I do not own Harry the Potter, I do however own this idea.

I'm on the outside

I'm looking in

I can see through you

See your true colours

On the Outside Staind

Harry grunts as a particularly tough weed refuses to relinquish its hold in the ground. Digging a little, he ignores the sting of dirt in the scratches on his hands. They are bleeding slightly, not enough to worry about. Tug, tug, tug, and the weed comes loose, dirt clinging to the roots.

He smiles as he imagines the plant that he saw in a book at school. A mandrake, a mythical plant that resembles a baby. The picture showed a plant-like child with its face screwed up in a wail. Dudley had seen him reading the book and told Uncle Vernon. It had earned him a week locked in the cupboard. "These things don't exist, stop filling your head with nonsense!" He knew they didn't exist, but what was the harm in reading about it?

Wiping sweat from his brow he leans back to look in through the window. Dudley is watching the morning cartoons. He sighs and continues to weed the garden.

Blood mixes with the dirt.

Harry is glad that it is cloudy today since he doesn't want to get a burn. He takes a deep breath as he pulls a cord, starting the lawnmower. Then he pushes the clunky thing across the lawn. It's hard, the machine comes up to his chest and the handle is taller then he is. His arms always ache after mowing the lawn from being above his head too long.

He is careful to get ever inch of the lawn, every corner. Aunt Petunia will yell if he doesn't and her voice is screechy when she's mad. It gives him headaches.

He passes the window and Petunia is feeding Dudley a large slice of cake for his after lunch dessert. Dudley takes a big gulp from a glass of milk and he finds himself swallowing reflexively. He's thirsty, but there will be no drinking until he's done the outside chores.

His throat is parched.

Harry trips and falls when he's putting the lawn mower away. He looks at the grass stains and sighs in frustration. Aunt Petunia will be mad. She doesn't like it when he gets dirty. He had managed to stay somewhat clean till now. Rubbing his eyes he then takes out the pruning gear.

He hates pruning because he can never do it perfectly, according to Petunia. Sure enough he is nearly finished as uncle Vernon pulls into the driveway. Petunia greats him at the door and glances critically at the hedges. She screeches at him and tells him to start from the beginning. Dudley is laughing from the doorway and Vernon growls that he will stay out until it is finished properly. The wind picks up.

He sneaks looks though the window as they sit down to eat dinner. He is hungry but he knows better then to ask right yet. Instead he furiously scrubs his wet cheeks and looks accusingly at the cloudy sky.

It begins to rain.