Well, here we are.

The house in front of them was similar to the surrounding houses in the neighbourhood, but without the cookie-cutter like effect of Privet Drive. While each house was the same in that they were all two storeys and were around the same size, there were subtle but noticeable differences. Harry supposed it was called having character. The neighbourhood itself looked nice enough, he decided.

If removing the contents of a house was chaotic, putting them back into a house was even more so. Boxes were piled high around the furniture that the movers had already put in.

Just like before, Harry was tasked with most of the work. Petunia took charge of the kitchen, tutting at “the state of these boxes, look at this Vernon dear.”  Vernon directed the movers in placing the boxes of personal belongings in their proper places. Dudley was sitting on his fat arse in the sitting room, complaining that the telly had not been set up yet and that he was hungry. Harry was upstairs, sorting boxes of clothes and other personal effects into the appropriate bedrooms. The two movers seemed to be mildly sympathetic towards him, but for the most part were otherwise occupied by the job they were actually being paid to do.

Unloading the lorry took most of the afternoon, and it was early evening when the movers left after Vernon paid them. The sudden absence of activity created a vacuum in the unprepared house. Harry moved another box into the bathroom upstairs before sitting on the lid of the toilet. He hadn’t eaten since the dry piece of toast for breakfast yesterday, and he was sick with hunger, like his stomach was going to purge what little it had when it also yearned to be fed more. However, that was nothing in comparison to his body’s urgent need for water. Throughout the moving-in, Harry had been able to get sips of water from the taps here and there. If Harry hadn’t taken a nap in the car on the drive to Cokeworth, he was sure he’d be shaking with hunger and exhaustion.

Dudley was in his new room now while Petunia fawned over him and chattered on about how it had been her room when she was a girl. Harry was sure his cousin was ignoring his mother in favor of tearing open his things in search for Merlin knew what. Vernon called for Petunia then, and she went down the hall to the bedroom she and her husband would share. She passed the bathroom on her way there, but as usual she seemed not to notice Harry’s presence. That suited him just fine, except he really was tired and wanted to know where he’d be allowed to sleep. His trunk was still in the car, so he was rather at a loss as to where he was meant to stay. The cupboard under the stairs here was even smaller than the one at Privet Drive. Harry leaned back, tipping his head up and closing his eyes. He could hear his Aunt’s high-pitched voice mingle with Vernon’s gruff tones, muffled by distance and a closed door.

A few minutes later, Dudley barged in, obviously looking to use the facilities. “Wot you doing in here, then?” Dudley slurred.

"It’s not polite to barge in when someone is on the toilet," Harry replied.

"Muuuuum, the freak is hogging the loo!" Dudley shouted, and Harry could hear the thumps of footsteps in the hall. The source of the footsteps soon came into view through the now wide-open door.

"Whats this, then?" Vernon gestured to Harry on the toilet with a beefy arm. "Been lying about while the rest of us work, have you?"

If anyone had been working, it was Harry, and he suspected that his uncle was very well aware of that but accused Harry just for the fun of it.

"Just as well you're not meant to have food tonight, boy. Even takeaway is too good for a slacker like you."

Harry's stomach contracted in near pain at the thought. Even if he was allowed to eat tonight, he wasn't sure if the food would stay down. While he contemplated that, Vernon took him by the scruff of his neck and shoved him bodily out of the bathroom.

“Show him where he’ll be staying,” Vernon huffed, “if he insists on lazing about, at least he can do it out of the way where I can’t see him.”

Petunia clucked at Harry disapprovingly and walked stiffly down the hall, away from the other two bedrooms. After opening the door at the end of the hall, she ushered Harry inside then shut the door sharply. “Stay in there and don’t make trouble if you know what’s good for you,” she said harshly before walking back down the hall.

Harry reeled a bit at his aunt’s snappish behavior before getting a look at the room he’d been shut into. It was rather plain, but even so it was nicer than the second bedroom he’d had at Privet Drive. The floors were a solid dark wood, and so was the wood around the window and the door, contrasting nicely with the off-white walls. The movers had placed all the furniture in the house before Harry and the Dursleys had got there, so his bed, wardrobe, and rickety desk were already in the room. There was a window set in the far wall across from the door, and his bed was in the corner to the right of it. Harry flopped onto the bare mattress of his bed and stared at the ceiling. With a start, he realized that this might have been his mum’s room. Petunia had given Dudders her old room, and Harry assumed that his aunt and uncle had claimed the room for parents. Harry gazed around his mother’s old room in newfound appreciation.

After a minute or two, Harry heard soft hooting from right outside his window. When he got up and looked out, he realized that the large oak tree he’d seen upon arriving was in front of his bedroom window. Hedwig was still in the branches, and was looking at him rather impatiently. With a grin, Harry threw open the window and invited his familiar inside. She flew in and landed heavily on his left shoulder, giving his ear a fond nip before preening her feathers. Harry leaned on the sill, watching the last rays of light from the setting sun disappear from the evening sky. Ignoring the commotion from downstairs, Harry relished in the peaceful quietness of the neighbourhood. He wondered if the neighbours here were as gossipy and as nosy as the ones he’d left behind. A welcome breeze washed over him and Hedwig, rustling the branches of the tree outside.

Harry sat at the window for a while longer, but went back to his bed after he saw Vernon’s car leave and go up the street. It was a short while later when Harry heard the front door open and shut, signaling his uncle’s return. From Dudley’s exclamations, Harry deduced that the family had ordered Chinese takeaway. He could picture the scene perfectly as he pet Hedwig. Dudley would get his usual greasy fried honey chicken and nearly a pound of fried rice. His Uncle would get something heavily fried as well, but with lo mein. While father and son scarfed down heart attacks with sides of egg rolls, Petunia would get the least flavorful option possible. She always ordered some sort of mixed vegetable thing with white rice that her favorite housewife magazines recommended for healthy eating at takeaway.

Since the dining table was still covered in boxes, the family ate in the sitting room, where the telly and VHS player were set up courtesy of Dudley. Harry could hear the sounds of Dudley’s favorite explosive action movie. An unwanted flare of jealousy surged through him. Why did Dudders get to have the loving family who ate takeaway while watching a movie together? Why was Harry the random target of a madman when he was a baby?

It was these sorts of thoughts that consumed Harry for hours before he finally fell asleep long after the other occupants of the house.

 When Harry awoke the next morning, he panicked at the unfamiliar surroundings before remembering the events of the day before. After that, it was business as usual.

That morning, Vernon finally took Harry’s trunk out of the boot and locked it away in what Harry was now privately calling “the Cupboard Under the Stairs 2.0”. The only upside Harry could see was that at least he didn’t get locked in the cupboard with it.

Harry was set to unpack some of Dudley’s things, and the task was more unpleasant than packing them up in the first place. Harry was currently working through boxes of clothes, putting them away properly even though his cousin would soon have them strewn all over the floor. At the bottom of a box, he found a white shirt that was a size smaller than what his oaf of a cousin wore these days. More than that, it was only slightly worn around the edges. A bit of a stain here, a loose thread there. In any case, Harry doubted Dudley would miss it too much. His cousin favored loud shirts with graphics Harry couldn’t decipher and were probably meant to be mock gang symbols. Harry paused, making sure no one was around to walk in on him, then stuffed the shirt down the back of his loose jeans.  Since it looked nearly exactly like the T-Shirt he was already wearing, Harry didn’t think his relatives would notice if he wore the new shirt tomorrow. He couldn’t risk pilfering anything else, but a clean shirt was better than nothing. After all the work he’d done, he had at least earned this.

When he wasn't unpacking, Harry was busy cleaning the house from top to bottom. Aunt Petunia was even helping, though Harry knew it was less out of the goodness of her heart and more to do with the illusion of being a ‘proper housewife’. Harry didn’t know exactly how long his grandparents had been dead or how long the house had been empty, but in the meantime it had certainly accumulated enough dust in its neglect. Besides the dirt and dust, some fixtures and other things were in a state of disrepair. Uncle Vernon took care of those minor home repairs because he was “the man of the house” and it was his job  “to keep everything running proper.” Loyal to his company to the end, Vernon used nothing but Grunnings drill bits and drills. He had a rather magnificent set of Grunnings’ finest that he had received from a higher-up at Christmas one year for getting the highest number of sales in his office. Harry thought it rather impractical for a simple suburban family. Was it really decent to own that many drill bits? Surely they couldn’t all have a purpose? As it was, Vernon proudly displayed his set, and boasted about the quality of Grunnings drills as he used one to reattach a light fixture to the sitting room ceiling.

Later in the day, Harry was sent to the attic to put some things away. It must be nice to have so many things that you have to keep some of them stored away until you need them, Harry thought. It was dark, dusty, and had more than it’s fair share of spiders, but Harry wasn’t bothered. Unexpectedly, there were already some things stashed in the dark musty attic. From what he could see, there was an old dresser and a worn brown trunk. Harry went to the trunk first, trying but failing to pry the heavy lid open. It looked like it had been a school trunk, so perhaps it was locked with magic. Maybe he could take it with him to school and unlock it there when he had access to his wand. It had likely belonged to his mother, and he was eager to find out if she had left any mementos behind.

The dresser next to the trunk was made of dark, sturdy old wood with smart brass fastenings and handles. Harry tried opening all four of the drawers, but only the third one from the top would open, and only with some difficulty on Harry’s part. Inside, there seemed to be mostly junk, but Harry was determined to check every inch of it.

Digging around and trying not to cough because of all the dust he was kicking up, Harry stumbled across a small, hard object wrapped in a soft cloth. After pulling it out and carefully removing the cloth, he discovered it was a small metal box, made of silver that had long since tarnished. It looked like an antique; all sides of the box were adorned with carved designs of various flowers and vines and delicate latticework. Harry turned it over to take a look at the underside and what he saw stole his breath away. There on the bottom was a discreet wind-up (so it was a music box, then) and a name engraved simply but elegantly.

Lily

Harry was so shocked at this revelation -this treasure- that tears welled up unwillingly in his eyes. This had belonged to his mother. This was proof that at one time, she had been alive, and real. This was something that she had owned, had touched. Harry imagined that by touching this belonging of hers it was as close as he’d ever get to feeling her touch ever again. His fingers traced the delicate engraved lines of her name, trying to carve their very existence into his flesh, his memory. He considered the wind-up. Would the music box still play? Might as well try. As gently as he could, Harry wound up the box, then set it in front of him on the floor where he was sitting. He lifted the lid.

Unbidden tears overflowed, streaming down his cheeks. The music was soft and sweet, and a little sad. It sounded to Harry like the warmth and safety of a mother’s arms. He sniffed and tried to blink back the tears when his eyes landed on a small purple velvet bag lying inside the ornate box. When he pulled back the drawstring and turned the bag over, a necklace fell out onto his palm. On a delicate gold chain hung the most beautiful turquoise stone Harry had ever seen. It was perhaps an inch around, snugly and securely framed in gold wire that matched the chain it hung from. This must have been his mother’s, too. He longed to put it on, to have something of his mother to carry with him always, but doing that here would only be asking for trouble. The chain would be easily visible around his neck because of the large necklines of his too-big shirts, and if the Dursleys saw Harry in anything except rags they’d start asking questions. It was almost guaranteed that they’d immediately take the necklace from him, and he wasn’t going to risk that. It had belonged to his mother, so now it belonged to Harry. No one would make him give it up. He decided he would put it on under his school robes as soon as he got on the train on September 1st and never take it off.

Harry put the necklace and music box back the way he found them, vowing to return for them. At Privet Drive, he’d had the loose floorboard under his bed in the second bedroom to stash away things precious to him. He didn’t have a hiding spot here yet. No one else in the house was likely to come up to the attic (which was why Harry was up there in the first place), so his treasures would be safe there until he could put them somewhere else. Harry spared one last look at the old dresser before wiping his face on his sleeve and heading back down the ladder. If he was out of sight for too long, his Aunt and Uncle would wonder what he was up to, and Harry didn’t want to give them any reason to even consider going into the attic.

Late that night, when the Dursleys were snoring soundly in their beds, Harry sat at his open window and hummed his mother’s song to himself. Perhaps the move had been a life-changing event for him after all.

 Not even being put to work for the rest of the week could completely dampen Harry’s spirits since finding his mother’s music box and necklace. He tried his best to keep his excitement to himself, but he could tell his uncle was a bit suspicious of Harry’s behavior. When he was certain everyone was out of earshot, he hummed Lily’s song quietly while he worked.

On Tuesday the cable company came to the house and set up the telly and the internet. Dudley was grumbling yet ecstatic at the same time, because he’d missed his favorite programmes and he was getting bored playing his video games. While the cable company workers busied themselves with their cords, Dudley was reading the only thing in the world he would read voluntarily- the TV programme schedule. He was probably trying to find out when reruns would be playing to make up for the episodes he missed. At long last, the telly and cable were set up, and Dudley was happy to ignore Harry while he gorged himself on his beloved visual media.

On Wednesday Harry got a chance to go back up to the attic. The music box was still there, and the song it played was still bittersweet and lovely to his ears. He traced his mother's name again lovingly. This was better than he ever could have hoped for, on par with the photo album that Hagrid had given him. However, his musings were soon cut short.

“BOY!”

Harry started at the sudden summons. Hastily, he wrapped the music box up and placed it back in its spot, hidden well in the drawer full of old newspaper, junk, and dust. He raced back down the ladder to the attic as quickly as he dared.

Vernon was waiting for him at the bottom, red-faced and with his arms crossed over his heaving chest. The first words out of his mouth were, “What do you think you’ve been doing, boy?”

“Aunt Petunia wanted me to-”

“DON’T TALK BACK TO ME,” Vernon roared, his face getting dangerously close to turning purple. “You’ve been nothing but lazy and useless ever since you got back from that freak school of yours. Seems like you forgot what it means to do what’s expected of you.”

Harry didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. His voice had fled to somewhere around his feet, and all he could do was stare up at his beefy uncle looming over him.

“Have you seen the state of the dining room? A right mess, it is. Think you can just slack off and leave those dirty boxes on your aunt’s antique table? Hmm? What are you doing all day? Think you can go through your miserable life like that freak father of yours? At this rate you’ll end up just like him; a worthless, dead, freak!”

Any joy Harry had still held upon the discovery of his mother’s forgotten treasures was sapped away. He wanted to retaliate, to deny all the claims his uncle had just laid out. But he couldn’t. What did Harry even know about his father? His name was James, he’d been in Gryffindor, he’d been a Chaser. And he was dead.

“You get back to work, boy. I don’t want to see a single box in the dining room when your Aunt and I come back from the grocer’s. If you’re not finished by then, no meals for you tonight.” Vernon grunted, satisfied, before he went down the stairs. Harry could hear some conversation, then the open and close of the front door as his Aunt and Uncle left.

Resigned to his fate and to probably another full day without food, Harry trudged down the stairs. He pointedly ignored his cousin who was still glued to the telly, and walked into the dining room. The table and parts of the floor were still laden with boxes, and Harry knew that his work was cut out for him. It would take a miracle to get all of this put away. He got straight to work, opening boxes of china and stowing the delicate bowls and plates carefully away in Petunia’s fancy china cabinet. Not even his mother’s song could make him feel any better; this time, it only reminded him of what he lost before he even had a chance to remember it. He was still working when his aunt and uncle got home from the grocer’s, and so he continued late into the night with nothing in his belly but the water he drank from the tap whenever he could get to the loo. Harry didn’t bother to look at the clock when he finally finished, instead he creeped through the dark house of his sleeping relatives straight up to his room where he collapsed onto the bed.

On Thursday, Harry was supplied with gardening tools, flowers bought from the nearby nursery, and orders to plant in the flowerbeds and window boxes. At least at lunch, Petunia gave him a can of cold soup. As hungry as he was, Harry was careful and made sure to drink the contents slowly so he wouldn’t lose the only food he was likely to get. Water wasn’t a problem today; he was able to sneak in drinks of water from the hose when he filled up the watering can. Harry was glad Hedwig was able to get her own food now, so she wouldn’t starve alongside him. Earlier that morning, Vernon had tried to make Harry put Hedwig back in her cage, but his smart girl had evaded Vernon’s every attempt. Right now, Hedwig was napping in the high branches of the oak tree, acting as guardian while Harry worked below. The summer sun was hot on his skin, particularly on the back of his neck from being bent over all day. Harry was glad he decided not to put on his snatched shirt yet, because it would have just gotten dirty from gardening.

In comparison to the other chores Harry was made to do, gardening was the least repulsive. He was out of the house, which in summer meant he was out of his Aunt’s sight. She and the rest of her family spent as much time indoors as possible to escape the heat. Not even Dudley terrorized the neighbourhood kids as much in the summer; instead, he sat in front of the telly consuming enormous amounts of ice cream. Harry reveled in the lack of intense scrutiny from his relatives. It certainly made getting a drink from the hose easier if Petunia wasn’t breathing down his neck.

When Harry had finished planting in the garden, he moved to the flower boxes that hung on the windows. The ones downstairs came first because those he could do while he was still outside. Afterwards, he had to carry his supplies through the house and upstairs, careful to keep dirt off the floors. Harry did his best to work quickly, starting in Dudley’s bedroom and ending in his room. It was while he was pouring new soil into the planter outside his window that Harry got the idea. He’d been trying to think of places in his room  to hide his mother’s music box, but what if he placed it right outside? This room didn’t have any loose floorboards or any other small hidden spaces, so the flower box would be as good as he could get. Besides, who would go looking through decorative flowers?

His mind made up, Harry found new resolve to finish his chores and clean up. Afterwards, he had to unpack more boxes that were in the sitting room. Aunt Petunia found him just as he found the holiday decorations.

“Put that up in the attic, will you? And any other decorations while you’re at it,” she sneered before supplying her precious Dudley with more ice cream. Harry couldn’t believe his luck, and tried not to look too happy as he complied. His uncle was at the office today, and Dudley and Petunia were busy in the sitting room. This was the perfect chance to hide his mother’s treasures. Harry carefully ascended the ladder to the attic with the first box of decorations. After setting it down against a wall, Harry quickly retrieved the cloth-wrapped music box from the dresser. After descending, he made a quick dash to his room and stashed it in the back of his wardrobe. He could put it in his more secure hiding spot later. Harry did his best to look miserable for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. He kept his mind on his work, putting more boxes in the attic and unpacking and putting away more things that belonged to the Dursleys. By the time his uncle got home from work, Harry was getting impatient and was doing his best to not let it show as he fixed dinner.

It was some hours yet before Harry could go back to his room for the night. Hedwig was absent from both the room and the tree, so Harry suspected she went out hunting. Carefully so that he didn’t make too much noise, he retrieved the music box from the very back of his wardrobe. Sitting on his bed near the open window, Harry listened to the music play in the soft moonlight that filtered through the oak branches and into his room. He took the necklace out and put it around his neck, so desperate to wear it that he risked being caught by his uncle, however unlikely it was. Harry was unaware of how long he sat on his bed and thought of the mother he’d never known until the grandfather clock downstairs chimed twelve. Not five minutes later, Hedwig swooped in through the window. She drank deeply from her water dish before hooting a greeting to Harry. She silently flew to him and alighted on his knee, giving the turquoise pendant of his necklace a nibble.

“This belonged to my mum, Hedwig,” Harry told her, winding the music box up again. Harry and Hedwig sat together quietly, listening to the music. Suddenly, Harry realized that today was July 31st. In all the commotion of the move, he’d completely forgotten. In his sparse yet comfortable room, with two trinkets of his mother and his beloved familiar, Harry thought about how much had changed since that very same day last year, when Hagrid came and told him he was a wizard.

“Happy Birthday, Harry,” he whispered.

 To anyone looking in on the Dursley family Friday morning, not one would guess that someone in the house had a birthday that day. For Harry, it was business as usual. Wake up, prepare breakfast, clear the plates, then get to the list of chores he had to do. If he allowed himself to think about it, he was really disappointed that he still hadn’t heard from his friends, especially because of his birthday. While Harry was used to the Dursleys pretending that his birthday was the worst day of their lives, he thought his friends would have celebrated it with him, even through letters.

Would’ve been nice to hear from someone who's happy I’m alive, Harry thought grumpily as he scrubbed the bath. The day continued in much the same way, with Harry working himself to the bone on his birthday with nothing to look forward to but listening to his mother’s music box late that night.

And so it was that Harry was completely unaware of the frantic search for him that began after the three youngest Weasley sons found an empty house on Privet Drive.