Chapter Three
The next day brings many surprises, mostly unpleasant.
“Uncle” Vernon is home and is not in the slightest pleased with Harry's earnings for the month. It seems Vernon is never pleased, not really. Harry had worked so hard to get this job, had begged and pleaded for it, but it was never enough. It would never be enough for Vernon, nor Petunia. Harry is used to it by now, but a little bit of consideration would be nice.
"Boy!" blares Vernon the moment he comes home. "Have you been lazing about again?" He turns to Petunia "Do I need to sort him out for you, Pet?" He asks in a sick, loving manner.
Petunias expression is vindictive and sour. "His earnings have been meagre. He says that he has a "job" but he brings home barely enough to cover his board."
Harry wishes, just for once, she would be on his side. Wishes anyone would be on his side.
Vernon's eyes bulge, his face turning prune. "Is that so?" He asks quietly. Shit. Shit! Quiet Vernon is never good.
Harry lowers his head in submission, breathing hard. "I bring back every penny, Sir-"
"Every. Penny. Then why is it that it's not enough!" Vernon spits.
Harry opens his mouth- to say what, Harry doesn't know. But it seems as though Vernon isn't finished.
"Your Aunt Petunia and I, we took you from that damned orphanage out of the goodness of our own hearts, and what do we get? You wretched boy, you've been nothing but a burden to us!"
Harry feels a pang in his heart, and his breathing becomes frantic.
Vernon suddenly strikes, and what happens next Harry can't tell you. All he knows is that he awakes in the middle of the night in his cupboard, his body bruised. There are definitely a few things broken, but the pain is so pulsing, he can't tell exactly what. All he knows is that he has to get out of there, away from the Dursleys, one way or another.
***
The next morning, Harry is hoisted up by Aunt Petunia. No surprise there- he is not to step a foot outside for a week. Harry catches a glance of himself in the mirror and agrees that a week would be time enough for the bruises on his face to fade. The bruises and breaks on his body are another matter entirely, but Harry knows by now that the Dursleys only care about what other people see, and Harry's own discomfort (which was putting it mildly) didn’t matter a whim. So long as he was able to scavenge some work, the Dursleys really couldn’t care less.
The week seemed as though it would never pass, with Vernon and Petunia constantly prodding him to do a boat load of chores. By the end of the week, the house was spotless. Harry himself was worse for wear- constantly working on a broken body could do that to a guy. Moreover, he was eating even less under the Dursleys' watchful eyes. A stale slice of bread every three days, and soup if he was lucky. Thankfully, water was never in short supply, so long as he drank it out of eye view from Vernon.
On Monday, he was required to return to work- he could only hope that he still had a job to return to.
***
“HARRY!” gasps Ron the minute he walks in to the “office”. He says that since it may as well be a dingy storage closet. “Blimey! What the bloody hell happened Harry?” He puts a hand on hips, and for a moment the sight is so strange he feels as though he might laugh. “We- We knew that the Dursleys were doing something but we didn’t think it would be this bad!” Harry immediately feels bad, a deep pit of shame pooling in his abdomen, and reaches to comfort Ron. Ron shrugs off his hand.
“It’s not me who should- Fuck, you’re so oblivious sometimes.”
Ron reaches out and hugs him gingerly, as though he were made of spun glass. Which Harry supposes is appropriate, since even this amount of contact makes him grind his teeth in pain.
“Ron…” Harry begins, but he doesn’t even know what to say. “I’m sorry.”
Ron slaps his forehead.
“You’re not supposed to apologise you idiot!”
Harry picks up his broom and immediately winces in pain.
“What are you doing Harry? Your left arm literally looks broken.”
“What else am I supposed to do Ron! The Dursleys will fucking murder me if I don’t bring back wages for the week!” Harry doesn’t even think this an exaggeration.
“They won’t.” States Ron confidently, though his face seems to pale a shade.
“How could you possibly know-” begins Harry, bewildered, before Ron interrupts him.
“Because we’ll be in Paris by then.”