Chapter Text
Strange. Odd. Peculiar. Abnormal. Freak.
Terms that Harry Potter all knew applied to him, courtesy of his aunt and uncle. All meaning he was not right, not normal.
Harry knew he was not normal, but he did not know why. Nor did his aunt or uncle ever explain. Not fully, anyways. In the seven years he had been living with them, the most he’s ever gotten was Aunt Petunia spitting out, “your good-for-nothing parents must have passed some freak on to you!”
Harry sighed, looking up at the ceiling of his cupboard. How he wished he could have met his parents. Aunt Petunia never spoke kindly of them and seemed to hate the very thought of them, but maybe, if they were freaks like Harry, they would have understood him.
It wasn’t easy, living with the Dursleys, who detested any kind of freak. Harry included, despite being blood-related. Or, maybe because he was blood-related, and they hated the thought of being in any way associated with freaks.
Harry wished he wasn’t a freak. Maybe it would make Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon like him more. Maybe it would give cousin Dudley less of a reason to torment him.
A small dot moved in the periphery of his vision. Harry turned, and saw a spider scuttle into some nook in the wall. The cupboard was dark, with it still being early morning. Harry would have gone back to sleep, but the strange flashes of green light that often accompanied his nightmares forced his eyes open. He’d rather not see that again.
It was the first week of summer vacation. Harry and Dudley just finished third grade. Dudley received a heapful of presents from his parents as congratulations for another great year- if barely passing could be defined as great. Harry received a piece of slightly buttered toast and a one way trip to the cupboard.
He had heard whispers of an outing to celebrate the end of the school year. For Dudley, obviously, not for Harry. He would have to stay with Mrs. Figg, whose company was only slightly preferable to the Dursleys.
Harry heard footsteps overhead. Too light to be Uncle Vernon or Dudley. Aunt Petunia must’ve been coming down to-
Tap, tap, tap!
There it was.
“Get up,” she said from the other side of the door. Harry shuffled, smoothing out his shirt and crawling between the blankets.
Of course, it fell to him to make breakfast, so he stood on his tip-toes to crack the eggs over the simmering skillet. Aunt Petunia sat at the coffee table, sipping from her mug. Her eyes narrowed as she read over something in the newspaper, but Harry couldn’t turn around to look.
“We’re going out today,” Aunt Petunia said. “We’re leaving at ten.”
“Okay,” Harry said, knowing this would mean being subjected to at least six hours with Mrs. Figg.
“You’re coming with us.”
Harry could hardly believe his ears. One of the yolks broke, bleeding yellow over the rest of the skillet. Harry mentally marked that egg as his own, and made sure to be extra careful with the others.
“Mrs. Figg came down with some sort of illness last night, so she can’t take you,” Aunt Petunia explained. Harry took his eyes off the stove for a second to see his aunt glaring at him. Her nostrils flared. “You will be on your best behavior. No funny business, no shenanigans, no freakiness. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”
If Harry could control the strangeness that seemed to follow him everywhere, he would. But it appeared to be entirely out of his control. How was it his fault that things went missing sometimes, or that people waved to him on the streets?
Soon enough, Uncle Vernon and Dudley came down for breakfast, all prepped for the promised trip to an amusement park a couple hours drive away. Uncle Vernon repeated his wife’s earlier speech about avoiding funny business, though with an added layer of venom. Harry repeated the song and dance, though he was sure they’d still find some reason to get mad at him.
The amusement park was fun enough. Harry had never been to one before, and was thrilled to have the opportunity to ride all the age-appropriate attractions. Though Dudley shoved him out of line multiple times, and kicked him on the swings, Harry was able to ignore him for today. Even though he did not get any of the carnival food that Uncle Vernon bought for Dudley, he didn’t care. Best of all, there were no strange, odd, peculiar, abnormal, or freaky occurrences all day.
Uncle Vernon threatened one of the carneys into giving Dudley the giant stuffed lion he hadn’t won, and his cousin held it tight as they drove back home. Harry had won a smaller plush with the two pounds Aunt Petunia reluctantly gave him. It resembled a coiled serpent, plush and cuddly. He stuffed it in his pocket, intent on hiding it underneath his pillow beneath the stairs the second they were home.
“Dad, I’m hungry!” Dudley complained.
“We had lunch at the park,” Uncle Vernon huffed.
“But I’m hungry again!”
“We’ll make meat and potatoes for dinner when we get home,” Aunt Petunia tried to appease him.
“But I want to eat now!”
Harry hadn’t eaten anything but the one egg for breakfast all day, and he honestly felt hungry, too. But, he didn’t let his own complaints be known. Instead, he just leaned against the car window as they entered the bounds of Little Whinging.
Uncle Vernon sighed, unable to say no to his son’s complaints. “Look, up ahead. It looks like a meat and sandwich shop. Will that do?”
Dudley dried his crocodile tears and nodded.
Uncle Vernon parked the car across from the store of interest. The signage out front read “Curtis Meats” with scratchy paint. It appeared to be a small, quaint, family business, looking more like a house than a store, complete with a side yard and a fence. A place that could almost be home.
Uncle Vernon opened the door to the shop and led the way inside. Harry looked around in awe. A large assortment of meats hung from the back walls, with a space that seemed to extend further into the complex. Before the counter was a small dining area for customers to eat. A menu written in chalk hung above the register, detailing various sandwich combos made with the meat the shop specialized in, alongside spices, drinks, and package deals.
Harry saw two boys sitting at one of the tables. Both had golden colored hair, and their plates were lined with only crumbs as they hunched over some sort of book.
“So that gives us 10.6 kilograms of ammonia and 12.8 kilograms of nitric acid left over after the conversion,” one of them said, marking something in the book.
“Enough for a good chunk of dynamite,” the other responded with a mischievous grin.
The first boy frowned. “We’re only doing the theoretical. Please don’t actually make dynamite.”
“Well, we can’t exactly make dynamite, we don’t have-” the second boy cut himself off, having noticed the presence of the new guests.
Harry and the older of the boys locked eyes, while Uncle Vernon pretended he didn’t hear anything and marched his way to the front counter. He pressed on the silver bell by the register, a ringing piercing the air. Aunt Petunia stood by his side, while Dudley eyed the menu.
Harry knew to expect only a small salad, if the Dursleys were to order anything for him at all, so he didn’t bother with the menu. He kept sparing glances at the two boys, who now spoke in quieter whispers. He wondered what they were studying. Ammonia and nitric acid sounded like something he’d learn about in a chemistry class, but the talk about conversion and making dynamite left the impression that the topic was at a higher level of understanding. The two boys looked like they could be brothers, but there was no one around who looked like they could be their parents. Maybe the parents were just in the bathroom.
The curtain that shielded the back of the store from customers’ eyes drew to the side, and a well-built man stepped out. He far surpassed Uncle Vernon in height, and Harry almost chuckled at how clearly intimidated his uncle was.
“Welcome to Curtis Meats,” the man said, the deep baritone of his voice matching his appearance uncannily well. “What can we get for you today?”
Uncle Vernon shook himself from his stupor with a cough and straightened out his back, trying - and failing - to match the build of who Harry could only assume to be Mr. Curtis. “A pork-beef combo special. And one coffee, black.”
“Another coffee, make it a latte with extra cream,” Petunia said. “And I’ll have the roast beef sandwich.”
“I want the pork-beef combo special, too!” Dudley whined, as if there was any chance that Uncle Vernon would deny him.
“Anything to drink?” Uncle Vernon asked him.
“A root beer float!”
“We don’t sell root bear floats,” Mr. Curtis said, already calculating the price on what appeared to be a simple calculator.
Dudley looked ready to bawl until he got his way, but Aunt Petunia stepped in. “He’ll take an orange juice.” She spared a quick glance at Harry, her gaze narrow. “And the garden salad and water for the other one.”
Mr. Curtis’s eyes finally landed on Harry, and Harry wanted to shrink into himself. The man had a thin, barely noticeable scar above his left eyebrow, and Harry ran his hand through his hair, hoping to hide his own scar from view.
“Anything else?”
“No, that’s it.”
Mr. Curtis announced the price. Uncle Vernon clicked his tongue in disapproval, but forked over the cash, anyways. Mr. Curtis directed them to a small booth while they waited for their food.
The two boys were sitting across the room from them. The older of the two was still looking through his book, while the younger looked torn, like he didn’t know if he should return to studying or spark up a conversation with the newcomers.
“Did your mother ever teach you it’s rude to stare?” Aunt Petunia snapped when she saw the boy looking their way. Harry cringed, especially when the boy looked taken aback by her voice. This got the other’s attention, who glared at them.
The younger one paused for a second, then, looking Aunt Petunia right in the eye, said almost in a whisper, “Did yours teach you to not choose favorites?”
Harry ground his teeth together to avoid snorting in laughter, as that would surely result in an indefinite stay in the cupboard. Despite the humor of the straightforward quip, he still felt a redness in his cheeks. Was it really that obvious to everyone that his aunt and uncle far preferred their blood son to him? Aunt Petunia looked like she smelled something particularly foul, and Uncle Vernon’s veins seemed ready to burst through his skin. Dudley looked almost confused, but he mirrored his parents’ anger.
“Watch your tongue, brat,” Aunt Petunia hissed. “When your parents come back-”
The swish of the back curtain cut them off. Aunt Petunia clearly didn’t want to cause a scene in front of the shop owner. A woman who looked around Aunt Petunia’s age stepped out with a platter of drinks, setting them at the Dursley’s table. Harry saw her eyes pass over him for a second, and again he shrunk against the booth cushion.
This woman, who he assumed to be Mrs. Curtis, if the ring on her finger was anything to go by, seemed almost scarier than her presumed husband.
She marched over to the table occupied by the two boys, snatching away their book and snapping the cover shut. Harry got a glimpse of the title before her fingers covered the letter.
Advanced Chemistry and Its Applications
“Ed,” Mrs. Curtis said, “What’s the chemical composition of a standard kitchen knife?”
The older of the boys scrunched up his face, thinking. “Most kitchen knives are made of stainless steel, so you’re likely to find a combination of carbon, chromium, nickel, manganese, silicon, iron, and copper in them.”
Mrs. Curtis nodded, turning her attention to the other boy. “Al, give me three properties of carboxylic acids.”
“Strong sour odor, strong hydrogen bonding between the molecules, and a higher than average boiling point compared to other substances of similar molar mass.”
Harry didn’t understand anything they said, but Mrs. Curtis nodded in approval once again. “Good, go back to training.”
Joint grins came over the boys’ faces as they raced for the side door into the yard. The screen door slammed behind them. Mrs. Curtis returned to the back, likely to resume preparing the food.
Uncle Vernon was still a bit red in the face, and directed his ire to who else but Harry. “Listen here, boy,” he breathed heavily, “we treat you exactly as you deserve. Do you understand that?”
Harry felt the redness in his cheeks. Of course, his aunt and uncle treated him like this because he was a freak. Dudley wasn’t. “I understand.”
With the strange boys out of sight and out of mind, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon saw no need to confront Mrs. Curtis with their earlier misbehavior when she returned with their sandwiches and salad. Harry picked at the leaves of his salad, which was admittedly delicious, while sparing glances out the window opposite the booth. He could see brief glimpses of the boys through the window, appearing for short bursts before running past.
He wanted to see more. The boys looked around his and Dudley’s age. Maybe they were new in town and would start attending their school in the upcoming term. Maybe, if Harry spoke to them first, he could get them on his side instead of on Dudley’s. Maybe he could have an actual friend, a whole two at that.
Still, a gut feeling told him that Aunt Petunia would not approve of him spending time with them. He needed to be sneaky.
“I need to use the toilet,” he told his aunt.
“Make it quick,” she snapped, still eating her sandwich.
Harry shimmied out of the booth and looked around. There was a small corridor by the right side of the register that extended into the building. Harry assumed that the bathroom, if the store had one, would be there. From there, he just needed to find a way into the yard.
He stepped out of view of the Dursleys, looking down the corridor. There were three doors. The one straight ahead was labeled with a bathroom sign. The one on the right led into what he assumed to be the kitchen area. And the one on the left was on the same wall as the entrance to the yard.
The kitchen door opened, and Harry saw Mrs. Curtis emerge again. She didn’t look any less intimidating on second viewing. Her hair was tied up in box braids, and she had an intricate-looking tattoo on her chest. She looked over Harry again, and he again felt the sharpness of her eyes.
“Bathroom’s this way,” she said, pointing at the middle door. As she stepped past him to return to the main dining area, she pressed something into his hands, and Harry had no choice but to take it. It took him a second to register that it was a sandwich. Harry peeled back the top layer of bread and saw the filling consisted of roast beef, a leaf of lettuce, a tomato slice, and some sort of spread.
Harry closed the sandwich and held it close. It was clearly meant to be his and Mrs. Curtis’s secret. Did her husband tell her that he was the only one who didn’t get a sandwich?
“Anything else we can get for you today?” he heard Mrs. Curtis talking in the dining area. As Dudley loudly clamored for dessert, Harry slipped out the side door into the yard.
“Get outta the way!”
Harry barely managed to sidestep as the younger of the brothers almost crashed into him. The boy was barely phased, rushing forward at his brother with a punch. The older one - Ed, Harry believed - parried the blow, ducking and kicking at his brother’s chest. The younger - Al - simply grinned, sweeping the offending leg up and knocking Ed off balance. Ed teetered for a second before falling, catching himself on his elbows.
“Come on!” Ed complained as Al took some deep breaths.
“That’s three to one now,” Al said.
“I got distracted!” Ed said, pushing himself up and brushing away the grass stains.
“Sorry,” Harry apologized, feeling sheepish and clutching at his sandwich. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be here-
But Ed just waved him off. “It’s nothing, Al usually wins these.” The boy surveyed Harry with a hand on his hip. “So, what’s your name?”
“Uh, it’s Harry. Harry Potter.”
Maybe Harry imagined it, but he thought he saw Ed’s eyebrows go up a bit. “Is that so?” For some strange reason, it reminded Harry of all the odd strangers who seemed to know him, who would bow and stammer around him. He shrunk back. If these boys started doing that, it would be much harder to start a friendship.
“Well, I’m Edward, and that’s my little brother Alphonse,” Ed said. “So, is the other kid your brother or your cousin?”
Harry felt a tinge at relief that the conversation was progressing as normal. He imagined that this is how friendships started. They’d talk about their families, then they could discuss interests, find common ground, and agree to meet up over the summer holidays. Though, in his case, future meetings might have to wait until school started again.
“He’s my cousin.”
“Figured. Cousins tend to be worse than brothers.”
Harry fought off another grin. Finally, someone who agreed that Dudley was horrible. Though, he didn’t have any siblings of his own, so he couldn’t confirm the validity of Ed’s statement.
Al nodded along. “We have seven cousins, six of them are absolutely horrible.”
“And the only half-decent one will rob you blind, then laugh about it,” Ed finished for his brother, shaking his head.
Harry laughed along, wondering how any of these cousins would compare to Dudley. Ed and Al seemed fairly jovial about it, but if the only good cousin was a heartless thief, then how bad were the others?
“So, are you new in town?” he asked, unable to help the glimmer of hope that found its way into his voice. That hope was instantly dashed by the torn looks on Ed and Al’s faces, and he knew the answer before they even spoke up.
“No, sorry,” Al said. “We just visit for a few weeks every summer. Teacher and Dad are old friends.”
“Teacher?”
“Mrs. Curtis,” Ed added.
“Oh, what does she teach?” Harry asked. He could only assume chemistry, based on the pop quiz she gave them.
“Lots of things,” Al said with a grin. “Chemistry, first off. She helps tutor us in a lot of other subjects, too.”
“Not that we need it,” Ed smirked. “We’re top of the class every year. And… she teaches us how to fight!”
So that’s what the scuffle was about. They were just sparring. Harry wouldn’t mind learning that if it meant getting away from Dudley easier.
The door squeaked, and Harry groaned. It seemed like thinking of Dudley summoned him into existence, because there he stood in the doorway, a half-eaten brownie in his hand.
“Dad’s gonna be mad at you,” he sneered. “You’re not supposed to be out here.”
Harry watched as both Ed and Al glared at Dudley. He just wanted to vanish into the earth. Dudley was going to tell them that Harry was a freak, and their friendship would go up in smoke.
Dudley spotted the still uneaten sandwich in Harry’s trembling hands, and, before any of them could protest, he snatched it away.
“Hey!” Harry said, belatedly.
“I’m still hungry!” Dudley said. “And, freaks like you don’t get sandwiches! That’s why Mom and Dad didn’t buy you one!”
Quick as a flash, a hand gripped Dudley’s wrist. Ed, despite being a good deal shorter, grabbed the sandwich away and hopped back. Dudley’s brownie fell from his grip and scattered to crumbs in the dirt.
Dudley’s face turned pink in rage, looking very much like a miniature version of Uncle Vernon.
“Give that back! Or I’ll hit you!”
“Just try it!” Ed yelled back, in a fighting stance and the prized sandwich held high overhead. “I’ve beaten guys stronger than you before!”
But Harry already felt nausea building within him. Aunt Petunia stood in the doorway, nostrils flared and lips painfully thin.
“We’re going home,” she said, with no room for argument.
Ed dropped out of his fighting stance. Both he and Al looked at him apologetically as Harry followed after Aunt Petunia and Dudley. Ed even reached for him, so Harry walked faster, too ashamed to even say goodbye.
His first time trying to make friends, only for it to end in a fight. He hoped they knew it wasn’t their fault.
Uncle Vernon was already out of the shop, but both Mr. and Mrs. Curtis glared at Aunt Petunia as she marched Harry and Dudley to the exit. Harry could only wonder what transpired to make them so angry.
The second the boys were in the car, the engine roared to life and Uncle Vernon sped away, red in the face about something.
“They’re all so strange!” Dudley said with crossed arms.
“Yes, they are,” Aunt Petunia sniffed, her face a few shades paler than usual. “Well, we know not to go back there anymore.”
“Yes, of course,” Uncle Vernon said. “Best file a complaint, or write a bad review for them. So others know not to give them business.”
Harry just stared out the window. By the time they pulled into the driveway of their house, the Dursleys already found a way to pin all the day’s misfortunes onto Harry, earning him a frog march to the cupboard and a click of the key.
Harry settled into the darkness, wiping at his eyes. He didn’t even know why he was so upset. It had been foolish to get his hopes up at all. Ed and Al would probably forget all about him by tomorrow.
As he shifted, he felt something mushy in his pocket. Gingerly, Harry reached in, retrieving the plush snake that he’d almost forgotten in the wake of everything that happened in the butchery, and, to his surprise, the now slightly matted sandwich. Ed- Ed must have slipped it into his pocket when Harry walked past him.
A waverly smile came over Harry’s face as he chewed the sandwich, careful to not let any crumbs drop. It was a little lumpy and misshappen, but it was more than anything had offered him before.
Maybe, there was hope of meeting Ed and Al again, after all.