Notes:
As I said, fast writer! Mwahahahahaha! Sending the sad away in just a mo'. We're gonna get to the fluff real soon, worry not. As before, TW for child abuse mentioned.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention last time; this is based on the movies, not the books - it's easier to rewatch the movies for reference, I ain't digging through the 13 old moving boxes full of books for our ancient copies. The first movie is set in 2001, so this is currently set in 1996.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Harry stared at the ceiling of the cupboard. He couldn't see much of it, the colours tended to fall after a while and didn't stick to the bottoms of things. He liked to think of it as his own personal night sky. Flecks of colour clung to it for a bit, like stars all colours of the rainbow. Didn't have a sun or a moon though. Regardless, he didn't know what time it was anyway. Uncle Vernon had given him a clock that ticked constantly in the corner. He'd snickered the whole time he was hanging it on the wall - obviously, Harry could not read it. If it hadn't had glass over its face he might have been able to feel for the hands' positions, but even then he didn't know what the positions meant. Nor for that matter did he know that Uncle Vernon had even set it to the right time.
He sighed, rolling over and sitting up, then immediately regretting it as hunger set his head throbbing and real vision buzzing with alien colours. He'd been in the cupboard all day? He thought so anyway. Dudley had been quiet for a long time, and then gotten back up again, so he assumed he'd been in there all night and the same time at least again. And he thought he could hear Petunia clattering about the kitchen, so perhaps it was a mealtime. His fingers gingerly met the coarse blanket he had, more akin to a bag that had been cut up, and tangled themselves within it. He didn't tend to play with the toys Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had given him, second hand from Dudley - they had definitely deliberately given him the smallest toys that were most easily lost. And most easily stood on in the darkness that was Harry's actual vision. It had taken time, but after vowing he'd never stand on another tin soldier one more time, he'd set about gathering every soldier he could find and putting them in a drawer. The drawer. Occasionally one or two would fall out of the oversized clothes that also went in that drawer. Yeah, that vow hadn't exactly been ironclad. The soldiers probably were though. His feet were certain of it.
His reverie of tactile information from the blanket was interrupted by a sound. A rare sound to him. A knock on the door. Not his cupboard door, nobody who lived here would be polite enough to knock. At the front door. He heard footsteps moving past the cupboard - Vernon's. He'd learnt to differentiate the Dursleys' footsteps before he'd even been blinded. Another knock.
"Yes, yes, I'm coming!" Vernon bellowed as Harry shrunk into his blanket. The door opened. "Oh- um, can I help you?" A voice unknown to Harry responded.
"Hello there, mister..?" they led, gently.
"Dursley. Vernon Dursley," came the gruff reply.
"Mister Dursley. We were wondering if a young man called Harry lived here? Harry Potter?" Harry swore he could feel Vernon's arm tense.
"Did he do something, eh?" Vernon asked.
"No, not at all. We'd just like to come in and have a word with him, if that's all right."
"He's uh, he's not home right now. Probably off chasing cats or something." Harry held his breath.
"That's unfortunate, we need to speak with him at some point. Would you mind if we came in, waited for him to come back and all that?" another voice said.
"Er- yes, yes, come in. Petunia dear, we have guests," he called back into the house.
"At this hour? We've barely started dinner. Oh all right." Harry heard Petunia come into the hallway, petulant as always. "Can I get you two anything? Tea, coffee?"
As the strangers followed Vernon into the living room someone closed the door, cutting off Harry's ability to hear what was happening. No doubt deliberately so. The muffled voices mocked him through the walls, as his famished mind struggled with the idea that people had come to talk to him .
People had come to talk to him. Why would they want to talk to him? Who sent them? Did he do something bad?
Of the swirl of thoughts he found himself unwittingly falling into, only two things remained constant; one, that he needed to be quiet. Uncle Vernon wouldn't react well if he had revealed himself before these unknown people left. He sat as still as possible, so as to not trigger the squeals of the rusty springs in the bed. Second, that last night had been the only time he'd left the house in over a month, by his understanding of time - it wasn't as if he could read a calendar. Had he broken something on the way to the park? Not to his knowledge. The Grangers must have sent these people. Why would they send someone here? How? They hadn't seen where he lived as far as he knew. Unless they'd doubled back?
The door opened again. He went rigid, holding his breath.
"And up there's my bedrooms!" called the excitable voice of Dudley as his characteristic stomping resounded through the floor.
"Bedrooms, you say? You get two?! Lucky you," said one of the strangers. Dudley was running up the stairs and Harry could feel the dislodged dust tickling his face. Fighting the fact he'd already held his breath and was quickly running out, he kept listening. He believed it was a pair of men, their shoes didn't sound like Aunt Petunia's did. He couldn't make out much, but after Dudley had gleefully shown the two his dual bedrooms they didn't come downstairs immediately, they were discussing something. He could hear something scratching, a pen maybe?
"Mr Dursley doesn't deny that Potter lives here, but the son claims to have two of three bedrooms."
"Odd, I know. Mr Dursley? Could you come up here please?" the other called.
"Give me just a moment," came the disgruntled-sounding response as Vernon's footsteps shuffled around a bit before coming back to the hallway. His footsteps were further apart than Dudley's or Petunia's. "Forgot your coffee, Mr. Jones."
"Ah, thank you, if you don't mind just popping that on the baluster for me?"
"'course. Is there a problem?"
"Not as such, we were just curious - young Dudley says these are both his bedrooms, is that correct?"
"Right you are, he's a good lad. Lots of things though, needs the space!" Vernon said with pride.
"Of course. We're a little confused however, where is Harry's bedroom? I don't believe I saw a room downstairs and if all 3 up here are occupied, that one being yours and Mrs. Dursley's of course, that doesn't leave one for young master Potter." Harry's attempts to remain still increased tenfold as Vernon ascended the stair.
"er-Ah, Harry… Harry doesn't like beds for some reason. Didn't like the room before he let Dudley have it, tends to sleep in the lounge or, hell, on the stairs sometimes!" Vernon let out an obviously faked chuckle. "He's a strange lad."
"Riiight." Harry could tell the man was suspicious. "Well, it's getting on a bit, gonna have to come back tomorrow to speak with Harry if that's okay with you Mr. Dursley?"
"Should be all right, I'll make sure the boy stays home tomorrow. Always running off, that one." Footsteps began to come down the stairs, heavier this time as Vernon came down. More dust. More and more.
"AA-CHOOOO!" the sound escaped Harry's face before he had even the slightest chance of stopping it.
Silence.
Oh no .
The quieter footsteps continued down.
"Mr. Dursley," said the first, his voice dripping with ice, "why is there a bolt on that cupboard?" Without bothering to listen to Vernon's strangled attempts to come up with an excuse, the man came over to the cupboard and unbolted it.
No longer beholden to silence, Harry shot under the covers as fast as he could, squealing springs filling the air with cacophony before the door opened slightly and part of a grey figure poked in.
"Dear god. Watkins, stay out here would you?" it whispered. "Harry? Is that you in there?" Harry couldn't move.
"I'm going to come in, is that okay?" He forced his neck to bend, nodding, paradoxically both hoping for him to see and not to; both for him to come in and for him to leave and let Uncle Vernon get the punishment over with. "Thanks." The figure crouched in, sitting down on the floor beside the bed - he seemed to have trouble just finding the space to. "My name's Terry, Terry Jones. Is this your bedroom, Harry?"
Harry forced himself to lean back up.
"Yes, sir," he whimpered.
"And how long have you been in your bedroom?"
"Don't know, sir. Since last night, I think." His stomach growled angrily again, at the most inopportune moment possible.
"Hungry?" Harry nodded. "Here, I should have something for you to eat." The man moved about, and Harry heard him rifling through his pockets, producing and opening what felt like a muesli bar which he pressed into Harry's hand. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Last night, sir. Harmony gave me something, it was nice," he replied through a mouthful of… whatever this was? It had the texture of very soft bread, with an almost gooey center - but unlike the stale bread he'd had for breakfast the day before, it was sweet. Not unlike what Hermione had given him, for that matter.
"Hermione, the little girl? She was very nice. What about before that, before you went to the park?"
Harry shrunk into the covers again, but made sure the bar remained in his hand. He could hear Vernon pacing near the front door.
"Don't worry, you're not in trouble for going to the park. I just need to know how long it's been since you had a meal is all. No-one's angry with you." Harry begged to differ, hearing Vernon's heavy breathing even as far as he was from the door and remembering the dull ache still in his leg from when Vernon had hit him, but he answered.
"Had some toast yesterday, for breakfast," Harry mumbled.
"Okay, good to know. I'm just going to turn on this light, is that okay?" Harry nodded, and there was a click. "I'm told you're blind, Harry. When did that happen, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Not supposed to talk about it."
"It's okay, you can talk to me about it when you're ready. I must ask, what did the doctors give you?"
"No doctors."
"Not even at the hospital?"
"Hospital?" Harry heard Terry take a ragged breath as he leaned back out the door.
"Watkins, has Rosemary got anyone right now?" he asked
"No, not that I know of," Watkins replied quietly.
"She does now, get her on the phone," he swung back. "Are all of your things in here too, Harry?"
"Yes, sir," Harry replied, slightly confused.
"Would you mind telling me what you'd like to take with you and what you don't mind leaving? I can get a bag if we need to," he asked, starting to get up. The other person had gone outside, Harry could hear the wind from the open door, and they were talking.
"Take with me?" Now Harry was really confused. Was he going somewhere?
"We're going to go now, but you're going to come with us, yeah? We'll get you something warm to eat and a nice place to sleep, okay?" Harry sat up eagerly, dizziness threatening to throw him back down as he took another bite of the bar.
"Okay," he said, slightly louder. Thinking, he wrapped his blanket around him and stood. Terry got out of his way as he stepped over to his drawer and pulled out his clothes - a few baggy shirts and a pair of track pants about 4 sizes too big for him, plus a few pairs of underwear. His socks, he was wearing.
"That's all? You're sure?" Harry could hear that the man was shocked, and he wondered if it would be the wrong answer, but nodded all the same. "Fair enough. Come along then young man." Terry led him up and out of the cupboard. He pulled closer to Terry as they went past what he knew to be the figure of Uncle Vernon, who started spluttering.
"Harry will not be returning to this residence tonight. He will be seen by a doctor, and placed with a temporary foster before more permanent arrangements can be made. Is that clear? Good," Terry said, and miraculously, Vernon moved back. Someone had stood up to Uncle Vernon , was all that Harry could think about in that moment as Terry guided him to what must have been a car. The seat was comfortable, and Terry gently helped Harry buckle his seatbelt.
"Comfy?" Terry asked, as the other grey person - Watkins - sat in the driver's seat. Harry nodded, humming in agreement as he resumed fiddling with the corners of his rough blanket.
"Thanks Doctor." Something beeped. "Rosemary's just setting up now, and the doctor's on his way. Traffic's murder though, he might be late," Watkins said, as Terry got in one of the front seats and the engine came to life. Harry felt the car set off, as he left the Dursley household behind for what he hadn't quite realized would be the last time, mouth and grateful belly full of what Terry told him was a chocolate fudge bar.
Harry liked chocolate fudge bars, he decided.
Notes:
Impatient for the wee lass to figure herself out and be a girl? So am I, but alas we gotta wait. Plans are in motion, this stuff is really just the setup. We'll get to it! And if this is any indication, it might only take a few weeks! And I'm talking with my lovely sibling Deathmunchkin (who helps edit these!) about some little things to keep it coming between chapters, so watch this space. My uni holidays are coming up real soon, so I'll have even more time to work on this. See y'all again real soon.
⋆｡°✩ NEXT CHAPTER ARRIVES ✩°｡⋆
🌌 Tomorrow – 3 AM 🌌
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