Harry Potter and the Slytherin Truth: Year One

Chapter 3

Harry is so utterly done with this crap. His head is pounding, his mind is reeling, and he has finally realized that he won’t be free from his Aunt and Uncle’s iron grip until he either turns 18 or dies. Whichever happens first. And at the rate he’s going, death is starting to seem like a viable option. 

When his uncle told him he wouldn't be going to Hogwarts, he reluctantly sent a letter back saying as much. And as much as he wished he could run from this place and go anyway, there was no way for him to get there or to pay for it all.

“Damnit!” He whispers to himself. If only there was a way to get out of this house; A way to go to Hogwarts; A way to start living. But at this moment in time, escape seems so far away.

It has been a week since he spoke to his Aunt and Uncle about Hogwarts. The subject has not been brought up since. He sometimes wonders if it even happened at all. Maybe Dudley’s assumption wasn’t all that far off. Maybe he had gone mad. But no, the healing cut on his left temple and the hateful glares he’s been receiving from the others in the house are proof enough. They said no. He’s trapped. Forever. Bloody fantastic.

He looks to the clock and realizes that he needs to have his chores done in an hour. He rushes to put his shoes on while going through a mental list of what still needs to be done.

1.  Doing the dishes

2.  Folding Dudley’s laundry

3.  The gardening

4.  Sweeping the floors

Harry decides he should do the gardening first. Pulling out all of the weeds and deadheading the flowers won’t take long. And besides, he wants to put off human interaction as long as possible. Human interaction meaning Dudley Dursley and all of his charismatic charm. Harry laughs at his own sarcasm. 

Harry exits his room, making sure the coast is clear before bee-lining to the door. He steps outside without incident. He makes his way over to his Aunt’s garden and begins to work. As he’s pulling the invasive weeds from the soil Harry’s mind wanders again to Hogwarts. ‘What is it like? Would people actually like me there?’ He shuts down these thoughts quickly, not wanting to spiral out of control like he did the last time. Instead, he muses on the fact that the garden he is currently working on is his Aunt’s garden, but for some reason, he is the only one that actually takes care of it. His aunt just sits there and preens, taking credit for all of Harry’s hard work. But that’s usually how it goes. Harry remembers sitting in class countless times watching Dudley present a project that Harry had actually completed, taking an A that should have been his. But then, he also remembers being backhanded by his uncle when he came home with better grades than Dudley. So, in the grand scheme of things, Harry isn’t really complaining. If he ever had to choose between his pride and his own safety, he’d choose safety every time. Although, there are some days where his pride comes in as a close second, demanding attention. But once again, he knows better.

When he’s broken from his thoughts, Harry realizes that he’s finished. ‘I really need to work on staying out of my head and actually paying attention.’ He chastises himself. And it’s surprising that he hasn’t learned already. What, with his so-called family lunging for his throat at every turn. Although, if he thinks about it, that could be just the reason he retreats into his head so often. He still has that nasty little habit of thinking, ‘If I can’t see it, it can’t see me.’ And more often than not, that mentality transfers over to his more serious life problems. 

He decides to fold Dudley’s laundry next; Yet another thing he can do alone. As utterly disgusting as the task was, it was a necessary evil. If Harry didn’t fold them, they would lay in a heap on Dudley’s floor for the rest of eternity. Which would somehow be Harry’s fault. Now, if someone could walk him through that logic, he would be eternally indebted to them. Harry picks up a pair of Dudley’s underwear and holds them at arm’s length. ‘I don’t know what’s more disgusting’, he thinks, ‘me having to fold his laundry or the fact that pretty much everything I’m wearing used to be his.’ Harry briefly wonders if stupidity is contagious through direct contact. ‘If it is, strike me down where I stand. I refuse to live with less than a dozen braincells to my name.’ Repulsed, Harry continues to fold. He finishes just as his Aunt calls his name.

“Yes ma’am?” Harry replies while walking the basket of laundry to his cousin’s room.

“What in god’s name have you been doing you lazy brat? You know what is expected of you, yet for some reason you think it’s okay to slack off? The dishes are still piled in the sink and the floors are absolutely filthy. Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” Harry’s aunt rants at him relentlessly.

“I have nothing to say for myself, Aunt Petunia.” Harry says respectfully, biting back a sarcastic remark.

“Just as I thought. Ungrateful little brat.” Her words bite at his pride, fueling Harry’s ever growing need to defend himself. But yet again, Harry reigns in his temper, turning on his heels intent on finishing his chores. 

He goes to sweep the floors. When he’s finished, he heads to the kitchen. He always leaves what needs to be done in the kitchen for last, the room triggering memories of thrown plates breaking over his head and the lashings of his uncle’s belt against his back. He winces as he enters the room. ‘At least it’s empty today’, he thinks. The last time he had been doing the dishes, Dudley had been at the kitchen table. That day, Harry’s cousin had made it his personal mission to annoy Harry as much as humanly possible. ‘Either that or he really wanted a broken nose.’ Harry laughs at the thought of Dudley running around the house, blood running down his face, screaming for his mummy and daddy. Harry scoffs, ‘I’d get my ass beat into next week for that. But, seeing my cousin look like an even bigger idiot than usual would be so worth it.’

Despite Harry’s problems with this room, he doesn’t actually mind doing the dishes. The procedural movements help to reclaim a sense of order in this absolute shit-show he calls a life. He notices his aunt standing behind him, waiting for him to finish so she can start dinner. He looks to the clock and is startled to see it’s nearly 5:30. He’s a half an hour late finishing up his chores. That means he won’t be eating dinner tonight. Just add it to the list of things he has to look forward to. Harry rolls his eyes, anticipating the annoying hunger that will undoubtedly begin to gnaw at his insides soon. 

He wipes off the counter, turning to his Aunt.

“You will be spending the rest of the evening in your room tonight. Use that time to think about the mistakes you’ve made today. I expect better from you tomorrow.” She says curtly and without her usual amount of bite. She seems tired; Harry almost feels sorry for her. But not quite. 

Harry quickly retreats to his room. Exhausted from the day, hoping to get some sleep, he closes his eyes to the sound of scraping silverware on plates.

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A/N: I hope you all enjoyed. Any mistakes or recommendations, just leave a comment and I'll fix it asap. Bye now!