The Babying of Harry Potter

Harry Potter's Most Embarrassing Day

The day seemed ordinary enough when it began: overcast skies, the usual stiff wind, and the somber, almost menacing presence of number four, Privet Drive. Harry Potter, now fifteen and uncomfortably aware of the magical world taking dangerous turns, felt certain that his troubles could be categorized into either mundane or wizardly ones. Today, however, would be different—this day would be an unforgettable amalgamation of both categories, teetering on the edge of ludicrous humiliation.

Aunt Petunia had gone out for what she termed a "ladies' luncheon," though Harry suspected it was anything but leisurely. He was left alone with Uncle Vernon and his gangly cousin Dudley, a duo who were already plotting some torment for Harry, as the latter's unfortunate under-the-stairs existence had taught him well to anticipate.

"Boy, come here!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the living room, his tone dripping with thuggish authority.

Reluctantly, Harry shuffled into the room, his demeanor cautious. Uncle Vernon and Dudley were blocking the view of the television, where Dudley had just paused his video game.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry answered, trying to sound as indifferent as possible.

"Oh, none of your backtalk," Vernon growled, exchanging a nasty grin with Dudley. "Since you're always going on about your 'special' school and your 'special' things, we thought it was time you learned your place."

Harry felt a chill go down his spine as Vernon and Dudley moved toward him.

In seconds, Dudley grabbed Harry from behind and subdued him with surprising ease. Not that Harry couldn’t defend himself, but the magical decree against using magic outside of school rung loud in his ears. Besides, the humiliation was yet to unfold.

“Hold him still, Dudders,” Vernon hissed. With a disturbing mix of chuckles and sneers, they marched Harry upstairs toward Dudley’s room, where a surreal scene lay in wait for him.

In the center of Dudley’s overly crammed room was a table filled with baby paraphernalia: diapers, a onesie, baby booties, a bib, a baby bonnet, and even a rattle. But what caught Harry’s eye was the oversized pacifier and baby bottle amidst the items. It was as if they had raided the entire baby section of a store.

“What – what is this?” Harry stammered, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“This, Boy, is your new reality,” Vernon said, enunciating each word with cold precision. "If you think you're so special, let's see how special you are now."

Harry struggled, his face turning crimson with the flushing heat of mortification. Dudley, emboldened by the presence of his father, chimed in with overemphasized baby talk. “Awww, look at the wittle baby Harry! Does he need his diaper changed?”

Despite his best efforts, Harry found himself manhandled into the humiliating attire. They slipped on the diaper, pulling the tapes snug, and forced him into a fluffy onesie patterned with cartoonish owls—ironic, given his association with Hedwig. His feet, now encased in squishy baby booties, felt foreign under him, the rough soles far from the grip of his worn trainers.

Every second felt like a painfully extended mockery. The bib was secured around his neck, and Vernon placed the bonnet on his head with undue force, cinching the ties into a rough knot. Dudley added the finishing touch, shoving the oversized pacifier into Harry’s slightly open mouth.

They stood back to admire their handiwork. “Now, doesn't he look adorable!” Dudley cackled, snapping a picture with his phone.

Humiliated and seething, Harry's cheeks burned. He was revolted by the feeling of the itchy material against his skin and despised the metallic taste of the pacifier’s clasp. His fists clenched around the rattle, the only thing he could reluctantly hold.

Vernon leaned in, his breath hot and sour in Harry’s ear. “You’ll stay like this until we say otherwise, you ungrateful little urchin.”

For the next dreadful hour, the oddest scene in Privet Drive's history unfolded. Vernon and Dudley paraded him around, narrating each movement with exaggerated, mocking baby talk. They took turns “feeding” him from the baby bottle, filled with some unidentifiable sickly-sweet liquid, each trickle infusing Harry’s stomach with nausea.

Harry’s anger wrestled with his sense of powerlessness. Though the situation was absurd, he knew better than to retaliate with magic; the consequences from the Ministry would be severe.

Finally, Aunt Petunia returned, her initial shock supplanted by a slight smirk. “Vernon, Dudley, I think you’ve made your point.”

With audible hesitation, Vernon and Dudley reluctantly began to untie the humiliating regalia. Harry scurried from the room the moment his arms were free, a fierce resolve building within him.

Back in the sanctity of his small room, Harry breathed deeply, his mind alight with potential future comeuppances for the Dursleys. This day, while torturous, had also fortified his spirit. Harry Potter was no ordinary wizard and though shackled by rules, he still held within him the power to overcome – and a burgeoning defiance against tyranny in any form.

Little did they know, the twins Fred and George Weasley had recently sent him a package filled with some of their newest magical gags. Harry felt a sly glimmer spread across his face; perhaps the Dursleys' comeuppance wasn't as far away as they thought.

As he fantasized about justice served, Harry whispered a promise to himself: Never again would he be subject to their petty humiliations. Retribution, he mused, might just come in the form of some rather spectacular fireworks.

This story was generated by user michael9 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.

Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.

AI Prompts