Mentality

No. 2

December 24th, 1987

It always got really cold during this time of year; that is, during December.

School had let out over a week or two ago; Harry was never really sure about it, since he was always locked inside his cupboard during that period of time.

All he can remember, really, is his daily routine: sleeping, getting up, washing up, cooking breakfast, sneaking food to his cupboard, doing his chores, cooking lunch, continuing his chores, cooking dinner, and finally getting sent to his cupboard to sleep.

Of course punishments were always a given; something he never even thought about anymore. Using the bathroom, however, always came with it its own hardships.

He slept with a tattered blanket that Dudley hadn't needed anymore, some really old pajamas that baby whale had out-grown, and a special toy he had found at the park. It had been left in a box, and somehow Harry had been able to sneak it into his cupboard with no one the wiser.

It had large, grey eyes and a small snout. Its lips were tilted in a small smile, and its ears were perked up like a cat's. What had enchanted the child about the toy were the wings and sharp, reptilian tail attached to the sleek, blue body. It was a soft plush toy, and it never ceased to make him feel safer and the tiniest bit warmer in his cold, dark cupboard.

Tonight was different, though. The Dursleys were leaving tonight to stay at a relative's house during the rest of the Holiday term, and Harry would be alone for the majority of those days.

Of course, this never failed to occur during the Summer Holidays - ever since he could understand what the term "freak" actually meant - but he had never actually thought it would happen at this time of year. He'd think the family he resided with would want to, at least, pretend there wasn't an extra member of their household and celebrate here. However, luck never seemed to be on his side whenever it even remotely related to the Dursleys.

He heard the rolling of suitcase on wooden floorboards, the thumping of footsteps above and outside his cupboard, along with a mixture of bellowing, nagging, and excited chatter.

With every step his Uncle Vernon made above his small cupboard, dust and wood filings would fall onto his tiny, makeshift cot, littering the fleece and floor with paint chippings and brown wood shavings.

As the voices got louder and the door opened, Harry swore he wasn't going to shed a single tear.

When the door was finally shut closed, keys locking the inside, he could no longer deny the familiar prickling of tears and the burning of his throat. Harry silently surrendered himself to those tears. Just as long as Uncle Vernon never heard about his first moment of weakness in years, he could allow himself this tiniest bit of relief and despair.

That night, he dreamt of presents, family chatter, and warmth; the things he has never had, and believes he probably never will.