𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝕷𝖎𝖊
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!TW!
!DETAILED GORE!
!BLOOD!
!YELLING!
!VIOLENCE!
!SUICIDAL THOUGHTS!
!RAPE!
!ANXIETY!
!VOMIT!
!UNDERAGE!
!NON CONSENSUAL!
!SELF HARM!
!SLURS!
!EATING DISORDER MENTIONS!
!SELF DEPRECATION!
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3rd Person, Lupin’s POV
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Remus Lupin was a deeply trouble man. His boyfriend had died a convicted criminal, all his friends had been either killed off or turned traitors, his nephew happened to be Harry fucking Potter, oh, and he was a werewolf. Good times. And on this specific night, after stressing his semi-grey hair, he finally received a reply from Harry.
“Hedwig!” Molly had called out. Both the Weasleys and Hermione had been staying at Grimold's place as well with the rest of the living Order. Remus had lifted his head and strolled over to pet the loyal bird, untying the red ribbon from her leg. He knew it was Harry, only they two used such ribbon. It was to ensure that it really was them and not an imposter, with all that was going on with the war and such. He opened the letter and read through it with great concentration. There was blood on it.
“Molly, Arthur! Mad-eye, are you here!” He called for them, re-reading through every line, trying to look for a hidden message. But there was nothing. The more he read through it, the more vague and dry it became. Harry had plainly said that everything was perfectly fine yet there was a sinking feeling that something was terribly wrong.
“Remus? What’s wrong?” Molly leaned over to read the letter over his shoulder, quickly turning her expression into a contemplating concern, as Arthur and Mad-eye walked into the living room.
“Remus? Molly, what is it?” Remus kept staring at the letter, trying, trying so hard to find just something.
“Harry has written back,” Molly said softly.
“Ah, good, was worried I’d have to go and collect the boy myself!” Moody came closer patting Remus on the back.
“No,” Remus spoke, handing the letter over to them. “No, I think something’s wrong. Look at the blood stains. And it doesn’t sound very much like him.”
Arthur had finished reading it and hummed in acknowledgment. “Yes, the stains are worrying, but he’s been dry in his letters all summer.”
“But why? Surely Harry must feel alone since. . . but I thought he’d at least want to talk to Ron and Hermione.” Remus muttered.
“Do you think we should go get him anyway?” Arthur settled on the old couch.
“I think we should stick to the original plan. Get him on his birthday, 2 days' time. If we rush into it now, we become predictable. Harry is a strong boy, he can hold out for 2 days if he’s in any sort of danger.” Mad-eye cut in, leaning on the fireplace.
“Do you reckon he’s in danger, then?” Molly breathed almost under her breath. There was silence.
“I don’t know.” Remus couldn’t bear the thought of his cub being hurt. He knew he had been far too late many times before, Harry had seen and fought more than anyone should ever have to even think about. And he was only 16. He was a 16-year-old boy. When Remus was 16, his biggest battles were sneaking off into the night during a full moon, and even then he was never alone. Harry had almost died a minimum of at least once every year and he’d lost almost everyone he’s ever loved. He didn’t believe the bullshit about the Dursleys being kinder Harry had mentioned in his letter for even a second. “I don’t know but there’s no reason my boy should tell me he’s fine when he’s bleeding.”
“Maybe he had just cut his finger while writing!” Molly had tried so very hard to remain optimistic.
“Molly, dear, wake up. He’d have to cut off his finger to be bleeding all over the bloody place like that.” Arthur sighed. This was all so frustrating.
“2 days.” Remus looked at Mad-eye. “2 days, Moody, no more, we’ll go along your plan but I’m bringing Tonks and Arthur with us. I’m going to get my boy.”
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3rd person, Harry’s POV
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Only the clicking of the locks had woken him up. Petunia had opened the door without a word. She often did this after beatings, she’d give him the silent treatment. Harry interpreted it as her way of showing mercy.
It had surprised him when he had woken up. He surely thought he would have died in his sleep from the way his lungs felt as though they were deflating last night. Pity. He stood out with a groan, stretching his limbs. Bad idea. He started coughing violently. His chest racked. He leaned on the wall for a moment, then stabilized himself to make his way to the kitchen.
There was a new kind of dread today. Vernon’s words had echoed in his mind all night. Mr. Reeds. He just wishes he could fall dead on the spot. Save a lot of people a lot of trouble. He quickly started his daily routine, flipping pancakes till they were fluffy and golden.
The house was quiet and felt heavy. Dudley came in sooner or later, they made eye contact for a split second, and then he sat down. Petunia quietly fussed about the collar of his shirt. Harry served the plates, pouring orange juice, when Vernon walked into the eggshell white kitchen. The room visibly went still, yet Vernon went on as if normal.
“Morning dear, son,” He sat and started tearing into the cinnamon pancakes. “My investor, Reeds, will be here at 8. I want the house to look tidy, Petunia dear, if you could make the extra bedroom upstairs look nice, thank you, dear. We’ll keep dinner light and take cookies to the lounge. Dudley, I want you to see if you’ll be able to sleep at a friend's house tonight.” He spoke as if this was the most light-hearted meeting ever. And without context, it was. But Harry knew. He knew what it all would mean. They didn’t want Dudley in the house for this and quite frankly, neither did Harry.
Petunia looked a little green-faced but nodded. “Harry, get the plates then, then you can spruce up the garden.” She spoke kinder than usual. This must be where Petunia’s morals draw the line if she was shaken up like this. It scared him. He nodded, taking the plates to the sink about to wash them. “No, no, you never do it right, if we want them to look nice tonight, I’ll just wash them myself.” She stood up as if exasperated. What the fuck. Now he was scared. She would wash the dishes for him? “Now, go. The lilies are looking dull.” He nodded again and went outside to get the gardening gloves and tools. The gloves rubbed against his wounds roughly, making him wince and sweat now and then. He loved when he got to tend to the lilies. They were so beautiful. Harry liked to think his mother was more so. Lily Evans Potter. He patted down the dirt gently. Maybe his mother liked flowers, too. Flowers were all too beautiful and delicate for this world. Only a god could send a gift like this. He wished he could be like that. His mother was a beautiful Lily. Harry Potter was a troubled weed.
He watered them and had finished cleaning the lilies' garden bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave them. He probably looked crazy to the neighbors and the Dursleys would yell at him later but he lay himself down in the lily bed, and gently closed his eyes, feeling the fresh air tangle through his lashes in the hot summer air. He tossed off his gloves and gently played with the closest lily’s petals. And there he fell asleep once more, his tired body resting among the lilies.
When he had woken up, his eyes met a citrus sky streaked with pinks and royal purples. He thought he had finally died. Maybe when he had slept with the lilies the ground had consumed him into the earth once more. Until his eyes adjusted and he realized he was still right outside the Dursley household. Fuck. Still in hell. Wait. FUCK. It was sunset and he hadn’t started cleaning or made dinner yet for. . . Vernon’s guest. He stood up so fast his vision went spotty. He stumbled back into the house to find it empty and. . . clean? And there was a smell wafting from the kitchen. He entered to find Aunt Petunia in a baby yellow apron setting the already done ribs and cookie platter. She looked at him and silently tossed him a cookie. “You’re lazy bones couldn’t do it in time so I did it myself.” She busied herself looking away indifferently.
Harry ate the cookie quietly. “Thank you.” He lowered his eyes shyly. He assumed she had done the rest of his chores as well. He felt guilty. He started helping her tidy up the kitchen, the two working together in mutual silence. Aunt Petunia wasn’t too bad sometimes. It was just the two of them at home, Dudley would be sleeping the night at Pierre’s.
The front door clicked open and Harry recognized Vernon’s brown pleather shoes and another set of clean, black business shoes he didn’t recognize. Panic started to settle in. He knew it would happen but the reality hadn’t quite settled in until now. He felt pale and nauseous. Petunia stood frozen with him, looking just as green until Vernon called for them.
“Petunia, darling! Come, dear, meet Mr. Reeds! Oh, do bring the boy with you, and a cup of tea, Mr. Reeds has been ridden with a mild headache.” Vernon had called to the kitchen from the lounge. Harry’s blood felt cold and he could hear his breath pounding in his ears. He looked back at Petunia who kept her eyes pointedly away from him. She started walking, pushing Harry forward to keep him in front of her.
“Ah, there she is! My lovely wife, Mr. Reeds,” Vernon was sitting across from a 5’8 middle-aged man who had short red hair on top and a red, short beard (think Micheal Fassbender).
“A pleasure” he spoke smoothly. Petunia nudged him to help her place cookies and tea at the coffee table along with the hot barbeque ribs. Harry kept quiet so maybe, just maybe, they’d forget about him. If he could only fade into the pale green wall behind them and be gone. Maybe he could sneak away.
“And who might you be?” Mr. Reeds directed his piercing grey gaze at Harry, making him feel a cold shiver run through him. He kept his eyes down, feeling uneasy.
“Ah, this is the boy, Harry.” He could hear the tooth-rotting sweetness laced in Vernon’s voice that usually would have made him scoff but here, he was just uncomfortable being addressed as if a product. “Be polite, boy, where are your manners.” Vernon had scolded.
With trembling hands, Harry Potter lifted his dull, lifeless green eyes. “Hello, Mr. Reeds, sir.” He hoped his voice didn’t sound too shaky.
“My, my, you have beautiful eyes.” Mr. Reeds stood with a cup of tea in hand. “So gorgeous for your age. 16, again was it?” With every word he got closer to him until he was right in front of him, Harry’s chest ached with anxiety as the man tucked a piece of Harry’s raven, fluffy hair behind his ear, entirely too close for comfort.
Apparently, Mr. Reeds had expected a response, he tsked. “Ah, and a quiet, good little boy, too.”
Vernon decided to input himself into the conversation. “Not at all, my friend, the brat won’t ever shut up.” he chuckled, yet Reeds just seemed annoyed.
“Thank you, Mr. Dursley, but I don’t think I’ll find it to be an issue.” He set his teacup down gently. “Let’s skip the niceties, shall we, Mr. Dursley? We had an agreement, and I’m not very hungry.” Mr. Reeds seemed impatiently exasperated. Harry felt like a slab of meat. Being discussed as if he was only flesh. His cheeks were flushed pink with embarrassment and holding back tears.
Vernon stuttered, “Ah- Well, yes- of course. But you will invest in our new funding project, correct?”
The redhead man was now becoming annoyed. “Yes, Dursley, now let’s get on with it.”
Harry was visibly shaking now. He wanted to yell. He wanted to fight. If only his bones would move. “Of course, the first bedroom at the top of the stairs.”
“Well appreciated, Mr. Dursley.” Mr. Reeds now gripped Harry’s poor, skinny arm, pulling him towards the stairs. Only then did Harry’s stiff muscles enter a fight or flight mode. He starts to scream. Pleas for mercy, scratch at the hand that tightly held at his cuts that would drag him to his doom.
“No! No! Please, please- Uncle Vernon, please! I’M SORRY! I’m sorry! Aunt Petunia- help me-!” He began sobbing uncontrollably, kicking around his limbs, throwing out his voice in a wild desperation for this to stop. Mr. Reeds became agitated and his cool demeanor became cold and impatient. He kicked and tossed him up the stairs, his screams becoming the things that could make your gut pool with fear in a horror movie. His gut-wrenching wails of terror made Petunia gasp and cry out, refusing to hear it anymore, running away to the kitchen with something that suspiciously sounded like crying. Vernon sat still, watching in pretend indifference but even then you could tell that his shrieks were something that would haunt him.
Harry screamed and fought, trying to grab onto the things on the walls to cling to, but to no avail, his body was weak and easily ripped away by Mr. Reeds. “Oh, would you shut up already!” throwing Harry’s frail body on the dark carpet floor of what used to be his room. He locked the door behind them, Harry’s vision trying to adjust to the dark. He wheezed, his ribs contracting against his lungs, sobbing painfully. He tried to run at the door in a reckless attempt. Mr. Reeds grabbed him by the legs, pulling painfully as Harry clung to the rusting door knob, scratching at the door til his fingers bled.
“Would you quit that awful bitching!?” He flung Harry onto the bed, making him cry out in pain. Harry curled into himself, holding his knees against his chest, sobbing. “You know, this would be a great deal easier on you if you quit struggling.” He muttered angrily, hastily removing his belt followed by unbuttoning his shit and slipping down his pants. He walked over, making the bed sink slightly as he crawled over the underage boy. He grabbed his wrists, noticing how the wounds had opened against his bandages from all this manhandling. God damn it, all this reopening his cuts was definitely horrible for his scars. He had pinned his hands above his head, pushing his hips forward as to force Harry’s face against his clothed crotch. Harry’s cries were muffled against the fabric, feeling used. Mr. Reeds groaned as he slowly grinded forward against the poor boy’s face. Pulling back, he pulled off his boxers, returning to the former position, forcing his dick into Harry’s mouth. He held his jaw tightly as he fucked in and out of it, leaving him helpless against it all, just silently gagging with tears streaming down his puffy, red cheeks.
“I told you, it’ll feel so good if you quit struggling.” He groaned. He pulled out and released all over his face, laughing lightly. He moved his knee to be in between Harry’s legs. He slid his hands all around the boy’s body, palming him in places he shouldn’t. He tore open his dirty old shirt, leaving his incredibly bony chest in the cold.
“Jesus Christ, you’re a skeleton.” Mr. Reeds commented as he shifted down Harry’s pants, against his now silent mumbles of pleas. “You should be thanking me. No other man would ever want to touch you. Look at you. You think you’re a pretty sight to see?” Harry sucked his breath between sobs when he had taken off his boxers, flicking at his poor, abused dick. He laughed.
“Fucking pathetic.” He laughed at his small length. Harry tried so hard to keep his pale thighs together in embarrassment and overall shame. Reeds pushed his legs open, with no prep or lube, not even a warning, the entire thing inside. Harry screamed in pain. There was no gentleness, just fast-paced pounding that made him tremble and scream.
“Oh, shut the fuck up already.” He growled, shoving his boxers into Harry’s mouth as a make-shift gag. The 7th year became nauseous at the taste. He slowly let his mind drift away. He refused to be within his own body right now. He couldn’t. Soon enough, he had blacked out physically as his unconscious body continued being abused, but spiritually, it had felt as though his soul was watching the scene from above. As if, he was not within himself, but the walls themselves. He was but a set of eyes who had the misfortune of watching the ungodly episode below.
Harry Potter could not tell you the rest for he could not remember, and even then, some things are best left unspoken. He hadn’t known what time Mr. Reeds had left or what time Harry had woken up after, but that didn’t matter right now. Harry couldn’t feel. Sleep was like a comforting death. But like all free trials, it only lasted 30 days.
When he had woken up, it had taken a second to understand why he had been sleeping in a real bed, why his whole body felt bruised and sore, and why there were streaks of blood on the door. He wished he hadn’t been given answers so quickly. Recollections of last night that hit him like a truck, sending him into a hyperventilation panic. He rocked his knees to his chest as sobs racked through his whole body. He looked at his bloodied fingers. He felt dirty and ashamed. His body had been sold out, he had been used. He wished he could peel his skin off. It felt like there would forever be hands ghosting around his skin. He could feel every handprint where he had been touched. He scratched and scratched at his skin until he remembered he had hidden a blade beneath one of these floorboards from when he had resided here.
He retrieved the yellow handle of the blade and slid it across his arms and thighs, leaving red jewels in its tracks. The metallic replaced the smell of sex.
His tears slowly dried, and he felt entranced into numbness as the cold metal dragged across his skin. If only the world could see him now. Their savior, a weak victim. If only Cedric were here. He’d hold him. He’d tell him it was ok. He would’ve protected him. Somehow, Harry had never felt more alone. Why? His whole life had been a one-person mission and now? It hurt so much more. His hands flew up to his head, pulling on his messy black hair weakly. Words echoed through his head.
‘You should thank me. No other man would ever want to touch you. Look at you. You think you’re a pretty sight to see?’
The sentence had circled his mind forever. He was short, bony, dirty, too quiet, weak. He wished his parents' genetics would save him, they were both so beautiful, but no. His mother’s green eyes and his father’s black, fluffy hair had fallen useless on him. His lifeless green eyes could never resemble Lily Evans. Maybe, even if they were here, they wouldn’t want him. They couldn’t claim those dead eyes. He was already an inconvenience to Remus, and if he knew about this, he might just all together give up on him. If Ron and Hermione knew they’d pity him and ghost him in disgust. If only he hadn’t killed Cedric and Sirius. The two people he was certain would really love him. But he had killed them. He had murdered Cedric Diggory and Sirius Black.
He left the bloodied blade on the floor, leaving stains on the carpet. He had to get new bandages and splash his face. Wrapping one of the blankets around his still naked body, he struggled a few times to stand, his legs felt incredibly sore. He didn’t know how he even made it to the bathroom. Looking at the mirror made it worse. It made him rush to the toilet and throw up. He breathed hard.
On wobbly limbs, he returned to the mirror to study the face that just couldn’t be his. There was dried. . . bodily substances on the face that made Harry’s stomach lurch. The face was puffy and red and there were hickeys and dark, splotchy bruises all over his body. Harry’s breath hitched as he scanned over the person in the mirror. His magic suddenly went wild as he wished the image away, the mirror cracked, making him flinch back in surprise.
He washed his face, feeling numb. He wrapped up his arms and legs, making the bleeding come to a stutter. He wrapped his small frame in a brown towel before leaving the bathroom only to find neatly folded clothes on the floor outside the door. He stared blankly before realizing it had probably been Petunia. He gently picked it up and slipped it on. He was thankful about having so many oversized hand-me-downs from Dudley. There was a giant purple sweater that swallowed him like a dress and stained brown sweatpants. The bagginess would hide his body from the world. No one would see the scars and marks left on him, nor his boniness. He would never let anyone look at him again. He didn’t even want to look at him. Among all the events in his life, he knew it was best if he just killed himself.
But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t be allowed to. He wished he could but the wizarding world would hurl into chaos without their favorite mascot. Everyone likes to have someone they can all mutually hate. And Harry Potter would always let them. Because that made people happy.
The stairs creaked as he made his way down them. It seemed that Dudley had been instructed to stay out of the house until further notice. He could hear the soft sound of dishes being done from the kitchen and the sounds of the telly meant Vernon was home in the lounge. He drew his hands across the wall as he walked past the lounge door as if he were walking on eggshells. He met Petunia in the kitchen. She had glanced at him for a moment then sniffed. She put a cookie on the counter near him. He looked at her curiously while he ate the cookie. It felt painful in his stomach seeing as he doesn’t often eat. (There have been no mentions of him eating real food since this whole book started). He observed her face, she looked like she had been crying and he felt a pang of guilt.
He picked up a wipe to clean the counter, cleaning silently alongside her which had made her burst into tears and run off upstairs. He was left alone. What else is new? Only the soft sound of the news on the telly and the lingering anxiety of being within the same 10-foot radius of Vernon Dursley. Harry knew he would receive no mercy nor pity from his uncle. Life will continue as it always had, except now, there will always be ghost hands and fingerprint bruises. Harry Potter had lost everything. Everything. Everything he’s ever owned had been ripped from him and left bare. He couldn’t hope for any redemption for the life of Harry Potter. Even if someone remembered he was deserted here and came to get him, his soul would always reside in this prison.
Even now, as the world went on, for a moment, he touched heaven. When he slept with the lilies it had been as if the dirt consumed him.
He wished he could be a lily, planted in the dirt.
But Harry Potter was a weed.
And never again could he feel worthy enough to rest where the lilies lie.
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Word Count: 4,226
Finish Date: October 31st, 2023, Tuesday, 11:59 pm (IT’S HALLOWEEN!!!!)
Shabooyah, chapter two. I know it seems really dark and pointless right now but I swear to god it gets juicy next chapter, fingers crossed ma boy Draco gets to join the party. I take anywhere from 4 to 9 days to write a chapter depending on how busy and how motivated I am. I’m currently failing two classes lol I have a 44 in English kms. I know this chapter was really sensitive and not for the faint of heart so apologies my dear readers. Also, do ignore any mistakes, I wrote most of this while I was high lol which quite honestly is where all my best work comes from. I DO HAVE A PLAN FOR THIS LOL. I know I seemed scrambled rn but tryst T-T
With Love,
Rae Mina
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