Hell For The Innocent

Age: Undetermined

The smell of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant was poignant as he made his way through the small hospital. A nurse walked by, staring at him with pity in her muddy brown orbs before going on with her daily rounds. He ignored the flash of irritation he felt at the look and tried to calm down, softly saying aloud the numbers by each door just to stop as his eyes landed on the number he dreaded most to see.Reaching out he grabbed hold of the handle and paused, mentally trying to prepare himself about what he was about to face. His heart beated loudly with nerves making him hesitate for a brief moment. Before he could talk himself into leaving he took a calming breath and opened the door, taking a few hesitant steps inside.The continuous beeping noise from the heart monitor greeted him as he entered the small private room, as if to assure him all was well even when it wasn’t. He made his way over to the patient lying still on her bed, taking in her flaxen features and how washed out she appeared in the purely white room she’d been placed in. Her skin had taken on a deathly pallor since last he’d seen her and her once healthy brown hair was now dull and brittle, covered with a greasy hue. Apparently none of the nurses were willing to spare evena few moments of their time to wash her, he thought angrily to himself as he studied her intently for any difference since his last visit. She had always been skinny, but it was much more pronounced now, with her being more bone than anything else. The skin around her hands was dry and chapped, and he made a mental note to see if he could bring some lotion for her in his next visit; hoping none of the nurses would think to nick it like they had her perfumes and soaps. She seemed so worn down, and any life she once held was now indiscernible, barely distinguishable from the stark whiteness of the room she was kept in. There was no colour here, nothing to bring life into this room or her, even the window, which would usually offer a modicum amount of life and colour was now closed, with the blinders keeping out even the faintest sliver of natural light.

Seeing her kept in this empty and lifeless room would sometimes make dark and terrible thoughts enter his mind. There were times where he would sit beside her and wonder if she would simply fade away into the overwhelming white that surrounded her, as her paling skin tone seemed to suggest. If she would finally take the final steps needed to leave him all alone. He never voiced these thoughts aloud however, would never dare to in fear that it would become reality. Instead he simply focused on her care, as he did each time he was able to sneak away and pay her a too short of a visit.

First he would adjust the thin cotton blanket that covered her frail frame. It only ever went up to her waist, but he felt better being the one to adjust it and tuck her up in it; with the hope that it would provide her some sort of warmth. Next would be her pillows, which he would carefully fluff while making sure not to agitate her head any. While doing all of these menial chores he would take the utmost care to not notice the IV she had in her arm, which would drip into her any nutrients she was no longer able to take in herself. He would ignore the oxygen mask that covered half of her face, along with the tube that was sometimes forced down her throat. In his mind, those objects did not exist on the slumbering woman. After all she was just sleeping, there was nothing else wrong with her.

She was just sleeping.

Smiling softly at his handiwork he reached over and tugged a loose strand of hair behind her ear, expertly ignoring how limp and dry her hair felt between his fingers. Satisfied with everything for the moment he took his usual seat beside the slumbering figure and grabbed hold of her hand, not paying any mind to how cold her skin felt against his own.

“Hello mum.” He whispered, making sure to keep his voice at a low and even tone so it wouldn’t break. “It’s been a while.” He smiled at her, though it fell flat as he saw no response from her over the action.

“I’m sorry for making you wait so long.” He started, focusing instead on the thin and delicate veins he could see running along her hand and arms. “Dad doesn’t like it when I come by, and Harry panics if I stay away from the house for too long, he seems terrified each time I take a step outside to be honest.” He spoke the last part with a rueful smile, knowing all too well why his brother had developed such an unhealthy fear when it came to Dudley’s safety and well being.

“It’s been different, not having you home.” He blew gently at her fingers and rubbed them between his palms, trying fruitlessly to bring a bit of warmth back into his mother. “Harry does most of the cooking now since Dad won’t let him go to Primary with me. Says he doesn't want to risk Harry’s improving health any by letting him roam about in a ‘disease ridden’ area. The little guy has been getting pretty good at making meals I have to admit. Though I always help him with dinner, the other day we even made a pretty decent roast. It was grand, Dad didn’t yell at me once during the whole meal; Harry was so happy…” He smiled to himself, remembering the brilliant smile that had overtaken his brother’s features at the words of praise his father had given to the two of them, even if the words had seemed more focused on Harry than himself. “Dad’s been… different since the accident.” He frowned in thought. “He quit working at Grunnings, saying he wants to spend more time taking care of Harry now that there’s no one in the house to keep him company while I’m at school…” He frowned. “I don’t like it though…” He quietly confessed, his eyes filled with worry before shaking his head and smiling softly.

“I’m keeping up with my studies, my teachers say I’m currently third in class, so I think I’m doing alright. I got an A in my last spelling quiz, Miss Wald even gave me gold star cause of it.”

He reached into his knapsack to pull out the test before his fingers paused on a piece of crumpled up paper. Some colour could be seen peeking out from the edges of the mess the drawing had become. He stared at it in surprise as guilt mixed with sorrow stabbed brutally at his heart. Taking a deep breath and ignoring how much his hands were now shaking he slowly pulled out the drawing. He smiled wobbly as he uncrumpled the artwork he’d done months previously, trying his best to even out the creases he’s made so long ago in anger. Staring at the finished work of art he felt his heart pang painfully at what he’d drawn, and had once wished that it could come true. Shaking his head he looked up at his mother, ignoring how white his knuckles had become from his tight hold on the drawing.

“I never did give this to you, did I?”

He carefully positioned the drawing so she could see it. He knew he looked ridiculous doing this, but a small part of him hoped that even with her eyes closed, his mum could see what he’d drawn so many months ago. It had been created with the use of a few old but well cared for crayons. The small paper listing their colours had been all but ripped away, and the crayons themselves were little more than nubs, but Dudley loved them all the same. His mother was unable to buy him much, and he had seen her cry silently to herself when she spent the last of his money on his school supplies the previous year. So he didn’t care that he was the only kid in his class with the small set of five crayons, while the rest had sets of twenty to even a hundred. He ignored all the taunts and jeers thrown his way from the threadbare clothes he wore to the meager food he brought to lunch. After all he knew the cost of even his small lunch, and thus he cherished it all the more, knowing the pains his mother had gone through to even provide him with that much while his father squandered the rest of their money on things for his own leisure. The drawing was one of his favourites. Back then he had, perhaps naively, hoped to change his mother’s opinion on his baby brother. His plan had been to gift her with this drawing on mothers day, hoping it would help her see that they should be a family, a real one. The drawing held his mother, as healthy as she had once been with a bright smile on her red lips. On either side of her were him and Harry, she held both of their hands in her own and around them were hearts filled with words like love and family. The small family was standing in a field awash with beautiful flowers, and in both his hands and Harry’s they held the flowers his mother so loved. Petunia’s after her name, and lilies. On the top, near a bright and smiling sun were written the word’s ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ in his childish script.

His father was conspicuously absent from the drawing.

He idly traced the picture of his mother with his finger before looking up. “I was so mad you know… I couldn’t understand why you were so mean to Harry back then… Why you always felt the need to lock up him up or yell at him to the point of tears…” He frowned and looked down again, focusing on the happily drawn faces. “I just never understood why you couldn’t love him like you loved me… What was so different about him that you couldn’t even hug him? Why did you have to treat him so terribly? Why couldn’t we all have just been happy!?” He shouted out before sighing loudly and looking down at his feet. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. It was useless to get mad over this now, it wouldn't solve anything. Standing up he shakily placed the drawing next to her bed stand before resting his head on her chest, listening to the constant rhythm of her heart beating a soft pattern against his ear and even through his pent up anger he felt relieved at the sound. “I want to forgive you… I want to say sorry to you and I want you to say sorry to us.” He blinked rapidly as his eyes started to fill with tears, grabbing hold of the blanket she was wrapped in he closed his eyes and struggled to calm his breathing. “But I can’t do any of that until you wake up.” His voice broke as his grip tightened on the covers, his knuckles white. “I want you to wake up mum… I want you back…” His breath came out in small shaky huffs. “I want to come home to your dinners, even if they’re burnt. I want to hear you tell stories from when you were little again just before bed, I want you to make tomato soup for me and Harry again…” He bit his bottom lip hard, drawing a bit of blood from the rough gesture.

“Please mum…” He whispered, his voice hoarse. “I want us to be a family… Please come back?” His voice broke and he closed his eyes, trying vainly to hold back his tears. “I’ll do anything you want, not matter what! So... can’t you try… please? Just a little bit is all I ask, so please….” His shoulders shook as he cried silently.

“Come back home mum… Please…”

“I miss you…” He whispered the words so quietly that he doubted she could hear them, regardless of how close they were. He sniffled as he stood up, taking in her slumbering visage once more. Trembling from his sobs he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cold cheek. “I love you mum.” He took a deep breath, trying to calm the burning sensation in his chest that always came about when he was close to tears or already crying. “I love you so much.” Closing his eyes tightly he walked away from the bed and headed out of the too small room. His heart felt heavy and his breathing was getting difficult to control. He had to leave now before he gave in to his urge to just collapse there next to her and cry. He was a big boy now after all, he couldn’t keep crying like this. Boys didn’t cry, his dad even told him crying is for pansies or girls; though Harry was thankfully an exception to this rule. As he left the Hospital behind him he tried to focus his thoughts on what he would do differently in his next visit, hoping against all hope that maybe next time, his mother would finally wake up.

Maybe next time he would finally have his mum back home again.

It wasn’t raining.

That in and of itself was the oddest and strangest thing about this whole affair. It shouldn't be a nice day, he shouldn't even be seeing a hint of sun. In the movies it always rained. The skies themselves would open up and pour down upon everyone, as if sharing in the tangible grief that could be felt by all in attendance.

And yet there was no rain. Not a single cloud could be seen in the bright, too blue sky. The sun was shining brightly over them all, warming his hair and back as he walked stoically beside his father. All around him was the noise of life. Some of the children that lived a block from their home were gathered just outside of the cemetery. He could hear them laughing loudly and screaming as they played some sort of game to pass the time with. Even the birds seemed to be in a good mood today, singing bright and cheery tunes as they flew over his head. He wanted to be angry at this injustice. It was unfair, his mother deserved a better funeral than this. She deserved so much more than this…

Yet no matter how hard he tried he couldn't muster up any deep burning anger on her behalf. He felt numb, unfeeling to the world around him. Were it not for the fact that he could hear it's gentle beat, he would assume that someone had stolen his heart as he lay sleeping in his bed, leaving him with only an empty chest in return. He didn't cry when his father had told him. He didn't do much of anything now that he thought about it. How sad, he thought to himself, that no one would cry for his mother, not even him.

Looking to the side he studied his father from the corner of his eye, and wondered what the man's thoughts were on this somber day. Unlike himself, who had fallen into a perpetually numb state, his father had reacted… differently when he'd received the news. Vernon had never visited his wife while she lay in a comatose state, not even once. In fact Dudley had it on good authority that besides paying for her hospital bills, his father did little else to acknowledge that he had indeed been married for a little over half a decade. It shouldn't surprise Dudley, after all their marriage hadn't been a happy one and then with the… accident, it wasn't all that hard to believe that there was little love lost between the two. But still, the way his father had been after he received the news… Frankly it had unnerved Dudley, and left him with a distinct chill running down his spine. His father had not cried, he'd shed not one tear, but he had been silent, far too silent. For the past few days his father had said nary a word in passing, even to Harry, who he seemed to adore more than anything. Dudley wished he could say it was just his father's own special way of mourning, but try as he might he couldn't explain away that gleam in Vernon's eyes.

It was a gleam of triumph, a gleam Dudley would rather soon forget than think on anymore than he already had.

Shaking his head he grasped Harry's small hand in his own and glanced down at his silent brother. The smaller boy had been curiously silent today as Dudley helped him dress. Even now he was quiet, a conflicted expression marring his features as he looked down at his feet, seeming to find them simply fascinating the farther they went into the cemetery. While on any other occasion he would be wondering why his normally jubilant brother was acting as if he was about to face his doom, he knew all too well why Harry was acting this way. His mother hadn't been the kindest of souls to his baby brother, and it showed quite clearly in the nightmares Harry still suffered through on an almost weekly basis. His dream of the three of them being able to finally unite and be a real family would never come to fruition. Harry will forever remember his mother as a horrifying shrew of a woman who would lock him up in his too small cupboard with no mercy, and would taunt him for his every failure. His baby brother would never find out about the lullabies his mother would sing late at night when she thought all asleep, or how she would always smile more in spring, especially when the flowers started to bloom. Or… when his mother thought no one the wiser, how she would take out an old photo album and cry over the pictures within, tracing them with a shaking finger as she whispered apologies to the still images over and over again, her frail shoulders shaking harshly with her barely held back sobs. Harry would never know any of this, and somehow that thought more than any other made Dudley want to cry.

It wasn’t a large funeral they were holding for his mother. None of her old friends could make it, each having cited off some reason or other that prevented them from being able to attend. He wondered about that, wondered how all of those friends his mother had made in life couldn't even spare a moment to come and say goodbye. When she was alive they would always come around, to drink tea and yammer on over some inane topic. Yet now, when it really mattered… no one was here. Did she even mean anything to them? Did they even care? If there was one thing he could feel a semblance of happiness over, was that his mother was not alive to see how terribly alone she really was.

He watched his father approached the Vicar, the two men sharing a muttered conversation over how best to proceed. Turning his attentions away from them, he blinked in surprise as he noticed that someone had manged to show up for his mother's funeral after all. He found it odd that she had escaped his notice before, giving how much she stood out once he caught on to her presence at their too small gathering. She was young, much younger than his mother though he couldn't rightly guess her age. She was quite also beautiful, in a soft understated way. She wore no makeup, or any accessories save for a pair of silver hooped earrings. Her hair was a deep and vibrant red, he watched in wonder as each strand seem to capture a sliver of light from the sun, giving her hair the appearance of flames. Her skin was deathly pale, and reminded him of his mother's own to a painful degree, especially in her last few months. But that was the only similarity the two shared, for where his mother was tall and thin, this woman was small and petite, her features soft and her eyes wide like a doe's. If asked, he would be unable to share what the relationship between the two women had been, for he could think of no reason why his mother may have known this stranger. Where his mother liked order and control, this woman seemed as wild and free as nature itself. Where his mother would spend hours on her vanity, testing out with makeup suited her more or which hairstyle she preferred, this woman wore none and her hair was kept wild and loose; falling down her back in wavy curls. They were as different as night and day, yet it still felt oddly right to have her here, for her to pay her final respects to his mother.

He wondered what his mother would have thought of this stranger, and liked to think she would have been approving of her; if only a little. He was startled out of his thoughts when he noticed bright green eyes staring curiously into his own. He had to admit that they were very pretty, and reminded him of spring in it's earnest. But if asked he would have said honestly they didn't hold a candle to his brother's own brilliant emerald orbs. After a moment more of staring, the stranger smiled softly at him before looking down at the child whose hand she held in her own. He blinked in surprise for a moment, again caught off guard at not having seen the child before reasoning he must have been hiding behind her before, keeping him out of Dudley's sight till now. The boy was around Harry’s age, maybe a month or so older. And while Dudley couldn’t rightly tell from this distance he would have to say the unknown boy was taller too, if only by a small measure. He wondered if the two were related, perhaps mother and son; though if they were the boy definitely took more after his father than mother. His hair was as dark as night itself and seemed to suck away all of the light that reached it, leaving him in a shadow of his own creation. It was long too, kept to the small of his back with a white ribbon to tie the errant strands away from his face. He shared his mother's skin tone, both of them having a deathly pallor to them though any other similarity was impossible to make out, as the boy seemed quite content with staring at the ground instead of looking up. His attentions on the two quickly dwindled however as he noticed the Vicar move to start his speech.

He grew irritated the longer he listened to the man preach on about his mother. This man had never known his mum, had never talked to her a day in his life, and yet he acted as if she were a great friend to him; one he would surely miss. It angered him, and he felt his rage grow the more the man stated that his mother was in a better place now. He didn't care if it made him selfish, or if he was horrible for thinking this way; but he would much rather have his mother here beside him than in any wondrous heaven. His hands curled into tight fist as he fought not to show his anger. He didn’t want his final moments with his mother to be marred thanks to the vicars honey laced lies. He only had a small amount of time left with her, and no one, not even this empty voiced Vicar would ruin that for him. He stilled in his dark and churning thoughts as a warm weight settled on his side, offering him a desperately needed hug. Harry looked up at him with warm and concerned eyes making the stone that had been slowly encasing his heart break, if only a little. He felt his throat close up before he pulled his brother into a deeper hug, ignoring the glare he could feel his father giving the two of them.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, he was the older brother, the one that was supposed to be strong and able to handle all of this; and yet it had fallen onto Harry's tiny shoulders to calm and comfort him.

He truly didn’t deserve his baby brother.

Harry seemed to understand what he needed, and without words being shared between the two of them the smaller boy just held on tightly to Dudley. And if he shook a bit or let some tears fall from his eyes, not a word on it was said.

The strange woman and child had already left by the time he was able to move away from the comfort Harry had selflessly provided him with. He watched with a heavy heart as his mother’s coffin was slowly lowered to the ground. The flowers on top of her coffin were beautifully and tastefully done.

He had a feeling she would have hated it.

Before his father could stop him, he walked over and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the drawing he had given her a few months prior.

“For you mum.” He whispered as he watched the small leaf of paper flutter down, his eyes watching as it nimbly landed on the array of lilies and roses, petunia's and carnations. Smiling shakily at her casket he closed his eyes as steeled himself before walking away. Pausing for a moment he stared up once more at the bright blue sky.

It really should have rained today.

Harry: 6, Dudley: 7

Dudley hummed a soft tune under his breath as he focused on chopping the carrots into small cubes. The noise of the knife hitting the wooden cutting board was oddly soothing as he made sure to keep a watchful eye on his brother. Harry was standing atop of an old wooden stool they had found in the attic a few weeks ago. It used to be a soft blue if the peeling paint on it was any indication. The stool wasn’t in the best shape, as it tended to wobble slightly and lean more towards the left depending on how one stood atop of it but it was still usable. Harry was bobbing his head to the soft music coming from the radio, the soothing piano and violin mix helping to create a warm and happy atmosphere around the two as they worked on dinner for the evening. He scrunched up his nose in annoyance when the game his father was watching grew louder as the fans cheered for a goal, his father grumbling in disapproval about it all the while. The man never helped with any of the meals they made, besides making sure to provide them with enough money to insure there actually was food to have that night for supper. Vernon seemed content to spend all his time sitting in front of the telly, or in his room with Harry. Dudley's attentions quickly switched as he noticed that his little brother looked ready to jump down, reaching over he quickly grabbed Harry from under his arms and lifted him off the wobbly stool in a far safer manner. Harry in turn offered him a sheepish smile before dashing to the fridge, his small toes barely peeking out from under the rather flimsy nightgown he was made to wear. After his mother's funeral his father had thrown away all of Harry's old clothes, and now made the small child wear his late wife old nightgowns instead. As a result, Dudley's skills with a needle and thread had grown exponentially, as he tried to make the clothing easier for his Harry to move around in without tripping over the hem constantly. He made a mental note to shorten the length of the nightgown Harry was currently wearing, not wanting the small boy to accidentally trip due to carelessness on his part. He would love to give Harry a pair of pants to wear instead, but his father was completely against it. He would not allow Harry to wear any of Dudley's old clothes, and in fact had threatened to smack him should he attempt to have his baby brother put on even a pair of shorts. Instead Harry's wardrobe now consisted of his mother's old nightgowns and a few dresses his father had managed to buy him in the secondhand shop.

Quite a bit had changed in their home since his mother’s coma and subsequent passing. Harry’s health had finally started to pick up some, and his once weekly fits had tapered off until they had grown almost non-existent. Though even with this bout of good luck, his father was adamant about not risking Harry’s new found health any by sending him to primary with Dudley, for fear that he would grow ill once again if allowed to interact with “disease ridden mongrels” as his father enjoyed calling the children in his school. Thanks to this, much of Harry’s education fell on Dudley’s shoulders. He didn’t mind however, Harry was a surprisingly fast learner and was always excited for his next lesson. Most of the time Dudley would just go over the homework he’d been assigned the previous night with his brother. As of late he’d even taken to borrowing educational books from the local library in order to give Harry something to do when he was busy at school. The bobbies had come by only once since his mother’s passing to question his father on why Harry wasn’t attending primary, but after hearing that the smaller boy was being home schooled they had left him to it. A part of him had wanted to stop the police, and tell them what had really happened to his mother when she fell, but at the same time he knew it would accomplish nothing. He’d learn long ago that as long as things appeared well on the surface, adults wouldn’t care to look deeper, as the added effort was sometimes more work than they were willing to do. Thus it fell on his shoulders to protect Harry and make sure his baby brother grew up safe and well. A random stranger with a badge wouldn’t do much but invite conflict to their home, something that he would like to avoid at all cost.

Their lives weren't terrible, sure money was tight and most of his clothes looked more like rags than an actual article of clothing, but he was fine with it. Or at least it had stopped bothering him.

Since his mother's subsequent passing the rules of the house had shifted drastically. No longer was Harry forced to sleep in the tiny cupboard under the stairs, and as such it was always kept locked and thankfully unused. While he had been ecstatic at first by this change, he felt some of his earlier praise for the idea ebb away when his father had decided that Harry would sleep with him instead of having his own room like Dudley. It seemed like an odd rule to have, and left him feeling uncomfortable for a short while after. Harry didn't seem to mind however, the boy was just so relieved that he never had to sleep in the cupboard again that he immediately grabbed onto any chance of freedom offered to him. After wallowing on his thoughts about this he finally had decided to ask Harry about his sleeping arrangements. His brother didn't have much to say, in fact those big green eyes had simply looked at him in confusion before saying his father would merely hold Harry as he slowly drifted off to sleep. While this answer should have soothed Dudley's worries, it ended up doing anything but. He couldn't help but find it strange that his father would sleep with Harry at all, as before this the man had never been all that big on affection.Not for the first time he wished there was someone he could talk to about this. The teachers in his school had drilled into their minds that they should always scream for their parents if a stranger touched or grabbed them in a way that made them uncomfortable, but Dudley was at a loss of what to do, since it was his own father that was causing him discomfort and technically the man wasn't touching him. Sure he was touching Harry, but it didn't seem to bother his brother, so maybe there was nothing wrong about it? In the end, he simply put the thought out of his mind, Harry was alright, and didn't seem to find anything wrong with the situation, if anything he was the one overreacting. Yet sometimes he would wonder, especially when he would catch his father giving Harry a bath, if he really was just imaging that things were off in their home. For during those times he would notice an odd glint appear in his fathers eyes, one that unnerved him far more than he cared to admit.

Sighing he shook his head and moved to add the carrots to the stew. He shouldn't wallow on these thoughts so much, he was sure that it all made sense somehow, and that he would eventually come to understand it better. Things were fine at home, they had food in their fridge and clothes on their backs, and rarely were they sent to bed with an empty stomach. Their lives were perfectly fine and there really was nothing to worry about.

And if that night during dinner his father’s hand traveled far too low down Harry's back as he held and fed him, then Dudley didn't notice. He kept quiet and focused on his meal, not sparing a glance for his father's wandering hands.

Nothing was going on. Nothing was wrong. They were just a normal and happy family.

...Weren’t they?

It was near Christmas when his willful ignorance was finally shattered, left to crumble on the ground as his world once more tilted on it's axis. The money his father had saved over the years from working at Grunnings was slowly but surely running out. The pantry was almost completely empty now and they’d all gone to bed without supper more often than he’d care to admit.

It affected Harry the most, whose already tiny stomach would cause him to curl up in pain whenever his hunger pangs became too much for him to handle. Most of the bills were left unpaid for and ignored, simply a large stack of letters left to collect dust on the living room’s coffee table. They had been threatened more than once over having the electricity company cutting off their power, and he wondered how they would make it through the harsh winter months without any heat to help them fight back the chill. Debt collectors would constantly have their house phone ringing, leaving Vernon short tempered and quick to rage. His father's temper had escalated to terrifying levels as their small supply of money slowly dwindled. Worried on what his father would do should his temper finally snap, he would direct the majority of the man's anger towards himself, leaving him with a mirage of bruises on his back as Harry was thankfully kept unaware of the growing tension in their home. Not wanting Harry to realize just how dire their situation was becoming he started to plead with his father to find a solution to their money problems. While that had earned him a harsh smack across his face, it had thankfully left his father thoughtful. It was not even a week later that his father arrived home in suspiciously good cheer, a wide smile on his lips as picked up Harry and settled the small boy on his hip. Dudley had merely looked at his father curiously, but the man only had eyes for Harry as he ruffled his baby brother's dark curly locks.

“Things will be fine now.” His father had whispered, that familiar glint in his eyes again as he stared into Harry's own curious orbs. “Yes… everything will be fine.”

He wondered back then, when he’d heard that soft sentence uttered why instead of feeling relief, all he’d felt was dread.

Dudley watched curiously as his father entered their home. The man had been gone for most of the day, having left long before the two of them had woken up this morning. It had surprised Dudley at first, who had grown used to his father sleeping in till the late afternoon while he and Harry worked on their studies or made breakfast with the scant amount of food they still had left. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth he had taken advantage of this surprise absence to take Harry out to the park a bit away from their home. Vernon had been growing extremely possessive of Harry as of late, and had banned the smaller boy from leaving the house unless he was in his father's company. The bright beaming smile Harry had given him when he was allowed to once more play on the swings and run around throwing snowballs had been worth whatever punishment his father would give him later for allowing his baby brother freedom from their home.

The sound of a half dozen bags crinkling as they brushed against each other stirred Dudley from his thoughts, and he watched as his father placed them all in the hall, studying each bag to make sure he had brought them all in. His nose and cheeks were a bright red from the cold and his small blue eyes looked more watery than usual. Yet instead of grumbling as he was wont to do, he instead called for Harry, an almost eager expression on his features as he watched Harry poke his head out into the hall, the children's show he'd previously been watching all but forgotten as he walked forward looking slightly confused.

“A present for you poppet.” His father chuckled at Harry's wide eyed expression before gesturing towards the bags. “Come on now, open them up.”

Harry paused and bit on his bottom lip, his now shoulder length hair covering his features and hiding his expression. Ignoring the look aimed at him Dudley walked over to his brother and rested a hand on the small boy's shoulder, making him look up with worry. Harry's bright green eyes looked to him and the presents. Dudley sighed inwardly, surprised that Harry had picked up that small slight. For while Harry was being given a gift of some sort, as usual Dudley himself was forgotten.

“Come on squirt, I want to see what you got.” He grinned at the pout directed towards him as Harry huffed. “M'm not little.” The smaller boy bit his bottom lip again before looking up at Vernon and nervously playing with the hem of his gown. “I can't open it though.” Before Vernon's expression could fall he continued. “It's not Christmas yet.” He whispered meekly.

His father merely smiled, though his eyes still held a small glint of anger. “These are special presents pet, straight from the big man himself.” He stood up proudly before walking over and placing his hand on the small of Harry's back. He gently pushed the smaller boy forward, making sure to glare at Dudley in warning before turning his attentions back to the small child. “Now why don't you see what pretty things Santa's got you for being such a good little boy hmm?”

Harry jerkily nodded his head before bending down and opening one of the bags. Dudley walked forward cautiously, making sure not to get in his father's way as he saw what the man had brought for his brother. While he was annoyed that money they could have used on food and to pay the bills had instead been used on presents, he couldn't really muster up any real anger about it. Before this year Harry had never been able to have a real Christmas, as his mother had disapproved of the smaller boy leaving his cupboard during these special events. Then, when she'd been in her coma, their money was used to pay for her medical bills than for any actual presents. His heart filled with happiness at the look of wonder on his baby brother face as he slowly opened his gifts, seemingly scared they would disappear should he look away for even the briefest of moments. If nothing else, he was glad that Harry was able to have this, to finally have the joy of being given something.

Though he did still in surprise and slight confusion as he noticed just what his father had brought for his baby brother. They were dresses and nightgowns, each of them made from expensive material. White flowing dresses with a large ribbon on the waist, a few light blue nightgowns with lace stitched in a pretty pattern on the hem. There were stockings as well, all of them sheer and white, looking soft to the touch. A pair of black Mary Janes finished the ensemble, the buckle gold in colour. While Dudley had to agree that the dresses would look lovely on Harry he couldn’t help but wonder yet again why it was that his brother was being made to wear girl clothes. The smaller boy seemed excited at the new clothes however, so for now he kept his thoughts to himself.

“It’s so pretty...” Harry whispered softly as his finger lightly traced the lace pattern on one of the nightgowns, as if scared to ruin the dress should he hold it tighter.

“I’m glad you like them.” Vernon smiled, his chest puffed out as he practically oozed smugness. Dudley then took notice of the small brown bag in his father’s hand. Unlike the clothes Harry had received, this bag had no store name printed on it, so he couldn’t tell where it was from.

“What is that sir?” He questioned his father, hoping the show of respect would go a long way in calming the man’s ire at being spoken to. It had become a sort unspoken rule in their house that Dudley was not to ever question or talk back to Vernon, but sometimes he would break the rule, consequences be damned.

Thankfully it seemed that his father was in one of his better moods at the moment, as not even a glare was sent his way for speaking. “Oh this?” The man spoke softly, as if just taking notice of the bag he held. “Just some medicine for Harry.”

Harry looked up at that. Putting down the nightgown he had been marveling at he looked up questionably at Vernon. “Medicine?”

Vernon merely nodded as he cupped Harry’s cheek gently in his free hand. “You’ve been doing better as of late poppet, but I would hate for you to grow ill again, so I brought you some extra special medicine, that way you’ll never be sick again.” The tone he spoke in was soft and soothing, said with so much love and care that neither of the two boys even noticed the odd glint that flashed in his eyes before disappearing just as quickly as it appeared.

Harry’s eyes widened with barely held back hope. “I can be healthy?” He looked at both Vernon and Dudley, excitement shining in his bright emerald eyes as the news settled in. “I won’t have to be sick anymore?”

Vernon merely smiled softly at him as he took out a small glass vial. The liquid inside was a pale opaque blue colour, with odd specks of silver swirling within. “Yes Harry, all you have to do is take this bottle every night, just before bed; and you’ll be right as rain.”

At that Harry couldn’t hold back his happiness and jumped up to wrap his arms around Vernon’s waist, thanking him over and over again.

Dudley felt his heart beat faster with hope and joy as he stared at the vial his father held in his hands. Finally his brother would be well again. He would never again have to see Harry cry from being so ill that he could hardly move, never have to fear that should he leave his brother alone, the too small boy may not be there when he comes back. Harry may even become well enough to finally attend school, he could show his baby brother the playground at his primary, tell him which teachers were better than others, and which books in the library were the best to read. All because of a tiny glass bottle, his baby brother could finally be free and healthy. And truly, that was the best gift of all.

His whirling yet happy thoughts were quickly forgotten as small hands grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him forward. “Come on Dudley!” Harry smiled brightly at him as he grabbed hold of one of the nightgowns he'd received before moving to go up the stairs. “Help me put on my present!” Dudley just followed after Harry in amusement, neither noticing Vernon staring at them all the while.

“What do you think?” Harry asked him softly as he twirled around.

Dudley merely stared at his baby brother in awe. The small boy looked simply angelic. The white lace nightgown had been extremely soft to the touch and molded itself around Harry’s small body perfectly, with his curly locks free, he looked like a cherub.

“Beautiful.” Dudley breathed before smiling as Harry blushed in embarrassment at the compliment. “You look beautifulHarry.”

Harry smiled sweetly and pulled him into a hug before grabbing hold of both of Dudley's hands in his own. “I wonder where your presents are.” He muttered softly, not noticing Dudley stilling next to him. “If Santa gave Papa mine, surely yours should be here as well...”

“Ah… Harry why don’t we worry about that later.” He rushed out, his face pale with worry. He worked hard to make sure Harry never took notice of the crumbling relationship between his father and him, and he wouldn’t let the fact that he had no presents be what alerted Harry to it all. It had been a close call in the hall earlier, but thankfully he had been able to salvage the situation by saying his presents were just being hidden. “Besides it’s about time for you to take your medicine now.”

Harry nodded absently and pouted. “I suppose…”

“Dudley?” Harry whispered, his eyes heavy with sleep. The medicine he’d been given was strong, and Dudley could tell that his brother was only moments away from falling into Morpheus realm.

“What is it Harry?”

The smaller boy smiled sleepily at him, his left hand going up to rub tiredly at his eye. “I love you.”

Dudley just snorted and ruffled Harry’s hair, earning him a sleepy giggle. “I love you too silly bear.” He bent down and placed a kiss on Harry’s brow. “Now go to sleep, or Santa won’t ever get here.”

Harry nodded and yawned, his small mouth opening wide enough for Dudley to see all of his baby teeth. “Santa still a few days away though…” Harry murmured, his eyes already closed as he snuggled into his blanket.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Just sleep Harry.”

Harry merely hummed softly at him before his breathing slowly evened out, his hands growing lax in their hold of the blanket as he fell into into a deep slumber.

As he turned to leave his heart jumped to his throat at the sight of his father standing by the door. The man’s eyes were slitted and looking at him with barely veiled suspicion, just to soften as they glanced towards Harry’s slumbering form. Vernon walked to the bed and placed a hand in Harry’s messy hair, gently petting the loose curls. “He took the medicine?”

Dudley nodded, backing away from his father just in case the man grew angered with him for some made up slight. “Yeah, it must have been too strong for him though, he’s out like a light.”

Vernon smiled, the sight sending shivers of dread down Dudley's spine as he watched his father bend down to kissed Harry’s hair, the act seeming almost wrong when coming from the older man. “My perfect little angel…”

Dudley made to leave, feeling uncomfortable next to his father and desperately wanting to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. He paused when his father called out to him, knowing better than to walk away when the man wanted something. “If someone knocks…” He started, still looking at Harry and not sparing even a glance towards his son. “Just let them in.”

Dudley nodded, confused but not willing to show it. “Got it sir.”

Vernon grunted. “Good, now get out.”

Dudley didn’t need to be told twice.

He raced downstairs, rubbing at his chest. His heart was beating a mile a minute and he felt his nerves go haywire. The thought of simply staying put unnerved him. He almost wanted to run upstairs and lock himself in his room. Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong but he just didn't know what it could be. He sat down at the bottom of the stairs and shakily ran a hand through his hair, messing up the brown locks. Harry's presents from earlier had been put away, and the hall was empty save for himself. He could hear the television from here, left on the sports channel as it always was when Vernon was watching it. The crowd was shouting over something or other but he was unable to make out what they were saying. His hands felt sweaty and he could feel his shirt sticking to his back even though it was cold. He was worried, and felt a bit guilty, but try as he might, he had no idea what he could have possibly done to be left feeling this way. The constant tick of the clock caught his attention and he felt his nerves grow worse with every second that passed. He had no idea why, but all he knew was that he didn't want anyone to show up.

By the time someone actually did knock on the door, Dudley shoulders were tense and his stomach was all knotted up. He quickly jumped off of the stairs and walked towards the front door. They didn't have a peephole so he had no clue who was on the other side, and felt wary at the thought of letting a stranger into his home. He wondered for a moment if he should just ignore the door and tell his father that no one had shown up when the knock came again. Taking a deep breath he unhooked the chain and turned the lock, opening the door in the process. The man standing before him looked pretty normal, and as one all of his worries melted away. It was an elderly man at the door, the sort of man Dudley mused his grandfather would look like were he still alive. His hair was white peppered with bits of grey and there were numerous age lines around the man’s eyes. He was wearing a plaid maroon grey striped oxford jacket with grey slacks and dark brown leather shoes. His ice blue eyes were slightly obstructed by the wire rimmed glasses he wore. All in all he looked like a professor straight out of the telly. Dudley had never seen someone so well dressed before, and he felt embarrassed as he stammered out an apology for starring before welcoming the stranger into his home. The elderly man merely chuckled at him and gently ruffled Dudley's hair, making him pause in shock. Besides Harry, no one ever touched him like that. His father preferred to ignore him or hit him whenever Dudley got in his way, and Piers had no problem with chasing Dudley down with his gang for a beating. But gentle touches were practically foreign concepts for him. It amazed him that this kind looking gentleman was the first person besides his brother to touch him in such a gentle way.

“Well young man, I’m looking for a Vernon Dursley, is he here by any chance?”

Dudley blinked and nodded, pointing upstairs. “My dad is in his bedroom with Harry at the moment, would you like me to get him?”

The man just chuckled and shook his head. “No need dear child, I can go fetch him myself.” he looked towards the telly, where the sports channel was still on and playing rather loudly. “Just go back to watching your shows.”

Dudley frowned and nodded. He wasn’t sure if he should stop the man from going upstairs or not. He had never entertained guest before after all, and only hoped he hadn’t mucked it all up. Sighing he plopped down on the couch and started to flip through the channels, trying to ignore his growing unease as he heard the gentleman hum a cheery tune under his breath before entering his father's room.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

And yet, there was no way he was stopping himself now. The old man from before had been upstairs for almost an hour now, and his attention the to telly had slowly waned until his curiosity gained the better of him. It was odd for his father to be conducting some sort of business in their home. The man hadn't officially worked now for almost two years, so what business would he even have? There was something odd about this whole situation and he knew it would all make sense if he just spied on them for a few. Besides, he's gotten exceptionally good at sneaking around as of late, a habit formed from not wanting to catch his fathers attentions lest he get smacked around some. Therefore it should be relatively easy to spy on the two older men without either of them cottoning on to the fact that they had an audience.

Biting his lower lip he slowly walked up the stairs, making sure to put as little weight on them as possible in order to not let them squeak and alert the adults to his presence. When he'd finally reached the top step he blinked in surprise at noticing the door to his father's and Harry's room was left slightly ajar. A small sliver of light peeked through the open frame, as if coaxing him to walk forward and take a look inside. The closer he walked to their room, the more he could make out some sort of odd noise. The old man from before seemed to be moaning in pain, and for a moment Dudley wondered if his father had decided to hit the gentleman for some perceived slight. Wondering if he should maybe find some pain pills to give the man to help ease his discomfort he walked forward quickly and took a look inside, only to freeze in horror at the sight he saw from within.

Harry lay on the bed, still fast asleep. His small chest rose and fell with every breath his lungs took in and his hair was spread around him like a halo. He was facing towards Dudley, his eyes closed in slumber, long thick lashes causing shadows to appear on the small child cheeks. His baby brother could be considered the picture of innocence… until one caught sight of the man practically hovering on top of him.

It was the elderly man from earlier, this time sans clothes. His skin was all pale and wrinkled, with long blue veins pronounced on his arms and even on his legs. His body was covered in wiry white hair and he was leaning over Harry, his breath coming out in loud pants as he stared with adoration shining in his eyes at the slumbering child lying peacefully under him. Dudley could see everything from where he stood. The man was half erect, his hands seemed to tremble as they touched Harry’s skin, one hand slowly going up Harry’s thigh and resting under the nightgown, hiding whatever he was doing from view. The man bent down to kiss Harry’s neck, working his way up to Harry’s cheek while his other hand started to slowly stroke himself.

Dudley felt a scream build in the back of his throat, and was preparing to yell for his father when a soft noise from further in the room caught his attention.

His father was there as well, also without clothes. He was sitting in a chair they used to have in their living room until his father decided he needed it in his bedroom instead. Vernon's legs were spread wide apart as he stroked his erect member eagerly. Precome was leaking out of it's tip as his father stared intently at the man molesting his youngest son. Vernon groaned loudly as the man picked up Harry, making the small boys head loll to the side as the man began to furiously rub himself against Harry’s bare thigh, leaving trails of dribbling come in his wake as he climaxed. Dudley stood there, frozen in horror, his head shaking back and forth slowly, unable or willing to comprehend what he was seeing. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn’t.

Yet there was no mistaking the softly whispered Harry that left his father’s lips as he reached completion himself, long strings of come landing on the floor around him as he relaxed back into the chair he was sitting in.

Dudley shakily raised a hand to his mouth and ran to the bathroom. He retched into the toilet, sobs starting to force their way out of his throat as he tried to make reason of what he’d just seen.

His father!

His own father had!

He knelt against the toilet and sobbed loudly. He had tried to be a good son, he had stayed out of his father’s way unless he was redirecting the man's anger. He cooked dinner without complaint, and barely said a word about his father’s strange attachment to Harry, and yet… and yet…

This… this wasn’t right…

All of this was so horribly wrong.

He wished it was a dream, one that he could wake up from.

And yet the longer he stayed by the toilet with the sour smell of sick filling the air, the more he realized that it wasn’t a dream, this was his reality. Oh god… that had really happened, this wasn't a dream! He quickly turned and gagged again into the toilet, his body covered in a thin layer of sweat and his head feeling oddly lightheaded even as he panicked over what he'd just seen.

All he could think about was what had been happening to Harry, to his little baby brother. God why hadn’t he done something more than just stand there like a bloody statue!? Why was this happening... right now Harry was… and all he could do was sit here and cry.

It was at this moment that the small amount of hope he still clung to, the hope that they could make it, that they could be a normal happy family left him; and in it's place the festering hatred he held towards his father became a raging inferno.

He retched again though all that came out was bile as he leaned his burning forehead against the toilet seat. The coolness of the porcelain distracted him from the pain in his gut even as his mind fell into chaos. Faintly he realized he had finally discovered what that strange glint in his father’s eyes had been whenever he would look at Harry.

It was lust.

Breakfast was a tense affair the next morning. Dudley sat upright in his chair, barely touching the plate of food next to him as he glared darkly at his father who once again had placed Harry on his lap. Harry kept looking at the two of them between bites, a worried expression on his features as he tried to understand what was wrong.

His hand was clenched into a tight fist, he wanted so much to attack his father, to hurt him for hurting Harry. After he'd left the bathroom last night, the disgusting man had already left, and his father had been fast asleep. Harry had woken this morning none the wiser to what had been done to him when he was left unawares. Dudley had vowed that he would always protect his baby brother, and yet last night he had failed horribly at that job. Taking a deep breath he shoved his plate of scrambled eggs away from him, catching his brother's attention.

“Harry.” He gritted out from between his teeth as he glared up at his father, who had yet still to acknowledge his existence this morning. “Go out to the backyard.”

Harry blinked at him in surprise before slowly hopping off of Vernon's lap, looking at the two of them as if unsure if he should interfere with whatever was wrong. Strangely enough Vernon didn't revoke the order, instead he scooped up a bit of egg and ate it, before reaching down to ruffle Harry's hair. “Don't forget your coat poppet, wouldn't want you to catch cold.”

Harry nodded hesitantly. “Yes papa.” He said softly before shuffling out of the kitchen, he looked back at Dudley once more and after receiving a reassuring smile from said boy quickly grabbed his coat from the rack before heading outside through the back door.

While the smaller boy busied himself with getting dressed Dudley was glaring angrily at his father. Vernon himself continued to ignore his eldest as he ate his breakfast, possessing seemingly not a care in the world. He waited until he heard the soft patter of small feet hurrying to the back of their home then the sound of their back door softly clicking shut before he took a deep breath and practically growled at his father. “How could you?” His body was filled with tension, he just wanted to jump out of his chair and attack the man he'd been raised by. He felt ashamed to be related to his father and wished nothing more than from him to disappear from sight.

“Well get on with it boy.” His father answered back, sounding almost board. “What's wrong with you today?”

“You sick bastard.” Vernon stilled, his blue eyes instantly looking straight into Dudley's own.

“What did you say?” Vernon hissed, his voice as soft as a whisper. His face was starting to grow slightly red in anger, but Dudley didn't pay it any mind, too caught up in his anger.

Snarling angrily at his father he shoved his chair away from him and stood up, glaring at the man he had the misfortune to be related with. “You heard me!” He yelled out loud. “I saw!” His hands were curled up into tight fist and he wished for nothing more than to have the strength to pummel the bastard in front of him. The lights were flickering over their heads, but neither paid it any mind as they stared the other down. “I saw what you did last night! You and that… that man!” He spat out, disgusted at himself for ever thinking of the older gentleman as a grandfather like figure. That cur was nothing more than a sick monster, just like his father. “I saw you two, how could you!? Harry and me! We trusted you!” His eyes were burning with angry tears but he didn't let them fall, not wanting to seem weak in front of this man.

He expected anger because of his outburst, maybe even some shame; but instead all his father did was laugh. The man held onto his stomach and laughed uproariously, as if what Dudley had said was just a big joke to him. “You… You foolish brat.” Vernon gasped out as he gained control of himself, letting out only a few chuckles here and there. “You have no idea how the world works boy, so don't try to play a hero, we both know your not one.” He sneered, his features twisting into a dark expression. “Harry is mine boy, mine to do with as I wish.” The sneer left his lips and he smiled, looking almost crazed for a moment before he glared back down into Dudley's shocked orbs. “This is a kill or be killed world, we needed the money so I did what anyone would have done.” He shrugged nonchalantly before grinning. “And with someone as beautiful as your brother, sometimes you just have to share.”

He was going to be sick. Faintly he moved to grab hold of his chair, feeling like he would fall if he didn't. “You're crazy.” He whispered, feeling the bile rise to the back of his throat. “You're utterly mad.”

His father just snorted. “The only mad one here is you.” He shook his head, turning his attention to the mornings paper that had been left beside his breakfast earlier. “Honestly, coming up with all these wild accusation, as if waving your finger about would change anything hah! Pathetic, just like your fool of a mother.”

Dudley's rage overwhelmed him until all he saw was red. “Don't you dare talk about my mother!” He yelled before pausing in shock. That day… all those years ago… was this what she meant? Was this why she wanted to leave. He shook his head, not paying any attentions to his surroundings. She had known, hadn't see? She had known that his father was…

“I'm leaving.” He spoke out, his voice so low that he was surprised his father even heard him.

The man scoffed. “Stupid boy, do you honestly think you can make it fine on your own? No money, too young for work.” He humphed. “You'll end up in the gutter before the end of the day, rotting with the rest of those no good louts.”

He gritted his teeth before looking up. “I'm leaving this house and this farce of a family you have us all playing!” He practically growled out before moving to the kitchen door. “Harry and I will do loads better on our own, we don't need you!”

He never noticed the fist heading his way.

He crumpled onto the floor like a limp doll whose strings had been cut, his ears were ringing and a dull pounding pain in his head was making it hard for him to concentrate on anything. Slowly he tried to stand up, even as his head protested every movement. He yelped in surprise and fear as a large hand wrapped around his throat, dragging his body up and making him crash against the kitchen door, the handle biting painfully into his back as he tried to get away from the strong hold his father had him in. The man's eyes were murderous, and he was once again reminded that this was the man that had caused his mother's death.

“Do you really think I would ever let you take him away from me?” He whispered, his eyes burning with rage. “By god it's all the same with your sniveling family, the both of you keep wanting to take him away! I won't allow it!” He snarled as his hands tightened on Dudley's throat, making the boy whimper as his airway was blocked. His hands frantically reached up and tried to pull at Vernon's own, panicking as his vision started to blur from lack of oxygen.

“I'll tell.” He breathed out, wincing as the man's hand tightened for a moment before letting go. Dudley fell to the floor harshly, gasping loudly and coughing as air returned to his lungs. He winced and touched his bruised neck, knowing there would undoubtedly be a bruise there soon enough. Not looking up he continued. “I'll tell… I'll tell my teachers and the bobbies, you'll… you'll be put in prison where you belong.”

After a moment of silence he looked up at his father, who was staring at him with a curious expression before he smiled. The man chuckled again, sending a shiver of fear racing down Dudley's spine. “No you won't.” Vernon replied, sounding smug as he smiled down at Dudley. “You wouldn't dare.”

Before Dudley could even come up with a retort to that Vernon continued, humming thoughtfully as if nothing was wrong in their home, as if he had not just attempted to strangle his own son. “Harry is so beautiful isn't he?” The man smiled softly. “So sweet and innocent...” He looked down at his son. “It would be a shame if that was stolen from him.”

Dudley stilled. “What do you mean.” His whole body was shaking right now, but he couldn't tell if it was from fear or anger, everything hurt and all he wanted to do was take Harry and run far, far away.

“It's simple really.” Vernon answered, moving about as he placed the dishes in the sink. “Should you ever be stupid enough to open that useless mouth of yours and prattle on about what goes on in our home to someone… well...” He smiled and looked his son right in the eye. “I'll invite a group of my friends over to let them have fun with your brother, and this time… he'll be awake.”

He laughed loudly at the look of horror on Dudley's face. “Oh yes, can you see it now boy? My darling poppet tied to our bed as countless men have their way with him?” He walked over to Dudley, bending down he grinned before leaning over to whisper into his son's ears. “And this time, I'll make you watch.”

Dudley reared back before frantically shaking his head. “No!” He cried out, losing the battle he held with his tears earlier as they fell down his cheeks. “Please don't do it! I'll do anything so please!”

Vernon simply tutted before patting Dudley on his head like one would a small animal. “Come now, no need for your useless blubbering. As long as you do as I say Harry will be fine, he'll never know about our late night… guest… and I’ll make sure none of them go too far.” He smiled. “Now doesn't that sound fair?”

Dudley just nodded numbly, his body still shaking as he went into shock. He would never let his brother be used like… like that. He had to keep quiet, if he kept quiet Harry would be safe… Harry would never know about… them. He swallowed thickly. They won't hurt him. His father promised. As long as he kept quiet Harry would be safe.

He had to keep Harry safe.

That night his father forced him to allow yet another man to their home. This one barely even gave him a glance before he headed upstairs, where his father waited with a triumphant expression. He stood there numb and unfeeling as they entered the room where Harry was peacefully sleeping, unknowing to what would be done to him as he laid there blissfully unaware. He stood there for what seemed like hours, listening as the door clicked shut behind them and the two talked, their voices coming out as soft murmurs. Harry would be safe, he would numbly think as he walked to his room and sat down on his bed. His father had promised him, so they wouldn't… they wouldn't hurt him, they wouldn't hurt his baby brother. He startled slightly as he felt a tear fall onto his hand, where it had been clutching on tightly to his knee, cutting the skin there. A soft sob escaped his lips, and then another. With trembling hands he slowly laid his head in his hands, sobbing quietly.

He was protecting his brother… so why did it hurt so much?

He would cry himself to sleep that night, while listening on to the sound of moans coming from his father's room. Feeling helpless in this dark and corrupted world.

That was the start of it all, he would think years later. It was on that day, more than any other that he and his brother would enter hell.

And sometimes he wondered if they had ever truly left.