Life is short and the world

is at least half terrible, and for every kind

stranger, there is one who would break you,

though I keep this from my children. I am trying

to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,

walking you through a real shithole, chirps on

about good bones: This place could be beautiful,

right? You could make this place beautiful.

Good Bones, by Maggie Smith

Today was Harry's birthday, but you would not have known it. He was outside in the back garden of Number 4 Privet Drive, standing by the flowerbeds, a shovel in hand and wheelbarrow by his side. The sun was scorchingly hot on the back of his neck, which had burned so often the past few weeks that it had now darkened into a deep brassy tan. With a thud and a clang, his shovel hit something. Sweet dripped down his nose and he knelt down and began scraping his fingers around the edge of a large rock, trying to wiggle it and dislodge it from its spot.

"BOY!"

Harry jumped at his uncle's booming voice, knocking into the wheelbarrow and upsetting some of the dirt it contained.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry said without looking up. His heart beat quickened despite himself.

"Hurry up with that garden," Uncle Vernon growled from the backdoor. "It should have been done weeks ago, we can't have the new neighbors seeing this mess and thinking the back garden is always like this!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon. I'll finish up soon." This was a lie, but how else should he respond? Uncle Vernon's temper had been at an all-time high this summer, and Harry knew he was only one wrong breath away from a whack to the head with his shovel. So, he got back down to his hands and knees and continued to pull at the stone.

This summer had been horrendous. As soon as he had gotten back to the Dursley's from King's Cross Station, Aunt Petunia had screamed at him for not putting his magical items away fast enough. Their last encounter with magic – Fred and George's Ton-Tongue Toffees, and Mr. Weasley's blowing up of the fireplace – had left them with an even larger hatred towards magic (something Harry had previously not believed to be possible). Magic was unwanted and unwelcome, and therefore so was Harry. And the Dursley's made sure to let him know just how unwanted and unwelcome they thought he was.

Although Harry was used to chores and small meals, he wasn't used to the extent it had gotten to now. He woke each morning before the sun was even up, cooking breakfast for everyone else before clearing it away without getting as much as a slice of toast. One time Aunt Petunia had seen him take a bite of a piece of bacon and had proceeded to slap him across the face. Harry had been caught off guard; ever since Hogwarts, the Dursley's had refrained from hurting him – at least physically. But with that one slap, the floodgates had opened again. There was hairpulling, shoving, kicking. Harry quickly learned the best thing he could do was keep his head down and work. And when he wasn't working, he was in his cupboard.

He hadn't been staying in his cupboard for a few years now, but he had "lost that privilege," according to Uncle Vernon. And besides, Dudley had a new television that needed somewhere to be. Harry also suspected that in combination with having a new level of hatred for Harry, they simultaneously felt like they had called the bluff he had made about a murderous godfather who would check in on him if he wasn't taken care of well. They had never seen the man themselves. They also seemed to think their "good behavior" over the past years had not been rewarded, but rather even punished (they had given him permission to go to the Quidditch World Cup, and all it had gotten them was a ruined living room). So back in the cupboard he went.

His sleep had been awful – and he couldn't completely blame it on his smaller-than-he-remembered cot. Nightmares had haunted him almost nightly. Images of graveyards, of snakes, of Cedric falling, of Voldemort raising a wand to his neck. The dreams contained the same basic pieces, but they would warp at the hand of his imagination, causing other horrible outcomes: Harry portkeying away without Cedric's body, resulting in Cedric's father screaming at him. Voldemort getting so close to his face that Harry could watch as he grew a pair of snake-like fangs and was then bitten on the neck over and over. Blood pouring out everywhere as his arm was cut open by a Death Eater, it wouldn't stop no matter how much he struggled to clamp a hand over the wound.

"The Dark Lord deserves all of you!" the dream Death Eater had said, as it allowed his blood to flow into a goblet.

Harry would wake, covered in sweat, shaking, and nauseous with fear. One time he had woken up and forgotten he was in his cupboard and had mistaken the tight compartment for a coffin. He had screamed and banged on the walls – realizing only too late where he was. His uncle had dragged him from his cot, thrown him against a wall, screamed at him for disturbing his sleep, slapped him over and over.

Since this night, Harry had spent a lot of time muttering, "You're in your cupboard, you're in your cupboard," over and over again in attempt to self soothe and prevent another moment of fault. His sleep became very light, causing him to wake up every twenty minutes or so. It left him exhausted. Harry didn't see any solutions, though. The cupboard got locked at night, so he couldn't lay on the couch or get a breath of fresh air. And no one else was going to help him either.

That summer, Harry had not received a single letter of substance from anyone. He had received relatively frequent messages from Ron and Hermione – he was able to collect them outside while he did yard work, finding the letters dropped off in dirt, which felt cruelly mocking.

"We can't say much Harry," Hermione had written (about a dozen times, in about a dozen separate letters). "We've promised not to, but we'll see you again soon."

"Hang in there, mate," Ron's letters had read. "Hope your summer is going well!"

"Hope your summer is going well," Harry muttered under his breath as he finally tore the stone from the ground. When had his summer ever gone well? Why would he be so insensitive to even say such a thing?

Harry had written responses, begging for any information they had.

"I know you can't tell me everything, but can you tell me anything?" He has asked desperately one day.

The letter back and had made things worse.

"We really can't say much, Harry." It was written in Hermione's handwriting. "What I can say is Ron and I are together at the moment, and we're both doing well."

Reading those lines had made Harry's stomach drop. His hands tightened into fists, scrunching the message up. Ron and Hermione were together and doing well. They were together for the summer, probably enjoying Mrs. Weasley's cooking, the Burrow's beautiful fields, laughing at Fred and George's pranks. And Harry was at the Dursley's, being treated like a prisoner.

The betrayal stopped Harry from writing any more letters. It had been about two weeks since. Hermione and Ron did keep sending messages, but Harry didn't bother reading them. He knew he couldn't mentally handle being further hurt by them.

Harry grunted as he lifted the moderately sized stone from the ground and walked it over to the other side of the garden where he had been using stones to line the other garden bed he had constructed earlier in the summer. He let it down with a sharp exhale. The stone had been pressing into his forearms, which had deep purple bruises around them from where Uncle Vernon had grabbed him. He pulled his long sleeves down so he wouldn't have to look at them. He didn't need to see further evidence of how unwanted he was.

"Hey there!"

Harry whirled around quickly. A girl, maybe sixteen or so, was peering over the fence.

"Oh, er, hi," said Harry awkwardly.

"Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump," the girl said. Harry could just see her mousey brown hair cut with a full fringe and her large brown eyes over the fence – she clearly was standing on her toes to see him. "My name's Ava, we moved in last week."

"Oh, nice to meet you," Harry said, taking a step back. "Sorry, I really need to get back to my chores, I have a bunch to do today."

"Oh yeah – of course, sorry to interrupt! Just thought I'd say hi – what's your name?"

"Harry," Harry said as he continued to take slow steps back towards his wheelbarrow. He snuck a quick glance at the back door, not wanting his aunt or uncle to see him speaking with her.

"Nice to meet you, Harry!" Ava called over the fence. "Maybe you can come over sometime for tea?"

"Er – yeah, maybe," Harry said over his shoulder, picking up the shovel again. He doubted that would ever happen.

The next day, the doorbell rang. Harry had just been about to put on his shoes to head back into the garden. It was another blistering day, but he needed to get the back garden cleaned up before Uncle Vernon came home from work, otherwise… Harry shook his head. He didn't want to think about otherwise.

He got up, slipping his one half-on shoe off and walked over to the front door, opening it slowly. It was Ava.

"Harry! I hoped you'd be home," Ava said with a smile. "I wanted to ask if you'd come over – "

"Oh – thank you," Harry said, as he already began to close the door again. "I don't have time today though, sorry."

"You don't have to stay for long!" Ava said warmly.

"I really can't – "

"Who's at the door?" shouted Aunt Petunia from upstairs.

"Uh, one of the new neighbors," Harry answered. Quick footsteps followed, and Aunt Petunia came rushing down the stairs, flatting her skirt and knocking Harry out of the way.

"Oh, why hello there," Aunt Petunia said. Her sickly-sweet tone made Harry grimace. "Welcome to the neighborhood, I'm Mrs. Dursley, it's so wonderful that you took the time to come over and introduce yourself."

"Of course – nice to meet you, my name is Ava," she said. "I had actually come by to see if Harry could help out my mum. We noticed that he is so good with your garden, we had hoped he could come round and help us with a bit of our own gardening."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Oh." Aunt Petunia said, both slightly taken aback as well as swelling with pride over compliments to her home. "He isn't quite finished for today, but I understand it could be helpful to your mother – what is her name?"

"Emily – Williams," Ava said. "My dad is Ed Williams. They'd both find it so helpful if he could come by whenever he could."

Aunt Petunia paused.

"Well, of course," she said finally. "As soon as he's done with his chores for today, I will send him over."

"Oh wonderful!" Ava said with a smile. "I'll see you later then, Harry!"

And with a wave, Ava and gone back down the front path back to her home. Aunt Petunia closed the door.

"Don't ruin this for me, you hear me?" Aunt Petunia hissed. "No funny business around them. And you better do whatever they ask you impeccably. If I find out you have ruined something of theirs, you'll be wishing you would be let back in your cupboard."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry answered.

"Hurry up and finish the back garden. And do it properly."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." Harry turned, grabbed his shoes, and went outside as quickly as he could before she would change her mind.

Harry wasn't wild about the idea of picking up even more chores from the neighbors, but he was looking forward to spending any amount of time away from the Dursleys. Harry finished up the garden, adding the fresh soil and patting in a few new shrubs. He wheeled the wheelbarrow of garden waste to the side of the garden and emptied everything into the correct bin before wheeling it back and into the small shed at the very end of the pristine lawn. It took him about two hours to tidy everything up right, but when he felt like even Aunt Petunia could not complain about a speck of dirt being out of place, he headed back into the house (taking off his shoes while walking across the kitchen and down the hall).

"I'm going next door," Harry called up the stairs. He didn't hear a reply, but he took this as an ok. He stepped outside and put his shoes on once more before walking around the front garden and up to Number 2.

Harry rang the doorbell. Almost immediately, Ava answered the door with a grin.

"Welcome!" she said stepping aside so he could come in. He knocked off his shoes as he entered. Unlike the Dursley's home, everything wasn't perfectly in place. This might be because they had just recently moved, but Harry also suspected that this family was a bit more down to earth than his family was. There were plush couches and armchairs around a small television in the living space, covered in large pillows and cozy looking blankets. The walls were a sunshine yellow color that reflected the light through the front windows.

"So, how'd I do?" Ava asked, flopping into one of the chairs.

"Sorry?" Harry asked, picking up his shoes and walking towards her.

"Rescuing you! It worked, didn't it? She let you come over?"

"Yes?"

"Well, you're welcome!" She said cheerfully. Harry looked at her for a moment, not saying anything.

"What was the garden work you needed help with?" Harry asked finally, still confused.

"There isn't any, silly," Ava laughed. "In the week I have lived here, I have watched you do work outside almost every single day. It looks absolutely exhausting, you deserve a break."

Harry stood silently, still staring. The idea was still not clicking for him.

"Put your shoes down by the door and come hang out!" Ava said, thumping a spot on the couch next to her. Harry stared a bit longer before slowly placing his shoes on the ground and taking a seat.

"This feels like a trap," Harry said sheepishly.

"It could be, I guess," Ava said.

Harry looked taken aback.

"A trap of friendship," she laughed again. Harry hesitated briefly before smiling.

"Oh Harry," a voice behind the two said. Harry turned and saw who he presumed to be Mrs. Williams. "You're here! So glad you were able to come over for tea today. It's almost ready. Just give me a mo'."

Mrs. Williams was rather short, with short brown hair. Immediately Harry was reminded of Mrs. Weasley as the smell of biscuits wafted out from the kitchen.

"So Harry," Ava said, looking him up and down. "What do you like to do for fun?"

"Uh," Harry said – things like 'nothing' and 'quidditch' came to mind, both unhelpful at this moment. "Sometimes I read."

"Oh nice, I'm more of a movie fan myself. What kinds of books?"

"I'm not really picky, whatever's around."

"Do you like movies too?"

"Yeah, they're also good."

"My favorite right now is Twister," Ava said, keeping the conversation going. "It's about storm chasing, have you heard of it?"

"No, I haven't actually."

"It's really good, maybe we can watch it sometime!"

"Oh, er, maybe, sure, yeah," Harry said lamely. Ava just smiled.

"Tea!" Mrs. Williams called from the other room.

"Let's go!" Ava said, getting up. Harry followed and they walked into an equally sunny kitchen with a small round table off to one side. Tea, biscuits, and some small cut cucumber sandwiches sat on the table. Mrs. Williams was by the counter with a tray, arranging a cup of tea and a few segments of sandwich onto it.

"I'm just going to bring this up to dad," Mrs. Williams said with a smile. "Will be right back."

"Your dad's home, too?" Harry asked as Ava took a biscuit.

"Oh, yeah." For the first time, Ava's energy fell. Her smile flickered. Harry felt like he had asked something he shouldn't have.

"Sorry I didn't mean – "

"No it's ok," Ava sighed, setting her biscuit down. "Dad's ill. He has cancer. So he's home a lot now."

"Oh," Harry managed, gripping his cup of tea tightly. This had not been what he was expecting. "Sorry to make you bring it up."

"Oh no, don't worry. It would have come up sooner or later. It's why we moved, actually. We have more family in the area, and they can help out more with, you know, taking care of dad."

"That's good to hear," Harry said awkwardly.

"Yeah, I think it was for the best," Ava said, looking at her lap.

"Go ahead, Harry, have something to eat, don't be shy!" Mrs. Williams was back in the kitchen. Harry obediently took a piece of sandwich and bit into it. He realized in this moment he was actually quite hungry. Ava smiled as he ate, and she began to eat again too.

"So other than movies, what else do you like?" Harry said, trying to bring up the mood of the conversation again.

"I really like cycling actually," Ava said. "And hanging out with my cat Nigel."

"You have a cat?"

"Oh yeah, he's socuddly. You'll see him around some time I'm sure. Hey, actually, once we're done eating, do you want to pop a movie in? I just got a new VHS called 'The Crow' that I've wanted to see for a while."

"Oh, do we have time for that?" Harry said glancing around for a clock.

"Don't worry, Harry," Ava smiled, popping another bit of biscuit in her mouth.

"We always have time for you."