A/N:
Not my sandbox, just my sand castle. I don't own anything from Harry Potter. Additionally, no one has permission to bind and sell my works, fandom or otherwise. I can't believe in this day and age we have to go back to making this disclaimer. Shame on you for exploiting other people's works!
No betas for this one! Sorry for the mess :)
Word Count: 492
Disclaimers/Warnings: mentions of child abuse, child endangerment
Summary: Harry's never liked storms. All he wanted was comfort, and instead? Well, instead he got the Dursleys.
Prompts:
Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Assignment #2
Global Warming with Head Girl Ari
Task 2: Write about a person who is afraid of thunder(/thunderstorms).
"Thunder, Feel the Thunder"
Harry hated storms.
He shuddered as another thunderclap echoed throughout the silent house. Flashes of light pierced through the slats in the door to his cupboard. Harry curled into a tighter ball, pressing his face against the wall in the hope of hiding from the storm raging outside. Harry had never been a fan of storms. Two years ago, when he was only six years old, he quaked at the thought of the noise that accompanied each lightning bolt, dreading each moment the storm raged on.
Aunt Petunia had held Dudley as he whimpered in his bed, soothing him gently as the rain beat on the window panes. When Harry had attempted to seek the same comfort, Uncle Vernon had dragged him away and thrust him through the back door, locking him outside in the wind and rain and danger.
Another flash of light seeped into the safety of his darkness, and Harry ducked his head, a little more prepared for the crack of thunder that followed it.
Back then, Harry had pounded on the door, to be let back in, calling for help until he was hoarse and exhausted. He hid in the garden shed, which only fueled his nightmares in the following weeks, sharp garden tools creaking ominously in the low light, illuminated only on every lightning flash visible through the dingy shed window.
Harry would happily take his cupboard during a storm over the garden shed any day.
Another crack of thunder sounded, this one so impossibly loud that it must have been over the house. Harry whimpered again, screwing up his eyes in fear, his hands over his ears.
Muffled grumbling came from upstairs. It was only then that Harry realized he no longer heard the humming of the refrigerator in the kitchen the next room over. Heavy steps sounded on the stairs above him, and Harry pressed himself every tighter against the wall of his cupboard, hoping the darkness would swallow him up.
Heavy knuckles rapped on his cupboard door. "Still alive in there?" Uncle Vernon called out. Harry swallowed heavily, nodding even though his uncle couldn't see him.
"Yes Uncle Vernon," he replied. Harry focused on his cupboard door, hoping that just this once he would be allowed upstairs, allowed to be comforted by his aunt, cuddled in a soft blanket, a mug of hot cocoa cradled in his hands.
"Pity," Uncle Vernon replied before shuffling away from the door. He moved around the kitchen, rummaging through a drawer, as Harry fought back tears. "Storm should last a few more hours," Uncle Vernon then said cheerfully. "Don't get too comfortable!" The thumping above Harry's head traveled back upstairs as Uncle Vernon rejoined the rest of the family, presumably with a torch in hand.
Once everything had gone silent again, Harry let out a whimper, a series of blinding flashes followed by the low rumble of thunder that vibrated his bones filling his senses.
Harry hated storms.
