Don't Dream it's Over

Harry laid on his back, eyes wide opening as he shivered from the cold chill of his cupboard. Despite the sub zero temperatures, it was still unbelievably stuffy, his face was red and sticky, hair clinging to onto his forehead. With tears in his eyes, Harry hauled himself to lay upon his sides, head pounding so he pressed his thumbs into the eye sockets. He gave a weak cough that morphed into a sob. Honestly, the boy wasn't sure if he'd ever felt this ill in his whole life. Swallowing another cough as to not risk disturbing anyone, he pulled the quilt of the not-so-comfy cot over his head.

Harry had thought long and hard over the past couple days he'd been back at the Dursleys about why Remus and Sirius had sent him back in the first place; he just couldn't understand. He knew they'd explained, but, well, he was far too upset to have been giving his utmost attention.

Had he done something wrong? Perhaps he'd been naughty?

He was completely confused because, truthfully, he'd rather liked living with the other two and, foolishly, he thought they'd reciprocated. He was given nice food (well, any food at all had been an improvement compared to what he was being given before and now) clothes of his own  and was allowed to actually do things other than chores. Life at the Lupin-Black household had been fun and full of colour; at the Dursleys everything was completely monochrome in comparison. It was nice though, he supposed (in some sick and twisted way), to gain some sense of normality back. At least Vernon and Petunia didn't tread on glass around him, or rather they were the ones smashing the glass in the first place.

Pulling the covers off his head, Harry reached a small, shaking hand up to one of the dusty wooden shelves that was most certainly beginning to rot, but he knew better than to complain about it. He gently patted along the shelf until his hand met what he was looking for then wrapping his fingers around the walkman and headphones, both given to him by Sirius.

Clicking the play button, he put the headphones over his ears and drew his knees close to his chest to rest his chin upon. The tape clicked and at first a staticky sound hummed, low, through the headphones then the music eventually began to leak into his ears. Harry simply couldn't comprehend what was wrong with him, why was he so unlovable? He was foolish to believe Sirius or Remus actually cared, the "I love you"s were just empty words and the promises that he would never have to return to this stupid, cramped cupboard were all lies. He wrapped his arms around his pulled up legs, wringing his hands together. The pressed his forehead into his knees, allowing tears to spill slowly and bleed into the fabric of his baggy pyjama bottoms, Uncle Vernon had snatched all the new clothes, Sirius had bought, off him. Telling him not to be so selfish and to respect what he'd been given by them. This confused Harry, because they'd never actually given him anything of his own. But regardless, he said thank you anyway, when Aunt Petunia handed him an age 13-14 top and size 10, in adults clothes, joggers than wouldn't stay up unless he tied a hair bobble tightly round the back and rolled up half the length of the fabric to prevent tripping over. Aunt Petunia said nothing towards his polite manner, only glared at him, harsh as ever. And Harry didn't understand why.

"Hey now, hey now don't dream it's over."

Harry remembered this song. Remembered it playing on Sirius' old record player when it first came out in mid October. His Godfather had hummed it to him once, after a particularly bad nightmare, to try and lull him back to sleep. Sirius had his back pressed against the headboard of the bed, leaning over to lay his head on top of Harry's. Remus would eventually join, harmonise with Sirius' humming, though he wasn't as good as the latter and was more often than not out of tune. To Harry though, it didn't matter, because he'd never experienced anything like this back at the Dursleys.

"Hey now, hey now when the world comes in."

A tear ran down his face, but a small smile snuck onto it nevertheless, because that was a nice memory. Though, it seemed so long ago now and Harry was unsure whether he'd ever experience anything like that again. He missed Remus, he missed Sirius, too much already to say he had only been back two days. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and bit down harshly on his quivering lip.

"They come, they come, to build a wall between us."

Sirius and Remus made him feel loved. Complete, even. They filled the ever-growing cavity in his heart, one that had only gotten bigger since he'd been dumped back here. Maybe it would just keep expanding until it swallowed him whole and he became nothing but a void. He thinks he'd like that. At least then he wouldn't have to be so miserable all the time.

"We know they won't win."

When he was younger, and the nightmares began to get worse and more frequent, Harry could recall Uncle Vernon banging a stern fist against the cupboard door screaming "Boy! Keep that racket down!" He was never 'Harry' to Vernon, only boy, only freak, only useless, selfish, brat. The knocks on the door would come with a long list of other retaliations to his shout and cries at night. For example, he'd been dragged out the cupboard and kicked, or locked in there for longer, or he would just be refused of food. There was more than just one time he'd gone a week without food, it hadn't been so bad after the first two days. After a while, Harry learnt to keep it down and usually just slept under the stained duvet to attempt to muffle his cries.

The song finished, there was another click of the walkman and the next one started. Harry hadn't heard this one before. His eyes welled up at the lyrics.

"Close your eyes, have no fear."

Harry hated Dudley. No matter how many time his cousin had tried to make it up to him, when it was just the two of them he'd always been rather nice, it didn't matter. Because though Dudley was Harry's best friend, he wasn't Dudley's. That was made very clear when him and his 'gang' chased him around throwing heavy rocks and sharp pebbles at him, or when he pushed him over and snapped his glasses in two. And Harry hated Dudley because he hurt him, probably much more than Uncle Vernon ever had, and Harry hated to be hurt. It was strange. Because whilst Vernon used his fists or a belt or the cigarettes, Dudley used betrayal. So even if him and piggy friends managed to catch up to Harry, or if the stones ever managed to hit him, none of that hurt as much as the way Dudley was completely different when it was just him and Harry alone. The first time Dudley had ever pushed him over, scraping his knees on the scolding, sun scorched concrete, it was then that Harry realised that even though his cousin could be a very kind boy, he could also so be as equally cruel. So Harry hated Dudley, with his entire being.

"The monsters gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here."

He was sobbing now, in hysterics, and if he wasn't careful he'd be having a not so nice visit from Uncle Vernon. Bringing a shaky hand up, he pressed it firmly over his mouth to stifle the cries that were coming steadfastly.

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Beautiful boy."

Whenever Dudley had gotten the occasional nightmare, usually when they'd been much younger, Harry would hear the pad of his feet across the landing, and the door creaked open to his parents' room. After a couple of minutes, a second pair of feet emerged from the room, Petunia's slippers flipping on and off and slapping against the landing. Eventually, Dudley would settle back down into bed and Harry would hear soft words and hums, a lullaby, in sweet tones that he'd never catch from Aunt Petunia otherwise. It was out of character for her to sound so kind, at such an unearthly time in the morning. The gentle hums only ever intensified Harry's cries.

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Beautiful boy."

Safe to say, he was completely and utterly jealous of Dudley Dursley. Dudley was spoilt, selfish and sheltered in every way imaginable, and there would be one day where his dear ol' mummy wouldn't be there and he'd finally get his rude awakening from the world (Harry had had this awakening from the moment he'd been chained down to this place). It made him sick with guilt, the jealousy. It was a horrible feeling, one that bubbled vigorously just under his skin, trying to burn its way through the epidermis. The jealousy made him scratch at his skin until it was under his nails and blood was seeping out (he believed the blood had the envious feeling, the hate, mixed in). Aunt Petunia's melodies were carried through the thin floorboards and passed into the dilapidated cupboard under the stairs. Harry wished he could experience the love of a mother. The closest he'd gotten was Sirius and Remus, and he didn't have them anymore. Of course, everything had to come to end eventually. He just wished this wouldn't've so soon.

The song continued to play, gently fading out when it came to an end. Instead of clicking to the next song and static sounded through the headphones again. Mumbling was heard until two voices finally cracked through the white noise.

"Is it even working?"

"Yes, Sirius, look the light shows it's recording."

Harry's breath hitched, and he sniffed harshly before continuing to listen.

"Oh, hush, you," Sirius whispered. "Hi Bambi, we'll get you back, don't worry. We both love you so much."

"Be brave, cariad. You're so strong, you'll get through this."

"Enjoy our mixtape!"

The voices came to a sudden halt and the walkman clicked to the next song. "Isn't it a pity." by George Harrison. Harry liked this one.

He laid his head back on the flattened pillow, hugging his teddy bear close to his chest with the duvet pulled up to his chin. Harry closed his eyes and let the tears slip down his face and onto the pillow. His runny nose spread, disgustingly so, across his face. He sniffed harshly and wiped it away with his sleeve. Harry's head was still pounding. But he let the song soothe him into a slumber.

"Some things take so long,
But how do I explain?
When not too many people,
Can see we're all the same?

And because of all their tears,
Their eyes can't hope to see,
The beauty that surrounds them,
Isn't it a pity?"

***

Harry's eyes snapped open at the sound of the cupboard door's latch click open. His stomach twisted viscously as the door swung open.

Aunt Petunia stood in the doorway, saying nothing at first and just scowling down at him before her eyes locked with the headphones and walkman that were haphazardly scattered on the pillow after falling of his head through the night.

Petunia narrowed her eyes, "What is that?"

Reaching down to grab it, she stretched her fingers, nail looking as long and sharp as ever, today painted with a violent shade of pink. Harry shuffled himself in front of it, clasping the walkman and headphones in his hands to guard them both from his Aunt, because he had no doubt she'd snatch it up and he would never see it ever again.

"You can't have it." he said firmly, eyes wide and angry as he glared up at her.

Petunia's nostrils flared with rage, her lips pulled themselves into a thin line, making them so minuscule they almost disappeared. However, she didn't bother retaliating and instead clicked her high heels towards the kitchen and muttered to him, "Come and make breakfast."

Sighing greatly, Harry squinted around to find his glasses and put them on. He went to get up but then decided to quickly stuff the walkman along with the headphones at the bottom of his cot, hiding it just in case Vernon tried to get his hand on it.

Harry set off into the kitchen and instantly had Aunt Petunia screeching orders at him. Just the usual, note special about it. "Don't burn it!" "Boil the kettle!" "Chop the mushrooms!" "No not like that, move out the way." He'd earned himself a push and shove here and there but no worse than usual.

It hadn't taken the Dursleys long at all for them to go back to their old ways. Petunia's severe face perhaps glaring at him way more often now and Vernon's shoves and hair tugs had been more forceful and he'd been exerting way much more force with each slap and back hander he'd earned.

Probably making the most of their usual punching bag before you get whisked away again.

Oh, and another development. That horrible, grating voice was back again.

Vernon thumped his way down the stairs, Dudley following not soon after. A hand already made its way into his tresses and yanked him harshly off the sofa. Harry had gotten so used to being allowed to sit anywhere that he'd completely forgotten that he wasn't allowed to do that. He was being selfish and ungrateful, and had forgotten where he belonged.

Vernon kicked him in the stomach then threw himself onto the sofa with a grunt.

"You're in my space." he growled, "Go make me a coffee."

Harry stared up at his Uncle, trying to gather himself and ignore the throbbing pain in his abdomen.

"Well go on!"

He heaved himself off the floor quickly and scurried over the coffee machine. His head was still banging whilst hair stuck to his face, and yet Harry was still shivering as goosebumps pricked his skin. Why did he still have to take care of everyone else, even though he was ill?

Quickly preparing the drink, he filled up the mug and brought it to the breakfast table, where the cutlery and table mats were already laid out. Only three sets out. Harry clenched his fists and dug his fingernails into his palms.

Vernon plopped himself down into his usual chair, next to Dudley who was already seated, and stared at Harry as he awkwardly stood by the kitchen counters watching as Aunt Petunia laid out the food in front of them.

"What?" Vernon finally snapped.

Harry shifted on his feet and mumbled, "M'hungry."

He watched as his Uncle turned a deep shade of purple-ish crimson, eyes snapping so wide it almost looked as if they'd come flying out his head in the kind of way you'd see on a cartoon.

"Come. Here." his gruff voice drawled maliciously, in such a way it sent shivers down his spine.

Dragging his feet, Harry made his way towards the table in as much time as possible. He was stupid. He knew what was going to happen, and it was his fault for being such an idiot.

Eventually, he stopped in front of his Uncle. Vernon raised a hand and Harry flinched, muscles tensing before he could even think, and quickly held up his arms to protect his face. But the man just used the other hand to clasp firmly around Harry's wrists, with bruising force, and then used the back of his hands to wack him round the side of the face. He whimpered slightly at the sudden pain. Uncle Vernon grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged relentlessly.

"Those faggots," he spat the word with disgust, "Have really taken a toll on you, boy. I don't know who you think you are, but here? Here you're nothing but a freak. You get that?"

Harry glared back, fury pulsing through his vein.

And oh no. He knew this wasn't good.

He'd been trying his utmost best to contain his anger; anger that he'd felt at first towards Sirius and Remus but now towards the Dursleys. And that was strange, because he'd never really felt a sense of rage over Uncle Vernon or even Aunt Petunia, really. Before it had more a less just been fear.

But now the lights were shaking, and the faux crystals of the cheap chandelier clattered and chimed as each of them knocked into one other. The pots and pans that were stacked up by the side of the sink began to shake and a breeze of baltic wind wafted through the kitchen, spiking them and taking everyone by surprised.

Harry's piercing stare remained on Vernon, their plates were now hovering just above the table. Dudley had began to cry and Petunia was holding him close, hushing him gently and stroking his hair. The rage just rushed through him all over again. How many times had he need to be held like that? Why was he always forgotten, ignored, discarded?

"What- What're you doing?" Uncle Vernon  managed to spluttered.

But he didn't answer; just focusing his internal tempest onto the so called 'family' surrounding him. The plates finally dropped, smashing onto the floor. Petunia jumped out of her chair and let out a yelp. Harry couldn't help but feel satisfied that she was scared of him. He liked it; being the one with the power (literally and figuratively).

"Stop this at once!" she managed to squeak out at last.

Harry swapped his gaze to her and from the momentary distraction, he didn't realise the large fist making its way towards his head. With a single thump, he collapsed to the ground and everything went black.

***

"Sirius! Hurry. UP!" Remus called from next to the hearth of the fireplace.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Keep your tits on," he grumbled in response, still doing up the last couple buttons of his shirt and slightly tightening the tie around his neck.

"Why, don't you just look dashing..." Remus said sarcastically, "Seriously, could you not look like such a scruff. This meeting is going to decide whether or not we can regain custody of Harry."

"Gosh, aren't you just lovely."

"Yep, and you're lucky to 'ave me." he smiled, reaching up to fix Sirius' collar, "Now go, I'll meet you by the fountain." Remus gave the latter a playful tap on the arse as he ushered him into the fire.

Sirius took a handful of floo powder and within the blink of an eye he was whisked away to the Ministry of Magic headquarters, Remus let out a deep breath before following shortly after.

The pair met at the fountain, as promised, and they made their way, with some sort of urgency, to the child welfare offices. Not a particularly big department, for some strange reason, but still thriving with chaos. Sirius looked down and frowned when he saw the brunette's shaking hand. He grabbed a hold, not making eye contact.

"Ready?" Sirius whispered as they stood in front of the ridiculously large door to the head of child welfare's office. A gold plaque was stuck to the door, engraved with a name and profession; Charles L. Wilson, Senior Child Welfare officer, Order of Merlin 1st class.

Remus nodded before bringing a hand to wrap his knuckles of the door. It didn't take long for it to swing open and they were met with a man, not too much older than themselves.

He had fair skin and short dark brown hair to match his (almost black) eyes. He wore tortoise shell glasses and a neat black suit matched with a deep red tie.

The man, Charles they assumed, flashed a pearly white smile and gestured to the two large office shares placed opposite to his own, where he was tucked under a mahogany desk that had stacks and stacks of paper work cluttering the space.

"Please, do sit." he smiled, standing up to take turns shake to shake both mans' hands, then took his own seat again. "Name's Wilson, Charles Wilson. Great to meet you Mr Black, Mr Lupin."

"Likewise," Sirius nodded.

"So I understand that you're here today to review the final decision of custody for the child-" he pulled a document in front of him and flicked through, tracing his finger across each line before stopping on a name, "A Harry James Potter, if I'm correct?"

The pair nodded.

"Right, it says here the boy lives under the care of his blood related Aunt, Petunia Dursley, and his Uncle through marriage, Vernon Dursley." Charles got straight to the point as he meticulously scammed over the page. "May I ask what the problem with this is?"

Sirius jutted out his chin, glancing to the other.

"Well, he- I'm sorry. Does it not tell you?" Remus retorted.

The man gave a tight mouthed smile and narrowed his eyes, "I'd just like to hear it in your own words please."

"Ah...Okay then," he sighed. "Harry is Sirius' Godchild, and this is recognised by law but the Dursleys-"

"Well Mr Lupin, that's because also, by law, Petunia and Vernon Dursleys are noted as his legal guardians and by law, have the right to keep him within their care."

Sirius scowled before snapping, "Don't interrupt him," he started, "I'm sorry, but you just asked for the story in his own words but then cut him off before he could even say anything."

The man's smile faltered slightly, "Ah. You're right, my apologies, Mr Lupin. Please, go on."

"Well the Dursleys have done a rather poor job at raising Harry. He's been left traumatised to the point where, in the few months he stayed with us, he'd expect pain as a punishment with every little mistake made."

"Yes," Charles said, running his finger line by line across the page, "Yes indeed, I see that here. Now, my next question; is there any proof?"

The couple met each other's eyes.

"Yeah, he's scarred all over." Sirius replied in a sceptical tone. He felt as though he knew where this was going.

"Ah, I see..." he went to a pile of the documents and flicked through until he finally pulled out another paper and wafted it at the other two, "In here it states the ministry has a right to intervene with the custody of a child should we have reason to. However, that doesn't guarantee him to end up in your care."

"What?!"

"I understand this is stressful to hear and I'm here to ensure that the boy does end up with you, but it's not as straightforward as you think, I'm afraid."

Sirius narrowed his eyes and slumped back in his chair, wringing his hands under the table.

"Especially with Harry's situation, it might be best that you have shared custody and arrangements to certain dates where you and the Dursleys-"

"No, I refuse. We want full custody, I should rightfully have him. Did you not hear what I said about him being scarred all over?" Sirius slammed a fist down on the table.

"Mr Black please calm down."

"Look," Remus started, "He's completely traumatised already. By sending him back there you're practically enabling the abuse!"

"That's not my aim whatsoever, I'm just thinking about what's best for Harry in terms of keeping him safe from... From You-Know-Who." Charles said, lowering his voice and wincing at the last phrase.

"But why are you not protecting him from Vernon and Petunia? As far as we know right now, He Who Must Not Be Named is dead, or at least in hiding. So he poses no threat to Harry right now! And regardless, we'll ensure to set up all the spells known to wizard-kind that'll protect him and keep him untraceable. We'll be cautious when we take him out, but we're not going to keep him locked indoors all day, like Minister Bagnold wanted."

"And that all sounds wonderfully thought through, but I'm afraid shared custody, at first anyway, is your best bet of having any kind of care over him."

"What d'you mean at first?" questioned Sirius.

"Well, it's more likely, from what I've seen with other cases, that after shared custody for at least a month you'll be more a less guaranteed full custody of him, providing that we see proof of neglect in the other household. Does this sound agreeable to you?"

Sirius met Remus' eyes then leaned over and cupped a hand around his mouth to whisper into the brunette's ear.

"What d'you think? I don't think he'll budge on this..."

Remus looked back and nodded, sighing before he spoke, "Yeah, okay."

"Great!" Charles stood up suddenly and reached out a hand to firmly shake the others', "A social worker will be in contact with all the necessary information within the next few days. Also worth noting that you should expect a surprise visit from the worker in the time before, and also during, you take custody of him. The Dursleys will also be told all this too," he walked them towards the door and flashed a smile as he opened it.

"Lovely meeting you," he said, watching as the pair walked out the door. The moment the stepped over the threshold the giant sized door slammed to a close.

Remus let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, "This is ridiculous. We come to them and tell them that Harry's being abused, but it didn't make much of a difference-"

"Don't say that... Because it did make a difference, at least he won't have to stay with them full time?" but he sounded Sirius he knew it didn't matter if they got Harry every few days or every other week because as long as he was with the Dursleys for even a day, he would just keep on de-progressing until he became some sort of empty shell.

They didn't know that Harry was already feeling empty. He was seconds away from snapping and they had no clue.