Hell For The Innocent

Hell For The Innocent

Part 1: Arc 1

Harry: 4, Dudley: 5

They’re fighting again.

Dudley frowned as he listened in on his parents arguing from the kitchen door. Both of them were currently upstairs but with how loud their raised voices were it made little difference, he could hear every vile word they uttered, every biting remark that sprouted from their lips with ease. Even if he were to lock himself away in a soundproof room, he would still be able to hear them, of that he was certain. He winced as he listened to his mother screaming pure abuse at his father, imagining the thin lines on her neck bulging out as she glared at the man she’d married with nothing but pure hatred. After all, it’s not like she ever looked at him with any other emotion.

He looked down at the hardwood floor and wondered on how long it would take before this row became the talk of the neighborhood. No doubt Piers would be filled with glee at this fight, knowing it was yet another perfect chance for him to list all the ways he was better than Dudley. The rat faced boy truly enjoyed listing all of the differences between the two of them, believing himself superior just for the fact that his family was happy and perfectly normal whereas Dudley’s own seemed to be falling apart at the seams. He enjoyed taking the time that should be spent for recess either chasing Dudley around the block with his cronies, showing off the new toy his father had bought for him or bragging about which country his family planned to visit in the upcoming hols. If Dudley was correct Piers was in Majorca right about now, and he viciously hoped the prat stayed there as well.

The only thing his family ever did during the hols was eat the burnt food his stressed mother had attempted to make while his father sat in front of the television and drank himself into a drunken stupor. This of course would just lead to even more bickering between the two, and made him desperately wish for the end of the hols just so he could escape from the madness that was his parents for a few blessed hours. However, no matter how much he dreaded the holidays spent with his parents, that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy them as well. For with his parents so focused on tearing the other’s throat out he was able to spend more time with his baby brother than his mother would have usually allowed. He would sneak the smaller boy into his room and the two of them would play with the secondhand toys his mother had bought for him while he attempted to read aloud some of the books his teachers at primary had given him for self study. Then once night fell and the adults were finally asleep he would take out the large quilt blanket a relative of his had given his mother when he’d been born and would wrap it snugly around the two of them as they cuddled together for warmth. Once the two of them were settled in he’d start spinning together as many wonderous stories as he could possibly create, trying with all his might to make a sweeter, happier world for his baby brother to believe in. It was in those bittersweet moments when the two were left alone and allowed to act as the children they were, that Dudley would secretly wish, if only for a moment, that his stories were true.

A small hand grabbed hold of his own, shocking him back into reality. He smiled softly as an all too familiar weight started to lean against him. Harry was sucking on his thumb, seemingly trying to meld his body with Dudley’s, given how close he was standing to the taller boy. Dudley didn’t mind however, and merely put a comforting arm over Harry’s small shoulders while playing with the smaller boy’s dark curly hair.

He sighed softly as he felt how much Harry was trembling against him, and just knew his baby brother would be bursting into tears any moment now. The small boy hated the constant arguments that occurred on a daily basis in their home. Raised voices and loud sounds had always frightened Harry, and when he was younger it lead to him having terrible bladder problems until Dudley had finally allowed Harry use him as a human security blanket. Not that Dudley minded much if at all, he enjoyed knowing that Harry trusted him enough to make sure he stayed safe no matter what happened. He took his position as older brother very seriously after all, and would always take care of Harry at any given opportunity, leading to the two of them sharing a close bond.

In fact right now he very much doubted his brother would have even paid any mind to this new argument his parents were determined to have… were it not for the fact that most of his parents arguments were centered around Harry as of late. He hadn’t the faintest clue why they kept fighting over his brother and had put it down to the fact that they’d finally run out of other things to fight about. He’d never known them to do anything else but argue, even if the fight was about the silliest of things. Even his earliest memories involved his mother screaming at the top of her lungs at his father while trying to feed him the slop they called baby food while Harry was crying loudly in his father’s arms. He frowned as their voices seemed to reach an octave and tried to move Harry away from the door, knowing it would do his brother no good to listen to them spew out hateful words meant only to belittle and hurt the other. It would just make Harry worry and fret until he made himself ill again, something Dudley did not want to happen so soon after the last fit. Instead he tried to lead Harry away from the door and towards the still steaming hot tomato soup waiting for them on the kitchen table, they were even allowed a piece of toast each to go with the warm soup today, much to his joy. Unfortunately the smaller boy wouldn’t budge and simply stared up at where the adults were fighting, his bright green eyes wide with worry and fear as they filled with unshed tears. He was biting his thumb now and Dudley gently took the appendage out of the younger boys mouth, wincing at how deep the bite marks were but thankful that he hadn’t drawn blood with his biting this time.

“It’s his fault isn’t it!? Ever since that disgusting freak-”

Dudley winced and held onto his brother, soothing the trembling boy who was now silently crying against his chest. He rubbed Harry’s back as his mother used to do for him while he tried to quell his rising panic. Harry wasn’t allowed to cry, both his father and mother would grow extremely irate whenever they caught sight of his brother’s tears, though the way they handled their anger was as different as night and day. His mother would focus all her anger on Harry, and would give him as many punishments as she could possibly create while yelling at Harry for each tear that fell from his eyes. His father on the other hand would grow enraged at his wife whenever he caught sight of Harry sobbing, and would yell at the woman while trying to sooth Harry; which would unfortunately just add to his mother’s ire.

He never understood why his mother didn’t love Harry like she loved him, whenever he tried to ask her about it all she would say was that Harry was different, something he knew quite well but didn’t explain much of anything in all honesty. Harry was an awfully tiny, sometimes downright clumsy child, and would always seem to have a new bruise on his shins or arms. His brother was also prone to terrible bouts of illness, to the point that he wasn’t sure his brother would be well enough to start primary next year. Regardless of his disappointment at not being able to show Harry the school’s sandbox and garden (which he knew the younger boy would have adored) he still tried his best to make Harry feel as if he was not missing out on any of the new experiences Dudley was beginning to learn about. Oftentimes when Harry was feeling too sick to do much more but lay about in his cot, Dudley would take it upon himself to show his younger brother the joys of the Alphabet or would tell him about all the fun things his teachers would teach them about. Sometimes he would feel guilty when he’d exaggerate too much, or hide the not so fun parts of primary (like Pier and his gang of bullies) but then he’d notice how Harry’s eyes would light up with such pure joy and how even flushed with fever he would smile so brightly at Dudley that it made his heart hurt. And so he would decide if only to himself, that his exaggerations and little white lies were worth it if they could put that expression on Harry’s face.

He would do anything to keep his baby brother happy after all.

For him, being Harry’s big brother was a position he took very seriously, it was an honour that he fully accepted. No matter how much Piers or the other children would taunt him on his second hand clothes, or on his parents failing marriage, he would hold his head up with pride at the knowledge that unlike them, he had the best baby brother in the whole world. If only to make sure that Harry would always be proud of him he would always do his best in school, ignoring his father’s muttered comments on how stupid he was all the while. To his delight his hard work paid off, and he had quite an amicable relationship with most of his teachers, along with the school’s librarian and nurse. Oftentimes he would spend the lunch hour hiding out in either the library or the nurse’s office, helping out with any small errand the two of them may need done in return for a safe place to hide. While assisting the nurse in any tasks she may need a hand on he would ask her everything he could on healing, hoping to make things just a bit better for his brother the next time the small boy fell ill. Her advice usually centered on feeding the sick person in question soup and keeping their bodies cool if they were with fever. He took these comments to heart and whenever his mother’s attentions were distracted he would sneak into the kitchen and hurriedly heat up some can soup for his brother to drink while putting a cool cloth on the smaller boy’s forehead. It was always a battle trying to feed his brother anything, as his mother seemed to take offence at the very thought of Harry eating even a miniscule amount of food. It was as if she was unable to comprehend why his baby brother would even need to eat. Today was one of those rare exception days as his mother had seemed to be in a better mood than usual, and had even almost smiled at Harry after finishing up with their toast before his father had arrived. He hoped she stayed in this nice mood for a little while longer, even if he doubted she would be as kind after this argument was over with.

Their voices were grower louder again and the soup had long since gone cold, he didn’t even want to know how the toast would taste now as well. He let out a weary sigh before looking over at a flushed looking Harry. The small boy had stopped crying a while ago and now looked utterly exhausted. Dudley placed a hand on his brother’s forehead and was relieved that though Harry was a bit warm, he wasn’t with fever. Holding Harry closer to himself he thought back to his mother and the way she treated his younger sibling. She never gave Harry a cool cloth when he fell ill, never tucked him into bed or read him stories until he fell asleep. Instead she would just lock him away in his cupboard, always making sure to pat her apron pocket where the keys to Harry’s room were kept, as if terrified she would accidently lose them. Sometimes Dudley was tempted to steal the keys from his mother and let Harry out, especially when on one horrible occasion where Harry had become so ill he could hardly move. He had been so terrified then, Harry had been coughing something fierce for a few days by that point and looked close to death’s door. His mother had just ignored all of Harry’s weak cries, looking caught between relief and horror. It was as he was contemplating calling the hospital for help that his father finally acted. Somehow the man had managed to take the keys to Harry’s room away from his mother, allowing them to tend to his terribly ill brother. Harry had been so weak by that point that his father had been forced to hold Harry against him while trying to feed the small boy some broth, as anything too heavy would have done more harm than good by that point. The rest of that week passed in a blur as they brought Harry back to health, while his mother had stayed up in her bedroom all the while.  

While he was happy that his father at least cared for Harry’s wellbeing he hated the fact that his mother never did. In an effort to spite her for this lack of care he had hidden her mother’s day gift from the month before, and had no plans on giving it to her until she saw to reason and finally treated his little brother better.

Yet despite her many faults Dudley still loved his mother, though that love had been sorely tested as of late. Her use of the word freak would usually make his blood boil up in rage, though it seemed to affect his father much more. His father seemed to hate that word with a passion that was utterly frightening to witness. The man’s face would grow as red as a ripe tomato whenever it was uttered around him and his eyes would narrow until they were little more than thin slits. Some of their worst fights happened when that word was brought up, mostly because after a while in their fights his mother would start to call his father a freak too. He didn’t understand why she thought his father and Harry were so different, and he dreaded the day that she would undoubtedly label him a freak as well.

Dudley hated his mother for that sometimes, for instilling that fear in him and for making his brother too scared to even talk when he knew she was in hearing distance. Harry used to babble so much when he was younger, now he was deathly quiet, terrified of being sent to his cupboard if he made even a tiny bit of noise.  

Even though his teachers had told him it was wrong to hate others, he felt his hatred was justified when it came to his brother’s bedroom. Harry was deathly scared of the dark and spiders, something his cupboard had an abundance of. He would always wake up in the middle of the night to the small boy screaming and sobbing, begging to be let out of his cramped cupboard. Dudley would then sneak downstairs and rummage through his mother’s apron pockets, looking for the key that would let his brother out. More often than not it was a fool’s errand, since on those nights his father would always beat him to Harry’s aide. The older man would usually force him back to bed while he attempted to comfort Harry, who was usually inconsolable by the time he was finally released from the cupboard that had become his room from the moment he could walk. Unsurprisingly this would usually spark yet another round of spats between his parents, as his mother absolutely hated having his father go through her belongings.  

A loud smack sounded from upstairs followed by a choked sob and this time both boys flinched violently at the sound. Harry merely shook his head and buried his face in Dudley’s shirt, his small hands holding onto the thin fabric with a death grip. Dudley wished he could distract his little brother somehow, but all of his toys and pop up books were upstairs, and even he was not so foolish as to leave Harry alone and try to brave his parents ire when their fight was so heated. He had no intentions of being dragged into this row, not after the last time when he’s been punched by his father for getting in the way. His mother had been absolutely heartbroken after that incident, and he’d quickly learned to stay away from his father’s fist when the man was in a towering rage.

He tried again to move Harry away from the door as he started to hear the harsh sound of his father’s fist pummeling his mother’s too thin body. The man had taken to physically harming his mother since the year before, after an argument they had held in the privacy of their rooms. Dudley had tried to listen in on it, remembering that his mother had been acting quite odd that night, but hadn’t been able to make much sense of it. All he knew was that after that arguement their tempers had been raised and any little thing seemed to set them both off. While physical fights between the two of them were nothing new, this was the first time his father had done it when Harry could witness it all. The man usually took more care to appear calm and pleasant whenever Harry could see him, knowing of Harry’s fear of violence. They would usually hold their more physical fights in the privacy of their rooms, where only Dudley could hear just how flawed their relationship was becoming.

“I can’t do this anymore Vernon, I can’t.” His mother started to sob brokenly, and Dudley desperately hoped this meant they would stop fighting soon. His father would always stop after his mother began to really cry in earnest. He was already thinking of how he would take Harry out to the park after this while they waited for the two adults to fully calm down. His father usually gave them enough money to buy a small meal at one of the local cafe’s after a fight like this one, since he knew it helped to calm Harry’s panic attacks after having listened to such a violent row. The meal would hold them till dinner where hopefully another fight wouldn’t break out over the food being burnt or not cooked enough (a common enough argument in their home). “You’re sick Vernon. God... had I only known just how sick you are I would never have married you.”

Dudley frowned at that. His father seemed pretty healthy, all things considered. He hadn’t noticed the man sneezing or coughing much lately, the only one who ever really ended up ill in their home was Harry. He wondered if it was a different type of sickness, perhaps one of his father’s kidneys weren’t doing so great? Maybe even a lung? His teacher had started to talk about different types of diseases lately, but she always said you should go to the doctors if you thought you were ill. Perhaps his mother was angry because his father hadn’t gone yet? Then again she never took Harry to the doctors, so this may just be another of her more confusing outburst, they never made much sense to him.

“I’m taking the boys Vernon, i’m done waiting for you to change. We’re leaving.”

Later, Dudley would reflect on those word and realize just how damning they had been.

But for now, he simply grabbed hold of Harry’s hand, mentally going over in his head which of his jackets on the coat hook were small enough to fit Harry. He didn’t want the smaller boy to catch his death of cold so soon after his last bout of illness and wasn’t going to take the risk of going outside without an extra layer of warmth just to hurry up to the park for a few tension free hours. While it was surprising that his mother would be joining them this time around he could only hope it meant she may finally be coming to her senses and could now see just how brilliant Harry was, and maybe now would stop treating his baby brother so horribly for no reason.

Who knows, perhaps she would even buy them a snack if they were well behaved.

Yet before he could do much else besides lead Harry out of the kitchen his father suddenly let out an enraged yell and the two of them turned to watch as the man’s puce coloured face pulled back for a frightening snarl, just before he pushed Dudley’s mother down the stairs.

It all happened so quickly, that had Dudley only blinked, he would have missed it. One moment his mother was at the top of the stairs, wiping away at her tears with a handkerchief, and the next her body was tumbling down them. The sight he witnessed held no comparison. His mother’s falling body looked nothing like his slinky did as it fell down in small little hops. Nor was it similar to the other toys he had accidentally let go of while walking up to his room in the past.

For one, it was loud.

For another, it was frightening.

Her body just kept falling forward, the momentum she had been caught in pushing her forward against her will as she crashed against the wall and banister with loud bangs as she struggled to let even a small sound pass from her lips. Her hands were desperately trying to grab hold to something but she was going too fast to stop. At the last moment as she fell down the final step he saw her head bash violently against the new side table she had purchased recently, knocking over the vase filled with flowers on top. The table hadn’t meant to be there he remembered, but since she had yet to find a place for it she had simply left it by the stairs. The vase shattered right next to her crumpled form, spilling the water it had been filled with around her as the flowers stayed in a bundle near her head. Her left leg was angled a bit funny he faintly noted, similar to one of his action figures when their joints were stuck in an odd position.

Her eyes were closed and she looked fast asleep as blood started to pool around her. He couldn’t see where she was bleeding from, and felt his hands twitching to go find the first aid kit so he could stop the flow as he usually did whenever Harry accidently cut himself while cooking. He watched as her blood started to mix with the water, turning it an odd pink and frowned when he noticed the flowers resting beside her were now soiled. Harry had picked them just the other day when they had been sent out during a row. His little brother had felt so happy at having found such pretty flowers to bring home with them, and his joy had only grown when Dudley’s mother had allowed for them to place the flowers in one of her vase’s instead of throwing them away like she usually did. Yet now the lilies Harry had so happily picked were destroyed, their stems bent and broken, and their once white petals covered in his mother’s blood.  

His attentions slowly drift over to his mother’s prone form, and he wonders why she hasn’t moved yet even as her once crisp white apron starts to stain from the combination of water and blood. His mother is a woman who abhors messes of all kinds and he just knows she’s going to be incensed when she sees what a mess she made. Yet still she won’t move and he’s beginning to feel uncomfortable the longer he stares at her prone form. His chest feels painfully tight as if he wants to scream or shout but no sound is coming out, it’s all stuck in his throat. He slowly turns to look up at his father who is looking down at his mother with an almost thoughtful and relieved gleam in his eyes.

“That’ll teach you, won’t it?”

The words are spoken so quietly, that Dudley doubts he even hears them at all. Beside him Harry is sobbing hysterically now. His tiny body is shaking from the loud wracking sobs as cries himself hoarse and coughs a bit as well. His face is all scrunched up and pink and his button nose is crinkled and runny. The small hands that had been holding onto Dudley so tightly before are now rubbing at his eyes roughly, trying in vain to wipe away his tears. Dudley instantly moves to hug his brother, feeling just as lost as the smaller boy but not wanting or willing to show it. His head feels like he’s been spinning too fast in the merry go round and he swears he’s going to be sick in a moment as he starts to smell the sharp copper scent of his mother’s blood.  

Before he can do more than wrap his arms around Harry he’s pulled away from the smaller boy and thrown roughly to the floor. He watches numbly as his father bends down to pick Harry up, who does little more than continue to cry loudly as he’s lifted into the large man’s arms. His father doesn’t spare him a glance as he turns and walks away, making sure to step carefully over his wife’s body and avoid any blood as he walks up the stairs. Faintly Dudley can hear Harry screaming for him, but he can’t move, he can barely even think. Harry’s hands are reaching out towards him, big green eyes begging for Dudley to come and hold him even as Vernon grabs both of Harry’s hands and tries to shush him. The man is being extremely gentle with Harry, treating him as if he’s little more than spun glass, and just as delicate. It’s such a difference from even a few moments before that it leaves Dudley’s head reeling and before he can help himself he’s retching all over the floor, the sour smell of sick mixing with the sharp scent of copper keeps making him gag until he throwing up bile. His stomach and chest hurts as he slides against the wall, just missing his pile of sick as he looks again at his unmoving mother. Dimly he notes the door to his parent’s bedroom is closed and Harry’s cries are now muted, they have yet to stop however and he knows without a shadow of a doubt that his brother will have a small fever before the night is over from all of his crying.

The sounds of multiple sirens pierce through the relative silence around him, though he can tell they’re still a ways off. He’s hoping they’re coming for his mother, whose still form is starting to make Dudley break out into a cold sweat. Through the loud buzzing sound in his mind and ears he also hopes they’re coming for his father, who he now realizes is alone upstairs with Harry. He panics then if only for a moment, that the man will do the same thing to Harry as he just did to his mother, and Dudley ends up heaving all over again, though all that comes out is a bit of spittle. In his mind all he can see is his baby brother’s tiny body lying where his mother’s is. The white lilies are now stained with his brother’s blood and those beautiful vibrant green eyes are now dull and lifeless as they stare unseeing at Dudley. His brother’s empty stare seems to be asking why Dudley didn’t save him, why Dudley let him die. A scream finally rips it’s way out of his throat as he scrambles away in a blind panic, only for him to realize it’s his mother’s body he’s staring at, and not Harry’s.

He ignores the relief that single fact brings him, and viciously pushes it down into a corner of his mind, vowing not to think on it too much.

He knows he should get up, that he should call someone, anyone. His mother is so still that it terrifies him. He won’t think that she’s… it’s not possible after all, he hasn’t even given her his mother’s day present yet after all... He knows she’s alright, he knows it! He needs to get up and check on her, needs to move her away from the broken glass and blood. He doesn't want her to cut herself. And besides, the ambulance will be here soon right? Someone has to have heard that loud crash, and must have called the hospital just in case something happened. And he’ll need to call too, just to be extra sure that help is on it’s way. He’ll do all that and more just as soon as he stands up and walks over to the phone.

Yet try as he might he can’t move. He’s still stuck on the floor a little bit away from where his father had pushed him. His mother’s still lying in a pool of her own blood and has yet to wake up (but he knows she’ll wake up soon dammit!) Her blood is staining the carpet and hardwood floor around her and he knows she’ll be terribly irritated about it all once she’s back on her feet.

He wonders, if only to himself, if the smell of copper will ever leave the house.

He notices that Harry’s sobs have quieted down some, but with that realization comes the knowledge that Harry wasn’t the only one crying.

He wasn’t aware of it back then, while he sat there in shock and stared at his mother’s body while the sound of sirens made their way ever closer to his home, in fact, he wouldn’t be aware of it for years to come; but it would be this moment, this very moment in time where his and Harry’s lives would be forever changed.

And to this day he is still unsure on whether or not that change was a good one.