HP one shots

Work-Life Balance of the Master of Death // Sirry

Summary:

In which Harry tracks mud through the void of time between 1998 and 1982, but thankfully no one notices.
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On a night very similar to that fateful Halloween night, Harry Potter walked down Privet Drive. He'd lost his robe sometime between 1998 and 1982, and his jeans had seen better days. Looking down, he realized he'd dragged mud through time and space, which seemed rather rude, all things considered, and he couldn't remember the spell to dry his sneakers without roasting his toes. He might try it anyway. Late autumn chill threatened to seep into his very bones.

Privet Drive and the surrounding neighborhood inspired no nostalgia in him. The street was cold and dark, the houses uninviting in their uniformity. They loomed over him with the air of well-disguised whomping willows. Harry passed the small playground where Dudley and his gang spent many a day chasing him as children and insulting him as teenagers. Harry had discovered every possible hiding spot in the area over the years in his quest to avoid Dudley, back before Hogwarts changed the playing field.

Upon reaching his aunt and uncle's home, Harry rang the doorbell. All the lights were off, and a car Harry didn't remember sat in the driveway. Vernon must have upgraded before Harry could form memories of having to wash this car.

It was late, but Harry wasn't concerned about being rude.

Lights came on. The door opened a crack, chain pulled taut between the door and the interior wall. Aunt Petunia's pale face and dark hair appeared as she peered through. She looked him over as if searching for signs of criminal behavior or magic, which were about equal in her eyes. "What do you want?"

"Hello, Aunt Petunia," Harry said. "Can I come in?"

Contrary to her usual attempts to seem perfectly normal, she shrieked, and slammed the door shut.

Harry waited a moment before calling out, "I'm still here. I just need a word with you."

"You are not my nephew," came from behind the door. Petunia's voice was hushed, harsh, and it hadn't started out kind, either. Harry was surprised she hadn't called out for Vernon yet.

Harry sighed. "My name is Harry Potter. I arrived on your doorstep a year ago with no warning except from a note from Professor Dumbledore, who asked you to keep me safe. Voldemort had killed my parents and you were my closest living relatives, since Sirius couldn't take me in."

"Too busy drinking and partying, no doubt. I've met him, you know. Lily had the gall to bring them all to my wedding."

"Then you know Peter."

"The short one. He was the nicest of that lot."

"He betrayed my parents to Voldemort, which led to him to murder my parents and attempt to murder me, and which led you to being stuck with a child you don't want and can't get rid of. Have you put him in the cupboard yet? You know, the one below the stairs. I never figured out why you did that. I don't remember a time when I didn't sleep in the cupboard." Harry rubbed his sneakers against the welcome mat by habit, leaving muddy streaks over the words. He rather felt like he was doing them a favor; the Dursleys weren't as welcoming as their cheerful mat implied.

"He was scaring Dudley," Petunia finally said, disbelief coloring her voice even as she answered his question. "He was doing unnatural things. Sending toys flying through Dudley's room, babbling about brooms and flying. It wasn't right."

"Yeah, that would do it." A childhood spent in fear of doing freakish things and being punished for them had started early and strong, before he consciously remembered it. "We do need to talk, Aunt Petunia."