Harry sat alone in his room, gazing out the window of his room- sure, it was cramped and stuffy, but it was a hell of a lot better than the cupboard he'd been in the last ten years of his life- it was grey and still outside: boring.
"Julia!" came the cry from downstairs. He winced and muttered "Harry," under his breath, turning slightly red. He'd never really felt like a girl at all, no matter how many skirts and frills and dresses Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon forced him into: he'd always envied Dudley, not only for the love and attention he received from his parents, but the chance to be raised as he was inside.
"Julia!!" came the cry again, more impatient this time.
"Coming." he shouted down, sighing. When he had reached the source of the cry, his Aunt Petunia, he had a broom shoved into his hands.
"Patio. Clean. Now." She threw open the door and shooed him out.
As he swept and scrubbed at the patio, it began to rain on his bony back. He immediately felt a chill; he got one meagre meal a day, so he hadn't any body fat to keep him warm. He often tried to make himself laugh by pretending he was a skeleton, but it was a hollow, sad laugh, empty.
He was drenched by the time he was done, and when he came back inside Aunt Petunia greeted him with a scowl and shoved a tray of soup (almost cold) and bread (old and stale) in his hands.
"Eat upstairs. We have guests." He trudged upstairs and ate in silence, perched on the end of his narrow bed. A car pulled up in the driveway and he felt sick- Uncle Vernon was home. He knew that as soon as the guests left, he would hurt Harry again- like he always did.
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Had It Been Different
FanfictionHarry needs to get the hell out of Privet Drive. The only people he can rely on are his teacher, Mr Lupin, and the quiet boy in his class who seems... different... TW: abuse, homelessness, depressive symptoms
