Not Fair [Harry Potter; Harry, Dudley]
Title: Not Fair
Pairing: Harry, Dudley (gen)
Rating: G
Word Count: 487
A/N: written for moonterrace.
~~~
It’s not fair, Harry thinks, although he’d hardly say it aloud. He sits in the back seat of Uncle Vernon’s car, staring out the window at the donkeys as they trot around the ring. Harry had always though children rode ponies, and that Uncle Vernon should ask for a refund because this petting zoo only has pigs and donkeys (and possibly horses, if one were to count Aunt Petunia).
Dudley looks happy enough, but then, he always is happy as long as his parents are spending money on him. The donkey walks slowly, no doubt straining under Dudley’s weight, and Harry wants to laugh, but he doesn’t have the will to because the car is stuffy and uncomfortable and there’s a scent like mold rising from what must be one of Petunia’s side dishes from yet another party to which Harry was not invited.
Dudley seems content to ride the donkey until its back breaks (at which point Uncle Vernon will surely file a lawsuit against the petting zoo for not making their donkeys fit enough to handle the weight of a “growing boy”), and Harry soon tires of watching him. He thumbs the cuffs of his jumper, slipping his fingers in and out of the many holes. Stupid Dudley, he thinks, stabbing his index finger through the hole until the material tears further, the sound of the ripping satisfying to Harry’s ears. Stupid donkey with its stupid swishy tail. Stupid Petunia making that stupid face. Harry looks out the window again and the Dursleys are helping Dudley off the donkey, twin smiles of pride on their faces. They laud him with praise as though it took some immeasurable amount of effort for him to ride the animal. Well, it was Dudley, so maybe it did.
Petunia buys Dudley a chocolate popsicle and on the drive back, Harry has to listen to the sounds of Dudley’s mouth making ridiculous sucking sounds. The chocolate looks good, Harry thinks. It’s not fair. Petunia is going on now about the warm cherry pie she’ll be making when they get home and Harry doesn’t even need to ask that he won’t be allowed to have any.
There are times when Harry wants to do something, do something really vile and horrible, like put vegemite in Uncle Vernon’s coffee. (He imagines the reaction would be something like if a plum were to have a heart attack. Granted, plums didn’t have faces, but if they did, Harry imagines their expressions would be quite like Uncle Vernon’s.) The problem is that the Dursleys don’t have any vegemite, and Harry doesn’t even know what it is, except that it was mentioned once on the evening news and Petunia crinkled her nose.
There are so many things Harry doesn’t know.
He pulls at the loose threads of his oversized jumper and slumps down in his seat. This time when the fabric tears, it just sounds bitter.
~~~
Pairing: Harry, Dudley (gen)
Rating: G
Word Count: 487
A/N: written for moonterrace.
~~~
It’s not fair, Harry thinks, although he’d hardly say it aloud. He sits in the back seat of Uncle Vernon’s car, staring out the window at the donkeys as they trot around the ring. Harry had always though children rode ponies, and that Uncle Vernon should ask for a refund because this petting zoo only has pigs and donkeys (and possibly horses, if one were to count Aunt Petunia).
Dudley looks happy enough, but then, he always is happy as long as his parents are spending money on him. The donkey walks slowly, no doubt straining under Dudley’s weight, and Harry wants to laugh, but he doesn’t have the will to because the car is stuffy and uncomfortable and there’s a scent like mold rising from what must be one of Petunia’s side dishes from yet another party to which Harry was not invited.
Dudley seems content to ride the donkey until its back breaks (at which point Uncle Vernon will surely file a lawsuit against the petting zoo for not making their donkeys fit enough to handle the weight of a “growing boy”), and Harry soon tires of watching him. He thumbs the cuffs of his jumper, slipping his fingers in and out of the many holes. Stupid Dudley, he thinks, stabbing his index finger through the hole until the material tears further, the sound of the ripping satisfying to Harry’s ears. Stupid donkey with its stupid swishy tail. Stupid Petunia making that stupid face. Harry looks out the window again and the Dursleys are helping Dudley off the donkey, twin smiles of pride on their faces. They laud him with praise as though it took some immeasurable amount of effort for him to ride the animal. Well, it was Dudley, so maybe it did.
Petunia buys Dudley a chocolate popsicle and on the drive back, Harry has to listen to the sounds of Dudley’s mouth making ridiculous sucking sounds. The chocolate looks good, Harry thinks. It’s not fair. Petunia is going on now about the warm cherry pie she’ll be making when they get home and Harry doesn’t even need to ask that he won’t be allowed to have any.
There are times when Harry wants to do something, do something really vile and horrible, like put vegemite in Uncle Vernon’s coffee. (He imagines the reaction would be something like if a plum were to have a heart attack. Granted, plums didn’t have faces, but if they did, Harry imagines their expressions would be quite like Uncle Vernon’s.) The problem is that the Dursleys don’t have any vegemite, and Harry doesn’t even know what it is, except that it was mentioned once on the evening news and Petunia crinkled her nose.
There are so many things Harry doesn’t know.
He pulls at the loose threads of his oversized jumper and slumps down in his seat. This time when the fabric tears, it just sounds bitter.
~~~