Chapter 19
Harry wasn't sure what he was expecting when he opened the door, but he thought for sure some things would have changed.
Perfect, proper portraits of Dudley through various points in his life hung on the walls, complimented by pristine, completely normal family photos.
He glanced out the window at Tony and Natasha who were anxiously pacing by the car. They had wanted to come in with him, but something inside of him said he needed to do it by himself.
It was one final step of closure.
Closure on his past life.
The key had even been in the same place, under the doormat. He knew from Tony, though he wasn't sure how the billionaire knew (but he knew better than to ask), that Dudley and Aunt Petunia had gone to stay with family.
Now, he was just standing there in the doorway, looking around the house. It was strange, being there again. The house that had been his home for fourteen years, without ever really feeling like home.
Harry made his way to the cupboard, reaching for the knob before hesitating for a moment.
If he opened this door and retrieved his stuff, that was it.
This chapter of his life was over.
He scolded himself. The Dursley's had been nothing but vile to him for his entire life, so why was he hesitating?
He wanted, above anything else, to just forget everything they had put him through. So why was he hesitating?
He wanted to get his stuff, fly back to New York, get adopted, date Peter, and forget. So why was he hesitating?
With one final deep breath, he reached out and turned the doorknob and...
Nothing happened.
It was locked.
Cursing under his breath, Harry wracked his brain as to where he remembered the Dursley's keeping the key, before remembering Uncle Vernon throwing them into the dresser drawer upstairs on that day that Tony saved him.
Harry paused for a moment, debating on whether or not he should tell Tony and Natasha that he was going to be a few more minutes because he was looking for the keys, but he knew that they would insist on helping him look, and he really didn't want their help. He had to do this on his own.
He walked down the hallway to the staircase, noticing that the banister had been repaired from when Uncle Vernon threw him down the stairs. Aunt Petunia must have been mortified, having the police in and out of her home while it looked such a mess.
Harry paused for a moment, wondering why Aunt Petunia didn't get arrested. While she had never done anything to the extent of what his uncle had done, she had still done her fair share of abuse as well.
Shaking the thought from his mind, Harry slowly ascended the stairs, focusing on the grain in the hard wood. He didn't think it was going to be so hard to go back upstairs, but it was. It was where everything had happened. This bedroom was where his life crumbled around him, left for Tony, Pepper, and the rest of the Avengers to piece back together.
He reached the top of the stairs, noticing his trembling hand. This time, he knew that it was more than just the damage from the Cruciatus curse.
No, this was fear.
"Just do it," Harry told himself, and before he could balk, he shoved open the door to the bedroom and took a large step inside.
He was just about to make a beeline for the dresser drawer that contained the keys when the bedroom door swung shut with a slam.
Harry froze, his heart dropping and stomach dropping with fear. Slowly, he turned on his heels to face the large man that was turning the lock on the door, a malicious grin on his face.
"What? No hello for your dear, loving uncle?" He tsked, shaking his head and gripping something in his hand.
"What has America done to you? You used to be such a good boy. A freak, yes, but such a good boy," he twirled the whip between his fingers, taking slow, sashaying steps towards the frozen teenager.
"No!" Harry cried suddenly, looking Vernon in the eyes. "No! No more!"
"No more?" Vernon frowned before chuckling darkly. "Boy, you'd better remember your place. You're nothing more than a ruddy freak. Scum. You're bloody useless, and unwanted. Stark's only been using you as a sob- story. As soon as he deems you ready, he'll abandon you and release to the press how kind he was. A real hero."
He spit out the word like it was the vilest thing he'd ever tasted. Harry shook his head furiously.
"You- you don't know what you're talking about!" He stammered. "Tony and Pepper love me! They're going to adopt me! You're wrong!"
But his uncle's words had gotten to him, and they stung. Even though deep down he knew they weren't true, he felt as though maybe, just maybe, Vernon was right. Maybe they were just using him as a sob story.
"Enough!" Vernon roared, losing his patience. He hadn't waited months to get his hands on the boy only to stand and chit chat the entire time. Roughly, he grabbed Harry by the collar of the shirt and threw him on the bed.
Harry yelped at the unexpected force, and he looked up at his uncle standing over him, whip in hand.
"Any funny business, any at all, and your precious new 'daddy dearest' dies," Vernon pulled up his shirt to reveal a holster the contained a small pistol. Harry gulped, giving a nod and accepting what was about to happen.
He had to protect Tony and Natasha. He couldn't let them get hurt. And if it was between him or them, they were worth so much more than he would ever be.
Hands tore the shirt from Harry's body, and then his pants. Harry flailed, but Vernon shoved his face into the mattress, holding him down forcefully.
And then came the pain.
The electric whip making contact with his bare skin made Harry wish he were back in that graveyard, being held under the Cruciatus curse.
The pain seemed worse now than it ever had seemed before. Perhaps it was because he had been allowed time to heal, and had gotten used to only gentle and loving touches. Or maybe it was because he was part of a family now. He belonged to something now. He had something to lose.
"Don't make any noise," Vernon growled as Harry let out a high keening noise. He brought the whip down again. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five.
Harry lost count after seven, the pain so unbearable that the white sheets on the bed began to grow darker, fading into black.
And then, after minutes that felt like eternities, Vernon stopped.
Harry felt his body relax, even though his mind knew that he was far from being done.
Merlin, where was Tony? Now was not the time for him to begin obeying his right to privacy.
"Don't even think about calling for help," Vernon hissed, grabbing Harry by the hair and slamming his head into the metal headboard five times.
Harry groaned as his head flopped back down onto the bed. It felt just as bad as when his scar would hurt whenever he was near Voldemort.
Suddenly, his underwear was around his ankles.
No.
Not again.
"Please, no," Harry whimpered, discarding all previous qualms about arguing with Vernon. "Please, I don't want to. I don't want to. Please don't make me."
Vernon threw back his head and laughed as he unbuttoned his own pants.
"Maybe, if you behaved, I would have at least prepared you first," Vernon stated.
Harry's hazy mind didn't process what his uncle meant until the pain from the lower half of his body exploded.
This time, he couldn't help but scream.
"Shut up! Bloody fucking hell, shut up!" Vernon slammed his hand over Harry's mouth as he pounded harder and harder.
Harry couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stay awake any longer.
And then everything was a blur.
Pain.
Vernon's laugh.
The weight on top of him shaking violently.
A loud bang- it made his head pound.
The weight on top of him disappearing.
Shouts.
A scream. Who screamed?
A deafening bang- was that a gun?
Silence.
Someone frantically calling his name.
A blurry face.
Someone crying.
And then it was all black.
*
Tony was getting worried. He glanced at his watch and tapped his foot.
"Do you think we should go in there? It's been 20 minutes, and I can't take it any longer," Tony turned to Nat.
Normally, Natasha would have rolled her eyes and told Stark he was just being impatient and that he needed to grow up, but she too was worried.
Something was... off.
"Don't let this go to your head, but I actually agree with you. I think we should go check on him," Natasha nodded, standing up straight from where she had been leaning against the company car.
The two made their way up the front steps and had just pushed open the door when a blood curdling scream rang out through the house.
Tony and Natasha glanced at one another for a split second before both were screaming Harry's name and bounding up the stairs.
"Harry?"
"Harry!" Tony hollered as another keening whimper came from the bedroom at the top of the stairs.
He had just backed up to kick down the door when Nat swung a kick at the door knob, snapping it off, and then kicking the door in.
The scene in front of them almost made Tony vomit.
Vernon was on top of his son, shaking with pleasure, as Harry lay limply beneath him, blood trickling from his flayed back and a large gash on his temple.
"Get off of him you sick bastard!" Natasha screamed, tackling Vernon to the ground. She wrestled with the man for a moment as he drew the pistol from the holster, but he was too slow.
Before he could process what was happening, the spy had seized the gun and turned it on him, and the trigger was released.
There was an echoing shot that rang through the house and then... silence.
"Harry," Tony rushed to the side of the bed. "Harry, can you hear me?"
Glazed eyes stared back at him, blinking slowly with two different sized pupils.
That wasn't a good sign.
"Harry, son? Can you hear me? You're okay, alright? I've got you, I'm right here."
Suddenly a shaky hand was grasping at his shirt, and Tony looked down to see a bloodied hand holding a fistful of the Black Sabbath t-shirt he was wearing.
"Shh, it's alright, I've got you. It's all over," Tony soothed, cupping Harry's cheek with a cool hand, assessing his injuries with concerned eyes.
"I don' wan' to. Please, I don' wan to any'ore. I don' wan to," Harry sobbed into Tony's shoulder.
"Shh, you don't have to bud," Tony whispered, leaning in so that his face was pressed against Harry's hair, noticing at the drop of his stomach that the warmth against his cheek was blood coming from the long gash on the kid's temple.
"Please, don' make me. I don't wan' to. I don' wan' to any 'ore," Harry gurgled through a mouthful of blood- a souvenir from biting his cheek so hard to try to remain silent. Grabbing a fistful of shirt, he pulled himself closer to Tony with what remaining strength he had.
"Shh, don't move, okay? We're going to get you all taken care of, alright? Just stay awake kid, don't go to sleep on me now."
"Don' wan' to," Harry cried.
"He's gone now. You'll never have to again. Just stay with me, right now. We'll get you home, and cleaned up, and you'll be back to it in no time.
Think about it," Tony was desperately choking back tears. "Peter will be so happy to see you. Pepper and Bruce will never let you out of their sight again. Bucky and Steve will end up getting married- something old fashioned, probably. C'mon son, you gotta stay with me for that."
"Tony, I called both the police and Bruce. The police will be here soon. Bruce said to take him to the international S.H.I.E.L.D base here, and he'll be here this evening with Pepper, Clint, Steve and Bucky. They're not telling Peter yet."
"Probably for the best," Tony agreed, somewhat breathlessly. "Does S.H.I.E.L.D know the situation?"
"Bruce is calling them explaining so that as soon as you get there they can immediately start treating him. I'll stay here with the police. Things might get a bit sticky as far as self defense claims come, but since he was a wanted felon, I'm pretty sure it'll be okay."
"Tash?" Tony looked at her, and she whipped around to him.
"Breathe. You saved his life."
"Please, 'ony. Don' wan' 'o" Harry slurred, his pronunciation getting worse as he slipped out of it.
"Shit. Stay with me, okay Harry? Open your eyes. Look at me... look at me... there you go. Good," Tony praised in a false happy voice.
"You need to go," Natasha insisted. "I'll take care of everything."
Tony glanced from her to Vernon's body on the floor, to his kid that was struggling to stay awake.
After a moment of quick thinking, Tony grabbed a throw blanket from where it was tossed carelessly in a chair, and wrapped Harry in it as gently as he could, wincing when he heard Harry whimper in pain. He knew that moving him with a head injury and such bad lacerations on his back was a bad idea, but there was no way in hell he was calling an ambulance, and he needed to get Harry to S.H.I.E.L.D, and fast.
Quickly and carefully, Tony picked up the quivering teen, who was mumbling something incoherent at the moment.
"Hang on son," Tony murmured, hurdling down the stairs with the kid bundled tightly in his arms.
He managed to somehow open the car door and slide Harry into the backseat with only one hand, before shutting the door (feeling guilty instantly as Harry yelped and flinched away from the loud noise), and climbing into the drivers seat.
The drive to S.H.I.E.L.D's international headquarters felt like hours, but in reality, it was only a four minute trip (technically nine, but Tony broke every traffic law imaginable, as if daring a police officer to pull him over).
As soon as he pulled into the emergency med bay's entrance, the car was being swarmed by medical staff that were expecting them.
Tony watched in horror as they pulled Harry out of the car and laid him on a stretcher, strapping oxygen and heartrate monitors to him, and racing inside the building.
And then it all hit him, and it seemed as though life were in slow motion.
Vernon was dead.
His kid was dying.
And it was his fault.
He shouldn't have suggested going to get Harry's stuff. He shouldn't have let Harry go into the house himself. He shouldn't have-
Through the muted haze that was the world, Tony heard someone calling his name.
Was that Phil Coulson? What was he doing in England? And what did he want with Tony?
And suddenly, everything was back to it's normal speed again. The deafening noise of the trauma center around him. Phil Coulson's hands on his shoulders and calling his name.
It was too much.
The world swayed in Tony's vision, and his stomach lurched as Coulson called his name one last time, and he doubled over with a gag.
And with that, he proceeded to get sick all over Agent Phil Coulson's perfectly polished shoes.