𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨-𝙧.𝙖.𝙗

48-end

HARRY POTTER IS FIVE YEARS OLD. And he knows a lot of things.

He knows how to tie his shoelaces on his own without any help. He can count up to one hundred. He knows that if he looks at a flower for long enough and concentrates hard enough, he can make it grow as big as he wants. He knows that he's different from other children he goes to primary school with, and he's not allowed to say anything about it, and he knows that it doesn't make him better than the other kids. He knows how to spell his whole entire name. He knows the day he was born, knows how to read some books all on his own.

Harry also knows a lot about grown up things as well. Things that no one knows he knows.

He knows that sometimes, when they think he is asleep, his Aunt Josie and Uncle Mooney smoke funny smelling cigarettes. He knows that Uncle Reg hates it. He knows that Uncle Sirius sneaks him extra sweets when he thinks none of the other grownups are looking, and he's really not supposed to. He knows that Aunt Josie and Uncle Sirius argue sometimes. He knows that sometimes they don't even talk to each other. But then, Harry sometimes sees them hugging tightly, sometimes crying when they do. Uncle Reg one time told him Josie and Sirius don't like fighting, but that sometimes it's just hard being a grown up. Harry knows that his parents are dead. He knows that his mother was beautiful and kind, his aunt tells him that every time she finds a new picture of her to show him. He knows that she won't talk about his dad.

And Harry knows that his Aunt Josie is completely and utterly terrified of rats.

Harry's eating his breakfast, watching as Josie cleans the dishes with her hands, when he sees one. It's a little, fat, furry one, and he notices it just as it crawls right over Josie's feet. At once, the dishes in her hands clatter harshly into the sink, and Josie flings herself on top of the counter, feet hovering above the ground. "Reg!" she calls out, eyes not leaving that little rat as he scurries across the kitchen floor.

Harry can hear the back door open and slam close, and he watches as his Uncle Reg rushes into the kitchen, eyes wide and hair disheveled. "What is it?" he asks, eyes searching the room for the threat. "What's wrong?"

The rat squeaks. "Another fucking rat," she grumbles, shifting her weight around on her arms to keep any her entire self away from the floor.

Relief makes Regulus's shoulders droop. Harry watches as he takes his wand out of his pocket, a long and elegant looking one, as opposed to Josie's light and gnarled wand, and points it towards the rat. At once, it freezes in places. "I'll take outside," he tells her, and before he does so, Regulus crosses the kitchen and places a kiss on her forehead. "And watch your language, please, Josie."

Josie rolls her eyes, and once the rat is scooped up into Regulus's hands, she lets her feet find the ground once more. "Yeah, whatever," she grumbles.

Rat still in his hands, Regulus turns to look at Harry, who has been watching the scene before him with rapt attention. "Harry, you know never to talk like Aunt Josie, right?"

Harry nods, and grins. He's missing one of his front teeth. He likes to show it off. "Yes, Aunt Josie has a potty mouth!" he declares proudly, knowing he has the correct answer.

Regulus smiles, looking very smug. "Yes, she does."

"Just," Josie starts, waving her hand dismissively, "get rid of that thing, please. People will be arriving soon, and I don't want it running around."

Regulus does as he's told and disappears out the back door once more.

Harry turns his attention back to his aunt, holding his fork upright in his hand as she finishes clearing away the dishes. "Aunt Josie, how come Junie doesn't get rid of the rats for you? I thought cats were supposed to chase rats around."