I thought I had already filled my need to write Harry being rescued by a stoic sort of feral badass killer with Cupboards and Cryogenics, but then I decided to write autistic Harry, and Logan's fun to write.
Harry's heart pounds when Aunt Petunia pulls the hoover out of his cupboard.
Harry tries to duck into the safety of his cupboard, but Aunt Petunia's bony hand snags him and pulls him out. "Stay." she says, like he's one of Aunt Marge's bulldogs.
Harry starts rocking, trying to calm down as he watches her plug the hoover in. "Still!" she barks at him. "Come here."
Harry can't obey. He can't move towards the hoover, only away. He has to escape before the awful sound starts.
His cupboard isn't far enough away. It'll still be too loud. He darts upstairs and into the loo, closing the door and hiding in the bathtub, behind the curtain.
The bathtub is about the size of his cupboard, but blinding white instead of completely dark. Still, the nothingness surrounds him, and Harry curls up on the cool surface.
His humming echoes through the tub, almost like the horrible hoover, except he's in control, it's not too loud, he can feel it in his throat.
He hardly hears the banging on the door until Dudley barges in. "Get out!" he shouts, but it's like he's far away.
Dudley bellows "Mummy! The freak's in the bathroom and I have to wee!"
Aunt Petunia storms in and snatches Harry's arm in bony, claw-like hands. She drags him out of the tub and towards the stairs. "You won't get out of this," she tells him, like he's just being lazy like Dudley and faking the hoover hurting his ears. "You won't be completely useless under my roof."
Harry doesn't understand. She always says he's a useless freak, and school had only confirmed that. He'd gone to the same primary school at Dudley, and it had been terribly confusing. All the rules suddenly changed from the Dursleys' rules. At school, they wanted him to talk, tried to make him look into their eyes and participate. That had been a whole new kind of pain from the pain he was used to.
He hadn't stayed in school long.
It's funny; as much as the Dursleys hate him, they don't force him to do those things. They're probably glad he can't talk and would certainly tell him to shut it if he could. They don't want him looking at them, and don't want him to join in.
"Stop laughing!" Aunt Petunia shakes him. She starts dragging him down the stairs. Harry tries to pull away and goes limp. She keeps dragging him down.
Harry can't stop. He doesn't even want to laugh, he's still terrified of the hoover, but the laughter keeps coming up like vomit, right up until she marches over to the hoover again.
They don't force him to talk, but they force him to hoover.
Harry's hands fly up to cover his ears. He glances towards the kitchen, half wishing she'd make him do the washing up instead, but that wouldn't stop the sound.
Last time, Aunt Petunia had hoovered while Harry was washing up, and Harry had dropped a dish, breaking it. He'd gotten a whole day without food in his cupboard for that.
"Come here!" Aunt Petunia snaps. Harry flees up the stairs again, and the whole cycle repeats. This time, Aunt Petunia fumes about how stupid Harry is, how he can't learn, he can't even stay in school. She doesn't let go of him this time, and forces him over to the hoover.
She clicks it on, and the sound is like fire on Harry's ears. He tries to clamp his hands over them, but Aunt Petunia holds them on the hoover handle.
Harry thinks he might be screaming, but he can't really tell over the sound assaulting his ears. Aunt Petunia's yelling, too, maybe, and then the hoover catches on fire.
Aunt Petunia shrieks and jumps away, though she doesn't pull Harry away from the flames. She runs and fills a vase with water, throwing it on the fire.
"Look what you did!" she snarls, like Harry somehow made the hoover blow up. Dudley thumps down the stairs, moaning that he didn't get to see the fire.
Aunt Petunia yells at Harry for a while, shaking him, and then shoves both Harry and the burnt hoover in the cupboard.
She storms out the front door, and comes back with a neighbor's hoover. The sound of her hoovering right outside the cupboard door, for far longer than it would take to clean the hallway, is a worse punishment than shouting, or Uncle Vernon shaking him roughly.
Harry can barely hear his stomach grumbling over Dudley's wailing.
It's past bedtime, but Harry was locked in the cupboard long before bedtime. His cupboard reeks of urine, since they didn't let him out to use the bathroom. He'll get in trouble for that, later, he's sure.
Dudley's throwing a tantrum to stay up later and watch more television.
"Diddums, we need our sleep." Aunt Petunia's voice is kinder than it ever is for Harry. She offers Dudley another snack before bed, but Dudley cries that his show isn't over. It's one of the grown-up shows with guns and shouting and explosions.
Harry wishes his cupboard cut out sound as much as it cuts out light. He can't even hum to drown out the noise, because Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia will pound on the door and tell him to shut it.
Harry doesn't understand why he's a freak when he cries, but Dudley isn't. Why does Aunt Petunia try to make Dudley feel better, but yell at Harry? Uncle Vernon laughs when Dudley shouts, but goes purple if Harry does. It's been that way as long as Harry can remember, but he still can't figure it out.
Finally, Dudley falls asleep on the couch and Aunt Petunia turns the telly off. She can't even lift Dudley anymore. Harry hears her tuck him in on the couch, kiss him goodnight. His aunt's sharp footsteps and his uncle's heavy ones go up the stairs, above his head.
Harry's finally able to sleep. He's dreaming of a flying motorbike, but then he's awake.
The noise of motorbikes isn't as bad as the hoover, but Harry doesn't like it. His dislike of the sound battles with his longing to soar off like the wind, zooming fast.
There's someone sniffing in the hallway. Harry thinks it's Dudley, searching for a snack, but then there's a snore from the sitting room.
After the snore, there's a low growl, like one of Aunt Marge's dogs. Harry freezes, and then there's a sharp sound that goes snikt!
Harry isn't sure what that is.
Is there a sword? Something sounds like a sword, cutting the lock on his cupboard door. The door's wrenched open, and Harry squints in the darkness of the hallway.
The man crouched outside isn't Uncle Vernon, Harry realizes. He's as muscular as Dudley's action figures, maybe even more so.
None of Dudley's toys have three swords coming out of one hand, like this man, and Harry realizes he's a freak too. Aunt Petunia would never let him in the house. He looks wild, as vicious as Aunt Marge's dogs. But he doesn't attack like the dogs do.
"They keep you in there all the time?" the man's voice sounds different than anyone Harry's heard, and not just because it's deep and growly. He says words differently, and his nose wrinkles at the smell of Harry's accident.
Harry remembers Aunt Petunia telling Dudley never to talk to strangers, but Harry doesn't talk. Besides, the teacher was a stranger, and she tried to make Harry talk to her.
"You got spare pants?" the man asks, though Harry's accident soaked his trousers as well as his pants. The man's dressed in dirty boots, worn jeans, and a leather jacket.
Harry yanks off his pants and trousers and pulls on another pair.
"Got a name, bub?" the man asks.
Harry tugs at his unruly hair. Hairy. Harry. Aunt Petunia always complains about his hair. The man's hair looks wild, too, somehow forming two points.
Harry doesn't know if the man understands it. People struggle to understand Harry as much as he struggles to understand them.
The man just waits, not bombarding Harry with words like Aunt Petunia.
Dudley's snore cuts off, and he plods towards the kitchen for a snack. He blinks, stupidly, then shrieks "Mummy! He got out! And-"
The man snarls, pointing his swords at Dudley, and Dudley goes quiet. But it already woke them. Uncle Vernon's feet pound down the steps. "Boy! You better be in your cupboard, you ungrateful little whelp. If I catch you stealing-"
"He needs food more than either of you." the man drawls. He stalks towards the kitchen and says. "You trying to be the Blob?"
Uncle Vernon's face goes purple, which isn't a good sign. Harry wishes everyone's face changed color like that, it's so much easier than what faces usually do.
Harry edges away from Uncle Vernon, towards the clawed man.
"Who are you?" Uncle Vernon bellows. "Get out of my house! I'll ring the police!"
The man's claws pop back out. He lifts an eyebrow as he slices through the phone cord.
Uncle Vernon sputters, and Aunt Petunia shrieks.
The man rummages through the refrigerator, growling "Locking him up, calling him freak. People say I'm an animal."
He holds out a block of cheese. Harry stares at it.
"Take it," the man tells him, not quite as growly. "They ain't gonna stop you, unless they want some 'o that fat carved off."
Safe behind the man, Harry takes the cheese and takes quick, hurried bites.
"What's his name?" the man demands.
"Harry." Aunt Petunia probably wants to scream at Harry, but the claws are stopping her.
"I ain't suited for kids, but I'd still do better than you." the man says, striding towards the hall. "You coming, Harry?"
Harry blinks. It's a huge change to be thrown at him all at once. But the man's a freak like him, and he's been nicer than the Dursleys ever have been, even if he's kind of like an angry animal too.
Harry rocks a bit, tugging his hair. This man doesn't look like he'd make Harry hoover. He hasn't told him to talk, or look at him, or scolded him for his accident.
Harry darts next to the man, who snarls and points his claws at the Dursleys as he walks by. They huddle behind the table.
He leads Harry outside, and there's a motorbike parked next to Uncle Vernon's car. Maybe Harry hadn't dreamed it.
Harry covers his ears, but he's grinning a real grin. Finally, he'll get to fly out of here.