Chapter Text
Harry Potter had been awoken on the 23rd of June, 1991, by hair pulling and water. His dream of a flying motorcycle was rudely interrupted by his Aunt Petunia, who had barged into his sleeping space with a spray bottle (filled with only water, thankfully). His Aunt pointed in the direction of the kitchen, and Harry knew he was needed to make breakfast. It wasn’t particularly because of the pointing (that was rarely helpful), but when you’ve made breakfast every morning for the last five years, it’s quickly understood that pointing to the kitchen means ‘cook’.
His aunt was a woman of average height, with blond hair to her collar bones, light blue eyes, an average skin tone for the area, and a longer-than-usual neck. As soon as she was satisfied with how awake Harry was, she left, leaving open the door of the cupboard that acted as Harry’s room.
Harry quickly pulled on some clothes five sizes too large, put on his taped-together glasses, and left the cupboard to make breakfast. His aunt had left the food he was to prepare on the counter, so he grabbed that, the proper pans, and got to work.
Once the food was cooking, he looked up at where his cousin—who had just arrived with Uncle Vernon—was slowly pointing at each of the dozens of presents that sat there in a way that meant he was most likely counting them. His cousin—Dudley—was blond with blue eyes like his aunt and overweight like his uncle. Dudley was two or three times bigger than an average 10 or 11-year-old boy; you couldn’t even see his neck. Harry felt a bit of pity for his cousin, if only because weighing so much must make walking exhausting. It was no wonder his cousin hated exercise.
Uncle Vernon looked much like his son, if with darker brown hair, a mustache, and clearly several times bigger than his son from age.
Harry sometimes wondered if it was too much to hope that his Uncle’s poor diet would lead to an early death, like he’d read in books on health.
Harry got back to the breakfast as Dudley finished counting, but he did spot him throwing a fit, which Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon quickly resolved. What was the fit about? Probably the presents. Most likely, the number of them, seeing as Dudley had been counting them, but then how was Harry to know?
Dudley had started unwrapping presents when Aunt Petunia went to answer a phone call. When she came back, she seemed worried and angry.
Harry tried to pay attention to her as she talked to Uncle Vernon, but lip-reading was annoyingly difficult. The speed at which they were talking, the angle Harry viewed them at, and Vernon’s mustache made it worse.
He made out a few of the words, “Vernon… Mrs. Figgs… him.”
Petunia jerked her head toward Harry at the last part.
Times like these, Harry almost wished they had invested in hearing aids for him. But the Dursleys seemed determined to spend as little money as possible on him. Harry consoled himself by imagining he was the only person in the world who couldn’t hear how annoying their voices were (according to books, people had different voices, and Harry liked to think his relatives had annoying ones).
Hardly spending money on him was a trend with them, whether it had to do with comforts or necessities.
They’d only gone to the eye doctor for him after his gym teacher had expressed concern and effectively forced their hand, else someone be called and they’d be viewed as ‘cruel’. The only reason he’d gotten his hearing checked— and a teacher who taught him sign language and a bit of lip reading— was because Mrs. Figgs had gotten concerned while watching him when he was three or four that he never responded to her. She forced the Dursleys to allow Harry his teacher, the only time Harry could remember her being at odds with the Dursleys.
Unfortunately, they had decided to be cheap, and the Dursleys considered his hearing mostly useless; his being able to see was far more important for him to do his chores. Well, mostly.
His glasses had been his prescription when he’d gotten them.
When he was seven.
They had only spent enough money to buy a whiteboard and markers for him so they could communicate at the Dursleys’ house (after he’d learned to read. Before that, there was much more aggressive pointing and guesswork). They refused to learn BSL, which Harry had practiced consistently, often checking books out of the library to learn more words after they didn’t continue to pay the teacher.
He’d met a deaf library patron, who’d furthered his knowledge and helped him practice with someone who could help.
Harry blinked and focused back in on the conversation.
“...Marge.”
“Don’t be silly, Vernon… the boy.”
Harry glanced at Dudley, who seemed to be upset.
Well, not really, but he seemed almost ready to bring on the waterworks.
Harry was lost for most of the rest of the conversation… something got mentioned about Uncle Vernon’s car, and Dudley started “crying”, and Harry could tell almost nothing of what was being said.
Suddenly, they jumped. Petunia glanced at the door.
Huh.
Dudley’s friend must be here.
The friend chosen to join them on this birthday trip, Harry did not know the name of. He assumed it started with a P, or some other hard sound like that, but Dudley rarely referred to his friends by name, and any other time, people were either talking too fast or weren’t facing Harry.
Half an hour later, Harry was surprised to find himself in his uncle’s car, apparently joining them on Dudley’s birthday outing.
Uncle Vernon had taken his whiteboard and written out a message for Harry, glaring at him while he read it.
Any funny business today and you will be in the cupboard from now until Christmas
Christmas was underlined three times.
Harry erased the message and placed the board on his lap. The marker and eraser were tucked into the pocket of his jeans.
Funny business—or rather, strange things—did seem to follow him at times…
Petunia had once cut all his hair off—except his bangs, something about the lightning scar on his forehead—and it had grown back overnight, an ugly sweater she’d tried to force on him shrunk whilst she tried to get it on him (luckily he didn’t get in trouble), or an instance where he’d somehow ended up on the roof of the school.
Harry really didn’t want to do anything weird today, though, and was determined to be on his best behavior. He wouldn’t even be going to Mrs. Figg’s, which was amazing.
Her place always smelled like cats.
The zoo animals were really interesting, and there were a lot of people around, which was understandable for a weekend day. The sun shone down on them, which was mildly uncomfortable. The Durleys ended up stopping for cold treats at one point, and the lady working the counter had smiled down at Harry, presumably asking what he wanted, and Harry somehow got a cheap lemon ice pop.
It wasn’t half bad.
As they continued through the zoo, Harry kept a decent amount of distance between himself and the other two boys, Dudley and his friend. They were clearly starting to get bored with the animals, and Harry would very much not like going back to being a punching bag right now after spending the best morning of his life being mostly ignored.
They ate in the zoo restaurant, Dudley threw a fit about his ice cream, which Harry got to finish as Dudley got a new one.
It was too good to be true.
They went to the reptile house. It was cool, dark, and there were all sorts of snakes and lizards.
Dudley quickly found what had to be the biggest snake in the zoo, and gawked at it for a bit. The snake had tan scales with a brown oval pattern down its back, three lines down its head, and had to be big enough to crush Uncle Vernon’s car, but it simply lay there, asleep, which Dudley was annoyed with as he watched it, nose pressed against the glass.
He must’ve said something, cause Vernon tapped the glass with his knuckles, then repeated the action. Dudley left after the snake refused to move.
Harry moved in front of the enclosure.
He felt a bit bad for the snake. It was stuck in its enclosure all the time, and never got to see anywhere else, and had to deal with people staring at it all day. Harry may have been small for his age and deaf, but at least he got to visit the rest of the house and leave occasionally.
The snake suddenly moved its head, eyes opening, and looking directly at Harry, head level.
It winked.
Harry blinked.
Could snakes even do that?
He looked around, but surprisingly, no one was watching.
Harry looked back at the snake, and, unsure what else to do, winked back. The snake jerked its head toward Vernon, then looked up at the ceiling.
This was weird.
The snake gave Harry a look, reading something along the lines of, ‘i get that all the time.’
It was weird. Harry could’ve almost sworn it wasn’t his own thought, but that was the vibe he got from the snake. He was pretty good at reading body language, if he did say so himself.
Harry understood the general feeling. It had to be annoying, having people constantly tapping on the glass of your enclosure, and never getting a moment to yourself.
(Being deaf had its benefits.)
The snake nodded.
Harry found himself wondering where the snake came from.
He often found himself in the library reading on his own, sometimes trying to avoid Dudley, who avoided libraries like they were poison. It was a rare safe spot. He’d seen a chart once that stated that Boa Constrictors (the snake had to be, considering the general appearance and size. Although, perhaps a python? But pythons were usually bigger…) naturally lived in the middle part of the Americas.
The snake jerked its tail to a sign, and Harry glanced at it.
The fact that he hadn’t read it yet was a bit of a surprise.
Boa Constrictor, Brazil
This specimen was bred in the zoo
That kinda sucked…
The snake suddenly startled, and Harry frowned.
He was suddenly pushed to the ground, his ribs hurting from a punch from Dudley, who was leaning toward the glass with his friend.
Between one moment and the next, Dudley and his friend were leaning toward the glass, and then suddenly… Dudley’s friend had jumped back, whilst Dudley had fallen forward, through…
Where had the glass gone?
The snake slithered out of the enclosure, and there were a lot of people moving, and Harry guessed they were probably screaming as well.
:Brazil, here I come... Thanksss, amigo.:
Harry blinked.
Well, that definitely wasn’t a thought of his own. There were no physical signs, sure, but it sure felt like he’d just seen someone sign that to him.
The keeper of the reptile house seemed to be in a state of shock, especially when they found Dudley trapped behind the glass of the enclosure… with no reason for how he’d gotten in and the snake gotten out, when the glass was firmly intact, which it hadn’t been for a bit, though where it had gone was a mystery.
Petunia had gotten a cup of strong tea, Dudley and his friend were in a bit of a panic—Harry couldn’t guess what they were saying—and Vernon had decided Harry was to blame for everything.
He didn’t even need to say anything, or use the board, but a good glare from Vernon left Harry retreating into the cupboard under the stairs.
He’d lived with the Dursleys for nearly ten years; he knew the routine.
There was little to do in the cupboard. He had very few clothes, and there was next to nothing in there. He had a couple of books from the library, which he kept hidden just in case (the Dursleys knew he went, but wouldn’t always like what he was reading), there were some old knick-knacks, and he had his clothes.
Unsure what to do while waiting for the Dursleys to fall asleep, Harry found himself thinking about his dream from the night before.
A flying motorcycle.
Maybe it was a good thing he was unable to talk… Whenever anything not normal showed up on the TV, Vernon’s face went purple, and Harry knew he liked to yell a lot.
But that was all he could remember from the dream, so he found his mind drifting to his parents’ death. He didn’t really know anything about them.
Flashes of green light, and a burning pain in his forehead…
Harry winced and grabbed his forehead.
He really wished he knew more about his parents.
Harry couldn’t ask the Dursleys; questions were shut down, and besides, they didn’t like his parents. From the bits and pieces he’d pieced together over the years, it had something to do with not liking “their kind”. His dad? Harry could only assume his darker skin came from his dad’s side, considering how pale Aunt Petunia was.
Harry had often wished, mostly when he was younger, that a different relative would whisk him away. But alas, no one had come forward, and he was forced to shut down that thought. The Dursleys were his only relatives.
Odd strangers had occasionally gone up to him, always vanishing before he could get a good look at them. A short man with a purple top hat, an old lady in green, a bald man in a purple coat… they were all odd, though nothing was wrong with them.
Didn’t stop Petunia from whisking him and Dudley away immediately.
Once, Harry caught a glimpse of a man covered in scars, and quite obviously poor, standing outside, talking to Petunia, who turned him away, but it had been several years, and Harry hardly remembered what the man looked like.
Harry looked out the grate that was his only view of the outside of his cupboard. The lights were off, and had been for a while now…
Harry quickly fiddled with the lock and pushed the door to the cupboard under the stairs open, and quickly hurried to the fridge, grabbing a few things, just enough to get him by for a couple of days.
Knowing the Dursleys, they wouldn’t feed him for a week if they could help it.