Hey, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, it's Harry Potter blogging from the cupboard under the stairs in my "wonderful" aunt and uncle's abode. Just kidding, folks. I moved out from the cupboard under the stairs last year after I threatened to tell CPS about it, so I am writing now from what used to be my cousin Dudley's second bedroom. Yes, you heard me. My oaf and bully of a cousin got two bedrooms, while I used to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. But I'm not here to complain. Actually, I am here to complain, but I'm used to it not doing any good.

No, I'm here to tell you about something very strange and inexplicable that happened to me today. And I'm also here to complain, because you know what? My life sucks.

Anyway, it started this morning on Dudley's birthday. The idiot got 37 presents. Yes, friends, you read that right. That is not a typo. 37. The number of presents I've gotten in the entirety of my life? 0. A bit fat zero. But, look, life's too short to talk about Dudley for any considerable length of time. Trust me, the arsehole just loves the attention. I'm not going to give it to him.

So through a series of mostly fortuitous coincidences (except for Mrs. Figg breaking her leg of course; if you read this, Mrs. Figg, I hope you get better!), I ended up going to the zoo alongside Dudley. And things started to get really freaking strange. It started at the reptile house, where a snake winked at me.

(And, yes, before you start jumping down my throat, I know snakes don't have eyelids. Hence the strangeness.)

And then I started talking the snake, because, look, who among us wouldn't do that, and I swear to God it understood me. Hand over heart, it could hear me. Well, maybe not hear me because snakes don't have ears, but you get what I mean. (I know a lot of interesting snake facts. Some people think I might be autistic. I say, maybe I am, but did you know snakes smell with their tongues?)

So then Dudley, total jerk that he is, just has to shove me aside and start gawking at the snake. Now would you want to be gawked at? Of course you wouldn't. It's bloody common courtesy. Not that Vernon and Petunia Dursley, Mr. and Mrs. Normal and Respectable, would know anything about that, much less teach it to their son.

Look, I didn't mean to do what happened next. I promise I didn't!

The glass vanished.

There one moment, gone the next. It didn't break, it just disappeared. I don't understand how it happened! I don't understand it at all. What happened? Divine intervention? An optical illusion? Witchcraft? Who the heck knows? But the snake was gone and somehow I ended up being thrown in the cupboard as punishment. Little do they know I still have Dudley's old mobile that he just tossed away because after getting an even cooler one as one of the aforementioned 37 birthday presents.

I know my life seems like it sucks, but I'm not going to let anything get me down. I have a mystery to solve and a lifelong ambition to fulfill. My friends, you might want to be sitting down for this. What I'm going to tell you may seem impossible at first, but I promise I will work night and day to fulfill it.

I want to run a fish and chips shop.

I am really, genuinely serious here. If there's one thing I've learned from Uncle Vernon, other than an uncanny knack for knowing when to dodge fists, it's that the path to prosperity comes through running your own business. I have no interest in drills, of course. No, I want something that will make people happy, or at the very least less hungry. Hence, the fish and chips shop. It doesn't have to be anything grand. Just a small store, a few employees, and enough money to make me comfortable enough.

I'm sure it's possible. I'm sure I can lead a normal life. I just need to make sure this weirdness doesn't come back to haunt me. How hard can it be?

Comments

daughter_of_dentists: Harry, I don't mean to be a nag, but your aunt and uncle do not seem like good people, and I'm very concerned you might be being abused. I would strongly recommend you contact child protective services.

Thanks, miss, but honestly, I'm perfectly fine. They don't hit me, at least not very often, and I get three meals a day most days. I won't give them the satisfaction.

nargleenthusiast11: It sounds like your family is infected with wrackspurts, Harry. Have you considered taking a vacuum cleaner to the space directly above their heads?

…No. And they'd probably kill me if I did.

chemtrailsarereal: It's all a conspiracy. The snakes are being turned gay through CHEMICALS in the WATERSTREAM. The LAMESTREAM media is covering it up, but the DEEP STATE wants us all under their thumbs. Congress, the president, they're all their pawns!

I'm British, mate. And you sound like you need a mental hospital, full offense meant.