Nearly ten skibidi years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their very sigma nephew on the front step, but sixty nine Privet Drive had hardly changed at all.
The sun rose on the same sigma way and lit up the brass number sixty nine on the Dursleys' front door, it crept into their rizzing room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr Dursley had seen that fateful mews report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed.
Ten skibidi years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink ohio beta beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets, but Diddy Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the skibidi photographs showed an demure blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his unsigma father, being oiled up and rizzed by his mother.
The room held no sign at all that another sigma boy lived in the house, too. Yet Harry Brainrotter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. His Aunt Pogtunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first unskibidi noise of the day.
"Up! Get up! Your unrizzful ohio gyatt should be up by now!"
Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped sigmaly on the mewing door again.
"Up!" she skibidily screeched.
Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying alpha motorcycle in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same sigma dream before.
His aunt was back outside the (still) mewing door.
"Are you up yet you unskibidi beta?" she demanded.
"Nearly," said Harry.
"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the sus bacon. And don't you dare let it burn you sussy beta, I want everything cutesy and demure on Diddy's birthday."
Harry groaned and got ready to oil up.
"What did you say?" his very beta aunt snapped through the (still mewing somehow) door.
"Nothing, nothing..."
Diddy's birthday, how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of his ohio bed and started looking for his skibidi toilet printed socks, mewing with a frown on his face..
He found a pair under his ohio bed and, after pulling a sigma sigma boy spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the totally sus and beta cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he mewed, rizzed and slept. When he was dressed and oiled up he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all of Diddy's extremely skibidi birthday presents. It looked as though Diddy had gotten the new mindful computer he wanted, not to mention the cutesy second television and the demure racing bike. Very mindful, very cutesy, very demure indeed.
Exactly why Diddy wanted a skibidi racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Diddy was a very big chungus and unskibidi, he hated exercise, unless of course it involved oiling somebody up. Diddy's favorite victim was Harry, but he couldn't often catch even a skibidi glance of him.
Harry didn't look it, but he was a very sigma alpha male and fast. Perhaps it had something to do with rizzing in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and sigma for his age. He looked even smaller and skibidier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Diddy's, and Diddy was about four times more chungus than he was.
Harry had a skibidi face, an incredibly small gyatt, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of skibidi tape because of all the times Diddy had rizzed him up on the nose. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin, alpha male scar on his forehead that was shaped like a very sigma bolt of lightning.
He had had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Pogtunia was how he had gotten the alpha scar.
"In the rizzing failure when your parents died," she had said.
"And don't ask questions."
Don't ask questions, that was the first rule for a quiet, skibidi life with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernaur entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the sigma bacon.
"Oil up your gyatt!" He barked, by way of a morning greeting. About once a week, Uncle Vernaur looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed gyatt plastic surgery. He was cooked for sure. Harry must have had more gyatt plastic surgery than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his gyatt simply was that way, very unskibidi, as Uncle Vernaur would say. The Dursleys also hated his very sigma hair. He probably had more unskibidi haircuts than the entirety of ohio, it just grew that way, all over the place. Harry was mewing loudly at the eggs by the time Diddy arrived in the kitchen with his mother.
Diddy looked a lot like Uncle Vernaur. He had a large pink beta face, not much jawline, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thicc, chungus forehead. It appeared as though they hadn't been keeping up with their mewing streak. Aunt Pogtunia often said that Diddy looked like an alpha baby angel, Harry often said that Diddy looked like an unskibidi beta wearing a Freddy Fazbear costume.
Harry put the plates of rizzing side up egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Diddy, meanwhile, was counting his baby oil bottles and his presents. His face fell. "Sixty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father.
"That's two less than last year, my bottles are 66 too."
"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."
"All right, sixty-seven then, but my baby oil isn't enough," said Diddy, going red in the gyatt.
Harry, who could see a huge Diddy tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Diddy turned the (still) mewing table over. Aunt Pogtunia obviously sensed danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents and 3 extra bottles of baby oil while we're out today. How's that, pookie? Two more presents and 3 more baby oil. Is that all right'' Diddy continued oiling up and thought for a moment. It looked like hard work.
Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have sixty... sixty..." "Sixty-nine," said Aunt Pogtunia.
"Oh." Diddy sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest bottle and continued oiling up. "All right then." Uncle Vernaur mewed.
"Little alpha wants his gyatt's worth, just like his father. 'Sigma alpha, Diddy!" He ruffled Diddy's gyatt hair.
At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Pogtunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernaur watched Diddy unwrap the demure racing bike, a cutesy video camera, a mindful remote control airplane, sixty-nine new computer games, and a MEW-VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Pogtunia came back from the telephone looking angry, worried, and not very skibidi.
"Bad news, Vernaur," she said."Mrs Fazbear's broken her gyatt. She can't take him." She jerked her gyatt in Harry's direction. Diddy's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's gyatt gave a leap. Every year on Diddy's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to rizzing parks, strip clubs, or the skibidi toilet movies. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs Fazbear, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of betas and Mrs Fazbear made him look at photographs of all the gyatts she'd ever owned. It was giving unskibidi boomer energy.
"Now what?" said Aunt Pogtunia, looking skibidily at Harry as though he'd planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel skibidi that Mrs Fazbear had broken her gyatt, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at her cats; Sigmamew, Skibidimew, Mr. Mews, and Alphamew again.
"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernaur suggested.
"Don't be unsigma, Vernaur, she hates the boy."
The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn't there — or rather, as though he was something very unskibidi that couldn't understand them, like a beta. "What about what's-her-name, your friend, Yvonne?"
"On vacation in Ohio," snapped Aunt Pogtunia.
"You could just leave me here," Harry put in hopefully (he'd be able to watch what he wanted on Onlyfans for a change and maybe even have a go on Diddy's computer). Aunt Pogtunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a beta. "And come back and find the house in ruins?" she mewed.
"I won't blow up the house," said Harry, but they weren't listening.
"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Pogtunia slowly, "... and leave him in the car...."
"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone...."
Diddy began to brainrot loudly. In fact, he wasn't really brainrotting at all — it had been years since he'd really brainrotted, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.
"Diddy Dudiddtydums, don't brainrot, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.
"I.. . don't... want... him... t-t-to come!" Diddy yelled between huge, pretend mews.
"He always sp-spoils everything!" He shot Harry a nasty mew through the gap in his mother's gyatt.
Just then, the doorbell rang. "Oh, good Lord of skibidi, sigma, mew, rizz, ohio gyatt, they're here!" said Aunt Pogtunia frantically and a moment later, Diddy's best friend, Piers Pogrizz, walked in with his mother. Piers was an unskibidi boy with a face like a beta rat. He was usually the one who held people's gyatts behind their backs while Diddy hit them. Diddy stopped pretending to brainrot at once.
Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Diddy, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernaur had taken Harry aside.
"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple gyatt right up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, boy, any unskibidi business, anything at all and you'll be in that beta cupboard from now until Christmas."
"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly. . But Uncle Vernaur didn't believe him. No one ever did. The problem was, unskibidi and strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Dursleys he didn't make them happen.
Once, Aunt Pogtunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible unskibidi scar." Diddy had mewed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and taped glasses.
Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Pogtunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly and skibidily.
Another time, Aunt Pogtunia had been trying to force him into a revolting unsigma old sweater of Diddy's (brown with orange puff balls) which was giving -1000 aura. The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Harry.
Aunt Pogtunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn't punished. On the other hand, he'd gotten into terrible unskibidi trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Diddy's gang had been chasing him and oiling up as usual when, as much to Harry's surprise as anyone else's, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry, unskibidi ligma from Harry's headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. Not very cutesy, not very demure.
But all he'd tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernaur through the locked door of his cupboard) was mew behind the chungus trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-mew. But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Diddy and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his cupboard or Mrs Fazbear's cabbage smelling rizzing room.
While he drove, Uncle Vernaur complained to Aunt Pogtunia. He liked to complain about things: unsigma people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite skibidi subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.
"... roaring along like delulu poggers, the young betas," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.
"I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly.
"It was mewing."
Uncle Vernaur nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a chungus purple beta with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T MEW!"
Diddy and Piers oiled up in amewsement.
"I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."
But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a skibidi dream or even an unskibidi cartoon, they seemed to think he might get beta, dangerous ideas.
It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Diddy and Piers large chocolate gyatts at the entrance and then, because the mewing lady in the van had asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a cheap lemon ice pop.
It wasn't bad and beta, either, Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla oiling up who looked remarkably like Diddy, except that it wasn't blond. Harry had the best morning he'd had in a long time.
He was sigma and walked a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Diddy and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of oiling him up. They rizzed in the zoo restaurant, and when Diddy had a tantrum because his skibidi desert didn't have enough gyatts on top, Uncle Vernaur bought him another one and Harry was allowed to finish the first.
Harry felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too skibidi to last. After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was sigma and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls.Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were mewing and rizzing over bits of wood and stone.
Diddy and Piers wanted to see chungus, poisonous cobras and thicc, man-crushing pythons. Diddy quickly found the most chungus snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernaur's car and crushed it into a skibidi trash can but at the moment it didn't look very skibidi. In fact, it was fast asleep.
Diddy stood with his gyatt pressed against the glass, mewing at the glistening brown coils.
"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernaur tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge. "Do it again," Diddy ordered. Uncle Vernaur rapped the glass skibidily with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.
"This is unskibidi," Diddy moaned. He shuffled away.
Harry moved in front of the tank and griddied intently at the snake.
He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself — no company except stupid unskibidi people mewing on the glass trying to rizz it up all day long.
It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Pogtunia mewing to the door to wake you up, at least I got to visit the rest of the house.
The snake suddenly opened its skibidi eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its gyatt until its eyes were on a level with Harry's. It winked suggestively. Harry mewed. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. He looked back at the snake and winked, too. The snake jerked its gyatt toward Uncle Vernaur and Diddy, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly, "I get that all the time.
"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him.
"It must be really annoying and unskibidi." The snake nodded sigmaly. "Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked. The snake jabbed its gyatt at a little sign next to the glass.
Harry peered at it. Boambastic Constrictor, Ohio. "Was it nice there?"
The boambastic constrictor jabbed its gyatt at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo.
"Oh, I see, so you've never been to Ohio?" As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump.
"DIDDY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"
Diddy came waddling toward them as fast as he could. "Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the gyatt. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so skibidi and fast, no one saw how it happened. One second, Piers and Diddy were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with desperate mews of unskibidi horror.
Harry sat up and mewed, the glass front of the boambastic constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.
As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Ohio, here I come.... Thanksss, sigma."
The keeper of the reptile house was in shock. "But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?" The zoo director himself made Aunt Pogtunia a cup of strong, skibidi tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Diddy could only mew in shock.
As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except mew playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernaur's car, Diddy was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his gyatt, while Piers was swearing it had tried to skibidi him to death.
But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?" Uncle Vernaur waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak.
He managed to say, "Go. Cupboard. Stay. No meals," before he collapsed into a skibidi chair, which appeared as if it was going to break any day from Mr Dursley's sheer chungusness, and now Aunt Pogtunia had to mew and run at the same time to get him a large brandy.Harry oiled up in his dark, unskibidi cupboard much later, wishing he had a watch and a larger gyatt. He didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some skibidi food.
He'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten unskibidi years, as long as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents had died in that rizzing failure. He couldn't remember being in the rizzing session when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long, unsigma hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning, unskibidi pain on his forehead.
This, he supposed, was the rizzing failure, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle never spoke or mewed about them, and of course he was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the rizzing room.
When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some sigma unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened, the Dursleys were his only family. Yet sometimes he mewed (or maybe hoped) that skibidi strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very rizzful, strange strangers they were, too.
A tiny, skibidi man in a violet top hat had griddied skibidily to him once while out shopping with Aunt Pogtunia and Diddy. After asking Harry furiously and unskibidily if he knew the man, Aunt Pogtunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking sigma old woman dressed all in green had mewed rizzfully at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually oiled up in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest and most unskibidi thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish in a quick mew the second Harry tried to get a closer look.
At school, Harry had no one. Everybody knew that Diddy's gang hated that beta Harry Brainrotter in his unskibidi baggy old clothes and unsigma broken glasses, and nobody liked to oil up with Diddy's gang.