Waking
Harry woke up to disturbingly bright lights on the ceiling. He must’ve been taken to the hospital wing, he thought to himself. And of course, in that very instant, as Harry blinked the sleep away from his eyes, Madam Pomfrey rushed over.
”Harry? Are you in any physical pain?” She had treated the superficial wounds he had caused himself, and spelled some pain relief potion into him, but she needed to know if it had worked. The boy child shook their head, prompting a “Good, thank you for responding, love, I know you don’t want to be here, but I want to make you better, both physically and emotionally. I’m sorry that the last time you were here I made you uncomfortable and revealed your secrets, but Professor Flitwick needed to know about your injuries so we could work to ensure you’re not forced back there. “
Harry could not take in the information. Madam Pomfrey just apologized - to him?! Adults didn’t just do that, not unless they want something. Harry had nothing to give, not on Halloween of all days. He swallowed, mouth dry in the aftermath of his stupid crying fit earlier that afternoon. Merlin, as the other wizards say, he was embarrassed.
”You’re thirsty - I’ll go get you a drink.”
”You really don’t have to-“
”You’re awake!” Professor Flitwick burst out from Madam Pomfrey’s office on a broomstick, prompting a chuckle from Harry. He hadn’t expected that Professors were allowed to ride on brooms indoors - Harry assumed broomsticks were more like Muggle bicycles than anything else. The Professor seemed thrilled he had amused Harry, but that thrill turned into a guilty look as the Mediwitch returned. She held a glass of clear liquid.
”Drink this, you’ll feel better.” Harry drank, wary of what was in the glass but unable to disobey a direct order in front of the Professor. Drinking the liquid made him feel worse, as it was thicker than water and tasted slightly salty.
The drink brought a feeling a dread curl in him even as he put the glass beside the bed. “What was that? What I just drank?”
Professor Flitwick sighed and answered the question, knowing the truth would feel like a betrayal to Harry, but also knowing Harry would hate him more if he stayed silent and let Madam Pomfrey do the explaining. “That was Veritaserum. I’m sorry,” and the half-goblin might’ve said more but Harry couldn’t hear beyond the rushing in his ears. Veritaserum. They’re going to knowand I cannot hide Harry thought.
Madam Pomfrey began the interrogation. “Why did you hurt yourself?”
”Because I’m a disgusting freak who needs to be punished.” The eerie monotone was expected, but the disconnect between the tone and the words still caught Professor Flitwick by surprise.
”Perhaps I should be more specific. Why did you center your self harm on your genitals?”
”Because I don’t deserve to feel pleasure. I liked being touched there but I’m not allowed to like punishments because I’m a freak who ruins good normal people’s lives, and so I needed to turn the pleasure I felt from the punishment into the pain that I deserved.”
”Who- who touched you there?” Madam Pomfrey, normally calm even in the face of horrifically infected wounds, was shaken by the blasé revelation that Harry had been molested. He was under the influence of Veritaserum she had brewed herself, and the way Harry stated the facts meant that he truly believed what he was saying was true, and he didn’t seem to think that being “punished” by someone touching his genitals was wrong. If he had even the slightest inkling that what he experienced was not normaldeserved, the potion would’ve made him say so.
”Aunt Petunia. She likes to touch me while I’m trying to do chores and then punish me for being distracted by it. She also watched me when I was changing through a hole in the corner of cupboard where she could see me from the kitchen. And when I‘m really bad, she takes me into the guest bedroom and, at first she would pretend she was performing a health check, but as I got older and better at not asking questions she would take off her clothes and make me touch her body and she would also touch me and I didn’t mean to seduce her - I just wanted to be loved, but I think maybe my accidental magic warped the messaging or something because she only ever pretended to love me when we were in the guest bedroom. She was the only person who ever touched me.”
“Harry,” Professor Flitwick said, almost positive the child was not transgender and wouldn’t be hurt by his name. “Magic does not work that way. The only thing that accidental magic can do psychologically is increase impulses that the person already has. You did not seduce her, nor did you ever cause any of her actions. You would not have had enough magic in your body to force her to do anything, most full-grown wizards can’t cast the Imperious Curse. I know you’ve been trained to believe otherwise, but I want to tell you anyway: her predation of you was not your fault, and you are not a freak.” Harry was looking at Professor Flitwick as he gave him this speech, and Harry was unable to maintain eye contact because his eyes were once again filled with tears. The Sorting Hat had been right to lead Harry to this man.
Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey was still thinking legalistically. ”How old were you when this first started?”
”I don’t know. Aunt Petunia had been watching me in the cupboard for as long as I can remember, and I was never told my birthday until Year Three of primary, so I didn’t know how old I was. The first time she touched me while I was doing chores was in the spring of my first year of primary, and her making me touch her began after Uncle Vernon threw a dish at my head because I undercooked the steak... I think I might’ve been in Year Two by then, but I’m not sure. Dudley turned seven the following summer, and Aunt Petunia made me massage her breasts and touch her private parts after the party because I wasn’t able to stay quiet and she had to cover for my existence by claiming Dudley had a pet bird. I hadn’t been allowed to use the bathroom all day, I couldn’t help that I made noise! Anyway, I don’t know exactly when it started - my Aunt and Uncle routinely varied my punishments over time so I wouldn’t be able to expect what would occur if I made trouble. Her touching me and making me pleasure her was just one of many punishments they used.”
”What triggered you to punish yourself this time, though? Your aunt isn’t at Hogwarts, so what made you leave the classroom and hide in the supply closet in the library?”
“Halloween was never a good day for me. Freaks don’t deserve candy, and my parents died, and I believe someone might’ve cast a Legilimency attack on me but I’m not sure who or when it might’ve happened because I’m an idiot who never pays attention to his surroundings and I thought McGonagall could tell I was terrified of her and that meant she knew she could do anything to me without consequences because she would know about my aunt and I just couldn’t handle being near people and I’ve been having flashbacks semi-regularly ever since I was sorted because the Hat knows that I get disconnected from reality because I dissociated during the Sorting and the Hat told me this wouldn’t just go away. I want to go away. Maybe I should’ve gone to third-floor corridor - certain death seems better than a future where I’ll have to feel all these emotions that come with having been forced to be completely honest. I hate you, Madam Pomfrey, and I hate this room, and I hate my life! I’d rather be dead than here.”
”Why do you hate me?”
”Because you remind of all the well-meaning teachers that promised me they cared but then heard Dudley’s lies and believed him over me. Because you made me relive the time Dudley broke three of my ribs and I thought I was going to die. Because you’re forcing me to answer these personal questions about my personal life, and now everyone knows that I’m a freak, and I’m famous, so you’ll probably go running to the Daily Prophet the minute I’m ‘dealt with’ and I hate being tolerated almost as much as I hate pretending not to exist and you’re the embodiment of everything I was never allowed to be around as a kid. I hate you because emotions are irrational and I would rather be angry at you than at myself, who is the real person to blame in this godawful situation.”
Harry finally had enough. As the two adults sat, slack jawed and unreasonably surprised by an abused child having emotions, Harry ran out the door. He ran and ran until he was in the dungeons. Snape had class now, and Harry needed to steal back his wand before he would begin researching what options he had other than staying at Hogwarts as the world’s most pathetic pity recipient or suicide. Suicide would not be the smartest option, considering he had told them that he was thinking about it. Harry had no idea what to do next, but first - thievery.