Fraudulent

Running... Running... Running...

Harry's lungs burned as his legs forced him forward. He could hear as Dudley, Piers and their little gang continued to chase him. Laughing loudly as Harry turned down Magnolia Street.
His worn shoes slipping from the pavement. Forcing him down. Harry yelps as his side crashes into the unforgiving pavement.

He whimpers, tries his best to quickly stand between heavy pants of breath. Harry isn't quick enough.
Rodger and Malcom pull at his oversized school shirt. Forcing Harry into the alleyway between houses.
Harry cries, exhausted legs kicking. Frail arms flailing about. Trying to hit his bullies. Failing to meet his target.

The five boys only laugh higher, louder at Harry's poor attempts. He screams in frustration. Before Malcom's hands are covering his mouth.
Harry tries to kick and punch. Only his attempts are hit out of him as Dudley's fist punches into his stomach.
Harry's eyes bulge, body jerky inward as he coughs behind Malcom's hands. Piers laughs, kicking Harry's legs.

The five boys quickly escalate. Ruining Harry's chances of getting away. Or walking home.
He curls into himself as Malcom and Luis join into the fun. Kicking, punching, tugging at his hair, his clothes.
Harry bites his tongue; forcing his cheek to bleed as Harry refuses to cry out in pain. Dudley and his friends only find it more entertaining when he does.
So Harry forces himself to stay silent as he's beat by five children. One his cousin he's lived with since they were babes.

Dudley laughs, huffing heavily as he slams his foot into Harry's side a last time.

"Don't forget Potty," Dudley grins. Out of breath. "If you dare to try and tattle, we'll beat you into the hospital."
Roars of laughter follow Dudley's normal threat. One Harry had found out was very much real.

Uncle Vernon hadn't been happy once Social Services left and the police pulled off the case of Harry's extensive injuries the doctors had been concerned of.
He'd been forced to spend an entire week within his cupboard; if Harry hadn't been at school.

He listened as the laughter slowly dissipated into whispers. To nothing as Dudley and his friends left Magnolia Street.
Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Before lifting himself up.
He tried to stand, but failed. Falling to his arse, making himself wince. Harry whimpered, his body aching as Harry instead scooted to the nearest wall. Leaning against it.

"Are you alright?"
Harry flinched, peeked open his eyes. Found a tall man standing at the entrance of the alleyway. Shadows blocking out his features.

Harry recoiled further into the alleyway, contemplating if he should risk moving so quickly. Or hope the stranger took his silence in irritation and walked off.
The man, however, did not take Harry's silence as an annoyance. Instead he stepped further into the alleyway.

Harry curled into himself, ignoring as pain streaked through his gut at the tightening of his muscles.
The man tilted his head to one side, halting in his advance to Harry.

"Were you hurt?" He asked, voice silky and deep.
Harry still didn't answer. Instead only curling on himself more as the man began walking up to him once more.

He knelt, deep brown eyes boring into Harry's. His form towering over Harry's.
He flinched into himself as the man reached out a hand. He halted at the jerky movement.
Harry blinked back tears to the pain of Dudley and his friends beat up.

The man stood, stared down at Harry. Before looking up at the darkening sky.

"If you're able to walk, child. You'd best get home before the sky turns dark. Who knows what would happen to a small thing like you."

Harry watched as the giant man turned, and walked off. He let out a sob of pain once the man's footsteps disappeared into the distance.

—

Harry remembers.
The dark room with its ten foot length and four foot width.

He remembers the man with his giant form. How he’d only come in when Harry couldn’t stand anymore.
When he could not longer count the cracks in the walls. The edges that broke off onto another wall.

Harry had counted each crack many times. Feeling the short walls with his dirty fingers.

The man would only come to set down a tray of food. The meal canned soup and water.
Harry had once tried rebelling. Throwing the bowl against the wall, slamming the glass cup into the door.
The wood panel sturdy; even as Harry slammed his scrawny body into it. Throwing his weight to try and break it.

It never worked.
When he threw the food; the man wouldn’t feed him until Harry found it hard to wake up.
When he threw his body into the door; the wood would only throw him back. Leaving Harry bruised and hurting.

Once Harry had tried to attack the man, slashing at him with a shard of the broken glass cup.
He’d been kicked to the ground mercilessly. A cloth covered his mouth until he woke up after an uncertain amount of time. The man gone, the glass and bowl cleaned.

He’d been left in that room until sleeping was the only thing he had energy for.

Once, Harry remembers being taken into another room. His eyes had been blindfolded, body tide together.
A towel had ran over his body —only once when he had no energy to try and fight.

Eventually Harry had stopped.
He doesn’t remember when.

His routine to walk around the room came to a halt. He rarely ever ate his food; only truly forcing it down his throat when the pain in his stomach was no longer manageable.

Time was spent sleeping, and feeling.
Harry had learned to read through the time he was awake. The man had brung one book; leaving it beside Harry’s food.
Harry knew what words looked like —yet the more time he spent in that room. The less he remembered what words were; what they looked like.
The book had bumps, and Harry guessed what the bumps meant. Not that he knew if he truly learned to read that way —but the distraction was welcomed from his sleeping, lying about and trying to read.

Until one day it all changed.

Harry had been in his dark room.
Unable to count the days, or time, or years he’d been in his little room.
His fingers ran across the bumps of the books pages. Lying on his side, eyes closed with exhaustion.

It had been a normal day, when the thunderous sound first came. Harry startled into a sitting position.
Another sound came. Making him scramble into the corner of his familiar little room.

A crack came from the locked door.
A hole cracked open.
A slit dripped light.

Harry flinched, covering his eyes into his crossed arms. Tucking as deeply into himself as he could. Head between his knees, arms over his head as the sound came twice more.

Than silence.

Harry didn’t move, believing if he didn’t move he’d be invisible. It had worked with the man countless times.
The door burst open or not, Harry knew it would work now.

Except for it didn’t.
And fingers were touching him.

Filthy, filthy fingers touched his long hair. And arm. And his hand.

“I’ve found him,” A man said. His voice cooing as footsteps fell heavily across the room.
“Let’s get him to the station.” Another man said, voice full of age and wisdom.

The language sounded odd to Harry.
He could remember once speaking it. Could once remember his relatives speaking it loudly to him.
Harry remembers his teachers using that same language in his classes.

Yet, Harry couldn’t fully understand it.
He couldn’t fully understand what the two men were saying.

Only that his wrists were grabbed. And he was pulled up. Harry’s legs gave out, as undiluted fear clutched at him.

“Whoa.” The man said, catching Harry as he froze. Eyes wide as the man’s arms wrapped around him.

Harry flinched violently away, scrambling across the floor.

A corner.
He needed to find a corner.
He needed to hide.

“Hey,” The man stopped in front of Harry. Laid a gentle hand on top of his shoulder.
Harry flinched at the contact, head spinning as he glanced at the broken door.

The man would come.
He would come and beat Harry.
He’d hurt the person in front of Harry. He’d hurt that other man this one had talked to in that strange language.

Harry cried, slapping blindly as a hand came down on his nape.

“Shacklebolt!” The man in front of Harry roared. “Take your hand off of him!”

The hand on Harry was instantly removed at the man’s yell. Harry was petrified as the person in front of him grabbed Harry below his armpits, lifting him easily.
As if Harry were a small child.

He was lifted off of his feet, the man’s arm coming around his waist. Harry stared, vision blurring as the person took Harry out of the room.
Out of his room.
Out of his so very dark, so very familiar room.

Harry let out a strangled noise as sound rushed to his trained ears. He’d always listened for the man’s footsteps.
But now, he could hear that unfamiliar language with rushing footsteps with loud whines.

Harry curled into the man, forcing himself away as he clung to the shirt. The man didn’t seem to mind as people rushed around them.
Blurry figures as flashing shots came rapidly. Harry closed his eyes, body shaking with fear as the man took him further into the loud noises.
A million voices crossing Harry’s ears.

“—Boy has been found…”

“Set him..”

“Be careful with him…”

“Severely… need… call for… let’s go!”

Doors slammed, making Harry jolt from the seat he’d been laid on to. Two blurry figures came into his starry view; their features distorted as two sets of hands pushed him back down.
Harry tried to fight, but he quickly found himself tired. Sleep demanding his attention.

“Can’t have him sle…”

“Allow… can rest…”

Harry’s attention drained from the conversation. His vision turning dark as his ears shut off.
He couldn’t hear anything.
Couldn’t see anything.

Harry was back in his peaceful black world where there were no sounds; no persons; no lights.