Since the night Harry had been left on the doorstep of Number Four, Privet Drive, he had lived in the cupboard under the stairs.
The cupboard was narrow and low, smelling faintly of dust and old paint, with a single bare bulb that flickered when the house shook from a slammed door. A thin mattress lay on the floor, and a blanket that never seemed warm enough was folded at the foot.
He was almost never allowed out. Days passed in darkness, broken only by the sound of footsteps overhead or the muffled hum of the television in the sitting room. The only times the door opened were when Petunia was home alone and too lazy to do the chores herself. Then she would let him out, but only for as long as it took to scrub floors, dust shelves, or wash dishes. Every curtain would be drawn, every blind pulled tight, so no one could see him.
Two voices kept him company. Both female. One calm, deliberate, and endlessly patient — Hedwig. The other quick, irreverent, and always ready with a jab — Nyx.
"Up you get," Hedwig murmured as the lock clicked one morning.
"Try not to trip over your own feet," Nyx added. "Or do. Could be entertaining."
Harry smirked as he crawled out. "Morning to you too."
"Kitchen. Now," Petunia ordered, thrusting a rag at him. "Wipe the counters. And keep your hood up."
"Because the toaster might tell the neighbours my hair's weird?" Harry muttered under his breath.
Nyx snorted. "Careful, you'll blow your cover. Next thing you know, the blender's gossiping with the kettle."
Hedwig's tone was sharper. "Focus. The less you provoke her, the sooner you're back in the cupboard."
Harry wiped the counters in silence for a moment.
"You missed a spot," Nyx sang.
"I did not."
"You did now," Nyx said. "Because I said so."
Petunia's voice cut in. "Stop mumbling to yourself."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia."
When the counters were done, she sent him to dust the sitting room. The blinds were drawn so tightly that the air felt heavy.
"You could knock over that vase," Nyx suggested. "Accidentally. On purpose."
"Don't," Hedwig warned.
Harry dusted around it carefully. "You two are like an angel and a devil on my shoulders."
"I'm the angel," Nyx said immediately.
Hedwig sighed. "You're the devil."
"Semantics," Nyx replied.
Later, Petunia shoved a basket of laundry into his arms. "Fold these. Neatly."
Harry sat cross‑legged on the floor, folding shirts.
"You could wear one of Dudley's," Nyx said. "Instant disguise. No one would suspect the mysterious boy in the tent‑sized shirt."
"Wouldn't fit under the hood," Harry said.
"Cut eye holes in it," Nyx suggested. "Be a ghost. Very on brand."
Hedwig's voice was dry. "Ignore her."
The next week, Petunia sent him to dust the front hall. The curtains there were thin, and a sliver of light slipped through. As he reached up to dust the frame, the hood slid back.
"Fix it," Hedwig urged.
Before he could, a shadow passed outside. A woman walking her dog glanced toward the door. For a heartbeat, her eyes met his through the gap.
Her step faltered.
Harry froze.
The dog barked.
Petunia's voice snapped from the kitchen. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Harry said quickly, yanking the hood up.
Petunia appeared in the doorway, eyes narrowing. "Back in the cupboard."
The lock clicked behind him.
"That was smooth," Nyx said. "Really subtle. Next time, maybe wave."
"Better than it could have been," Hedwig said.
Harry lay back on the mattress. "Do you think I'm mad?"
"No," Hedwig said.
"Yes," Nyx said at the same time.
He laughed. "Figures."
Days blurred together. Sometimes he was let out to vacuum, sometimes to scrub the bathroom. Always with the windows covered, always with the blinds drawn.
One rainy afternoon, Petunia sent him to polish the silver.
"You could hide one of the spoons," Nyx said. "Start a collection. One day, you'll have enough to build a ladder and escape."
"That's not how ladders work," Harry said.
"Details," Nyx replied.
Hedwig's voice was patient. "Finish the task. The sooner you do, the sooner you rest."
By spring, Harry could tell when Petunia was about to call him out. He could hear the shift in her footsteps, the pause before the key turned in the lock.
"You're listening," Hedwig said approvingly.
"You're plotting," Nyx added. "I like it."
One evening, Petunia let him out to clean the pantry. The air was thick with the smell of flour and spices.
"You could hide in here," Nyx suggested.
"And then what?" Harry asked.
"Wait until they forget about you," Nyx said.
"They won't forget," Hedwig said.
That night, lying in bed, he whispered, "You'll stay with me, won't you?"
"Always," Hedwig said.
"Always," Nyx echoed. "Unless I find someone with better snacks—"
"Nyx," Hedwig warned.
"What? Honesty is important in a relationship."
Harry chuckled softly.
The next morning, Petunia unlocked the cupboard. "Bathroom. Scrub the tub."
Harry shuffled out, hood up, glasses on.
"You could drown in there," Nyx said cheerfully. "Then haunt the place. I'd stay."
"Not helping," Hedwig said.
Harry knelt by the tub, scrubbing.
"You missed a spot," Nyx said.
"That's soap," Harry replied.
"Still a spot," Nyx said.
When he finished, Petunia was waiting. "Back in."
The lock clicked.
"You should start charging rent," Nyx said.
"For the cupboard?" Harry asked.
"For your sparkling personality," Nyx said.
Hedwig's voice softened. "One day, you'll be free of this."
Harry closed his eyes. "When?"
"When it's time," Hedwig said.
"And not before," Nyx added.
The days passed. The Dursleys kept him hidden, kept him covered, kept him quiet. But in the dark of the cupboard, in the stillness of the night, the voices were always there.
And Harry, strange hair, strange eyes, strange mind, learned to listen.