𝕻𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖘 𝕽𝖊𝖉
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!TW!
~Self Harm~
~Verbal Abuse~
~Physical Abuse~
~Eating Disorders~
~Homophobic Slurs~
~Neglect~
~Character Death Mentions~
~Suicidal Depression~
~Anxiety~
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3rd person, Harry’s POV
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Harry Potter. A name well-known among many. Boy who lived, boy who killed. And yet, here he was, rotting away in a cupboard that was surely too small for him, and far too hot, for an almost 17-year-old.
After the Dursleys had found out from the telly that mass murderer Sirius Black was dead, there was no mercy. “So you just weren’t going to tell us? Hm? Thought you could hold an empty threat over our heads, no sir, not anymore. No more damned freak to defend you.” Vernon had never seemed so enthusiastic.
Until now, when the news of Albus Dumbledore’s death reached the ears of the Dursleys. Now, there would be no saving him. Nothing to hold his uncle back.
Harry had to keep his knees close to his chest to make room for his poor bird who had been incarcerated in this hell with him. Hedwig had always been with him. After pleading with Aunt Petunia, he had convinced her to allow a little birdflap window in the cupboard so Hedwig could fly out and do her business. She had agreed under the terms that the bird was forbidden from stinking up the house and she had to deliver Harry’s letters that were to be sent only to The Order every week to ensure them that he was safe.
However, that was entirely not the case. Harry Potter was in fact, not safe.
Never in his life had the Dursleys been so vicious. This was all a new level of cruel. Not to say he didn’t know he deserved it. God knows he did. Fuck, he was the reason everyone would die. He killed Quirell, Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore. It was all his fault. Their screams resounded in the depths of his mind.
And that’s how it was. At 1 am, on a very unfortunate Tuesday, Harry sat curled up in a ball feeling quite numb, awaiting the return of his owl. Tears seemed to roll on their own accord. His chest heaved at the toxin-filled air, as his cupboard had always doubled as a cleaning supplies closet. He couldn’t stand it. If only he could suffocate. Right there, and let it all stop hurting.
The convenient thing about living in a hellish hot box is that there typically are a lot of extra tools. Tools that may be sharp. When it was all too much, dragging an old razor across his pale skin was bliss. The after-sting was strangely satisfying. The beads of morbid red were all too entrancing. So once again, Harry hissed at the messy lines of red, angry scars across his arms, thighs, and stomach. Fuck, he hated all of him. His arms were too thin and his thighs and stomach were too chubby. It made him sick. He couldn’t look at himself. He rather just blur the skin with blood as his vision blurred with tears.
With his summer diet at the Dursleys, he didn’t think he could bear to stomach much food anyway. It made him nauseous. Even the smell of it, sometimes just cooking for the Dursleys gave him headaches. With everything he hated about himself, between being a weight on everyone around him, his body issues, the abuse, the self-harm, fuck, even just the violence he’s seen, it was easiest to just slash away. He was careful to work around the splotched patches of bruises he’d received earlier from Vernon when his egg was scrambled instead of fried.
Lost in his head, Harry hadn’t even heard his owl fly in. Hedwig squawked at the god-awful smell of metallic blood. “Shh! Hedwig, you can’t be loud!” Harry was shaken from his shaky trance, whispering harshly at his poor bird. Hedwig quiets down, staring with big eyes and huffing. He noticed a piece of paper attached to her leg with a red ribbon. He gently lifted her leg to retrieve it and tossed her a piece of bread he managed to swipe from the kitchen. He couldn’t bear to eat anything anyway.
Harry rolled open the sealed parchment and couldn’t help but feel guilty. He’d been ignoring everyone's letters and only answered the order in vague sentences. He knew it was best if he quit ruining people’s lives with his presence, so he wanted to distance himself. He scanned through it, trying his best to ignore his burning migraine.
Dear Harry Potter,
We all miss you dearly and we hope you are safe. I know you would rather not talk about recent events but I’m here for you. I know I’m not Fluffy or Dumbledore, but I’m your uncle and your teacher. I’d like you to come soon but I can’t say when in, case this letter is intercepted. Are the Dursleys treating you well? Ron and Hermione tell me you haven’t been answering owls, they’re very worried about you. Not to mention some members of my bookclub think your letters are unsettling. And quite frankly, I’m concerned too. Please answer so we know you’re ok. My book club friends are suggesting sending someone to give you a new copy of our book if you don’t come to our next club meeting. Stay safe.
With deepest regards,
Remus Lupin
Harry knew that the ‘book club’ was just The Order. He really wished he didn’t have to write back with his aching hands but he knew if he didn’t Lupin would freak out. Uncle Vernon had to watch him write back, though, he was forbidden to write letters without supervision to make sure he wasn’t telling anyone what really went on within these walls. To ensure that, Vernon kept every single writing utensil in the whole house tied up in a bag in his room. Harry never went in there unless to pick up their dirty laundry.
He’d have to wait til Vernon woke up and let him out to respond. He felt bad not being able to answer Professor Lupin now, he knew he’d worry. He cleaned his wounds, wrapping them tightly in medical cloth he found in a dusty make-shift first aid kit Dudley had made in the 3rd grade for a school project. Of course, it stung but Harry found a sick comfort in it. It was always cold in the cupboard due to the little bird flap for Hedwig, but at least he could get a good guess on what time it was based on the sky.
There was a dusk pink coating the recently black sky. Harry would smile if his face didn’t hurt so much. It was probably the early hours of the morning by now, maybe almost 6. He couldn’t wait to get out of his cupboard. They let him out to make breakfast and start working around the house. Even if they beat him at the very least he’d be able to stretch his cramped body.
Almost on cue, sharp footsteps made him flinch in surprise. He knew it was his aunt. He had picked up on being very skillful in picking up on details no one else would. He could know who was coming from where based on their footsteps, if they were mad, he could sense they were awake and would almost completely stop breathing, he could even know exactly what shoes they’d be wearing based on the sound decibels of the soles hitting the cold ground. If there’s one thing that has forever been true, is that Harry Potter knew how to survive.
The many locks on the door clicked away harshly and the old white stained wood creaked open. Petunia’s pointed face looked down in disgust. “Get up, get up! Lazy boy, do you know what time it is? Should’ve been doing chores hours ago, it’s already 7, go, go, Vernon wants bacon and sunny eggs today. Don’t drag your feet!” She lectured him though he didn’t fight back. He knew her argument made no sense, how could he have started chores hours ago? He was locked up. And he had been awake all night. No matter, he nodded and his knees almost wouldn’t straighten to stand, having been stuck for so long. He stumbled to the kitchen, blinking repeatedly to get rid of the spots in his vision.
He felt grimy, he’s been in the same shit brown sweater and oversized deep blue gym shorts for a while now. He never had a time in the day where he could have a moment to change nor did he have a variety of options to be any sort of a fashionista.
He felt his stomach growl at the sound of the sizzling bacon, he did his best to ignore the pit sensation in his gut. He absent-mindedly finished his chore plated the food neatly and placed it on the 3-seated table. As if by chain reaction, both Uncle Vernon and Dudley entered groggily to breakfast. Harry physically shrunk into himself at the sight of his uncle. He just wished he could disappear.
“Petunia, dear, I might be bringing a guest sometime tomorrow evening, a very promising business deal, I do believe if all goes well it could mean a very expensive vacation for the family,” Vernon spoke while chewing with his mouth open. Harry kept his head down so as to not laugh or say something that would get him in trouble. He just wished they’d dismissed him already so he could do his other chores, if he finished early he would be allowed to walk around outside until 9:30 p.m. He was never allowed out later than Dudley. Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed away until everyone had left the table and he’d done the dishes.
“Oh, how wonderful! I’ll make ribs, the way you like them, and perhaps a cake!” Correction, Harry would make ribs and a cake. “Oh, Vernon, you’ll be late for work, you’d best be going.” Petunia fussed and wiped her giant husband's face, he was a messy eater.
Dudley whined, “But you were ‘posed to drive me to wrestling today!” Harry could sense a tantrum in the way.
“Oh, I’m sure I can drop you off early on my way to the office.” Vernon consoled, trying to prevent his son’s temper. Harry mentally scoffed at the genetically spoiled attitude.
“I don’t want to be there early! I’ll be bored out of my mind, and I’ll look like a loser with no friends, sitting there all alone, like Harry!” he frowned in his direction. It took every ounce of self-control in him to not say something back.
Vernon nodded, “Surely we can’t have our son feel bored, Petunia.”
“Here, Dudykins, what if we pick up your friends on the way and you can have money so you boys can walk around for a bit before practice since you’ll be early.” Petunia snapped at Harry, a signal to start picking up the plates. Harry did so, Dudley flicked his ear while he was getting his. Oh, how Harry bit his tongue to keep shut. Dudley seemed content with this idea.
“Fine.” He got up along with his father. Dudley kissed his wife goodbye as they shuffled out the door. Harry let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He scrubbed the pans and dishes quickly, leaving the kitchen spotless. Petunia had eyed him for a while, criticizing here and there, but at some point, she left to gossip over a pot of coffee with the neighborhood ladies.
His hands hurt from all the cleaning chemicals but funny enough, this was his favorite part of the day. He was left alone, allowed to be left unbothered while he cleaned. It kept his hands busy so he couldn’t hear the things in his mind, yet it was a momentary break from all the pain. It was calming. When Harry was certain that Aunt Petunia had left, he went to turn on the radio. Another reason he liked being left home alone, he could touch things he usually isn’t allowed to. Such as the radio. He shifted it around until it settled on a muggle band, Paramore, playing Misery Business. He mumbled along softly as he dusted.
Quite slowly, the hours went by, and when Harry had finished, feeling content with his work, it was 7:39 p.m. He threw out all the dirty cleaning supplies and washed the reusable ones and put them back in his cupboard. At some point, he heard the door click and he quickly shuffled to turn off the radio, cutting out the middle of Bring Me Back to Life, Evanescence. His heart clenched with anxiety before he realized who was home early. He breathed in relief.
“What’re you doing, creeping about like that?” Dudley addressed Harry the way one would address a very nasty sort of bug.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Nothing, maybe you just happened to scare the Jesus out of me.”
“Since when are Wizard freaks religious.”
“Since I’ve met you, I believe there may be hope for my soul.”
“You think your funny.”
“You’re.”
“You can’t correct my grammar if were speaking out loud!”
“We’re.”
“I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Why are you so bloody weird.”
“Why are you so bloody early? You’re usually out later, your friends ditch you?”
Dudley turned slightly red and balled up his hands into fists. “Watch it! At least I have friends! And they didn’t ditch me, they need me. Those dipshits just all have bloody girlfriends and dates and shit tonight.”
“Dudley Dursley can’t get a girlfriend?”
“You’re one to talk, faggot.” He shoved Harry, but not really hard.
“You’re right, maybe you can set me up with one of the ‘dipshits’.”
“Ew! No!”
“You’re right, I don’t reckon they fancy me all that much.”
“You’re such a freak.”
“This freak does your laundry, so watch it.” Harry smiled playfully. If you were really paying attention, you might have seen Dudley crack a smile too.
“Yeah, yeah. Are you done with the house ‘nd stuff? I still have some money left from when Dad gave me some this morning if you wanna go walk around or anything.” He looked away trying to pretend he wasn’t actually talking to the Harry Potter in a kind way. “Not cus I wanna hang out with you, just cus I’m bored and this stupid house smells like Clorox.”
Harry nodded smiling. “Sounds fun.” He put his stuff down and walked out with Dudley. The street lamps were on but the night was not yet dark, but a dusky blue. “Cute show you put on earlier. ‘I don’t want to be a loser like Harry so give me money!’” Harry laughed. Dudley rolled his eyes.
“Suckers.” Dudley scoffed, kicking at pebbles.
“Too bad I can’t be around a much longer. End of the summer, the Dursleys can finally kick me out. Then I’ll probably die.” Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, slightly shoulder-shoving Dudley, although it didn’t do much against a muscly boulder.
Dudley shoved back equally playfully but it almost sent Harry flying. He laughed. “Die? Is Harry Potter saying he can’t live without me?” He teased.
“Harry Potter is saying there’s a batshit crazy bald, noseless, old guy that for some reason really wants to kill me.” Harry could feel other people on the street staring at him. He was a dirty, pale, scrawny boy. He suddenly felt a wave of self-consciousness. “And if I happen to fall dead before that, well I might just dance for joy.”
There was a short silence. “What are you gonna do?”
“What I’m good at. Run, fight, and maybe some property damage.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Reckless abandon is kinda my trademark.” They got to Doug’s Cream Parlor. The door chimed as they walked in and the warm lights made the red cushioned booths remind him of the Gryffindor common rooms. There was a thin old man with grey hair and kind wrinkles. He wore a white-grey button-up blouse and grey slacks. Harry assumed he was Doug.
“What can I get you, boys?” He grinned brightly.
“A cookie and cream for me,” Dudley mumbled, shuffly through his wallet. “What do you want?”
Harry looked around absent-mindedly. “I’m ok.”
“Don’t be a pussy, pick something.”
“Fine, black cherry?”
“That’ll be 6.17 pounds. Cup or cone?”
“Cone.” Dudley slid the money across the mahogany counter.
“Cup, please.”
“You’re such a bloody child.”
“It should be on the other end of the counter when ready, boys.” The kind old man smiled through his glasses and then went to work. Harry and Dudley moved down the counter to wait patiently.
“Y’know, circling back to our talk earlier, I do believe Cindy from your old study group might fancy you if you’re looking for a girlfriend.”
“Cindy Myers? I think she’s been dating on and off with Charles Harris.”
“What about Freya Lewis?”
“The goth girl from my homeroom? Yeah, she’s hot, I think Mum and Dad might have a seizure, though.” He smiled mischievously.
“Pity, I think I’d pay good money to see that.”
“Yeah, girls are too much work anyway. You never know what they say actually means, and weird hints I’m supposed to understand and if I don’t she thinks I hate her. And what's the deal about always asking our hights?” Dudley sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes.
“Agreed. My advice? Be gay.”
Dudley snorted and shoved him. “I’ll add that to the list of things that might give my parents cardiac arrest.”
“Again, name a price.”
“Shut up, you dumb fuck, get your ice cream, let’s get out of here.” Dudley strolled out with the door giving a soft jingle and Harry thanked the man, again. Harry spooned his ice cream casually as they walked back.
As they got closer to the house, Harry spotted the Dursley’s circa-2000 Vauxhall Vectra estate. Vernon Dursley was home. He assumed that meant Petunia was home as well. Harry glances cautiously at Dudley. Dudley glanced back and sighed. They both knew the second they stepped through the doorway, their short-lived fun would have to be masked as mutual disdain.
Harry opened the door softly, holding it open for Dudley behind him. Both Vernon and Petunia sat in the living room, Petunia knitting, not very well, while Vernon watched the news on the telly.
“Dudley, dear? Is that you?”
Dudley walked in front slightly. “Hey, ma. It’s me and Harry.”
“So he finally shows his face, skulking around my house like he’s hiding something. You hiding something, boy?” Vernon sneered.
“No, sir.” Harry kept his head low, standing next to his massive cousin.
Vernon huffed. “I don’t believe you. “Where’ve you been? Heard from your other freaks?”
“Just went for a walk, sir, with Dudley. And my uncle wrote a letter last night. I haven’t answered yet but he says if I don’t soon, he’ll send someone to come check on me.”
“Oh, my Dudleykins is so sweet! Being kind to freaks!” Petunia exclaimed to Vernon. He ignored her, still grilling into Harry.
“What’re you trying to make me and my family look bad?” Harry bit back his tongue, almost letting a ‘you do that just fine all on your own, sir’ out. “You trying to provoke freaks into coming into my house? You ungrateful brat. You will answer! Tell those, those, those clowns! That you are perfectly fine.”
Harry nodded solemnly. “Yes, sir.”
“Come here.”
Harry stood frozen. What? Why, what did he do? Had he said something wrong?
“Are you retarded, boy, I said come here!” Harry slowly moved himself forward, as if dragging himself through sludge. Her stood in front of his uncle as he stood up, towering over him. Almost all too suddenly, his cheek stung. As if he had been slapped across the face with a big, heavy slab of black ice. He stared with wide eyes. Vernon was now red-faced.
“You think you can simply live in my house, rent-free, and sass me? No, sir! Enough is enough. Me and my wife have been all too kind to you, you freak! You burden my family with your witch-craft and all those other abnormal associates of yours, you try to influence my poor son, you pansy! Why do you feel entitled to prance around my home like a twink and do nothing to atone for it? No. not anymore, boy. You’ll start earning your keep.”
Harry ignored every pang to his chest with every word. He blinked away tears viciously, his eyes feeling hot and red. What had he meant, he’d start earning his keep? Would he make him get a job? “Am I to get a job, sir?”
Vernon scoffed, shoving Harry to the ground in one push. “You think anyone would hire a sod like you? No, you’re going to finally put your nonsense to use. It so happens that my newest investor will be coming tomorrow evening for dinner. Mr. Reeds says he’d invest good money into my company if I can provide a good time. Congrats, boy, you’ll finally get what you want.” Vernon grinned savagely.
Harry Potter’s blood ran cold. He could feel Aunt Petunia’s horrified face and Dudley’s heart beating frantically. No. He stared at a dark stain on the grey carpet. Was that. . . his blood? When had that happened? Vernon hadn’t even hit him that hard yet, had he? He felt a stinging in his arms. Oh. His cuts were being re-opened. He looked at his bandages. The white was now blooming red. Vernon seemed to have noticed, too, because he grabbed his wrist harshly making Harry cry out in pain.
“What? Can’t even kill yourself the right way?” Vernon sneered at the stained bandages. Harry held his eyes tightly shut. He couldn’t look at anyone. Not Vernon’s hateful glare, not Dudley's wide, scared eyes, not Petunia’s beady stare. Vernon lifted Harry by his face, dangling his feet in the air. Harry could feel a pulsing in his head and his heart hammering against his ever-shrinking rib cage. He tried to breathe hard.
“I doubt you’ll even be worth much. A pale, dirty face and a small, bony body. Anyone could snap you like a toothpick.” He dug his knee into Harry’s gut making him spit up blood, coughing hysterically.
Petunia spoke up. “V-Vernon, dear, careful, he’ll get blood all over the carpet!” Vernon grunted in acknowledgment, throwing Harry back down, leaving him to heave and cough, regaining breath in his damaged lungs. He tried to wipe away the blood from his mouth with his equally bloody hand. Vernon made him look at him, pulling him by the hair.
“Go get that bloody owl, and write that bloody letter.” Vernon glared, taking a pen from his front coat pocket. Harry nodded frantically, running to his cupboard to get Hedwig, tripping over himself. He quickly got the frightened bird, petting her feathers gently to calm her, and himself. He shakily walked back to the coffee table in the lounge, Dudley had been ushered upstairs by Petunia and kneeled at it, he wasn’t allowed to sit on the couch because he’d get filth all over it, to find a piece of paper and Vernon’s jet black pen sitting in front of him. Vernon glared, watching him.
“Well?” He growled impatiently. Harry nodded clicking the pen.
“Right.” Harry thought. What would he even say? He couldn’t make them worry. The Order was busy enough without all the damage he caused. He’d keep it brief.
Dear Mr. Lupin,
Sorry to answer so late, hope I didn’t worry you too much. The Dursleys are ok, I think they’re starting to like me more. Sorry I haven't been answering a lot of letters, I’ve just been really busy. Tell Ron and Hermione I said hi. I miss you guys.
With Regards,
Harry Potter
Now and then, he had to smudge away the blood stains that were still seeping from his wounds. Harry kept it brief and vague, glancing back at Uncle Vernon to see if he had any reaction. He just huffed. “Aren’t you done yet?”
“Yes, sir.” Harry tied the letter to his bird’s leg gently with a green ribbon and sent her off into the clear black sky. In the silence, you could hear Harry’s heaving breaths against his very visible rib cage.
“Get out of here. Go. I’m tired.” Vernon stomped out. Harry followed suit, going into his cupboard under the stairs. He heard the clicks of the locks on the door then a heavy set of footsteps going up the stairs above him, and then, the soft switch of the lights. His head pounded, thinking about it all. He decided that he changed his mind. This, was his favorite part of the day, when he could finally hide away from the world. His thoughts spiraled. Who was Mr. Reeds? Why did things always happen to him? Well, better him than the people he cared about. And that was Harry Potter's last thought of the day. His vision drifted into a slumber, his wounds still wet with blood.
Harry Potter drempt of white roses. Although he didn’t belong there. Everything he touched would turn blood red. His blood would paint the white roses dead.
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Word Count: 4,377
Finished Date: October 25th, 2023, Wednesday, 8:53 am
And that’s chapter one! I’m usually an author on Wattpad which you can kinda tell by my formatting style, this is a rewrite of a story I started but never finished on Wattpad, so if this sounds familiar, it’s not stolen! Lol, I love hearing comments and feedback. I know this was a rough and loaded first chapter but yk that’s what I’m here for. I don’t really have a posting schedule but I update as soon as I finish a chapter, so keep checking for new chapters! Love you guys, and I’m very excited for this book, I have a lot of ideas.
With Love,
Rae Mina
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