Chapter Text
Mirror Universe, 1988
“Up! Wake up!” Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice sounded outside his cupboard door and it had Harry upright in a second.
“I’m up,” he answered. Not answering straight away would mean he’d have to miss breakfast again. Harry didn’t want to miss breakfast. He hadn’t had any dinner last night because he had taken too long for cleaning the living room.
His stomach growled.
“Then start cleaning the kitchen, everything needs to be perfect for Dudley’s birthday.”
Harry barely bit back a groan. His stupid cousin, how could he have forgotten it was his ninth birthday today?
Dudley’s birthdays meant that Harry had to clean the kitchen and then, after breakfast, Uncle Vernon would lock him into the cupboard under the stairs while they were taking their real son to the cinema or to the zoo.
XXX
Harry liked working in the garden. His Uncle and Aunt didn’t let him out much, and taking care of the plants was the only time when Harry had some time alone outside.
He was good at it, too. He had to be good, or else Uncle Vernon would use his belt again and Harry didn’t want that.
It was in the garden that he discovered he could speak to snakes. They soon came by more often.
It was like having friends. Until Petunia saw a snake, once, and then she put out poison all around the flower beds.
The snakes didn’t come to visit Harry any more.
XXX
Aunt Petunia and Dudley had gone to the shopping centre. It was Saturday and Dudley had wanted a new game for his computer.
Harry was nine, now, and he had broken his record. Uncle Vernon hadn’t hit him in four days.
Perhaps he had felt too sure of himself, Harry thought later in the secure darkness of his cupboard.
Harry was starving. Uncle Vernon hadn’t thought of Harry when he had made himself dinner. Petunia and Dudley wouldn’t be back until later, they always took all day in the shopping centre.
So Harry slipped into the kitchen. If he was really silent, Uncle Vernon wouldn’t hear him. He was drinking from the amber bottle again. That meant he would fall asleep on the sofa.
Only today, he didn’t. Harry was just about to take a piece of pie out of the fridge when his Uncle entered the room.
“What are you doing, boy?!” he roared, face furious.
Harry dropped the pie and it landed on Petunia’s impeccable floor.
Oh no.
Harry looked up. Uncle Vernon was still standing in the door, swaying slightly, but his face was even redder now.
“Why are you here?” he shouted. “Answer me, boy!”
“I… was hungry,” Harry muttered but somehow, his Uncle had heard him. Harry dreaded his punishment. Last time Petunia caught him stealing, she had sat him onto the hot stove.
That was the story of Harry’s second scar.
Uncle Vernon’s eyes widened. He took a step forward, not at all steady on his feet. It wasn’t a good sign. Amber bottle meant that his Uncle slept early but it also meant that he got a lot angrier a lot sooner.
Once, he had used his belt to beat Harry and his left arm, which had protected his face, had bled badly. He didn’t get anything to eat the next day for the mess he had made.
That was the story of Harry’s third scar.
This time, his Uncle didn’t scream. He was laughing.
“Hungry? Oh, I’m sorry, boy. It’s not enough that your Aunt and I have accepted you into our house, but you want to eat all our food, too?”
Something about his tone made Harry shrink back. He had never seen his Uncle like this.
“Well, go on then, boy. Eat.”
What? Was his Uncle serious? Harry’s stomach growled. He must be.
Hesitantly, Harry bent down to pick up what was left of the pie-
“Stop!” roared Uncle Vernon. “Don’t use your hands.”
“But how-?”
“Oh, you idiot boy,” the man interrupted him. His Uncle stumbled forward and he gripped Harry by the collar of his shirt, yanking him up. It hurt. Then Vernon pressed down and it hurt even more as Harry was forced on his knees.
“Now eat! Lick it up!” Uncle Vernon commanded.
Harry felt tears in his eyes from the pain but he knew better than to disobey. Disobedience meant a beating and Harry didn’t want his Uncle to take out the stick. The last time his Uncle had used it, his back had hurt for a week and he had bled all over his sheets.
That was the story of Harry’s fourth scar.
So Harry licked at the pie on the floor, almost immobile in Vernon’s grip. When the floor was clean, Harry hoped he could go back to his cupboard. He wanted to go back, to be alone again.
But Uncle Vernon dragged him to his feet. The man was a lot taller than Harry and strong. For a second, Harry’s feet left the ground.
“Now, boy,” his Uncle said in a tone that scared Harry more than anything else. “Tell me: Who gave you permission to go into our kitchen and steal that pie?”
Harry took too long to answer and his Uncle shook him, hard. “Answer me!”
“N-no one…”
Vernon’s hand hit Harry flat across the cheek, so hard that his knees gave out and he fell to the floor.
“And when no one allows you to eat, boy,” Harry felt his Uncle’s foot connect with his stomach and he saw stars for a second, “you don’t steal our food! Do you understand?”
But Harry didn’t get any air, he wanted to answer, wanted to say he understood, but he couldn’t get any air and there were hands again, hands on the collar of his shirt and they jerked him up and they threw him face down on the kitchen table.
“Do you understand?”
The edge of the table dug into Harry’s hips and it hurt, but Uncle Vernon didn’t ease his grip or the pressure.
“I- I-“
“What was that, boy?” Harry felt his Uncle bend over his back and heard the voice dangerously close to his ear, smelling of alcohol.
“I understand,” Harry croaked and his throat hurt.
Uncle Vernon remained where he was. “See, boy, I don’t think you do. We are so kind to you, we give you Dudley’s old clothes and the food from our table and you go and sneak about the house. I think I need to teach you a lesson.”
His Uncle pulled back but his left hand remained, pinning Harry to the table. He was scared; he had never seen his Uncle like this.
Then, he felt a hand on his belt. Would Uncle Vernon use his own belt to beat Harry tonight?
But Vernon didn’t remove the belt- he yanked it open, and then undid the top button. The pants almost fell to the floor – they had belonged to Dudley and without the belt, they wouldn’t stay on. Harry shifted his legs to hold up the fabric but Vernon snapped “Don’t move!” and then his right hand was back, pulling the pants down.
Harry shivered as the he felt the cold air against his bare skin.
“Stay still, boy, or you will not eat for a week,” his Uncle hissed and Harry squeezed his eyes shut. Don’t move, he told himself.
But he twitched when Uncle Vernon pulled his underwear down.
“I said, don’t move!” his Uncle roared and slapped Harry across his arse.
The left hand was gone but it appeared again between his legs and Harry cramped up to suppress the twitch that had wanted to rip through his thighs. Vernon brought a knee between Harry’s legs and spread them wider.
Then, Harry heard a belt buckle open and the noise of a zipper, and the next thing he knew was a hand on his arse, rubbing in circles which were too strong to be soothing.
“I will teach you a lesson, boy, and don’t you dare move or make a sound.” Vernon’s hiss was close to Harry’s ear again.
The hand had moved to between his cheeks and Harry felt his face burn in shame. He couldn’t hold back the strained gasp when he felt a finger inside him.
“I said, be quiet!” Vernon roared and pushed a second finger in.
Harry had never hurt so much. It felt like Vernon wanted to rip him apart from the inside.
His Uncle moved his fingers, tears filled Harry’s eyes and he was sure he was drawing blood where he was biting his lip to muffle the sounds that were threatening to escape his throat.
The fingers pulled out and Harry’s body went slack against the table. Vernon’s left hand was still at his hip, holding him in place.
Then he screamed. The pain was back but worse than ever-
“Shut it!” His Uncle hit him across the back and Harry realised that both of Vernon’s hands where nowhere near his arse.
Harry knew for sure when the man started to move, out and in, slowly, agonisingly. Tears were streaming down Harry’s face now but his Uncle didn’t notice. He was making strange sounds.
Vernon was moving faster now and Harry screamed, unable to be quiet but Vernon’s right hand came forward and covered Harry’s mouth. The pull had Harry arching his back and he knew his hips would hurt tomorrow. But focussing on the pain in his hips took his mind off the pain in his behind.
Vernon’s fingers dug deeper into the skin of Harry’s left hip and the movement became erratic, out of control, then his uncle stilled and made a guttural sound.
Harry gasped as Uncle Vernon released his mouth and pulled out at the same time. His brain could hardly process the pain, and Harry had no idea what hurt more.
“Get dressed, boy,” the man snapped.
Harry moved cautiously, yet hissed in pain.
“Come on!”
As fast as the pain would let him, Harry pulled his underwear and trousers up. He stood, staring at his shoes.
“Do you understand now, boy?”
Harry nodded.
“Good. Now, go back into your cupboard. And stay there!”
Harry moved, every step sending a new jolt of paint through his body.
Only in the darkness of his cupboard did Harry allow the tears to fall freely.
XXX
It happened again three weeks later. Petunia had taken Dudley to the doctor and Harry was to cook Uncle Vernon bacon for a late breakfast and he burnt the bacon.
It wasn’t really burnt, just a bit darker than usual. But Uncle Vernon didn’t like it.
“I think I need to teach you another lesson,” the man said in that voice again that Harry dreaded so much.
The kitchen table was full of dishes and breakfast food, so Vernon dragged Harry into the living room and threw him to the floor.
His uncle was behind him in an instant, hand at Harry’s belt, yanking down the trousers and the underwear in one motion.
This time, there were no fingers, and no table digging into Harry’s hips.
Harry’s arms were trembling from the effort of holding his body up, with Vernon’s weight pressing against his back as the man rammed in and out, and Harry’s knees were hurting.
After his Uncle stopped, he sent Harry back into the cupboard and didn’t let him out until dinner.
XXX
Another four weeks passed and after the first, Harry could sit down again without biting his lip in pain.
His knees had healed after the second week. It didn’t leave a scar and Harry was glad.
It was Saturday. Dudley was at a friend’s, because Dudley had friends, as he always reminded Harry, because Dudley wasn’t a freak. Petunia had left in the afternoon to get a haircut.
“Clear the weeds in the vegetable patch,” Petunia told Harry before she left and Harry went into the garden.
It didn’t take long. Harry had weeded the same patch the week before and only a few weeds had regrown.
Harry was hungry when he went back into the house. He needed to ask Vernon for food, but he was scared.
His stomach growled again. Dudley hadn’t left him much at lunch.
Harry went into the living room and Uncle Vernon looked up from his newspaper.
“What is it, boy?”
“I’m finished in the garden.”
“So what?”
“I…. I wanted to ask if I could eat something, Uncle Vernon.”
“Why?”
“I- I’m hungry.”
“Good boy. So you do learn.” Vernon folded the newspaper neatly and put it back onto the table. “You can eat, but first, you need to do something for me.”
Harry nodded to hide his confusion. Uncle Vernon had never told him to do anything for him. It was always his Aunt who gave him chores.
“Come here,” Vernon said and his right hand came down to rest upon his crotch. He was rubbing it when Harry reached his Uncle and he felt a short moment of panic.
But that is for punishment, Harry thought. Only for punishment. Uncle Vernon spread his legs wider.
“Go down on your knees between my legs.” Harry obeyed. “Good boy. Now you’re going to do what I say and then you can eat whatever you want, would you like that?”
Harry nodded, covering his shiver. This was new. Why wasn’t he facing the floor? Why was he looking at his Uncle?
Vernon’s right hand stopped and opened his fly instead. The man pulled out his penis which was standing up. Harry had never seen anything like it, hadn’t known it could do that.
His Uncle stroked it slowly and it became even harder.
“Come forward, boy,” he ordered and Harry shuffled towards his Uncle. “Now open your mouth, good. Now lick it.”
Harry glanced up – a mistake. Vernon’s left hand grabbed him by the neck and pulled.
“I said lick it!”
Harry leaned forward and licked the tip, not expecting the taste that hit him.
“Don’t stop,” his Uncle commanded and Harry obeyed. The man moaned.
“Put it in your mouth.” Harry knew better than to look up. He opened his mouth and closed it over the flesh.
“Suck!” Harry did, he hollowed his cheeks and sucked as if it were a lolly. Not that he had ever had a lolly, but this was how it must be. Another groan erupted from his Uncle.
“Move, suck it, boy, up and down, cover your teeth… good boy…”
Harry’s back started to hurt from the pressure and he shifted his hands on the floor to ease the tension.
“Use your hands, boy, put them on my balls.” Harry obeyed and began rubbing the skin. Vernon moaned.
“Faster!”
Harry tried but it didn’t seem to be enough. Uncle Vernon jerked up into his mouth and hit the back of Harry’s throat. He had to cough and his Uncle stopped but not for long. He gripped Harry’s face and pulled his mouth forward, holding him in place as he pushed in and pulled out at a brutal pace.
Harry couldn’t breathe, he tried through his nose but it was hardly any better, he felt dizzy and his throat hurt because Uncle Vernon hit the back of it with every thrust.
His speed became erratic and Harry knew it would be over soon, but he didn’t know what would happen when Uncle Vernon stilled.
Vernon moaned loudly, and something ripped through his body and it spilled out of the tip of his penis and went down Harry’s throat. Vernon pulled out and Harry coughed violently but the man didn’t say anything.
A few minutes passed as Harry waited for his Uncle to say something.
He moved eventually, tucking himself into his trousers again. “Good boy.” Uncle Vernon picked up the newspaper again. “Go into the kitchen and take what you want to eat.”
Harry didn’t believe his ears but after a moment, he jumped to his feet and hurried into the kitchen. He made toast with beans and took a few of Dudley’s sweets. It was one of the happiest moments that Harry could remember.