkling crystal in the noonday sun. A menagerie of birds swooped down occasionally to pick either at the various bugs that crawled along the muddy riverbank or at the variety of wild currents and brambles growing from bushes lining both sides of the stream between outgrowths of cattails.
As Harry stood taking the sight in, Saul was already pulling off his pants and shirt, "I was excited too when I first found this place, turns out there's no current so you won't be sucked under like other parts of the river. Plenty of fish, too!" He said breathlessly, pulling up a pair of swim trunks he had stolen from the local sports store. Harry nodded his head even though he was only half listening, startled from his thoughts when Saul threw an extra pair at him.
"Well, what are ya waitin' for?" Saul laughed at his slowness as he ran at a part of the water he knew to be the deepest and dove in with a shout, "Cannonball!"
The splash was large enough that it threw water up at Harry, who shielded his eyes but remained rooted right where he was. A moment later Saul broke the surface of the water with a thrilled gasp, treading water as he turned expecting Harry to already be in the water. His excitement grew into confusion however when he noticed that Harry was still standing on the bank looking unsure of himself.
"What's wrong?"
"I, um… I don't…"
"'Um' isn't an answer, son!" Saul joked, putting on his best impression of Colonel Kilgore from 'Apocalypse Now'.
Harry looked down, embarrassed shame marring his face, "I don't know how to swim."
Saul blinked, then swam back to shore and pulled himself out of the water, walking over to Harry, "Hey man, it's alright. We all gotta learn sometime. I mean hell, we live on an island, what'cha gonna do if ya end up in the English Channel without a paddle? Frenchy will have ya by the balls, then you'll be suckin' on snails and kraut pussy all day."
Harry giggled even if he didn't really understand exactly what Saul meant by 'kraut pussy', the phrase sounded funny so he laughed along anyway. Nodding his head he ambled his way out of his shirt and pants and into the trunks, placing his glasses on top of the bundle of clothes before looking up at Saul as if to say: What next?
"Alright, walk over in here, the water isn't so deep here. Now just stand there, see? Not too deep." Saul eased Harry into his first experience standing in a river, guiding him deeper and deeper until the water came up to Harry's waist. Then he stood in front of him and stretched out his arms out to his sides, "Spread your arms out like this, there, that's it. Now hike up your legs so they're not touching the bottom. Like that! See? Ya don't hafta panic, you're head will stay above water cause you're floating."
Harry nodded his head, though his heart was pounding in his chest even as he did as he was instructed. His only experience with being in the water was in the bathtub at the Dursleys, and it usually installed his aunt scrapping her brush roughly through his hair trying to tame it. He felt like he was going to cough up his lung all over Saul. However, Harry was determined though to learn everything Saul could teach him despite his nervousness.
"Alright, now let's try movement, Just around in a circle, okay? Paddle with your hands. Now kick, Paddle, kick."
The two continued this back and forth for an hour, while Saul instructed Harry on the ins and outs of confidently propelling himself through the water, mindful to correct any mistakes he saw in the younger boy's technic. After that, he slowly pulled away from Harry to allow him to tread the water on his own, swimming back over to give a few pointers here and there but was overall impressed that after another half hour that he took to it so quickly.
"Ya did it, man. That's how you do it!" Saul fist-pumped the air before a humorous glint began to twinkle in his eye, "You know, now that you've learned, that means you need to have your initiation."
"Initiation?"
"Oh yeah, it's no biggy, just goes something like… this!" He cried as he placed his palms on the top of Harry's head before pushing down.
"Hey, wait-!" Harry protested before he found himself fully submerged in the water, feeling the burning rush of water flowing into his nostrils. It was over as soon as it began, his head breaking the surface as he spluttered for air while Saul floated next to him laughing like an idiot.
"And there it is folks! Harry Potter's experienced his first dunking! Let's give a big hand to the incredible Fishman!" He laughed as he splashed around, looking over at Harry waiting to hear him join in on the joke.
Harry however wasn't laughing, he was quiet, rubbing his eyes in a way that seemed like he was on the verge of crying. Saul quieted down and started to feel something in the pit of his stomach, fearful that he might have gone too far with his joke. Saul began to swim over, already trying to placate the boy as he paddled close to him.
"Hey, hey I was just messin' around. I didn't mean to scare ya or-" Just as he made it into arms reach, Harry suddenly shot forward and grabbed him by the head forcing him under the water. Saul thrashed around before he came up again, spitting water as he looked over at Harry in shock, now seeing that now familiar mischievous smirk in his eyes.
"You faker, you did that on purpose!" Saul laughed as he swam after Harry, the boys splashing and hollering the day away. Neither of them had a care in the world, even for the rolling sun that was lowering to the horizon.
-/ↀ\-
Harry was racing back home as fast as his legs would take him, cursing all the way as he panicked. He couldn't believe how stupid he had been! He knew the rules, he need to be home by five to set the table and help aunt Petunia get everything set for when his uncle got home. He shouldn't have gotten so easily distracted by playing in the river, but by God, it had been so much fun. And now he was up shit creek. I'm going to be in so much trouble! Harry thought miserably even as he ran up the front lawn of Number Four, reaching for the door handle.
Harry's hand never grasped onto the knob as the door swung open. There, silhouetted by the dull hallway light, Harry's uncle was waiting for him. His beady eyes glared down at the boy with a deliberately directed scowl, his mustache cured in impatience and disgust as he stepped out of the way and pointed Harry into the living room without a word. Harry shuddered but obediently stepped inside the house, the eyes of the man narrowing as the front door closed.
-/ↀ\-
Saul stood outside leaning on the barn door anxiously as he had done each morning for the past week. He hadn't seen Harry in over a week and knew something was wrong. It was the Sunday before the school term started again, so he knew Harry would have wanted to make the most of what little time he had before he was forced back into an environment with his lardass cousin. I swear to God I'll kill that little shit if he fucked Harry up. Saul thought as he banged his fist rhythmically against the barn door.
He had grown fond of the little bugger since they had first met, finding the nieve questions to his crude jokes and bouts of mischievous humor funny as hell. He found himself looking down on Harry as if he were a kid brother, if maybe less annoying and more helpful than the real deal. He found himself impressed at how well the boy seemed to take to tinkering with mechanics like a duck to water, not to mention his general eagerness to help him with things.
However, what Saul liked the most about Harry was his persistence in coming around as often as he did. If he were being honest with himself, Saul had grown lonesome living alone in the barn. Sure, he told Harry he had run away so he didn't have to deal with prissy parents and be a man's man who could look out for himself. Hell, sometimes he could bring himself to believe it too, but it didn't make up for the fact that he missed having friends. That persistence had kept him sane for the past few weeks, and now that he had up and disappeared he was working himself up into a frenzy.
Just when he was about to head out to look for him, Saul caught a glimpse of movement in the trees leading to the entrance from the country road into Little Whinging. Hopeful that it was Harry he started to make his way over to the foliage, gaining speed when he saw the familiar mop of raven-black hair.
"Harry! Where have ya been, man? I was startin' to think you got lost and ended up in London!" Sauled called out as he met Harry at the entrance to the field, looking down at the boy who seemed to cringe away at his raised voice.
"I was busy." He replied somewhat irritably, not quite meeting his gaze when he spoke. Saul laughed at his tone, perplexed by the younger boy's mood.
"Hey, come on. That was a joke, don't take it so seriously." He grinned in encouragement, though the smile faded away when he saw that Harry seemed to be wallowing in a funk.
"Hey, what's the matter with you?" He asked, confusion replacing his excitement to see the kid as he tried to work out why he was acting off.
Harry shrugged his shoulders, refusing to look at the older boy.
"What, what is that? Huh? What is…?" Saul mimicked Harry's shrug by raising and lowering his shoulders rapidly, resembling a baby bird testing its wings. Harry blushed and scrunched his face as though trying to bite off a cheeky remark, instead looking away with a huff.
"It's nothing." He grounded out finally, looking up at him and asked impatiently as though to dismiss his question with his own, "What do you want to do?"
Saul looked down at him, a frown forming as he took in his bad attitude, "Well, I wanna talk about where you've been all this time. It's been a whole week I haven't seen hide nor hair of ya."
"Well maybe I don't want to talk about it, is that so hard to get?" Harry snapped, startling Saul as he flinched back.
"Jeez, ya don't hafta be so rough, man. I was worried, ya know? I thought Lardass had gotten ya and put ya in the hospital." He playfully jabbed at Harry's ribs and that was when he saw it. A slight wince, one that might have gone unnoticed by someone who wouldn't know what to look for, but the way Harry gritted his teeth and softly hissed when he touched him set an alarm in his mind he couldn't ignore.
Swallowing, Saul spoke again, his voice horse as he hoped he was wrong, "Lift up your shirt."
"W-What?" Harry stammered, taking a step back.
"Lift up your shirt, I want to see," Saul forcefully demanded, growling when Harry backed away from him, refusing to comply.
"Harry goddamnit, lift up your shirt! Fuck it, come here!" Saul shot forward and grabbed the smaller boy, wrestling with him as Harry feebly tried to fight him off. This didn't stop Saul from putting him into a headlock, nor did it stop him from seeing the yellowish-purple welts in the shape of a large meaty hand.
"Shit."
Harry immediately pulled away, pressing down his shirt against his skin as he simpered wildly, "It was my fault! Dudley got mad that I took his erector set and-!" He tried to make excuses, but Saul wasn't buying into any of it.
"Bullshit, he did that! He might be fat, but he don't have hands that big!" He pointed out before his eyes grew hot with rage, "Was it that fatass uncle of yours ya keep tellin' me about? What did he do, throw you around the house like a ragdoll?"
"I didn't come home before supper. I knew better, can't blame anyone except for myself." Harry defended.
"And you actually believe that?!" Saul cried in disbelief.
Harry looked down in shame whispering a weak response he half hoped Saul didn't hear, "Freaks get what they deserve."
"Jesus, do ya hear the shit coming out of your mouth?" The older boy shouted, sounding put out and a bit disgusted by the absurdity of it.
Harry though seemed to be getting agitated by having his home life exposed like an open wound to someone other than himself, "What's it to you?! It's not your problem Saul, so drop it!" His voice quivered as he shouted. Saul shouted back.
"No, I'm not gonna fuckin' drop it! Freak? They call you freak?! What the fuck, Harry! You're a weird kid, no shit but I wouldn't call ya a freak, unlike them!" Saul was growing cross by the minute, unable to comprehend why Harry would actually try to defend his relatives in any way.
"They're all the family I have." Harry insisted, which only seemed to infuriate Saul.
"Family?! Family doesn't treat ya the way they treat ya. What, because your parents were drunk and wrapped their car 'round a tree with you in the back seat, that makes ya a freak? Which, by the way, I'll tell ya now is probably bullshit," Saul added, now founding the story Harry had given him about his birth parents highly suspect after everything he had learned in the past five minutes. "Even if it isn't," -He continued- "...that doesn't give them the right to do this to ya! They're not your fucking family!"
"What would you know?! You ran away from your perfect family! What was wrong with them, wanted you to clean your room one too many times?!" Harry snapped, something he instantly regretted as he realized the impact of his words. Saul stared at him in silence, his eyes narrow and jaw tight. For a moment, Harry feared that Saul was going to throw a punch. In the days that followed, he would wish that he had.
"You don't know shit, man. You don't know a goddamn fuckin' thing about me! Just 'cause ya live in a fucked up freakshow house with those bastards night and day, not mean ya get to look down on me like I haven't had life bustin' my balls!" Saul screamed, saliva rolling down his chin as he raged.
"Why should I care? I don't know! Maybe I'm sentimental. Maybe I'm looking out for a friend. Maybe because if those fucks have their way, the bobbies will be fishing you out of the Thames!" He said bluntly, causing Harry's eyes to grow wide at the implication. Saul bit back another tirade and looked away, resisting the urge to knock some sense into Harry with his fist. However he found he couldn't keep his anger in check for long, and if he didn't call it quits now he was going to seriously hurt the kid. And as much as he was sorely pissed off with Harry, he didn't want to do that to him.
"Ya know what? Fuck you, man. If you wanna be someone else's bitch for the rest of your life, hey, that's fine by me. But keep me out of it. Fuck off."
Harry looked up at Saul in shock, unable to process the words being spoken as they all seemed to crash over him like the blows of a hammer. Fighting back tears that threatened to betray him, Harry traded his sadness at losing his only friend in the world with self-righteous anger and stomped away, screaming a defiant "Fine!" over his shoulder as he left, his high emotions settling into his stomach like a bitter stone all the way home.
He never witnessed how angry Saul became after he left, spending several hours punching at the wall until his knuckles bled.
-/ↀ\-
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