Chapter 7 - Obtuse

(Warning, the following chapter contains abuse described in graphic detail.)

Harry clambered out of the car slowly after Dudley, the glaring metallic neon sign stating the hotel's name glaring into his eyes. He squinted, putting his hand up over his forehead to try and lessen the harsh glow of the sign. Aunt Petunia popped the trunk of the car as Uncle Vernon was struggling to get out of the drivers seat. "Harry," Aunt Petunia snapped, making him jump. "Come and get our bags." Harry scurried hurriedly over to the trunk of the car, and began to balance the bags in his arms. He walked behind the others, trying very hard not to step into one of the many slush puddles that accumulated in the creases of the sidewalk as Dudley purposefully tried to knock him into one. Harry gritted his teeth as Dudley pushed him into Piers, in which Piers pushed back, making his foot catch into one of the slush puddles. He stumbled, almost dropping the bags but caught his footing before he could fall to his knees. He tried not to glare at them as he walked past.

The hotel's interior was pleasant, shades of burgundy and créme. It obviously was a more upper class enclosure. The receptionist handed them their keys, two bedrooms that were beside each other. Two king sized beds. Harry's heart sank. Looks like he'll be sleeping on the floor again. They never let Harry sleep in a nice bed, especially with Dudley in.

Aunt Petunia guided Uncle Vernon and Dudley into the elevator. When Harry went to enter the elevator, Aunt Petunia sent him a withering glare. Harry stopped.

"What do you think you are doing? There isn't enough room for you."

"I...yes Aunt Petunia."

Without another word, Harry grabbed the rest of the bags he was carrying off the floor and made his way to the stairwell.

He puffed hurriedly up the stairs. Aunt Petunia hated tardiness.

She sent him another unimpressed look at his sweaty face and shaking arms when he reached the top, and turned down the hallway to their hotel room.

She turned the key, and he looked into the room with wonderment. It was airy and completely open, double windows along a balcony overhanging the city. His happiness only lasted for a second, for Aunt Petunia stopped him with a hand over the doorframe. "Where is the rest of the money I gave you?" He handed her the rest, only to have her glare increase on him.

"I said..where. is. the. rest."

Harry began to sweat.

"That is the rest, Aunt Petunia."

Uncle Vernon turned around angrily, his footsteps resounding against the carpet. Harry flinched as Uncle Vernon grabbed the front of his sweater, cringing when he heard the tell-tale rip of fabric. He could see the ugly purple vein in his Uncle's neck from how close he was.

"YOU BETTER BE RESPECTFUL TOWARDS YOUR AUNT, BOY." Harry closed his eye as spittle flew from his Uncle's mouth, landing on his face. He could see the greasy flecks of spit stuck to his glasses, framing his Uncle's swollen, red face. Just a quickly, Uncle Vernon released the front of his shirt, dropping him to the ground.

"Where is the rest of the money I gave you?" Her gaze cut through him like a knife. Harry could feel himself sweating slightly. He usually didn't lie to her. He lowered his gaze to the carpet.

"I lost it Aunt Petunia."

He tensed as he expected her harsh words. He looked up after a few seconds of silence. Aunt Petunia glanced at Uncle Vernon, a sly and cruel smile on her face. Harry cringed as Uncle Vernon began to take off his belt.

"You'll have to pay for it then, huh boy?"

Harry limped hurriedly down the stairs of the hotel, leading into the downstairs lobby. Harry desperately hoped that he wasn't leading a trail of blood behind him, his back was aching so badly. He rushed towards the bathroom, apologizing as he bumped into a man exiting. He closed the bathroom stall door, locking it hurriedly and pulling down his pants. His leg was oozing blood slowly, the glass sticking out of it stopping most of the blood flow. He gritted his teeth as he prodded gently around the entrance wound. It hadn't gone all the way through. Good.

He wiped sweat out of his eyes as he pulled off his sweater and grimy wife-beater that used to be white. He ripped the shirt into thin strips for bandages, and wrapped one overtop of his knee, cutting the circulation to his calf. Harry whimpered quietly as he began to pull out the largest piece of glass, the grisly schlick echoing onto the walls of the spacious bathroom. Blood gushed out of the wound, his hands trembled as he tried to dig his fingernails underneath the smaller shards. He flinched at the gushy noises his flesh was making, his fingers slipping against the congealed liquid under his fingers.

Feeling faint, Harry tied the strips of his shirt around his leg, binding the wound. He had always been a fast healer. His leg throbbed angrily as he tried to stand. Harry gritted his teeth, and hoisted himself up again. Limping heavily, he exited the bathroom stall and made his way to the exit of the hotel lobby.

Pushing the doors open, he breathed in softly as the cool air wrapped around his body, the sweat chilling on his forehead. The subtle noises of voices far off in the distance enveloped the rushing of the city, cars racing back and forth in a furious mash of melded steel and oil. His hands trembled, slick with sweat and nails encrusted with scabbing blood, as he stepped out into the city nights air.

Hermione sighed softly, placing the book back on the shelf. "Thirty minutes until closing. Thirty minutes until closing." The receptionists voice echoed off the library walls, and Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly. She knew that Hermione was the only one here. She sat back down at the desk, shifting through the heavy tome she was reading about dangerous and powerful artefacts. Most of these artefacts were magical, and the tomes priceless and ancient. 'Why would they be here then? Wouldn't have Dumbledore done something about these being in a muggle library? It even has step by step guides for Horcruxes!' She hesitated for a moment, then quietly slipped the heavy book into her bag. Shame and guilt ripped at her as she shoved the rest of her pile of books in the discard shelf, then sheepishly walked past the librarian. Trying not to look to guilty, she quickened her pace as she came towards the doors, stopping almost dead in her tracks as she realized the barcode on the book would set off the alarms on either side of the door. Resisting the urge to smack herself, she steered herself to ask the receptionist where the bathroom was, in which she pointed lazily to a corner of the library.

She put her backpack onto the toilet seat, and hoisted the tomb out of her backpack. Wincing, she forced her nails under the barcode sticker. "So sorry about this..." She whispered to the book, and pulled. A sickly ripping sound emanated through the bathroom stall, the barcodes tape ripping the front cover of the book. Feeling sick, she hastily put the book back into her bag and left the library.

The cool London breeze rushed through her hair, and she breathed a sigh of relief as no angry voices called her back inside. Her boots clicked on the sidewalk, her eyes darting over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her-

She stumbled backwards as someone ran right into her. Furious, she brushed her hair back out of her face something wet and thick sticking to her hair, when a thin and sickly sounding voice uttered the words, "Sorry Ma'am."

Startled by the tone, she looked up into the pale face of the boy she had met at the H&M. She opened her mouth to apologize when she caught sight of the blood, thick and encrusted on her hand. Her eyes snapped back up to the boy's face. He was swaying slightly, arms crossed around his midsection.

Horrified, she whispered, "Harry, you're bleeding..?" Scrambling to her feet, she grabbed his shoulders, "Harry you're bleeding!" He flinched, moaning slightly in pain. She tore her jacket off, placing it around his shoulders, ushering him towards her hotel room. Practically punching the elevator button, she glanced at him and pulled him inside when the elevator arrived.

"What happened?"

Harry smiled weakly. "Fell down the stairs."

She juggled the keys to her room, cursing slightly when she dropped them. "Bollocks." Finally managing to open the door, she dropped her bag, the parcel thumping loudly as it hit the carpet. She threw back the covers on her bed, guiding him to sit down. Practically sprinting, she went into the bathroom to grab the muggle first aid kit. She entered the bedroom again, only to see that Harry had passed out on the bed, arms slack. Not a good sign.

Breathing hard through her nose, she cut open his shirt, which was barely a hard task. It was practically rags. Bile rose in her throat as she looked at the extensiveness of the wounds littered all over his chest, the smell of poorly washed skin, infection, and alcohol wafting up into her sinuses. Choking back tears, she grabbed the wet washcloth and very gently ran it over his skin. Scabs broke, blood welling up to the surface as if to kiss the air. Within seconds, the white washcloth was stained with blood, pus, and dirt.

She grabbed another one, blotting the blood off the long gashes on his chest. The scars seemed to only reach a little lower than the collarbones, the skin above was completely unmarked. She burned with anger, this was most definitely not made by falling down the stairs, even if he had done it a hundred times. Bracing herself, she waved her wand over him and cast the basic mediwitch spell for diagnosis. She knew that she could get in a lot of trouble for doing magic in front of a muggle, but at the moment she didn't care. She skimmed her eyes over the diagnosis. Infection in the back, arms, legs, chest, nether regions, glass in the left leg, left hand, back, broken fingers on either hand...she wiped angrily at her eyes.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" She levitated him into his front, tears streaming down her face as she saw the mess that was his back. The word "Freak" had been carved into his left shoulder blade, the scarring thick enough that the skin was raised, as if someone had scratched it into him, taking their time. Trembling, she flickered her eyes over the long scars on his back. He had been whipped, more than once. She checked his wrists. Thick scarring covered both. He had been restrained like an animal. Letting out a cry of fury, she meticulously cleaned his back by hand, having to pick off scabs and open infected wounds, picking out glass shards. Rubbing a healing salve into his skin, she could feel her hands shaking with anger and resentment. How dare anyone try to do this to anyone? She took another skin salve out of her bag, one to erase scars, but no matter how much she put on him, the Freak scar wouldn't go away. She took off his pants, averting her eyes to his nether regions. They seemed intact.

She snipped what looked like an old shirt off of his leg, checking the wound for any more glass shards and scrubbing his legs. Rubbing salve into his calves, she inspected his toes, which were crooked and misshapen. She quietly said, "Episkey," wincing as the toes popped sickeningly back into place. 'How could he even walk?' She thought in muted horror.

Done with his lower body and torso, she inspected his fingers and arms, located some more glass, rubbed more salve into his skin. She washed his neck and began to wash his face when she noticed that he was wincing and whimpering in his sleep. She put down the washcloth, draped a thin sheet over his nude form, and gently whispered, "Harry?" She could see his eyes flickering behind his eyelids, but he did not wake.

Sighing, she slumped over, head in her hands, and wept.