Fraudulent

Harry always wondered why he'd been taken from his aunt and uncle. What would lead to the giant man taking him? Had his aunt and uncle allowed the giant man to take him? What about their image? His uncle and aunt always cared so much about their image. Going as far as taking him in when he was only one years old.

Harry cannot remember time. It passes; Harry knows. But he doesn't know how long he's been here. How long it takes for the giant man to walk through the door.

Harry had once tried to open the door. He had tried pick locking it like Dudley had once done to the candy cabinet when Aunt Petunia placed the family on a diet. He failed; miserably.
His fingers ached for a timeless amount. The tall man had shook his head, yet said nothing.
Harry had once tried to slam the door in. He had failed. He had realized he wasn't in his uncles television. His body would not break down the door. The door had instead bruised his side terribly. Leaving Harry, again, in timeless pain.
Harry had once tried slipping pass the giant man. He'd failed for a trice time. Being kicked to the corner. The wind punched out of his lungs.
His stomach ached harshly for another long timeless amount. Curled into himself. Forgetting his food as his stomach bruised and cried at him.

Leaving him with the question of why he had tried to escape with the giant man in the door?

Harry knew pain well.
Whether it was from his stomach. Or from his head. Or from his body.
Harry was always in pain.

His uncle had said he was useless.
Uncle Vernon had been right.

His cousin had said he was weak.
Dudley had been right.

His aunt had said he should've died with his parents.
Aunt Perunia had been right.

Harry didn't like any of them being right.

Yet even the giant man seemed to think he was everything his relatives said he was.
Weak.
Useless.
Waste of space.

Harry stared at the door, waiting for the giant man. His fingers running over his one book. The bumps comforting; his only companion.

—

Harry stares at the pale boy behind Narcissa. His chin lifted above the piece of plastic Riddle had cooed for him to place his jaw onto.

Harry didn't like Riddle being near him.
Harry didn't like Riddle being near the pale boy.

The boy was tall. But he was relaxed around Riddle. Harry saw it.
He watched as the pale boy stared at Riddle like the rest of them. The pale boy was mesmerized with Riddle.

Harry didn't like that the pale boy was comfortable around Riddle. He shouldn't be comfortable around Riddle.

Harry glances back at Riddle, catching that soft smile he throws around. Harry doesn't like it.
It makes Riddle look nice. Look defenseless.
Riddle isn't defenseless. Riddle isn't nice.
Riddle needs to stay away from the pale boy.

"Harry." The nice lady calls.
Harry doesn't react to his name. He turns to stare at the pale boy.

The pale boy is looking at him too.
Watching him with curiosity. Like the nice lady had. Like the older pale man was.

Riddles hand circles around Harry's shoulder. Coercing Harry.
Harry tenses underneath his touch. He tenses, eyes squinting as that same puff of air touches his eyes.

Harry wants to run away from the puff of air as the nice lady instructs Harry to relax.
He can't. He won't.
He relaxed once and Riddle took him.
Harry glanced down, away from the red light as his chest hurt. His stomach coiled.

Riddle had put him in that dark room. With Harry's one book. With his old meals of water and canned soup.
Harry had been put into that room by Riddle. And yet Riddle was still beside him.

Why was Riddle still beside him?
Why did no one know who took him?

"Harry," The kind lady sighed.
He recognized the undertone of exasperation. Aunt Petunia always used that tone when Uncle Vernon was done with Harry.
Like Harry was the one to cause the problem.

He wasn't trying to.
Harry wasn't trying to cause problems.

He wanted to leave.
He wanted to run away.

He wanted Riddle to go far far away from him. Harry didn't want Riddle near Harry. Near the pale boy.
He didn't want Riddle to be near any of them.

"Harry," Riddle cupped his chin with a finger. The touch gentle as he lifted Harry's face square with the machine that puffed air and zapped his eyes with red light. "Be still, okay?"
"Why are you doing this when you know he's blind?" The pale boy asked. His voice the loudest Harry's ever heard.

Harry knew he should flinch away from the boys loud voice. Loud came with pain. Loud came with consequences.
But he found this boys voice nice. Harry hasn't been around another person in some time.
He found the pale boy the most settling of them all. He liked the pale boy.

"To get his prescription." The lady explained, blowing another puff of air into Harry's eyes.
Riddle held Harry's jaw gently as he flinched away.
"It's hurting him though." The pale boy argued, judging Harry's reactions.
"The longer he goes without glasses, the harder it will be for him to adjust. Harry has only seen things as blurry images. This will hopefully help his eyes strengthen."
The pale boy made a noise. Harry couldn't pin point the noise as Riddle whispered nice, lying words into his ear as the red light flashed into his eyes.

Harry squinted as a bright light appeared. Magnifying glass falling with clicks and clanks of the machine.
He flinched at each sound. Forcing Harry to be flush against Riddle. Harry shuddered at the feeling of Riddles warmth. Harry leaned away; trying to look back at Riddle. To see his blurry giant figure. Riddle wasn't allowing it, though.
His fingers curled tight around Harry's chin. Keeping him still. Harry shrank back. Struggling to get out of Riddles grasp.
Riddle wasn't allowing it as the lady tried to get Harry to speak. To say the letters in front of him.

Harry didn't see any letters.
Snapping his eyes closed, Harry tried to pull away from Riddles hands.

"Harry." Riddle tried to coo.
Harry didn't like his voice. He didn't like Riddle!

He didn't like Riddle touching him!

Harry garbled, voice harsh as he pushed the chair into Riddles shins. Making him release his jaw.
He rubbed at his eyes as Harry stood onto his wobbly knees. Stumbling away from Riddle, crouching behind the pale boy. Harry lifted his hands around his head. Knees tucked to his chest.

"Nice going."
"Ron." The older pale man reprimanded.

Ron. Harry registered the name.
Ron was the pale boy.
Harry liked 'Ron'. The name was simple.

Harry liked it.