Chapter Text
July 19th, 1988
Michael Wright believed himself to be a good person. He paid his taxes, was polite to his neighbours, friendly at the workplace, and made regular donations to charities he became involved with within his line of work. On the other hand, his line of work was the law, which for many might sour his argument on goodness. Still, as a self-proclaimed decent member of society, he believed himself aware of good and bad characters, and a reasonably sharp judge of it, which is why he had a feeling his current client was of the latter sort. Michael’s work at Macfarlanes is usually with private clients, which is why he finds himself slightly wrongfooted in attempting to lay out the terms of a merger along with a representative from Grunnings - and a new one at that, given he does not remember his past dealings with the company being as unpleasant.
“I’m not sure about this, Mr Dursley” he held back a sigh and attempted to mentally word an argument as to why the offer was not acceptable in a way that didn’t tell his client it would be acting in bad faith.
He’d learned in the past two hours that Mr Dursley took exception to being referred to as anything other than a pillar of society, nevermind that the supposed offence was an offhand comment on the number of employees being replaced as opposed to incorporated into the company, which would prove both time-consuming and wasteful.
“I advise you to reconsider” Dursley insisted, propping large hands on the desk before standing from the chair and looking down at him “Why not come by the house and discuss this over dinner, tomorrow night? It’s a big deal, boy… unless you think you can’t handle it? I’m sure your boss could assign someone more experienced for the job.”
“Of course, I can handle it,” Michael assured the man, not taking as much offence to his workability as he probably hoped. Truth is, while some of his clientele was quite similar to Mr Dursley, his preferred cases were pro-bono, of which he had the highest amount in the company, and thus left him unused to following the whims of big businesses and their representatives. Unfortunately, to be able to continue taking as many pro-bono cases as he liked, he had to continue dealing with less-than-desirable paying clients.
“Then it’s settled, I’ll let Petunia know to expect a guest” The man smiled in satisfaction and walked out before Michael could get a word in.
“Wait, I didn’t mean-” he attempted anyway but to no avail. With a sigh, he let his shoulders drop and ran a hand through his dark hair. If Dursley thought being fed would make him blind to the joke of an offer their company wanted to present, he had another thing coming. Macfarlanes may do many things, but knowingly negotiating in bad faith is not one of them.
There was, at least, a good side to the end of that meeting, he noted as he parked his car in the garage of the large house, and it was that he was able to get home earlier. Not that there was anyone, in particular, waiting for him, at least not until morning when Marie would come by to tidy things up and prepare a week’s worth of meals. Other than that, there was nothing but a large and empty house left for him after his mother’s passing. Uncaring of his solitude, Michael went through the motions of washing himself and reheating some dinner, the long hours of the week seeming to catch up to him, and, soon enough, he’d fallen into a restful sleep.
Proper rest would definitely be necessary if he hoped for the dinner the following day to be anything close to tolerable.
July 20th, 1988
Harry didn’t like it when people came to visit. Uncle Vernon was always more mean, and Aunt Petunia kept shrieking about everything being perfect so they could impress whoever was visiting. At least it’s not Aunt Marge, he thought as he dipped his hands in the cold water from the sink to grab another plate to wash. Not even the nice plates, but the ugly ones from lunch with all the flowers in vomit-green, he’d have to finish washing them before cleaning the nice ones for his Uncle’s important dinner, and would still have to help Aunt Petunia cook it! Visitors always, always gave him more and more chores, that’s why he didn’t like them. Besides, he always got locked into his cupboard early when there were important dinners, and sometimes Aunt Petunia forgot to let him out until the next day, without even going to the bathroom. So yes, Harry really wished people would stop visiting his Aunt and Uncle, and maybe Dudley, his friends were even worse and he didn’t like playing with them, not when all they wanted to play was Harry Hunting and he was the only Harry in the street. It wasn’t fair!
“Wash faster, boy!” his Aunt’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard behind him and he flinched, dropping the plate into the sink “That better not be broken!”
Harry hurriedly grabbed for the plate, raising it back up to show it was whole, glad the water hadn’t let it break. He wouldn’t want to upset his Aunt today. Well, he never wanted to, but it seemed like all he could do sometimes.
“Oh, look at the mess you’re making,” his Aunt said instead of being happy about the plate, and Harry looked down to see water going from his hands down to his arms and then dripping to the floor, starting a little puddle under the stool he had to use to reach the sink “shoo, out! Go grab a mop, now! ”
Harry nodded and got down from the stool, taking care not to slip in the puddle, and ran off to find a mop. Aunt Petunia hadn’t been happy about anything yet, so he knew he was better off not talking back, or not talking at all.
He’d just got the mop from his cupboard - his Aunt said it was faster to sleep with the cleaning things, since he’d use them when he woke up anyway - when Dudley ran past him, zooming around with a toy plane and muddy shoes. Oh no…
“Boy! ” He turned around to find his Uncle glaring at the floor and back at him.
“’m cleanin’ it” Harry quickly put his head down and walked to the start of the mud patch by the door, his body feeling like a plank of wood, really hoping Uncle Vernon wouldn’t get more mad.
He barely raised his head as he finished his other chores, he ended up cleaning all of the floors again because Aunt Petunia didn’t think it was shiny enough, then he cleaned the nice plates with the gold on the sides and all of the tall cups before helping Aunt Petunia with the roast. The smell of food made him want to steal just a little piece, but his hands were still hurt from the last time he tried and Uncle Vernon had put them right on the hot stove, it hurt so bad he didn’t even want to try getting food again. Maybe if he did really, really good, Aunt Petunia would let him have some before going to his cupboard, it happened sometimes, but not much.
It felt like forever until Aunt Petunia told him to shower and get ready to sleep, he didn’t take long - Uncle Vernon said water’s really expensive - and was soon in his too-big pyjamas, handed down from Dudley like all his clothes were. Aunt Petunia looked at him with a pinched face when he walked into the kitchen, and he felt his body go cold.
“What are you doing here? Go to your room!” Aunt Petunia pointed at the cupboard “Mr Wright is almost here and I don’t want you laying about!”
Harry opened his mouth to ask about dinner, but before he could say anything, a big hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him backwards.
“You heard your aunt, boy” Uncle Vernon shoved him towards the cupboard a bit too hard, but luckily Harry fell on top of his mattress “Away with you, and don’t you dare make a sound or you’ll be sleeping in the backyard!”
The cupboard door closed with a bang just as Harry pulled his knees to his chest and he heard the clicking that told him it was locked, like every time someone visited. He sighed and laid back on his bed on the floor, curling up on his side and watching the little light that came in through the gap under the door.
Harry really, really didn’t like visitors.
Privet Drive was unnervingly uniform, with too-similar houses lined up side by side as the picture of conformity, at last in the point of view of someone that’s lived in a colourful and ornate neighbourhood all their life. Michael parked his car - an Aston Martin V8 he’d indulgently acquired due to a love of speed and a weakness for James Bond movies - in front of number four and made his way to the door, which opened barely a second after the doorbell was rung.
“Mr Wright, welcome!” Mr Dursleys greeted him with a smile, moving to the side as he holds the door open “Come in, let me introduce you to my family.”
A thin, long-faced, blond-haired woman with a long neck and a thin-lipped smile was introduced as Petunia Dursley, while a smaller version of Vernon Dursley, lacking a moustache and with blond hair instead of brown, was introduced as Dudley Dursley. Michael privately found it a rather unfortunate name, but doubted the boy’s size - seeming to follow his father’s example - left much room for any bullying to take place.
Small talk was made over dinner, in a mutual decision to enjoy the food before talking business, and while Michael could think of better company - and with much better jokes - he did enjoy the food well enough. Unfortunately, as Mr Dursley would discover after the meal, not enough to change his work ethic. They were well into an argument, making use of the living room for dessert when a knocking sound brought Michaels’s attention out of the matter at hand. Glancing to the side, he failed to notice the other man’s face reddening as the sound was repeated, slightly more urgent.
“Aunt Petunia I really gotta go!” Michael turned his head from the door, where he'd assumed the knocking had come from, to the cupboard under the stairs.
“Tuney!” Mr Dursley called, but Michael was still looking at the cupboard door, frowning slightly. He snapped out of it when Mrs Dursley descended the stairs “The boy managed to lock himself in the cupboard again. Get him out, would you?”
The request brought his attention back to Mr Dursley, who looked quite upset, his face had acquired a faint purplish tone and his eyes were narrowed at the door. Petunia opened it and there was an exchange of whispered words before Michael saw a boy walking out of it. He was small, looking around six years old, with messy dark locks and round-framed glasses, wearing clearly too-big clothes and no shoes at all. Michael barely caught a glimpse of something inside the cupboard - were those drawings? - before the door snapped closed and the boy was running upstairs, shoulders hunched and head low but with the tight lock on his legs that told he really needed to go to the bathroom.
“Don’t mind him” Mrs Dursley turned on him with a smile more plastic than the one he’d been greeted with, which he considered quite a feat “boys like to play in the strangest places” she added with a shake of the head.
“Is he your son?” He asked, still not sure what to make of the whole scene except for nothing good. Mr Dursley looked offended at the question.
“Nephew” He answered in a tone Michael interpreted to mean it was an unfortunate fact instead of familial pride, which made him wonder what such a young child had done to deserve it.
“My sister’s son, we kindly took him in after she and her husband passed away” Mrs Dursley elaborated
“My condolences” He offers, to their dubious acceptance.
The conversation moves on, with Petunia moving upstairs a few minutes later. There were no further signs of the boy and in half an hour Michael is escorted to the door by Vernon Dursley, promising to think on what they’d spoken about. It’s not until he’s sitting behind the wheel and ready to leave that his mind goes back to the child from the cupboard. Had he been there the entire time? Dinner was served just a room away, he would have heard the cupboard door opening or closing, and after the meal, they’d spent a few hours in the living room in full sight of it. Not a sound had been made until the urgent knocking, which led to Petunia opening the door. For all of Mr Dursley’s claims that the boy locked himself in, it had been easy to spot the key in his wife’s hands, and he wondered if they thought him stupid or merely inattentive, when he is neither. Something is rotten at the Dursley household, and he can’t help but want to figure out what.
The sight of the boy’s bright green eyes, which he’d barely caught a glimpse of as he left the cupboard, hardly leaves his mind for the remainder of the night.
July 21st, 1988
Harry knew he shouldn’t have bothered his aunt last night, but he really needed to go to the loo, and Aunt Petunia would have been mad if he made a mess in the cupboard like last time. It was his fault for forgetting to go before going to bed anyway, so he didn’t complain when Aunt Petunia took him to the garden by the ear and told him not to come back in until she couldn’t see another weed in it, and everything was watered. It would be hard, his wrist was hurting from landing on it wrong after Uncle Vernon got mad about him bothering his important talk, but he could do it before lunch for sure.
He was halfway through weeding around the rose bushes, barely feeling the prickling from the thorns anymore when he heard footsteps coming close. He kept his head down, hoping his aunt would see what a good job he was making of it, maybe she’d let him have a fruit or a sandwich before lunch if he did really good. He wasn’t really thirsty, the water from the hose took care of that, but he was starting to feel a bit hungry already.
“Hi there, little guy” a voice surprised Harry and he fell back from his crouch and to the ground, looking up and over the fence to unfamiliar blue eyes. It took him a moment to notice the man was talking to him, and another to realize why. He didn’t know if he should talk, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always told him to be quiet and not bother people, but the man was talking to him so it couldn’t make them mad if he answered.
“Hi,” he noticed he was still on the floor and stood up, but didn’t clean his muddy hands on his shorts, he’d be in trouble for that “Uncle Vernon‘s not here,” he told the man since that’s probably why the man from the important dinner was talking to him.
“I wanted to talk to you, actually” the man’s answer makes Harry’s eyes widen slightly, the man couldn’t be mad about him interrupting dinner, could he? “What’s your name? Mine’s Michael”
“’m Harry” he mumbles, glancing around and at the house. If Aunt Petunia saw him talking instead of working he’d be in so much trouble.
“Nice to meet you, Harry” The man leaned on the fence, crossing his arms over it, and Harry wondered if he could go back to his work while the man talked “You like working in the garden?”
“’s alright” he answered while kneeling back down in front of the rose bushes, flinching slightly when his wrist twinges at the weight he puts on them.
“Is something wrong?” the man asks, and Harry shrugs, squeezing his wrist a bit so the pain would go away before going back to weeding “where did you hurt your wrist, Harry?”
“Fell on the stairs” He replies without looking up, not sure why the man would care.
“Do you fall down the stairs a lot?”
“’m clumsy,” Harry said, though it’s not really true. He’s been pushed more times than he’s fallen, but he can’t tell the man about that.
He told a teacher once. Miss Davies was nice, she always told him he was too small and would let him spend his lunch break with her in class instead of having to run from Dudley and his friends, so when she asked about the bruises Harry told her Uncle Vernon had been mad and pushed him a bit too hard. She asked about some other things and, a couple days later, his Aunt and Uncle came back from school furious with him, yelling about him lying to a teacher and how he should get the belt for talking bad about them. He did get the belt, but just a couple times because Uncle Vernon didn’t like to hear crying, and he got locked into his cupboard all day the next day. On the next Monday, he went to spend the break with Miss Davies and she had a talk with him about lying and how he should spend the lunch break with his cousin from now on because family was important and they needed to get along so he would stop being jealous of him. She wasn’t nice again later, and he started spending his lunch break in the library instead.
“Alright” the man didn’t sound like he believed him, but not a lot of people did, so it was okay “what about the cupboard, can you tell me why your relatives locked you inside?”
“No sir” Harry raised wide eyes to meet the man’s, shaking his head in denial “they didn’t, really.”
“It’s alright, I won’t talk to them, you can tell me the truth” Harry looked back at the house, then back down at the bushes again. He didn’t understand why the man was asking so many questions.
“Why?” He asked as he looked up once again
“Because I’m working with your Uncle, so I have to know about his family, but only if it’s true. That’s why I won’t ask him, I know he’d lie, but I don’t think you really want to lie, do you?” the man explained, and Harry looked down with a small frown.
“How d’you know I’m lying? Or if Uncle Vernon’s lying?” He didn’t think Uncle Vernon lied much, he was always so sure of everything, so Harry always thought all he said was true. Well, almost all he said. He’s pretty sure Dudley’s only fat because he eats too much chocolate and doesn’t do any sports, not because he’s a growing boy. They’re the same age, so he’d also be a growing boy, and he’s not fat at all!
“I’ll tell you a little secret,” The man said, and Harry looked up in curiosity “I always know when someone’s lying to me, it’s my superpower”
“Really?” Harry’s eyes widened in surprise and his voice fell to a whisper “Uncle Vernon says powers ‘n magic aren’t real though.”
“He was probably lying, then,” the man says as if calling Uncle Vernon a liar wasn’t the worst thing in the world to do, but he’s just as tall as Uncle Vernon so maybe he’s not as scared of him as Harry is “so if you tell me about the cupboard, and about falling down the stairs, I’ll know it’s true. Say, I think I saw some drawings in the cupboard, were they yours?”
“Aunt Petunia says I can keep them there!” Harry says in defence of his drawings, but his voice is too loud and he looks at the house for a moment, making sure no one’s coming to look at the noise, before continuing “they’re too ugly for the fridge, but I get to keep them in my cupboard, even if Uncle Vernon doesn’t like it.”
“Your cupboard?” The man is frowning a bit when Harry looks up again, but he’s not looking at him, just at the house.
He pulled out a few more weeds just so it won’t look like he was slacking, wiping his forehead with his arm since his hands are all dirty. The man said his superpower knows when he’s telling the truth, and if Uncle Vernon lied about powers, then he can’t be mad Harry didn’t know about it, can he?
“’s my room” He shrugged, “Aunt Petunia says I better sleep with the cleaning stuff ‘cause I’ll use it in the mornin’ anyway, Dudley needs the other room for toys”
“And the stairs?” Harry looked up at the tone, recognizing when someone was on their way to being angry, he’d had plenty of practice watching out for it.
“Uncle Vernon just pushed me ‘round a bit, ‘m not lying” he insisted, not sure why the man was getting angry at him “Dudley does it too, but he jus' thinks it’s funny, Aunt Petunia told him to stop though ‘cause I almost broke something”
“I know you’re not lying, I’m not upset with you” the man assured, “you almost broke a bone?”
“No?” Harry frowned in confusion “almost broke the… thingy” he motioned with a hand since he couldn’t remember the name, before remembering he shouldn’t flap his hands about “on the stairs. Aunt Petunia doesn’t mind if I hurt if I can still do chores”
“Oh” the man took a deep breath, the next question coming a moment later “What about chores, which ones are yours?”
“The garden” Harry started with the most obvious “dishes, dusting, floors, folding clothes, cleaning Dudley’s toys, uh- cooking? I help, cut stuff ‘n all that. Can’t cook ‘cause I can’t see inside the pans yet”
“That’s a lot, what does your cousin do then?”
“Homework?” Harry answered, not sure what else Dudley did besides lay about on holidays and do homework when they had school.
The man looked about to ask something else, but Harry paid no attention because just then there was a noise from the house behind them. Harry sat up straighter, realizing the noise had been the door opening.