Chapter Text
Mundungus Fletcher flicked the tip of his fag and watched as the bits of ash fell to the ground. He was hidden behind a concealment charm outside the Dursley residence- against his will, might he add- having been tasked with standing guard. Though tasked isn't quite the word he would have chosen to use. Forced seemed much more appropriate for his particular situation.
He hardly understood the point of it all, anyway. If the blood wards were up, and You-Know-Who couldn’t get in, then what the hell was he supposed to be looking out for? He supposed this must have been a punishment- for what, he had no clue- making him stand out in this awful heat for hours on end, with absolutely nothing to occupy him. It had to be torture .
Mundungus began calling Albus nasty words under his breath, cursing him to hell and back for tasking him with a pointless job that got him nothing. He was abruptly cut off by a muffled scream, very clearly coming from the house behind him. He froze and held his breath, now rooted in place by anxiety.
It wasn’t just one scream, no. There were multiple, overlapping each other, increasing in volume. There were words he couldn’t make out, and awful noises he couldn’t place- didn’t want to place. After only a minute had passed which felt like eternity, he forced himself to turn around- yet he still didn’t move any further, couldn’t bring himself to look inside, too afraid at what he might see and not daring to imagine what it could have been.
Several minutes passed before Mundungus convinced himself that it truly could not have been so serious as to warrant panic, right? Must have been an argument, he supposed. He knew that couldn’t be the case but- too cowardly to check, and too prideful to apparate and gather assistance for something that may not have been a problem- he still turned around.
He shakily took another drag of smoke, watching as the gray cloud dissipated before him.
* * *
Harry stood, frozen in shock, standing amidst the horror that he had just inflicted upon his relatives. His chest felt tight- so tight. He was shaking all over, trembling so violently that every bone felt as if they were vibrating out of his skin. He glanced down at his hands- they were covered in blood.
Harry began to hyperventilate.
“No no no-” He took some steps back- away from the mess, towards the living room. The longer he stared at the scene before him, the more his panic rose. His foot slipped slightly, and he staggered back even farther, leaving behind red footsteps that sunk into the carpet as he moved. Harry’s eyes were glued to Vernon, to the knife jutting out of his neck, the blood pouring out and creating a larger puddle around him.
His breaths were coming in short, quick bursts. Every time his lungs filled he felt as if they were going to pop, he felt lightheaded and dizzy. Harry choked on a sob before turning and bolting up the stairs as fast as his legs would allow, stumbling up to his bedroom and pushing the door closed behind him.
Harry caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and the sight of it was enough to send him crashing to the closet floor, shutting himself in and curling up as small and tight as he could. Loud, anguished sobs were cried into his knees as Harry rocked himself back and forth. He was struggling to breath with the force of his panic yet refused to bring his head up for any air.
It was dark and cramped and smelled musty, but Harry tried his very hardest to just pretend that he was 10 years old again in his cupboard, when his biggest worry was if he would be let out to use the toilet in time; when his biggest fear was if his uncle found out he had played with Dudley’s toys while they were out. Back when he didn’t have thoughts of Dark Lords and wars clouding his mind before he slept, back when he wasn’t a murderer .
Harry cried for hours.
When the cries had died down and all that could be heard from Harry was light sniffles and hiccups, it was already dark. He had yet to lift his head from his knees, not quite ready to leave the comfort of the closet and face the reality of what had happened. For a while he only tried to convince himself that it hadn’t happened, that he was going to wake up in his bed and shake off the nightmare and carry on making breakfast for them.
When he accepted that it wasn't going to happen is when he began to think.
Harry forced himself to think back on what exactly his plan had been the night before. Voldemort. Blame it on Voldemort. Right.
As he bit his lip in contemplation, a bit of a plan began to form in his mind. Harry stood, grabbing onto the wall for support before his legs gave out. He was sore all over from having sat in that same position for the last several hours. Harry opened up the closet door and sluggishly made his way to the bathroom, stripping off his clothes before hesitating and wrapping them up in an old sheet and throwing the bundle into the back of the closet.
He went back to the bathroom, turned on the shower water- as hot as it could go- and stepped under the spray. He stared at the wall for a moment, wanting nothing more than to just stand there for a long, long time. But he knew he couldn’t, he didn’t know how much time he had. Harry began roughly scrubbing at his skin, using an absurd amount of soap to wash his body and hair. He kept his eyes closed for the majority of it, not wanting to see the red running down his arms and legs, swirling into the drain. He washed himself multiple times so that when he opened his eyes, he would be sure not to see any of it.
Harry turned off the water and stepped out of the tub, shivering at the cool air that touched his skin. He opened up the bathroom cupboard and pulled out a towel, quickly drying himself off and heading back into his room. He methodically put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, socks and shoes. He pulled on a jacket.
The A.C. was still running.
The Dursleys were dead, and the A.C. was still running.
Harry made his way down the stairs, to his cupboard. He made sure not to look towards the kitchen. He opened up the door and pulled out his school trunk, lugging it up the stairs behind him.
If I were allowed to keep my trunk in my bedroom, I would keep it in my closet , Harry thought. And so he dragged it into the closet, shut the door behind him. Pulled out his invisibility cloak and wrapped it around himself. Curled back into a ball in the corner.
Hiding from Voldemort.