When Pain Is The Only Comfort Left

Harry’s used to people not believing him, so he’s not sure why he thought this time would be any different. He stares at the detective sitting in front of him calling him a liar to his face and he’s not sure why he’s surprised or why he let himself get his hopes up to the point that he feels the bitter sting of rejection and injustice of it all and he thinks back to every time he wasn’t believed.

His relatives never believed his word over Dudley’s and they made damn sure that they isolated Harry from everyone in their community too. Teachers didn’t believe him, other kids sure as hell didn’t, and it wasn’t long before the local police department didn’t either.

He was 8 years old the first time an officer of the law claimed he’d been making stuff up and it was regarding the Dursley’s neglect and abuse.

He’d actually lied at first, parroting all the things he’d been taught to say if such a situation ever came up.

“I’m just really clumsy sometimes.”

“Me and my cousin play rough.”

“I don’t know, I fell at recess.”

But then he’d been forced to be examined by a doctor and they learned that his eye sight was for shite, that he was malnourished, and he had no history of really being to the doctors outside of required vaccinations.

They saw Dudley’s bedroom and Harry’s ‘room’ which is secretly Aunt Marge’s room that they had hastily put together to make it look like a child’s room. But they hadn’t had time to truly give it personality so it looked bare and spoke volumes when compared to Dudley’s. Not to mention all of his clothes were far too big and ratty.

It all painted a picture. And when the officer laid it all out there like that and told Harry that he just had to tell the truth and then they could help him and… well, he’d stupidly believed him.

But then Aunt Petunia dug her talons in and twisted everything around and it wasn’t long before they decided that Harry was a nasty little liar that wanted to get attention from his poor aunt and uncle who were ‘trying so hard to do right by him’.

He’d gotten in a lot of trouble for that whole debacle and he still occasionally has nightmares about the punishment he’d received when it was over.

And then there was the time when he’d been 13 years old talking to aurors who didn’t believe him either.

It was about Sirius Black, of course. They were convinced that he’d been confounded and threw out question after question until he was left confused, stumbling over his words, and questioning how easily they could make reality sound ridiculous to the point that he gave up trying, feeling frustrated and close to tears.

It’s not until later that night when he’d been agonizing in his bed over everything that happened that he realized how stupid he felt that he couldn’t even get the story out and that it’s Sirius who suffered for it...

They had been so convincing and they spun everything around in a way that had him over analyzing his every word until he didn’t know what was helpful or not helpful anymore.

Thank god he had his friends cause when he told them about the aurors and how confused they made him they’d been angry on his behalf and validated that it’s not his fault that they’d come at it with their own agenda.

It’s really only a few months later when he’s 14 years old that he finds himself in a similar situation, only this time it’s much worse. This time it’s with the muggle police again and this time he doesn’t have his friends to help him keep his sanity.

It’s the catalyst that changes his entire life and it’s hard to not drown in the despair of it all when everything else in his life falls apart because of it. Including his friendship with Ron and Hermione.

“Tell me how you got all the way out here if you’re from Surrey.” The detective is cold and clinical and really doesn’t seem to give two shits about really understanding what happened to Harry outside of checking the boxes that his job requires.

Harry sighs. He’s beyond exhausted and wants nothing more than to get sleep and he thinks he may want to talk to this guy less than he apparently wants to talk to Harry.

It’s humiliating enough that he had lived through it and that so many people know what happened last night. The last thing he wants to do is talk to this guy who doesn’t give a fuck about him and tell him all the gory details of the worst thing that’s ever happened to him to date.

“I’ve already told like three different people what happened.” Harry mumbles.

His stomach growls loudly from hunger and he hasn’t had a bite to eat since lunch the day before and it’s well past breakfast time now.

He’s feeling rather numb at this point and all he wants is to lie in bed and forget that any of this ever happened.

The first time he told the story, he hadn’t actually explained much about what happened.

The man who had found him abandoned in the woods, naked and handcuffed and basically left for dead… He’d asked Harry what happened, but he’d been sobbing too hard to really form words. He thinks he said something along the lines of “He made me- I couldn’t stop him” and “I think he drugged me” and “I told him no, I swear!”

The second time had been to the cops and paramedics that came to the scene and he remembers crying through most of that too, but they’d asked invasive questions that left him no choice but to give answers that weren’t as vague. He can hardly remember now what he even said to them.

The third time had been the other detective and by that point he kept going back and forth between feeling detached and numb and then so consumed with emotional turmoil and the humiliation of it all that he’d be back to tears again.

He hopes this time the repetition of it all allows him to stay in this peaceful foggy nothingness he currently feels.

“Humor me.” The detective says and he complies, wanting it to be over as quickly as possible.

Harry’s shuffling along the streets of Magnolia Crescent, his hands in his pockets and he kicks miserably at a few pebbles he sees on the ground every now and then.

The sun isn’t setting just yet, but it’s that time of day where there’s a golden hue on the crowns of the trees in the distance that indicate that it’s preparing to set soon. When he’s not feeling so melancholy, the imagery fills Harry with warmth. The mundane things that happen in nature are one of the few things he can enjoy during his summers, since everything else about it is always such shite.

Unfortunately for Harry, he’s far too low-spirited to even notice it right now.

He’d had yet another row with his uncle about who really even knows what- breathing too loud, perhaps? Having the galls to continue existing when it was such an inconvenience for the other man? He can’t really recall, because it’s started with Uncle Vernon screaming nonsense and not fully able to form sentences from sheer anger.

All Harry knows is that being so close to being able to live with his godfather, only to have it ripped away, has left him with much less tolerance of having to continue living with the stupid Dursley’s. Every injustice feels much greater in the face of what he’d nearly had.

Stupid Petigrew. Stupid Dursleys. Stupid aurors who’d refused to believe him.

He probably wouldn’t have even given the car driving by a second thought if he hadn’t felt it stop just behind him.

It jolts him from his morose thoughts briefly, but when he turns around to look over his shoulder there’s a brunette man who’s probably in his early 40s. He looks confused and frustrated as he begins to open a giant map that takes up much of his dash.

Harry turns away quickly, not wanting the man to notice him watching for fear of seeming like some sort of creepy weirdo. His hand comes up to grab his chest and laughs to himself at the paranoia he felt and continues his walk, his heart rate slowly going back to normal.

He’s tired of wandering aimlessly, but there’s nothing else to do with his summers in Surrey. Any spare moment of down time he has is spent evading going home.

Not wanting to think about it anymore he directs his thoughts to his friends. Apparently they’re meant to pick him up soon and Harry can scarcely wait. He’s already unpacked and reorganized his trunk so many times that it’s more organized than it’s ever been in his life, so now he’s back to his normal routine of doing absolutely nothing outside because it’s better than being at home.

He wonders what Ron or Hermione would be saying to him now if they were here, but he’s distracted by the sound of a foot scuffing against concrete directly behind him.

He’s heart starts to beat with fear once again, but before he’s even has a chance to turn his head he feels a cloth being held over his mouth and nose as an arm wraps around his chest to hold him in place.

Panic hits him like a ton of bricks and His eyes start to water immediately. He’s screeching, kicking his legs forward when he’s unable to physically pull away in a desperate attempt to break free.

The smell is awful, the attempt to scream doing nothing but flooding his senses with the horrible taste of chemicals. He’s starting to feel light headed, his mind becoming foggy and confused which is a direct contrast to the terror and adrenaline that courses through him at being attacked.

Harry contorts his body, bucking his hips wildly trying to find any way to break free from the firm grip, but nothing seems to work. His eyes sting terribly and he’s digging his nails into his attackers arms now as the edges of his vision starts to fade. His last attempt before darkness overtakes him is to try and physically pry the mans fingers loose and he notices the golden hue shining along the trees in the distance before everything goes black.

He has a vague memory of waking up lying on his stomach in the backseat of a car with his hands bound behind his back. He remembers trying to break free from the cuffs, but his efforts are useless and does nothing except create a clanking sound of metal hitting metal, alerting the man to the fact that he’s awake.

Harry remembers looking up into the rearview mirror to see brown eyes flickering towards him before he sighs and grabs something from the passenger seat- a white cloth that he brings to Harry’s face once again and everything fades away.

When he wakes up for real he’s completely bare from head to toe and he’s in the woods with a man dressed in all black standing over him.

“So he abducted you?”

“… I mean, yeah, I guess.”

“And then he raped you anally while you were laying on your front.”

Harry flinches at the cold, blunt way he says it and picks at his cuticles, his leg jerking up and down with anxiety as flashes of the attack are pulled forward in his mind.

It all feels a bit disjointed, but he remembers looking up at the man and realizing it was that guy who’d been looking at the map and feeling so stupid for letting his guard down to begin with. He remembers that evil satisfied grin he’d worn as he loomed over him and a fear stronger than he’s ever felt coursing through his bones.

“I was on my back.”

“That’s not what you told the other detective earlier.”

“I- he… it started with me on my back.”

“You told the original coppers that you’d been on your back the entire time and the other detective your front and now you’re telling me it was both? …Why does your story keep changing, Harry?”

His initial reaction is anger, because why are they asking that when they should be asking about the guy who drove him hours from home and-

“I don’t think I said the whole time!” He snaps.

“That’s not what the report says. Why isn’t your story adding up?”

Harry feels sick at the accusing way he asks and he doesn’t get why he’s acting like Harry’s done something wrong when he’s the one who’s just been… who’s been forced into sex. He’s the one who has been attacked. Isn’t their job supposed to be to help him?

“I- I don’t know! I just didn’t think to say that part. It all sort of feels choppy.”

“What feels choppy?”

“My memories. The r- what he did, talking to the others even… I can’t really think clearly.”

“Look, Harry… I believe that you’re going through a lot right now. Your parents were killed when you were young and you live with your aunt and uncle who don’t sound very happy with you right now. Apparently you’ve been away at a boarding school for at risk youth?”

“Uh… yeah?”

What else can he say? He can hardly say he’s going to a school for magic.

“There’s nothing wrong with needing some extra support. If you’re wanting attention from your family, I get it-“

“What?” His voice sounds dull, numb when he says it and it’s like his brain short circuits with the realization that he thinks he made all of this up.

“It’s just that there’s a right and wrong way to ask for that attention.”

“I didn’t- I’m not- how would I have gotten all the way out here on my own!?”

“I think you’re the only one who knows that. Had an older friend drive you? Hitchhiked? But Harry-“

“I didn’t make this up. I didn’t even want to come here and report this! The guy who found me drove me here and insisted it was here or the hospital. I didn’t have a choice. I don’t want to be telling you any of this! I’M NOT LYING!”

“Harry-“

“NO! Don’t you have evidence from the paramedics!? Don’t you- I think someone took pictures! And there was handcuffs and-“

“I don’t doubt that you had sex tonight. You’re a teenager and maybe you were experimenting with kinky things and felt embarrassed that your partner ran for it when someone stumbled on you guys-“

“Oh my God! SERIOUSLY!?”

“The thing is, I talked to your uncle today and he’s made it pretty clearly that it’s not the first time you’ve done something like this, so after I got off the phone with him I looked through your past records and it turns out he’s right. Why did you lie to the police when you were 8 saying that your relatives were abusing you? You have a history of this, Harry. But you can get charged for false reporting, did you know that?”

Harry shakes his head, the betrayal cutting him like a knife. It’s fucked up enough that they had convinced the police that he was making up stories before, but then he finds out that some stranger hurt him and he does the same thing!?

Nothing about that would benefit Uncle Vernon other than hurting Harry more and it leaves him fuming and feeling ill. He does his best to contain that anger though, knowing that it would hardly help his case right now.

“Do you want to have a record for this? Or do you want to take back your allegation?”

“You… You’re saying that I’m not allowed to report it?”

“You already have reported it. I’m asking if you want to continue lying and potentially face legal charges or if you want to do the right thing and be honest here.”

The only thought that races through his mind for several long quiet minutes is that those shouldn’t be his only choices.

He can feel a pressure behind his eyes and he has to hold back the tears that want to escape at how unfair it all is. Everything about this feels absolutely wretched. He hadn’t even wanted to report it, but the fact that he’s deemed untrustworthy and not worth the time almost hurts more than the assault itself.

The man sighs loudly, shifting in his seat as if waiting for Harry’s response is the worst part of his day so far and Harry decides that he just wants all of this to be over.

“I-I guess the second one…”

He’s still baffled that he’s been threatened with legal charges over this and the injustice runs through his veins like a hot poison burning his insides apart until it reaches his heart making it clench painfully.

They make him put it in writing. He’s forced to put pen to paper and create a statement saying that he’d lied about the ‘allegation’ and that he wants to have the case dismissed.

He doesn’t feel anything as he does it. Just listens to what he’s supposed to do feeling like his head is made of cotton and it’s not until he’s on a bus back to Surrey that the connection to his body slams back into him.

With all the stops it makes a 3 hour ride turn into a 7 hour drive and he has nothing to distract himself from ruminating over everything that has happened in the past 24 hours and he wishes they’d at least have given him a sandwhich or something to tide him over.

He doubts his aunt and uncle are going to let him eat after all of this.

The worst part is how jumpy he feels surrounded by strangers who all look fairly sketchy. Every time a man sits behind him he’s riddled with anxiety and wishing desperately he was home locked in his room where he’d be safe.

Funny, that. All of this had happened because the Dursley’s house wasn’t safe and now it feels like he doesn’t want to have to leave it again until he’s headed to the Burrow.

Instead he spends 7 painful hours flinching anytime someone around him moves bringing back horrid memories that he wants so badly to forget.

Someone stands across from him to exit the bus and suddenly Harry is lying on the ground face in the dirt, his lips parted in a painful cry and he can taste the dirt in his mouth still as his body moves back and forth from the momentum of what’s happening to him.

Another person is walking towards him to take the empty seat and he watches as the man lowers himself to the ground. He can still feel unwanted hands touching him, roaming his body as he straddles him.

By the time he gets off the bus he’s so on edge that he’s ripping at his hair feeling overstimulated as he listens to Uncle Vernon screaming at him as they drive back from the bus stop he’d been dropped off at, his mind still hearing the cruel demeaning things that had come from that guys mouth while he... did what he did to him.