Harry Potter and the Misunderstanding

CHAPTER 9

It wasn't as if Harry had never been shouted at before. Aunt Petunia was hardly a gentle woman, and her fuse was almost as short as his uncle's. When he was younger, especially in his toddler years, it was a common occurrence for his aunt to scream at him. Usually there had been a light slap thrown in too. Mostly, though, she had loathed to touch Harry, preferring to banish him to his cupboard and out of her sight. 

Meanwhile, Noddy's behaviour wasn't much different to how Dudley's had been. Dudley had always blamed Harry for everything. Why, Harry could never be sure, because it wasn't as if Dudley ever got scolded for anything anyway. It seemed that a large percentage of Harry's own punishments resulted from being falsely accused. Often, Dudley even went out of his way to get Harry in trouble. It had been that way as long as Harry could remember. In fact, his first conscious memory of his cousin was of Dudley screaming that Harry had stolen his toy truck. Harry had watched, bewildered, from across the parlour where he sat watching the telly, the item in question a good five metres away from him. 

Compared to being pummelled by Dudley and his friends, and berated by Aunt Petunia, Snape's shouting should hardly had hurt at all. As it was, by the time Harry had picked up his toothbrush with trembling hands, rinsed it off, and finished getting ready for bed, he was feeling slightly calmer. Still, it was a long time before he could fall asleep that night. While Harry did not make a noise, plenty of tears leaked from the sides of his eyes, dampening the pillow on either side of his head, and when he did finally drift into slumber, it was a fitful one filled with snatches of nightmares that had him waking in a cold sweat every time.

He realised that Snape scared him. Uncle Vernon could be intimidating but mostly he was all bluster. Sometimes his rages were even a little funny, rather like a big walrus waving its flippers about. Snape wasn't funny at all. He was tall and menacing, and Harry hadn't known him long enough to be sure how his rages would end. There was just no telling what a man like that would do. 

And Harry couldn't understand, either, what he'd done to make Noddy hate him so. There was simply no reason for it. He had often made snide comments to Dudley in order to get his own back in some small way. It wasn't clear who'd said what first, although Harry was fairly certain that the chicken-or-egg ambiguity made no real difference: Dudley had lived to make his life miserable, regardless.

Noddy was a different story. 

Harry had had so little to do with Noddy before the lunchtime incident, and he felt he'd never been anything but nice to the little creature in the extremely short time of knowing him. 

-

Harry meditated on these thoughts while he got ready for breakfast the next morning. 

His alarm had gone off promptly at half past six, but Harry may as well have never set it. He was already awake after the night of short, fitful bouts of sleep. He kept seeing Noddy's smirk in each of his dreams, his homework grew fangs and ate itself up, and Snape ran after him with a huge, toothbrush-shaped stick.

Dressed in a pair of Dudley's old trousers and a top, Harry made his way downstairs to the kitchen. Snape was already at the table, glowering. The man glared at Harry over the rim of his teacup as he sat down, and Harry kept his eyes lowered as he climbed up into his chair. 

For a while, Snape said nothing at all as Harry ate, and Harry was grateful for this, despite the tension in the air, and his twanging nerves. Harry knew that he had best put away as much food as possible - there was no telling whether he'd get anything else today. 

Harry was well used to leaving the table still hungry, but at least he usually had a full meal at school every day. Aunt Petunia, who had originally packed lunches to save money, had all of a sudden decided that she didn't want to be bothered anymore, so she pre-purchased lunch tickets through the school each month for Harry. Before these school lunches, Harry had ended up with a cold cheese sandwich and a bruised apple. At his very first school lunch sitting, he truly thought he must have died and gone to heaven: if heaven served cheese and tomato pizza, and hot, thick custard on a moist square of sponge cake topped with a climbing turret of whipped cream... Harry had felt the yet unexperienced sensation of fullness, such an unusual and pleasant state that Harry looked forward to lunches from Monday to Friday, every week.

It was much different on the weekends or during the holidays. Harry not only had no school lunch to look forward to, but was also more likely to annoy his aunt and uncle due to his stomach cramps and resulting distracted moods. 

Staying at Snape's was already shaping up to be something like a school holiday, except with quite a bit of school thrown in as well. Harry began to wonder just which celestial decision-maker he had offended so badly, and how he might go about appeasing that wrathful deity.

With every mouthful of porridge, Harry actually grew more and more hungry. It was such a relief to have something to eat that he began scooping the contents of the bowl into his mouth eagerly, forgetting manners and appearances as he focused on gulping it down as quickly as possible.

"Stop it!"

Harry jumped at the sudden bellow from Snape and lost his grip on the spoon, which rattled against his nearly-empty bowl for a moment before lying still. Harry's ears started to ring as he remembered the previous night when his toothbrush had flown across the room as Snape had grabbed him. He suddenly grew afraid. Harry stared at his bowl, hunching his shoulders slightly and hoping that Snape would leave him alone if he was quiet enough.

Snape sighed and grudgingly offered Harry a plate of toast, of which Harry hesitantly took a slice and began to nibble the edges. The crumbs caught in his throat when Snape asked, quite sarcastically, "Can I have Noddy braise a bull for you? Or will this be enough?"

Harry wasn't sure what that meant or why anyone would eat a bull, but he felt his ears growing hot at Snape's snide tone. Harry kept munching the toast, although he could not honestly taste it anymore. The slice of buttered toast was sawdust as far as his taste buds were concerned.

It was shaping up to be another long, miserable day.