Chapter Text
I awoke to the sound of my aunt rapping sharply on the door to my twin brother and I's room. Well when I say room, I mean cupboard. We were forced to live in the space beneath the stairs. It was dark, dank, and dusty. We slept on the same bed as only one would fit. It wasn't as uncomfortable as it sounds. Harry was small, and I was even smaller, so we fit snugly.
"Are you up?" Aunt Petunia demanded in a shrill voice. She knocked on the door again.
"Yes, we're up," I mumbled sleepily.
"Well get dressed! I want you two to help make breakfast for the special day!"
Her footsteps receded from the door.
"Ugh. It's Dudley's birthday", I groaned. My brother Harry stirred beside me.
"Ugh," He groaned back. "Today is gonna be awful."
Although none of this was actually said out loud. Harry and I were telepathic. Apparently this is not normal.
I slowly sat upright, and then gently lowered myself off the bed and onto the floor. Because I have chronic fatigue syndrome I get dizzy when sitting and standing up. It was easier to get dressed on the floor. I tried to sit as much as possible. I even took showers sitting down.
We clambered out of our cupboard and down the hallway into the kitchen. A veritable Everest of presents adorned the dining table. Aunt Petunia was already cooking eggs. Uncle Vernon sat reading the morning paper.
"Finally up are you?" Petunia sneered at us. "Make the bacon and the toast. I want it done before Dudley wakes up."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," We chorused dully.
I sighed deeply. Despite an official medical diagnosis, my aunt and uncle still didn't believe that I struggled with fatigue and pain. They insisted that I was just lazy and had "yuppie flu". How a 10 year old child qualifies as a "yuppie" is beyond me. I gave up arguing a long time ago.
"I'll take the bacon, you can do the toast," Harry said to me. I nodded. Harry always did this; take on the hardest work to spare me the pain. I was eternally grateful to have a brother who cared for me like he did. I didn't want to think what would've happened if I was an only child.
I stood in front of the toaster gripping the counter, shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying to alleviate some of the pain in my legs. The toaster popped. I shakily took the last pieces of toast and put them on top of the toast pile. I carefully carried the plate and set it on the dining table, the little space there was. Just then Dudley bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen.
"Happy Birthday, my ickle Duddykins!" Petunia greeted him sweetly, giving him a kiss on both cheeks. I rolled my eyes. Behind Petunia's back Harry mimicked a gagging motion. I stifled a laugh.
"Happy Birthday, son!" Vernon said, jovially clapping Dudley on the back as he sat down.
Petunia sat down as well, and started serving breakfast giving the biggest helping to Dudley, and the smallest helpings to Harry and I. Dudley did not need anymore large helpings as he was definitively overweight, and on the other side Harry and I had been sent home with notes from the school nurse more than once saying that we needed more food. Petunia did not change anything. It was an easy visual reminder that she hated us. Uncle Vernon was overweight as well. Aunt Petunia was skinny, but not in the way that she was underweight or starving, she was skinny in the way women are expected to be. It was socially acceptable for her husband and her son to be overweight, as that meant they were well-off; they could afford to eat as much as they wanted, but it was not socially acceptable for her to be overweight, as that meant she was a slob; she didn't take care of herself. She cared very much about what was socially acceptable.
Harry and I ate our food silently, as Dudley counted the mountain of presents on the table.
"34...35..." Suddenly his face reddened, "36?! But that's two less than last year!" He shouted incredulously.
"But sweetie you haven't counted Aunt Marge's present," Petunia cooed.
"Ok, 37 then!" He rose out of his chair, fists balled up at his sides. This was a tactic of Dudley's when things weren't going his way: throw a fake fit.
"We'll buy two new presents today! How's that pumpkin?" Petunia suggested nervously.
"Then that's...Then that's..." Dudley tried to add the numbers.
"39, sweet pea," She answered for him.
"Oh," He collapsed back into his chair, satisfied, "Well, I guess that's alright then."
Petunia gave a sigh of relief; crisis averted.
"Thatta boy, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said, ruffling Dudley's hair, "man wants his money's worth!"
"That's one way of saying he's a greedy brat," I said to Harry. Harry accidentally laughed out loud. Uncle Vernon turned to look at him.
"Something funny, boy?" He asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Nothing. Sorry." Harry quickly apologized.
"Thought so." Vernon turned to talk with Dudley and Petunia.
Nearing the end of breakfast, after Dudley had opened his 37 presents, a phone call came in. Aunt Petunia answered. She came back with a serious expression and pursed lips.
"Bad news, Vernon," she said, "Mrs. Fig can't take them," she jerked her head in our direction. Mrs. Fig was our neighbor who usually babysat us.
"Why the bloody hell not?" Vernon replied furiously.
"She's broken her leg. Now what are we going to do with them?" She thought for a moment, "What about your sister?"
"Ah! She hates them!" He exclaimed, "Maybe Yvonne could take them?"
"She's holidaying in Majorca."
"We could just stay home while you go to the zoo," I offered tentatively. Having to walk around an entire zoo sounded like a nightmare. They both laughed at this.
"So you can burn down the house? I think not!" Uncle Vernon scoffed. At this point, Dudley had started to tear up, or at least, it looked like it. He was faking another fit.
"I-I-I d-don't want them to come!" He sobbed dramatically.
"Don't worry, my sweet Duddykins," Aunt Petunia threw her arms around him, "I won't let them spoil your special day!"
This was a fleeting promise, as just then, the doorbell rang. Dudley's friend, Piers Polkiss, had just arrived. All tears ceased, and before Harry and I knew it, we were all on the way to the zoo.