Keep on keeping on

Harry’s heartbeat was pounding in his ears as he sprinted through the corridors. It was way past curfew now and the halls were deserted. Harry wanted to scream. He knew that he’d told Hermione. He’d been weak. He’d broken. He never should have said anything at all because now everything was ruined. McGonagall would talk to Uncle Vernon now and he would lie and say he was making it up and Harry would be in trouble. Not just with the school but with his family too! They would kill him. Harry wasn’t exaggerating about that. His life was over.

The frantic boy found himself in an empty classroom. He slammed the door closed behind him and sank down against it. Harry pulled his legs up to his chest and buried his head into his hands. He sobbed loudly, his head swimming.

Worthless.

Freak.

Snitch.

Horrid.

Harry couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t stop the floodgates opening and suddenly, everything that had ever happened to him flashed before his eyes. He saw Uncle Vernon’s fists flying, his red, angry face pushed up against Harry’s. Harry could feel his huge hands grasped around his small neck, squeezing the life from Harry’s little body. He could feel the smack of Aunt Petunia’s frying pan as it collided with Harry’s head. He could hear the hate filled words hurled at him when he didn’t clean properly, or when he looked at them, or when he got better grades than Dudley. He could remember everything with every painstaking detail. Harry tried to scream but it caught in his throat. He jumped to his feet, frustrated. He was fed up with not being able talk, to scream, to express himself. Harry began to claw at his throat angrily, raking his fingers against his skin.

I can’t do this anymore! I nearly spoke about it! Harry thought angrily to himself. He carried on attacking his neck until he felt blood on his fingers. The child pulled his hands away from him neck, shocked at what he’d done to himself. His hands began to shake when he saw them glistening in the red liquid. Harry pulled at his hair, pacing around the room. His frustration was building, bubbling up and threatening to boil over. And then it did, and Harry lashed out. He tipped tables and threw chairs across the room. He pulled at the pictures on the walls, throwing them to the ground. He punched the walls until his knuckles were black and blue. Anger overcame Harry, like a fog obscuring his vision.

After 20 minutes of pure rage, the fog lifted, and Harry saw the destruction he had caused. He stopped. The room was destroyed. Tables overturned and chairs with their legs hanging off. Portraits were torn and spots of blood littered the wall from Harry’s bleeding hands. Harry’s breath caught in his throat and his trembling returned. God! Uncle Vernon was going to be so mad. Everyone was going to be so mad. He’d get kicked out of school now. He’d be back on the Dursley’s doorstep before midnight. Harry shrank back until his back hit the wall and he fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

McGonagall and Hermione stared at the door, unblinking, that Harry had just run out of. The two had no idea what to say, or what had just happened.

“Professor. We need to go after him!” Hermione begged, breaking the silence.

“Indeed. But he needs to cool off. That was a lot for him to explain in one sitting” McGonagall explained. Hermione watched a tear fall from her teacher’s eye.

“But professor. When he’s been this upset before, he hurts himself! He could be doing anything right now! You heard him. He admitted to hurting himself. He can’t go back to his relatives!” The young girl was shaking now, hands trembling by her sides. Hermione was right, McGonagall heard the boy. She heard his confessions and saw his reactions.

“Professor? You do believe me now, right? About everything I told you?”

“I believe you, Miss Granger. Although Harry must admit to the physical abuse. I believe that it is true, based on Harry’s reaction to my question but Harry must admit to it himself. We must get proof.” McGonagall was looking at Hermione now, her face sad and full of emotion.

“Come. Let’s find Harry. Point me, Harry Potter.” McGonagall placed her wand in the palm of her hand and watched as it spun for a few seconds, before becoming still. The pair left the office and set off to find Harry.

The spell led them to a classroom on the third floor.

“Professor. This is the third floor. We aren’t meant to be here.” Hermione said nervously.

“Well, you are with a professor. Mr Potter needs us and that overrules Professor Dumbledore’s rules.” McGonagall pressed her ear up against the door and when she heard nothing, the professor pushed the door open. The room was dark, but Minerva could see the silhouettes of upturned tables. She could see the destruction that such a small, frail boy had caused. Her eyes scanned the room until she spotted Harry curled up against the wall, his eyes staring blankly forward.

“Harry?” Minerva whispered cautiously. She approached Harry with her hands raised placatingly in front of her. Harry’s eyes snapped up to her face. His face morphed into that of terror, and he scrambled away, pushing himself into corner. His body trembled and Harry pulled at his hair, his small hands wrapped into the black strands.

“Harry. I won’t hurt you. I just want to make sure that you are ok. I want to make sure you are safe.” Harry shook his head at her words. His hands never left his hair, pulling even more ferociously.

“Harry. I’m going to cast that spell again so you can talk to me, okay?” McGonagall waved her wand, noticing Harry as he flinched at the movement.

Harry felt the familiar magic wash over him again. He took a shaky breath as he calmed himself down. He realised that the professor was not going to hurt him, but Harry still didn’t want to talk anymore. He couldn’t explain anymore. He would only get in more trouble.

“Professor I can’t talk anymore. I’m done. I’m exhausted. I can’t do this anymore!” Harry’s voice was shaking. His crouched figure was still shrouded in shadows and McGonagall held her hand out, urging Harry to come out from his hiding place. Harry eyed her hand warily.

“It’s ok Harry. You don’t need to explain anymore tonight. You have talked enough. I’m not here to ask you anymore questions about everything you have endured. I can see very clearly that you are struggling. I just want to help you. Please come on out.”

Harry edged out and into the light and McGonagall stifled a gasp.

As the light that the professor had conjured hit Harry, Minerva saw Harry’s neck. It was covered in blood and so were Harry’s hands. Tears escaped her eyes, and she looked at Harry sadly.

“Oh Harry. What happened?” She asked miserably, gesturing to Harry’s neck. On closer inspection, beneath the blood, Minerva could see deep scratches carved into his flesh. The bleeding had stopped but it still looked painful and sore. Harry’s face showed confusion but when he touched his neck and winced, his eyes widened in terror.

“I don’t know! I was angry. I couldn’t talk! I couldn’t scream! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Harry rambled, his voice breaking as tears wracked his body. The boy kept muttering his apologies.

“Harry. It’s ok. You’re ok. I’m not angry at you. Come on, let’s get you some help.” McGonagall said softly. She raised her hand again and this time Harry took it. He scrambled to his feet and the pair left the classroom, Minerva’s hand wrapped around Harry’s shoulders.

Hermione was stood outside the room, bouncing on the balls of her feet anxiously. It was dark outside, and the corridor was bathed in the flickering light of the torches. It was nearing 10pm now. Hermione watched as Harry and Professor McGonagall emerged from the classroom. Hermione heard a sob leave her lips as she saw that her best friend was covered in his own blood. The girl ran over to her friend and wrapped him in a tight hug. She murmured comforting words in his ear and clung to him as McGonagall guided them to the hospital wing. When Harry realised where they were, he froze and went rigid in Hermione’s arms. He began to shake his head and step backwards. McGonagall flicked her wand again to allow Harry to speak.

“I can’t go there. I’m not ill. I’m not broken.” Harry whispered shakingly after he felt the magic again.

“Harry. No one said you are broken. But you are bleeding. Let Madam Pomfrey heal it. Please.” Hermione begged, rubbing her hands up and down Harry’s arms. Harry shrugged, looking at the floor but began moving towards the hospital doors again. Hermione nodded and smiled warmly at Harry, pleased that he’d agreed.

On entering the hospital wing, Harry’s nose was assaulted by the disinfectant smell. The crisp white beds were lined up in rows down either side of the room. None were occupied this early in the year. But as the big doors echoed shut behind them, Madam Pomfrey came bustling from her office.  At the sight of Harry and all the blood, her face turned white, and her mouth dropped open.

“Ah, Madam Pomfrey. I have young Harry here that requires your attention.” Minerva announced.

“Oh yes. Yes of course. Mr Potter, take a seat on the bed.” Pomfrey replied, coming to her senses and recovering from her shock. Harry trudged glumly over to the nearest bed and sat down heavily on it. He wrapped his arms around himself and kept his eyes trained on the floor.

Madam Pomfrey walked over to Harry but slowed her pace when Harry flinched away. The nurse looked quickly over at the professor, eyebrows raised but Minerva just smiled sadly.

“Okay Harry. How about we get you cleaned up?” Pomfrey cooed softly. Harry nodded slowly but continued to shrink into himself. Madam Pomfrey nodded and slowly raised her hand, cupping Harry’s face to get a better look at the scratches on his neck.

“These can be fixed. Don’t worry yourself.”

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand and conjured a bowl of warm water and a clean towel.

“This might sting, dear.” The nurse warned before she gently dabbed at the wounds. Harry winced at the contact. True to her word, it did sting but Harry gritted his teeth. No need to seem weaker than he already did.

Eventually the stinging subsided, and Harry sighed, gratefully.

“Ok. That’s all done, and I will heal them now.” Madam Pomfrey waved her wand and Harry felt a tingle. He reached his hand up to his neck and felt at where the scratches were. He felt nothing. Harry’s skin was smooth and unblemished again, his fingers coming away void of blood.

“Harry. That’s all healed for you now. Are there any other injuries I need to fix?” Harry shook his head, but he saw the nurses gaze fall to his hands. Looking at them, Harry realised that his knuckles were scratched and raw, bruises forming. Harry stifled a cry and put his hands under his armpits, hiding them.

“It’s ok Harry. I can heal those too.” The nurse whispered gently. She placed her hands on Harry’s arms and tugged at them, encouraging the boy to show his hands. Harry gave in and untucked them, letting his shaking hands rest on his knees. Madam Pomfrey lifted Harry’s hands up and held them carefully in her own.

“There are no broken bones, just some nasty bruising. I’ll heal those too.” With another wave of her wand, Harry’s knuckles returned to normal. The second they were, Harry ripped them from the woman’s grip and hugged himself tightly again.

“Are there any other injuries?” The nurse asked again but Harry shook his head, adamant not to reveal anymore. He knew he was still bruised from the day he left the Dursley’s, but he was still determined no one would find out about that. He hadn’t answered McGonagall’s question about the physical abuse so, as far as he was aware, no one knew. And it would stay that way.

“Harry, I want to perform that diagnostic spell we talked about before. Do you remember?” Harry shook his head again and stood up abruptly. He continued to shake his head, not making eye contact with anyone. He wanted to leave, to escape. He wanted to crawl back to his bed and bury himself under the covers.

“Okay. Okay. I can see you are distressed. The spell will only work if you consent so we can leave it for now.” Madam Pomfrey held her hands up in surrender. Harry let out a sigh of relief.

“Professor McGonagall. Harry’s injuries are all healed now. I am happy not to keep him in and he can return to the tower.” McGonagall nodded.

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. If Harry has anymore issues, he knows that he can come to either of us.” Minerva looked at Harry sincerely. Harry nodded and walked over to Hermione, standing nervously by her side. The pair walked out of the hospital wing, heading for the tower and left the two older women alone.