Chapter 10: Small Steps
"Harry, no!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed in stunned shock as everyone else in the room gasped in surprise. Before Harry knew it, his forehead collided sickeningly with the corner of the nightstand, and his world descended into blackness.
He was five-years-old again, surrounded in total darkness in his tiny cupboard. His Aunt Marge, who was Uncle Vernon's sister, burst into the closet uninvited, throwing open the door with haste as she towered over Harry threateningly.
"You," she sneered with downright disgust as she glowered hatefully at him. "What are you still doing here?"
"I live here," Harry answered innocently, not catching the dripping sarcasm in his unrelated aunt's voice.
"Well, get off your lazy arse, boy. My suitcases are in my car. Go get them and take them up to my room. I just spent hours driving to get here, and I'm not about to bring them in myself. Well, what are you waiting around for? Go! NOW!"
Harry sighed miserably as he got to his feet, though he was careful not to let his aunt see reaction. He had just spent the entire day scrubbing the house clean from top to bottom, with no breaks or meals in between, and he was very sore and tired. But, of course, he had to do as he was told, so he didn't argue with the woman. Obediently, he took a step towards the door, but found himself lying facedown on the hallway floor in anguish just moments later. Aunt Marge had whacked his shins with her cane, causing him to lose his footing and trip.
"You were too slow," Aunt Marge snapped nastily, ignoring Harry's painful cry. Harry thought he heard her chuckle with delight overhead. "Get a move on now, freak, or I won't be afraid to use this on you again!"
Ignoring his throbbing shins, Harry jumped to his feet and ran out the front door, retrieving his aunt's belongings from her new black BMW as quickly and carefully as possible. As he began dragging a particularly large suitcase that was nearly twice his size up the staircase, his Aunt Petunia appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
"Don't you dare hit the walls with her things, boy. If I find a single scratch on the wall, you'll be sorry you ever lived," she snapped at Harry in a stern warning before hollering politely up the staircase for his cousin. "Duddikins, sweetums, your Aunt Marge is here. Come on down and say "hi" to your favorite auntie!"
Without waiting for a response from her son, Aunt Petunia retreated to the kitchen, where Aunt Marge and Uncle Vernon were already boisterously devouring a large bottle of brandy.
Dudley's bedroom door burst open and a thunderous rumble of commotion met Harry's ears as Dudley's particularly hefty body came thumping down the hallway. He saw Harry standing halfway up the stairs, struggling to clutch the bulky suitcase with care, and a maniacal sneer formed on his cousin's face.
Harry was too late to react. Dudley came dashing down the stairs, purposefully slamming Harry and the sizeable suitcase into the wall with as much force and strength as possible. Harry wheezed as his body collided with the suitcase, which in turn powerfully smacked the wall, leaving a massive hole in its place. To make the entire situation far worse than it already was, Dudley kicked the wall even harder, making the opening even larger than it already was. Dudley smiled at Harry wickedly and raised his eyebrows in amusement before yelling for his parents.
"Mum! Dad! Come quick! Harry put a hole in the wall!" he shouted, his voice suddenly sounding suspiciously somber. Aunt Petunia and Aunt Marge swiftly reached the staircase, and they both reacted in revulsion and dismay.
"You clumsy idiot!" Aunt Petunia screeched irately at the top of her lungs, a look of intense anger flashing across her face. "Look at what you did this time!"
"I-I-I d-didn't do it," Harry gasped, fear overpowering his senses as he realized his cousin had set him up.
"Yes, he did! I saw him, Mummy! He did it on purpose!" Dudley exclaimed, his face feigned shock as he pointed accusingly back and forth from the opening in the wall to Harry.
"That'll cost your uncle nearly a day's worth of wages to have it repaired! You fool! You lazy mutt!" Aunt Petunia raged on, wagging her finger dangerously in Harry's face.
"But I-I didn't-" Harry tried to explain innocuously, but it was hopeless. His aunt refused to listen to him.
"Who did it, then, boy? Casper?" Aunt Marge sneered sardonically, chuckling at her own joke.
"It was D-Dudley," Harry whispered, staring at his feet in shame. He realized instantly afterwards that he had said the wrong thing. He wasn't supposed to accuse Dudley of things, no matter what. Now he'd be in even worse trouble.
"He's lying!" Dudley shrieked, stomping his tremendous feet with fury. "I didn't do it! Mummy, you believe me, don't you?"
"Of course you didn't do it, sweetums," Aunt Petunia replied softly before rounding back on Harry. She was glaring at him with such hatred, Harry recoiled under her intense stare. "Dudley, go get your father. I'll let your uncle decide what happens to you this time, freak."
"Boy," Uncle Vernon growled, stomping into the hallway moments later with Dudley trailing behind him. He appeared at the bottom of the stairs alongside his two aunts, and the tone of his voice meant Dudley had already filled his father in on what had happened. Uncle Vernon's face reddened in anger as he carefully examined the hole from his position at the bottom of the staircase. Everyone was silent as they waited for his uncle's reaction. It wasn't pretty.
"In your cupboard! NOW!" his uncle raged, turning back to Harry. Harry could tell the man was extremely furious.
"But Dudley-" Harry started, but he was abruptly cut off by a sharp strike across the face by his uncle, who had reached up the stairs and slammed Harry in the face with the palm of his hand. Harry shakily raised his right hand to soothe the now throbbing cheek.
"Don't you dare talk to us like that ever again," Uncle Vernon scorned hatefully.
"I-I-I-I'm s-s-sorry," Harry cried, tears falling down his cheeks as he looked on hopelessly at his relatives, who were all gleaming at him with vengeance.
"Now, get in your cupboard!" Uncle Vernon shouted at Harry.
Trembling with fear, Harry dropped the suitcase from where he was and scurried back down the stairs as quickly as possible. He dashed to his cupboard, shut the door, and flung himself onto the floor. He scooted his back up against the wall and pulled his knees to this chest, rocking nervously back and forth. He was in big trouble this time, yet it had all been Dudley's fault. Dudley had purposefully gotten him in trouble. It was always Dudley's fault, yet he somehow always got the blame.
Harry gasped in alarm when the door opened without warning five minutes later. His uncle was standing in the doorway, ferocity and rage radiating from his body. Harry gulped in apprehension.
"Vernon, I think the boy clearly deserves a good thrashing," Aunt Marge's voice suggested. She was standing right outside the cupboard and sounded as if she was egging her brother on.
"I've tried beating him, Marge. Nothing works," Uncle Vernon said impatiently through clenched teeth. He seemed to be trying very hard to control his temper in front of his sister. "He's a lost cause."
"Try this," Aunt Marge said gleefully. Harry watched in despair as she handed Uncle Vernon her large black cane. "That ought to do the trick."
"This?" Uncle Vernon asked, chuckling and looking at the offered cane as if it were a joke.
"It works on the mutts at home just fine. Puts them in their place, this cane does. It ought to teach the boy a lesson."
Uncle Vernon shrugged his shoulders in agreement, grabbed the cane, and raised it over his head threateningly. Harry's eyes widened in horror was he realized what was about to happen. He raised his arms in front of his face in an attempt to protect himself.
But the pain didn't come. His uncle seemed to be waiting for something. What was his uncle doing? Was he rethinking the entire situation?
"Wait, Vernon," Aunt Marge's voice rang in his ears. Harry looked up, hopeful that they'd changed their minds for some reason, and he saw Aunt Marge glaring menacingly at him. "Make him take his shirt off first."
"What?" Uncle Vernon asked, lowering the cane in surprise and looking at Aunt Marge in curiosity. "Why?"
"It'll get the message across more clearly," Aunt Marge said, her eyes gleaming with cheery.
"Right. Take off your shirt, boy," his uncle growled at Harry. Harry frowned in confusion, not understanding what was happening. Why did his uncle want him to take off his shirt?
"I said, take off your shirt," his uncle repeated, even nastier sounding than before. "NOW!"
Harry did as his uncle told him, pulling his shirt off and tossing it aside. He wrapped his arms around his bare chest, trying to block it from the cold draft drifting into the cupboard.
"On your stomach, boy," his uncle snarled.
Harry froze in terror. What was his uncle planning to do to him? What should he do? Should he obey and face the oncoming punishment, or should he stay still and try to protect himself? He didn't have time to make a choice as his uncle forcibly grabbed his right forearm and flung him facedown on the floor. The next thing he knew, unbearable pain shot across his back as the cane came bearing down on him.
"Really, Vernon? You call that a good thrashing? That wasn't nearly hard enough," his Aunt Marge's voice said from somewhere above him.
"Please," Harry gasped, trying to plead with his uncle as his back burned in misery. "Please, Uncle Vernon, please don't do it."
Harry cried out in pain as his uncle hit him with the cane again, only this time with much more force. Terrified tears streamed down Harry's face.
"Seriously, Vernon," Aunt Marge sighed, rolling her eyes in annoyance as she shook her head in disappointment. "Again, that was too weak. You are too soft with him. I've always said that. You really have to mean it. Put some real force behind it, or he'll never learn!"
Uncle Vernon, who was now unbeknownst to Harry in a rage over his sister's repetitive nagging, growled and swung at Harry again, causing Harry to scream out in pain even louder than before. Uncle Vernon whacked Harry with the cane as hard as he could repeatedly, over and over, for nearly an hour straight.
When he finally stopped, Harry lay motionless on the floor, panting and breathless, moaning in agony as he wiped his tear-strung eyes with the back of his hand. His bare back was covered in deep welts and nasty bruises from where the cane had left its mark. Dark red blood pooled on the floor beneath him and was splattered all over the white walls.
"Don't do it again, boy," his uncle growled before storming out of the cupboard. He was about to slam the door shut when Aunt Marge's strong bony hand caught the door.
"Harry!"
Someone was calling his name. A frantic voice was shouting at him from somewhere above. But who was it?
"Harry!"
Strange, Harry thought bleakly. He didn't remember that particular voice in his memory….
"Harry, wake up!"
Harry took a sharp intake of breath as he realized someone was shaking him awake. Now panic-stricken, he instantaneously sat up and thrust the pair of hands off him. He surveyed his surroundings as he blurrily looked around the room. Someone immediately placed his glasses in his right hand. As Harry shoved them on his face, he realized with humiliation that his face was wet… he'd been crying again in his sleep. He hoped no one had noticed. The last thing he wanted was to give someone another reason to pick on him.
You're weak and pathetic, his uncle's voice rang through his ears. Harry shook his head frantically to clear his mind, furiously wiped his eyes dry with the sleeve of his pajama shirt, and looked up in surprise to see Ron standing over him.
"Are you alright, mate?" Ron asked in concern as he stood over him. Harry's face turned bright red with humiliation as he avoided making any eye contact with Ron. There was no way the boy hadn't seen him crying, but Harry couldn't see any traces of annoyance in Ron's face. "It looked like you were having a nightmare or something."
Harry shuddered in response, looking around the room in a daze while lost in his own thoughts. If only he knew, Harry reflected somberly as he subconsciously wrapped his arms around his chest. It hadn't been a nightmare. He'd been reliving one of his worst memories. He thought he'd blocked that particular memory out, as he hadn't relived it in years. Something about the last few days must have stirred up some of his more awful memories. After a few moments, Harry realized Ron was still standing over him, awaiting a response to his previous question. Harry nodded his head in false reassurance and dropped his arms to his sides.
Looking around once more, he noticed that radiant sunlight streamed through the window, signaling that it was early afternoon. Harry frowned in disappointment. It seemed all he'd been doing lately was sleeping his days away.
"Sorry if I'm bothering you," Ron said apologetically, mistaking the disappointed look on Harry's face as directed towards him.
"B-bothering… me?" Harry asked in confusion, puzzled as to why the boy would be concerned that he was bothering Harry. Shouldn't it be the other way around?
"Yeah," Ron continued tentatively. "Mum asked me to stay in here with you, just in case you needed anything. I promise, I've stayed on my half of the room the entire time, and I wouldn't have woken you up, but it sounded like you were hurt… are you sure you're okay?"
Harry nodded, still avoiding eye contact with the boy as he feigned interest in his bed covers. Why was the boy being so friendly?
"Mum is downstairs right now making lunch. Do you want me to let her know you're awake?" Ron asked anxiously.
Harry's eyes widened in unease at Ron's offer, and he quickly shook his head in reply.
"N-no, p-please," Harry stammered unnervingly. That was the last thing he wanted.
Ron slightly chuckled, obviously find some humor in Harry's words, but Harry didn't know what to make of it. It didn't seem as if the boy was taunting him, but Harry couldn't be too certain.
"How's your head?" Ron asked seriously, peering at Harry in trepidation. "That was quite a fall you took last night."
Harry subconsciously reached for his forehead, which was aching quite ferociously, and found that it was covered in bandages once again. Harry groaned in dread and fell back onto his pillows, covering his eyes with his hands in mortification as memories from the night before came flooding back. He had tried and failed to escape down the stairs and through the window, used his freakish abilities on the Weasley family at least three times, and attempted to escape yet again, but it had all been for nothing. He couldn't do anything right. He was stuck here. Would he ever be able to leave?
"It's okay, Harry," Ron began timidly, his voice gentle yet sober as he lightly sat down at the foot of Harry's bed. Harry stiffened at the boy's movement, finding it extremely unnerving that the boy was choosing to stay in such close proximity with him, though he was slightly taken aback by how concerned the boy's voice seemed. "You have nothing to worry about."
"No, it's not okay," Harry said apprehensively, finally speaking clearly for the first time since he awoke. He stared at the wall beside him as his eyes began to tear up again against his will. His freakish powers had been on full display once again last night. The same question that had been bothering him since he first arrived raced through his worried mind once more. What was the family going to do to him as punishment for his abnormal behavior?
"What do you mean?" Ron asked softly.
"It's never going to be okay," Harry added, albeit absentmindedly as he fretted about all of the ways the Weasleys were going to chastise him for his reckless actions. As an afterthought, Harry couldn't believe he was being so truthful with the boy he hardly knew, but at this point, Harry didn't have anything else to lose. None of it would matter in the end, after all.
"Why do you think that?" Ron asked timidly, not taking his eyes off Harry.
Harry shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, signaling that he didn't want to talk about it anymore.
"It doesn't matter," he whispered, shrugging his shoulders once more and staring at his blanket as he wiped his face once more with the sleeve of his pajamas. Nothing matters, he thought dishearteningly to himself. I don't matter.
"No one is mad at you, Harry," Ron stated slowly, though Harry didn't believe him for an instant.
There was an awkward pause. Ron never took his eyes off Harry, but Harry didn't say anything in response. He simply continued to stare pointlessly at his blanket, absentmindedly smoothing the covers with his fingers. He just didn't know what the boy wanted from him. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? Why was the boy still here anyways? Couldn't he just leave Harry alone like everyone else always did?
"What you did last night… that was all our fault," Ron said seriously, in an apologetic tone. "Really, quite frankly to be honest with you, it was mostly my fault."
"What?" Harry asked blankly, all attempts to limit conversation with the red-haired boy long forgotten. He was so caught off guard by the boy's unexpected answer that he looked up from his blanket in surprise and finally met Ron's gaze for the first time since back in London.
"Fred, George, Ginny, and I… we shouldn't have bothered you, mate. Mum, Dad, Madam Pomfrey... they all warned us several times to leave you alone-" Ron began remorsefully.
They warned them to leave me alone. They must know I'm dangerous, Harry thought despondently, looking back down at his covers as he continued to absentmindedly smooth his covers. Harry didn't know why he felt so… disappointed, however, by the boy's comments. It's not like this was the first time he'd ever heard that from others… no one ever wanted to be around him… they all always acted like he had the plague or something….
They're right, his uncle's voice sneered in his head as cold chills ran down his back. Who would want to be around you, anyways? You are insignificant. Meaningless. Useless. Not worth a single breath.
"But we didn't listen," Ron continued, noticing with alarm the abrupt change in Harry's behavior but refusing to give up. "And you wound up getting hurt because of it. I never should have suggested come in here to check up on you. You couldn't help what happened last night, Harry, and I'm sorry for getting you in that mess in the first place."
Harry looked up at Ron, frowning in bafflement. Ron's last few words rang through his ears repeatedly, with confusion seeping in. 'You couldn't help what happened…' What was he talking about? Did he know something Harry didn't? Once again, Harry felt like these people were hiding something from him. But what was it? He couldn't quite figure it out….
Ron seemed to have noticed what he said, as his eyes widened in disconcertment and his face turned a bright shade of red. Ron hopped off Harry's bed and immediately looked around the room uncomfortably, as if searching for something to say to change the subject.
"Er… so… how do you like the room?" Ron asked awkwardly.
"What?" Harry asked, taken by surprise by the randomness of the boy's question.
"My bedroom. Do you like it?" Ron asked hopefully.
"Oh… yeah, it's great," Harry replied honestly.
"I hope you don't mind the color," Ron said uncertainly, staring at Harry once again to gauge his reaction. "It was decorated in my favorite sports team, but Mum and Dad made me take the posters down. They seemed to think that you wouldn't like them."
"I- I wouldn't have minded," Harry replied truthfully.
Ron grinned in response.
"I slept in here last night. I hope you don't care," Ron said.
"Why… why would I?" Harry asked in bewilderment, looking up at Ron. "It's your room."
"Yes, it is," Ron said, slightly chuckling at Harry's response once more. "I've been sleeping in my older brother Percy's room for the last several days so that you could have this room all to yourself, but after what happened last night, Mum and Dad thought it might be a good idea for me to sleep in here again. They're really worried about you, especially since you keep somehow hurting yourself-"
Harry's face flushed red with embarrassment. It's not like he did it on purpose….
"But Dad thinks ultimately you're afraid of them, and he doesn't want to make you feel any more uncomfortable than you already are, so he told Mum to give you some space."
Harry stiffened. Yes, he was afraid of the Weasleys, particularly the adults, but he hadn't meant to make it seem that obvious. He needed to be more inconspicuous.
"Personally, I also think they're afraid you're going to try to escape again… though I don't know why they would think that, really..." Ron said sarcastically, smiling as he said the last part.
Harry's eyes widened in concern. Did Mr. and Mrs. Weasley know the truth after all? Did they know he tried to run away last night, on more than one occasion? Did they know how much of a freak he really was?
"Anyways, I volunteered to stay with you, so that you have someone here just in case you need anything. So, if you need anything, just let me know, okay? Personally, I'd love any excuse to stay anywhere but in Percy's room," Ron said, hopping back onto his bed and lying back on his pillow with his hands tucked behind his head. "He just started a new job, and he won't shut up about it. He's been cornering everybody each chance he gets, trying to get anyone to listen to him boast about his new position in the Ministry. He's a bit annoying, if you ask me."
Harry rested his head on his own pillows and tiredly rubbed his eyes as Ron rambled on. He'd never had anyone talk to him this much in his entire life. But the real question was… why? Why was Ron being so forthcoming and cordial with him? Was he told to try to befriend Harry in an attempt to brainwash him? Was this all part of some larger plot that Harry didn't know of? Harry couldn't trust him.
"But, if you'd rather I leave, I will," Ron said awkwardly, once again looking at Harry to gauge his reaction. "Mum just doesn't want you left alone, so I'll have to go get her instead if you want me to leave."
"No!" Harry exclaimed worriedly, immediately sitting back up and looking up at Ron anxiously. He took a deep breath to calm himself down. "I-I mean, p-please s-stay."
Ron smiled widely, though Harry wasn't sure why. Why would he want to stay with Harry?
Harry's stomach rumbled uncontrollably. He was starving, as he hadn't yet eaten or drank anything since he arrived. While there was plenty of food and drinks on his nightstand table, he didn't trust eating or drinking any of it. He was certain Mrs. Weasley had drugged the food and drinks or laced them with poison. Why else would she go out of her way to prepare him food? He needed to eat something soon, however, but how? With the exception of last night, he was under constant supervision, and after what happened yesterday, it didn't seem they were ever going to leave him alone again.
After a few moments of an uncomfortable silence, he heard Ron take a deep breath.
"Ijustwantedtosaythankyouforsavingmylife," Ron mumbled quickly.
Harry raised his eyebrows in perplexity, completely caught off guard by Ron's words. He stared at Ron in bewilderment.
"Er… what?" Harry asked uncertainly.
"For saving my life back in London," Ron explained awkwardly, shifting uneasily on his bed as his cheeks burned bright red. The boy seemed to be slightly embarrassed. "There's no way I would have made it out of there alive without your help. I wanted to talk to you about it last night, but there just didn't seem to be a right time to do it... Fred and George still tease me relentlessly about the entire thing, so I didn't really want to say it in front of them… but… er… thanks, mate."
Harry frowned in confusion. He'd never been thanked before, let alone received any type of positive affirmation from his peers, and he didn't know how to deal with it. So he just shrugged it off.
"I think I did more harm than good," Harry muttered under his breath, staring darkly at his blankets. He thought Ron couldn't hear him, but he was proven wrong.
"Why would you say that?" Ron asked curiously.
Harry looked up at Ron suspiciously, skeptical of the boy's true intentions. After a few moments of looking the boy up and down, however, Harry realized that he wasn't taunting him at all, as would normally be the case. He seemed to genuinely want to know.
"It doesn't matter," Harry said, his gaze darting back downwards as he brushed off the boy's question.
"Yes, it does," Ron said patiently.
"No, it doesn't," Harry argued.
"Yes, it does matter," Ron said firmly.
Harry stared at Ron with a look of astonishment. This boy wasn't going to let it go, was he?
"Why did you say that?" Ron repeated calmly.
Well, let's see… I nearly got myself killed, hurt a half a dozen people in process, blew up several buildings, and now I'm stuck here to surely die a miserable death, Harry thought darkly to himself.
"It's just… it was all my fault," Harry said, without going into detail.
"How?" Ron pressed, unwearyingly awaiting an answer from Harry. Harry couldn't believe how tolerant and patient Ron was being with him.
When Harry didn't say anything, Ron continued talking.
"I was the one who got lost, Harry," he explained. "I was the one who was stupid enough to walk down a dark alleyway by myself in the middle of London. And I was the one who was too weak and pathetic to handle a group of thugs by myself. So, how is that all your fault?"
"I… I should have stopped them earlier when I had the chance," Harry said, referring to the gang of teens. His voice sounded really small as he continued staring at his blanket. "Instead… things happened… and people got hurt… and now I'm stuck here…"
"No, you're wrong," Ron said reassuringly. "No one else was hurt, besides you, and all of the buildings were put back together so it looked like nothing had ever happened in the first place. You couldn't control yourself. It was a total accident. Considering everything you've been through, it's completely understandable."
"What?" Harry asked, glancing at Ron in confusion. He sat up in bed straighter and his eyes flashed with alarm. How did Ron know that he'd lost control back in London? Did he know something Harry didn't? Even worse… did they all know how much of a freak he really was? "What are you talking about?"
"Oh…" Ron said, his face suddenly turning a dark shade of red once again. The boy had obviously said something he hadn't meant to say. "I only meant… er… never mind."
Now Harry knew there was something this boy was hiding from him… that everyone was hiding from him… but what was it?
"Hey, are you going to eat that?" Ron asked, hopping off his bed and gesturing to the breakfast tray lying on the nightstand. It consisted of several pieces of sliced toast on two large plates, a large bowl of applesauce, a large glass of orange juice, a large glass of water, and a steaming bowl of oatmeal. Harry's stomach grumbled hungrily just at the sight of it. While it all smelled delicious, Harry knew there was no way he was going to eat any of it.
Harry shook his head, still fearing the food was drugged. Ron approached the nightstand and picked up a piece of toast.
"Wait!" Harry exclaimed with foreboding, suddenly realizing what Ron was going to do. He couldn't let the boy eat it, no matter how much he didn't trust him. He didn't want the boy hurt again because of him. Surely his parents didn't want to drug or poison their son too!
"What's wrong, mate?" Ron asked in concern, freezing in the middle of trying to heave the toast in his mouth.
"I- I wouldn't eat that if I were you," Harry explained in a rush.
"Why not?" Ron asked in confusion, looking back and forth between Harry and the food in puzzlement. "It's just a piece of toast, Harry. I know it's not the best food in the world, but it's all my family can afford-"
"No, it's not just a piece of toast!" Harry said in exasperation, shaking his head in denial while trying desperately to make the boy understand.
"What are you talking about?" Ron asked, baffled by Harry's suddenly odd behavior.
"She put something in it!" Harry insisted, jumping to his knees in frustration while still remaining on the bed. He was trying to get his point across to the utterly clueless boy, but it seemed to be futile.
"'She put something in it?'" Ron repeated in disbelief, still holding up the uneaten piece of toast. "Who, my mum?"
Harry nodded fervently.
"And why would she do that?" Ron asked in perplexity.
Because that's what adults do, Harry thought dully to himself. At least, that's what Aunt Petunia does.
Harry didn't feel comfortable explaining himself to Ron, so he simply shrugged his shoulders in response.
"I don't know," Harry lied unconvincingly.
"Harry, you don't really think my mum was trying to drug you, do you?" Ron asked flabbergasted.
Yes, Harry thought darkly.
"Because that's just nonsense," Ron continued.
No, it's not, Harry said to himself. Aunt Petunia has done it to me several times. How could he get this boy to understand, without explaining himself to him?
"I'll prove it to you," Ron said bravely. The next thing he knew, Ron shoved the piece of toast in his mouth and swallowed it. Harry gasped in sheer horror, his eyes wide with shock. He couldn't believe how reckless and stupid Ron had just been! Harry had tried to warn him, but he went ahead and consumed the food anyways. He'd surely just poisoned himself, or worse, sentenced himself to death!
But Ron didn't stop there. To Harry's utter astonishment, Ron picked up the bowl of oatmeal, lifted it to his lips, and gulped down the bowl's entire contents within seconds. To make matters worse, Ron grabbed the orange juice and drained the glass of its contents as well.
Harry froze, watching carefully for what would happen next… how would he be able to save the boy when he ultimately succumbed to his untimely death? Did the woman realize that she had unintentionally drugged and poisoned her own son? Would they blame Harry for their son's predicament? A million different scenarios raced through Harry's troubled mind… and none of them ended well for Harry.
Several seconds went by, however, and nothing happened. Ron remained on his feet, staring at Harry with resolve and confidence. Harry frowned in confusion as the seconds turned into minutes and still nothing happened to the boy. Was Ron right? Was the food really safe to eat? Had the woman been telling Harry the truth after all this time?
"See, nothing happened," Ron said, setting the empty dishes back down on the table. "My mum wouldn't hurt a fly. She's a great cook, actually. I'm sure she'd love to make you something better to eat. I could ask her if you want me to. She's just downstairs."
"No!" Harry gasped. That was the last thing he wanted, to be coddled and fussed over by that woman once more. It made him so uncomfortable since he wasn't used to it.
"Well, I guess I could go downstairs and get you something myself if you'd like," Ron suggested, but Harry shook his head. He didn't want to inconvenience the boy, no matter how hungry he currently was.
Harry's throat was extremely dry. Should he risk drinking the water? The food and drinks were prepared by Mrs. Weasley solely for Harry, and Ron hadn't yet shown any symptoms of being drugged or poisoned, so was it all actually safe after all?
His uncontrollable thirst got the best of him. He couldn't stand waiting any longer. He reached out, grabbed the glass of water off the tray, and picked it up. Harry, however, had a very shaky grip on the glass. As he tried to raise it to his lips, the glass slipped from his trembling hands. The glass landed on the tray, emptying its contents all over the place. Harry gasped as he quickly tried to clean up the mess, but in the process, he wound up accidentally knocking the tray full of dishes off the nightstand. In what seemed like slow motion, Harry watched in horror as the tray and dishes fell to the floor with a loud crash. Sounds of breaking glass pierced Harry's ears as the plates, bowls, and glasses instantly shattered into dozens of tiny little pieces all over the floor. The remaining food and water was now splattered all over the floor, the nightstand, Harry's bed, and Harry himself.
Harry gasped, fear pulsing through his veins once more. What had he done? He immediately rolled off the bed, untangled himself from his sheets and blankets, and dropped to his knees in an effort to clean up the mess before Mrs. Weasley came back and found out that he'd broken all of the dishes she'd brought him. She'd surely kill him, as Aunt Petunia had tried on many occasions when Harry had done something as careless as this when he was little.
"What's wrong?" Ron asked anxiously, kneeling next to Harry, who was desperately trying to pick up the broken pieces of glass as fast as possible.
"She's going to kill me!" Harry exclaimed fearfully, picking the glass shards up so quickly that he wasn't watching what he was doing. Ron remained frozen at Harry's side, unsure of how to help him as he watched Harry apprehensively.
"No, she's not, Harry," Ron replied nonchalantly, but Harry immediately brushed his answer off. Ron obviously didn't understand the seriousness of this situation. Hadn't he ever broken a glass before? Of course, perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Weasley treated Ron like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had treated Dudley, so maybe Ron wouldn't understand Harry's dire predicament after all.
"Yes, she is!" Harry answered, hysterically. He was shaking from head to toe in terror, while trying to refrain from going into another full-blown panic attack. "She's going to be so mad at me! She's going to flay me alive!"
Ron stiffened next to Harry. Harry didn't look up as he continued to frantically pick up piece after piece, neglecting to be careful with the sharp shards in his hands.
"Wait, you don't actually think she's really going to kill you, do you?" Ron asked, as realization of Harry's words hit him.
"I broke it all!" Harry explained breathlessly, his hands full of dozens of broken shards at this point, as he tried to explain himself. "The plates, the bowls, the glasses… everything's a ruined mess, and it's all my fault!"
"Harry, people don't just kill each other over stupid broken dishes," Ron said, as if he were pointing out the most obvious and simple thing in the world. "They're just things."
"No, you don't understand," Harry answered frantically, shaking his head as his entire body continued to tremble in fear. "She's going to be so angry with me!"
"Harry, you're being irrational," Ron started, trying to gain Harry's attention, but to no avail. "Just stop and think about what you're doing for a moment. You're not making any sense, mate."
At that moment, the door burst open. Harry gasped as he instinctively squeezed his hands into extremely tight fists. He cried out in agonizing pain when he realized he still had the shards of glass in both hands. He lifted his hands up to evaluate the damage, and blood began to stream freely down both of his arms into the crooks of his elbows.
Harry didn't care about the injuries nor the blood, however. He knew Mrs. Weasley was here to punish him. This is it, Harry thought gloomily to himself. It's over. I'm dead.
"What's going on in here? I thought I heard something break," Ginny's voice drifted from the doorway. Harry relaxed a little, thankful it was just the little girl for now, and immediately continued to pick up the broken glass, ignoring Ginny in the doorway.
Ginny gasped when she saw Harry on the floor covered in blood. "Are you okay, Harry?"
"No, Harry's not okay," Ron gritted through his teeth as he tried to get Harry to stop, but to no avail. Unbeknownst to Harry, Ron didn't want to touch him, fearful of accidentally making the situation even worse.
"Ginny, go get Mum. Now!" Ron's voice flittered through Harry's ears, but he barely registered it. He was in so much trouble… and he completely deserved it. "Run!"
He didn't hear Ginny yelling frantically for her mother, nor the frenzied footsteps of the twins arriving at Ron's side moments later. Harry was so caught up with worrying about what was going to happen to him if he didn't get the mess cleaned up before Mrs. Weasley saw it.
The next thing he knew, Mrs. Weasley appeared in the doorway only a minute later. Harry froze in horror, his eyes wide in fright.
"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley gasped, rushing to his side in worry as she saw his arms covered in blood.
"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry," Harry stuttered, trying to pick up the pieces of glass that he just clumsily dropped again.
"What?" she asked, confused at the scene playing out before her eyes before rounding on her son. "Ron, what's going on?"
"He accidentally broke the dishes, Mum. He was trying to get a drink of water, but he couldn't hold the glass. It fell on the tray, and the tray fell to the floor. It was a complete accident. He didn't mean to do it," Ron explained worriedly, gesturing to the glass scattered on the floor.
"Oh, dear, you poor thing," Mrs. Weasley said empathetically, turning back towards Harry, but Harry ignored her.
"I'll-I'll-I'll r-r-replace it. I-I p-promise," Harry stuttered thoughtlessly. He continued to frantically pick up the broken pieces with his bloody hands, trying to get the entire mess cleaned up as quickly as possible. Maybe if he was fast enough in picking up the mess, she wouldn't be so upset with him.
"Harry, please stop," Mrs. Weasley's voice drifted through his ears, but he barely heard her. He had to get the mess picked up right then and there. He couldn't stop himself. He just couldn't explain it.
"Harry… stop," Mrs. Weasley repeated patiently, in the same temperate tone. Again, Harry didn't listen and he continued to desperately collect the broken pieces of glass.
"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said once again, more firmly as she kneeled down in front of him. This time, gentle hands grabbed onto both of his wrists. While Harry instinctively clenched his hands into fists once more at the uncomfortable human touch, causing the glass shards to embed even deeper into his skin and therefore cause even further damage to his hands, Mrs. Weasley had finally succeeded in getting Harry to stop.
Harry looked up in confusion, finally snapping out of his panicked state. Mrs. Weasley was kneeling right in front of him, looking at him with an extremely worried look on her face. Ron was standing directly behind her, looking slightly relieved that Harry had finally snapped out of it. The twins were standing off to the side, trying to figure out what was going on, and Ginny was standing in the doorway, albeit a bit out of breath from running down and up the stairs. Harry's gaze returned to Mrs. Weasley, and when he looked down, he realized that she was holding both of his wrists gently, yet firmly in place so that he couldn't move them anymore or cause himself any further harm.
"What are you doing, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice strangely calm as she looked into his eyes.
"I-I-I'm s-sorry, Mrs. Weasley," Harry gasped, his heart pounding in terror as he continued to clutch the shattered pieces of glass tightly in the palms of his hands. This had to be better, however, than the harsh punishment she was surely going to deal him in a matter of minutes, he thought.
"Harry, I'm not upset about the dishes," she said, as gently and calmly as he had ever heard anyone speak to him.
The words took a moment to sink in before they registered in Harry's mind.
"What?" Harry gasped in disbelief. What did she mean, she wasn't upset about the dishes? Why wouldn't she be upset? He had just ruined several of her valuable possessions… something she and her family had worked very hard for to buy… at least, that was something that his aunt and uncle had drilled into Harry's head from his time of living with them. His behavior had consequences, and now he needed to be punished by this woman for his carelessness. He deserved to be punished.
"Harry, it's okay. It's just two plates, two glasses, and two bowls. I have dozens more," she said soothingly, her gaze never straying from his eyes.
"But-" Harry said, confused. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. He'd never been talked to like this before… ever.
"It's okay," she repeated, firmly yet sweetly. She smiled reassuringly at him. "It was an accident, dear. It happens all the time around here, right children?"
"Yes, it does," Ron replied promptly, nodding in reassurance.
"Fred and George are always breaking things," Ginny added simply from the doorway. "Right, guys?"
"Oh, er, yeah," Fred and George muttered, catching on. "We blow up- er- break things around here all the time."
"Really?" Harry asked breathlessly, hopeful that maybe all wasn't lost after all.
"Yes, dear," Mrs. Weasley answered kindheartedly, tenderly squeezing Harry's wrists in reassurance. "Trust me, I'm used to it."
"Are you sure, Mrs. Wealsey?" Harry asked uncertainly, studying her face for any signs of regret or disappointment.
"Yes, dear, I'm positive," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling in good spirits. "I'm really not worried about it at all. Now, let's get you cleaned up."
"But-" Harry started, but he couldn't finished. He was truly at a loss for words.
"Yes, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, waiting unwearyingly for his response.
"What about the mess?" Harry asked, completely dumbfounded by her words. Wasn't she going to make him at least clean up his mess first? "I'm not done cleaning it up yet… don't you want me to clean it up first?"
"I'll finish cleaning it up later, dear. Right now, I'm more worried about you," Mrs. Weasley answered.
"'Me?'" Harry repeated perplexedly. "You're worried about me? Why?"
"Look at your hands, Harry," she said, gently turning them over and slowly prying them open. Harry obeyed and spread his fingers open, cringing at the pain from doing so. A few pieces of glass fell to the floor, but for the most part, nearly everything that Harry had picked up was now deeply embedded in his hands. "Let's get you all fixed up."
For the next thirty minutes, Harry sat up straight on the edge of his bed, with his hands obediently held out in front of him as Mrs. Weasley gently removed dozens of pieces of broken glass from his hands. The entire process stung and hurt, a lot, but Harry simply bit his lip and clenched his teeth as she used tweezers to remove the broken shards. Harry was thankful when the twins and Ginny left the room, as he hated all of the attention he was receiving, but Ron stood in the doorway the entire time, watching the scene unfold somberly and leaving only to retrieve the necessary medical supplies for Mrs. Weasley. When Mrs. Weasley was all done removing the glass from Harry's hands, she soaked his hands in a bowl of what she called healing solution for several minutes. She then covered his hands in a healing salve before tenderly wrapping his hands in fresh clean bandages. Of course, the only reason why Harry was letting her do any of this was because he was just thankful she wasn't punishing him for his reckless behavior… yet.
Harry studied Mrs. Weasley very carefully the entire time, waiting for a flicker of disappointment or anger to flash across her face, but thus, none came. Instead, she seemed genuinely concerned for Harry's well-being. She cringed and gasped each time she removed a particularly long piece of glass deeply embedded in his hand that she knew was going to be painful for Harry, and she was very careful not to cause him any further injury. Harry was impressed, awed, and absolutely confused by her unwarranted display of kindness and generosity towards him. He didn't deserve any of it.
"How does that feel?" Mrs. Weasley asked softly when she was done wrapping his hands heavily in the white bandages.
"It feels wonderful. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry mumbled bashfully, continuing to look up at her in appreciation. The woman smiled at Harry in reassurance once more, rose to her feet, and walked over to the dresser. She opened up the top drawer and pulled out a new pair of pajamas.
"Here you go, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, laying the pajamas down on Harry's bed. "Why don't you change into these?"
Harry nodded, mumbling a small "thanks" in gratitude. He grabbed the pajamas and watched as Mrs. Weasley made for the door. Harry frowned in confusion.
"Wait," Ron muttered, stopping his mother upon reaching the doorway. Ron had noticed Harry's reaction, and he gestured to her to look back at Harry.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked upon seeing the concerned look on his face.
"Aren't… aren't you going to punish me?" Harry asked hesitantly, peering at Mrs. Weasley intently for any recognizable sign that she was angry with him.
This time, Mrs. Weasley was the one who frowned in confusion.
"Punish you? Why would I punish you?" she asked, seemingly caught off guard by Harry's simple question.
"Because I broke your dishes," Harry answered simply.
"Harry," Mrs. Weasley scoffed at last. "They're just dishes. They're things. They can be replaced. You can't."
That's not what Aunt Petunia would say, Harry thought to himself, sighing heavily.
"Excuse me?" Mrs. Weasley asked in concern, staring at Harry intensely. "What did you just say?"
Harry gasped as he realized he'd said that last statement out loud. He scrambled to think of something to say, horrified that he had just spoken about his relatives out loud, but he didn't want to be caught in another lie.
"That's not what my aunt would say," Harry whispered, staring down at his bed sheets in utter humiliation.
Mrs. Weasley froze in horror, though since Harry refused to look up at the woman, he mistook her silence as anger towards him.
"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Weasley," Harry added shamefully. "I should have been more careful."
Mrs. Weasley sighed. Was she frustrated with him? Was she mad at him after all? If she was, her face didn't show it. She walked back over to Harry's bed and swiftly leaned down to get eye level with him once again.
"Harry James Potter, I already told you, I'm not worried about the dishes," she said, slowly yet resolutely. She patted his arm reassuringly. For once, Harry didn't even flinch.
"I know, but…" Harry couldn't finish his thought. He continued to stare at Mrs. Weasley. Surely she was mistaken… right? He deserved to be punished… that much was obvious. But how would she do it? Would she wait until he went to bed to get her revenge? Or, would she seek out her husband to deal out the punishment? Harry didn't know what to think. Quite honestly, he was terrified to find out.
"What is it, dear?" Mrs. Weasley urged, noticing the uneasy look in Harry's eyes.
Harry pursed his lips, unsure of what to say next. Should he be honest with the woman? Should he tell her what he was thinking?
"Never mind," Harry whispered, looking down at his blankets.
This time before leaving the room, Mrs. Weasley helped Harry change into his new pajamas. He was a bit embarrassed by help, but he had admit to himself that it would have taken him ages to successfully do it by himself. She fluffed Harry's pillows and helped Harry settle into his bed, gently pulling the covers over him. When she left the room, Harry let out a huge sigh of relief. He was lucky… for now. He knew when she returned, however, he'd surely be in trouble.
"Are you okay, mate?" Ron asked once more, looking at Harry uncertainly as he moved from his spot in the doorway.
Harry nodded slowly. His stomach rumbled angrily once more, which reminded him of how hungry and thirsty he was in the first place. After all that trouble, he hadn't even gotten a little sip of water. Harry groaned in desperation. He wasn't sure how much longer he could handle the hunger and thirst, even though in the back of his mind he knew from personal experience he could go weeks, even months, without eating or drinking.
Harry rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. He didn't feel like talking anymore, and desperately hoped Ron would get the hint. After everything that'd happened, he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep. He closed his eyes and was just about to doze off when Mrs. Weasley returned unexpectedly five minutes later, carrying a large tray of food and drinks.
"There you go," she said, smiling reassuringly as she set the lunch tray down on Harry's bed. Harry rubbed his tired eyes and slowly sat up again, confused at what was happening. "I brought enough soup and bread for the both of you to eat in case you're hungry and some drinks in case you're thirsty. You can pick out which dishes are yours, Harry. Ron will take whatever you don't want."
Harry gasped at the kind gesture. His gaze immediately flickered towards Ron, gauging his reaction, but Ron simply smiled reassuringly back and gestured for Harry to go ahead. Harry pointed out which dishes he wanted, and Mrs. Weasley settled them on his tray. She pulled a straw from her apron and dropped it in Harry's drink, before lifting the glass up to Harry.
"Are you still thirsty?" she asked, albeit cautiously.
Harry paused. The same question that he had agonized over two nights before rang through his ears. Could he trust her? Maybe he could try… she'd been nothing but nice to him, after all.
Ever so slowly, he nodded.
Harry, slightly embarrassed that she had to hold the glass for him, took his first sip of water in days. It was so delicious and refreshing that he drank the entire glass within seconds.
"Woah, Harry, slow down," Mrs. Weasley laughed as she set the empty glass back down on his tray. "You'll want to pace yourself dear so that you don't make yourself sick. Why don't you try a small bite to eat?"
Mrs. Weasley stayed by his side as he shakily picked up the piece of bread, tore off a tiny piece, and put it in his mouth. The bread was so fresh and tasty. It was the most amazing piece of bread he had ever tasted in his entire life. He was only able to take two bites before his stomach began protesting. The full glass of water and the two bites of bread had caused him to now feel a bit queasy.
"Are you full, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked worriedly as Harry clenched his aching stomach.
Harry nodded, uncertain of how she would react to him not eating all of the food that was offered to him. Would she hit him over the head with the lunch tray for disrespecting the time and effort she put into making the food, or would she simply slap him for neglecting the untouched bowl of soup?
But she did neither. Instead, she simply removed his lunch tray and wordlessly helped him settle back down under his covers. He couldn't even remember his head hitting the pillows as he fell into a peaceful sleep.
The next time Harry woke up, it was early morning. The sun had yet to rise, and it was pitch black outside. That wasn't what woke him, however. His stomach was rumbling quite loudly. He was hungry. His appetite had returned at full throttle, and he was ravenous. He had been holding out for too long, and he had to find something to eat… now.
Harry shoved his glasses on and carefully looked around the room, which was shrouded in darkness. The snores from the other bed across the room signaled that Ron had stayed true to this word and was sleeping in the bed next to his. Harry looked over at the nightstand and frowned in disappointment. Mrs. Weasley had cleared all of the food away, leaving behind only a glass of water. That wouldn't help him now. He needed food.
Carefully and quietly, he climbed out of bed, tiptoed across the room, and cautiously opened the door. He poked his head out and looked up and down the darkened hallway. It seemed that everyone in the house was asleep. He put his hand out to balance himself and slowly walked along the wall. It took him nearly thirty minutes to get downstairs, much longer than it should have taken, but he successfully walked down the five flights of stairs. He was absolutely exhausted by the time he reached the last step, and he was utterly dreading the seemingly impossible trek back upstairs.
That is, if he went back upstairs. Once he got something to eat, Harry was seriously considering sneaking out of the house and carrying out his escape plan. Of course, he'd have to see how he felt after he got some food. He barely had any energy left right now, so an escape attempt at this point could prove to be reckless.
He walked towards the darkened kitchen. He felt his way around in the darkness… he felt the cabinets, the refrigerator (that oddly enough wasn't making any noise), the stove, more cabinets… then he found it. The trashcan.
At any other house, the trashcan was like a palace of wasted food… delicious rations of perfectly suitable food that people simply threw away when they couldn't bother eating any more. At this house, however, Harry realized as he sifted through the tall container of rubbish, he couldn't seem to find any evidence of food that was thrown out at all.
How odd, he thought in puzzlement after several minutes of unsuccessfully digging through the trash. What do they do with the leftovers when they're done eating?
He was almost done digging through the trashcan when an unexpected voice startled him from behind. Harry, who nearly had his head buried in the trashcan while sorting through the bottom of the rubbish, froze. Perhaps if he didn't make any sudden movements, they wouldn't see him? It was still dark in the kitchen, after all….
"Harry!" a woman's voice cried in astonishment.
Harry jumped nearly a mile high and fell backwards into the kitchen table with a loud crash, knocking the trashcan over and spilling its contents all over the floor. A light overhead flickered on, and Mrs. Weasley's baffled face came into view. She was standing at the foot of the stairs in her housecoat. He must have woken her up somehow.
"Harry!" she shrieked again, shock written all over her face as she stared at the unusual scene taking place right before her eyes. Harry, who'd landed on his back on the floor, immediately sat up in alarm.
"Molly, is something wrong?" Mr. Weasley's voice hollered down the staircase, accompanied by hurried footsteps. Harry inwardly groaned as his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. This was turning into his worst case scenario after all.
"What is this? Harry, what's going on?" Mr. Weasley asked as he entered the kitchen right behind his wife, the expression on his face mirroring that of Mrs. Weasley's.
"I… er…" Harry tried to explain, but there were no words. What was he supposed to say? Would they even believe him? He realized he was still holding a piece of trash in his right hand and quickly dropped it.
"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley repeated patiently.
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, staring at his knees in shame at being caught.
"Sorry?" Mrs. Weasley asked in surprise, taken aback by Harry's words. "My dear, what on earth are you sorry for this time?"
"Uh…" Harry began, gulping in trepidation as he tried to figure out what to say.
"Son?" Mr. Weasley pressed firmly, yet gently.
"I'm sorry for digging through your trash, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. I… I c-couldn't help it…" Harry stammered in humiliation, staring at the floor in shame.
"You couldn't help it? What are you talking about, dear?" Mrs. Weasley replied, perplexed.
Harry didn't know what to say. How could he explain himself?
"Harry, why were you digging through the trash?" Mr. Weasley asked slowly.
"I-I was hungry," Harry whispered, looking up at Mrs. Weasley worriedly. He hoped she wouldn't be mad at him.
"You… you were hungry?" Mrs. Weasley gasped in bewilderment, her mouth gaped open in confusion.
"I-I d-didn't w-want to s-steal any of your food, so… I f-figured I'd look through the trash instead. I-I thought you w-wouldn't m-miss it if I took food from the trashcan. I-I'm sorry," Harry stuttered shamefully.
"Oh, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley cried, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. She rushed over, her hands held out wide, as she kneeled down and pulled Harry into a tight embrace. Harry violently flinched and instantly stiffened at the unfamiliar gesture, but Mrs. Weasley didn't let go for several seconds. When she pulled back, she had tears streaming down her cheeks. Harry frowned in confusion. What had he done this time to upset her?
"Don't you ever dig through our trash again, young man," she said sternly, though she didn't seem angry with him, which baffled Harry all the more.
"Yes, ma'am," Harry muttered apologetically, his eyes staring at the floor once more in shame. He'd surely be punished now. Harry cringed at the thought of what the punishment would be. He was in the kitchen, after all… where there were plenty of options to torture him with…. Harry shook his head as horrifying memories threatened to overcome him once again. He couldn't deal with those right now. "I'm sorry."
"If you're ever hungry again," Mrs. Weasley continued on, patting him gently on the shoulders. "I want you to wake one of us up, or have one of the children wake us up, or just come downstairs and get it yourself."
"Wait… what?" Harry asked uncertainly, glancing at Mrs. Weasley to make sure he wasn't misunderstanding her. Now he was the one who was confused.
"Harry, you don't have to dig through the trashcan just to get food around here," Mr. Weasley said decisively. "Our food is your food. You are welcome to everything here."
"Everything," Mrs. Weasley emphasized determinedly. "Anytime."
Harry frowned in bewilderment. Why would these people do something so… nice? Harry was practically a complete stranger, yet they were offering up their food to him… for free? It didn't make any sense… it was extremely un-Dursley-like.
"Well, since we're here, why don't I just make something delicious for all of us to eat?" Mrs. Weasley asked.
"I think a pre-breakfast snack sounds wonderful, Molly," Mr. Weasley answered, grinning and pecking his wife affectionately on the lips. Mrs. Weasley immediately turned on her feet, setting off to prepare some type of meal for the three of them to eat. Mr. Weasley turned to Harry. "Why don't you have a seat, Harry, while I clean this mess up?"
"Are you sure, sir?" Harry asked hesitantly. "I can clean it up for you… it was my fault, after all…."
"No worries, son," Mr. Weasley said resolutely, picking up the trashcan. The tone in his voice meant the man left no room for Harry to argue. "Just have a seat, Harry."
Without thinking, Harry instinctively scooted away to the far corner of the kitchen, assuming he was following Mr. Weasley's instructions. But Mr. Weasley, however, frowned in confusion when he saw what Harry had done.
"Harry, is something wrong?" Mr. Weasley asked tentatively, frozen in place while still holding the empty trashcan in his hands.
"No, sir," Harry replied nervously.
"Then why did you move to the corner of the room?" Mr. Weasley clarified, setting the empty trashcan back down. Mrs. Weasley stopped looking through the kitchen cabinets and froze in place, watching the scene play out before her eyes.
Harry gasped, realizing he'd done something wrong yet again. Why did he always mess up?
"I-I'm s-sorry, sir," Harry began timidly, trembling in fear once again. "I… I thought you wanted me to sit over here. Is… is there someplace you would like me to sit… that would be better?"
"Well, yes, obviously," Mr. Weasley stated, though he seemed to be at such a loss of words that he couldn't manage to finish his sentence.
"Harry, please, come have a seat at the kitchen table," Mrs. Weasley spoke up kindly, gesturing towards an empty chair.
"What?" Harry asked, taken aback by the absurdity of the instruction. He had never, in he entire life, sat at a kitchen table before. The Dursleys had strictly forbidden it, forcing Harry to eat his pathetic meals on the floor in the corner of the kitchen.
"Son, in this house, everyone eats at the kitchen table," Mr. Weasley stated compassionately, regaining his composure.
"Are you sure, sir?" Harry asked uncertainly, still in disbelief at the odd request. "I don't want to get it dirty-"
"Yes, Harry," Mr. Weasley replied, nodding his head in reassurance. "I am certain. In fact, it would make both Molly and I feel better if you sat at the kitchen table with us. Here, let me help you."
Mr. Weasley slowly walked over, gently pulled Harry to his feet, and guided him to the kitchen table. Mrs. Weasley pulled a chair out for Harry to sit in and helped Mr. Weasley lower Harry into it.
Freaks aren't allowed to sit at the kitchen table, his aunt's voice rang through his ears. You might contaminate the food with the filthiness that's inside you. Harry shivered at the cold reminder, but was thankful the Weaslelys didn't seem to notice his reaction.
Harry watched as Mr. Weasley picked up all of the trash off the kitchen floor, while Mrs. Weasley walked around the kitchen, opening cabinets and retrieving items from them. All the while, he sat in astonishment, thinking about what was happening to him. Mr. Weasley was cleaning up the mess that he had made… Mrs. Weasley was making food in the middle of the night because he was hungry… and now he was sitting at the kitchen table because the adults insisted on it… all of it felt extremely odd and slightly awkward, but Harry was more than willing to comply with the Weasleys' demands as long as it meant keeping them content and happy for the time being. He didn't want to upset them anymore than he already had.
"What would you like to eat, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked excitedly from her position at the kitchen sink.
"Excuse me?" Harry asked, taken aback by the unusual question.
"You obviously came down here because you're hungry, dear, so what can I make you to eat?" she rephrased.
"May I have a piece of bread, please, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry requested, hoping it wasn't too much to ask of her.
"And what else?, dear" she asked kindly.
"Just a piece of bread will be fine, Mrs. Weasley," Harry muttered awkwardly, staring down at the kitchen table one again. He didn't want to have to bother her or have her go out of her way to make him something to eat in the middle of the night. "Thank you, ma'am."
"It is most certainly not!" Mrs. Weasley immediately cried out, the look on her face one of shock and disgust.
"Pardon me?" Harry whispered worriedly. What had he said that upset her this time? He didn't understand. Was she mad at him?
"Harry, you have to eat something other than a piece of bread," she said, regaining her composure. Her tone was much softer than before.
"Why?" Harry asked blankly.
"Because it's not healthy," she replied.
The Dursleys never thought so, Harry thought darkly.
"What else would you like to eat with it?" she pressed on.
"Really, Mrs. Weasley, I don't want to trouble you…" Harry said uncertainly.
"Harry, dear, this is what I do for a living. I am a mother to seven wonderful children. I spend my days making sure my children's needs are met, and I absolutely enjoy every single minute of it. Making you something to eat in the middle of the night is no problem at all. It's what I do. You will only be bothering me if you don't start eating something soon, dear. Madam Pomfrey is already reconsidering her decision to keep you here. After what happened the other night, I think she's worried we can't take care of you properly. And unfortunately, if you don't start eating soon, you're going to prove her right."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley," Harry mumbled, bowing his head in shame.
Harry heard the sound of footsteps approaching him, but he kept staring at the kitchen table uncomfortably. Gently fingers reached out and touched underneath his chin, slowly tilting his chin upwards so that he was forced to look up. Mrs. Weasley successfully caught his attention.
"Don't be sorry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling reassuringly. Harry couldn't help but be in awe of how nice she was being to him. "Now, what else would you like to eat?"
"May I have some cheese, please?" Harry asked timidly. Harry glanced back down at the kitchen table, so he missed Mrs. Weasley's exasperated look of indignation, but he did see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchange expressive glances, so Mrs. Weasley dropped the conversation and continued preparing Harry something to eat.
Fifteen minutes later, Mrs. Weasley sat a bowl of chicken broth down in front of him, along with a plate of freshly baked bread and a few slices of cheese. Harry instinctively reached for the bread and began tearing tiny pieces off, slowly nibbling on them one piece at a time. He was uncomfortably aware that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were watching him very closely. Were they afraid that he'd do something? After three bites, Harry couldn't eat anymore.
"Are you full already, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked carefully.
Harry frowned, disappointed that for the second time in a row, he couldn't finish his meal. Surely she'd force it down his throat this time? His aunt had done that to him once before when she had caught him sneaking some bites of dinner before a meal. Harry shivered at the recollection.
"Yes, ma'am," Harry whispered regretfully. "I'm sorry for wasting it."
"Don't worry, dear. It's perfectly fine. Madam Pomfrey said it could take several weeks, even months, to get your appetite back to normal. You'll have to work back up to it, I suppose," Mrs. Weasley said reassuringly, removing Harry's untouched food. "You look exhausted, Harry. Why don't you go on back up to bed? I daresay you need your rest."
Harry stared at her in bafflement.
"Yes, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked patiently as she placed the dishes in the sink. She had obviously seen the confused look on his face.
"Aren't… aren't you mad?" he asked nervously.
"Mad? Why would I be mad?" she replied, confounded. She looked up at him in bewilderment.
"Because I didn't eat all of my food…" Harry trailed off anxiously.
"Why would I be mad at you for that?" she asked patiently.
Harry paused, trying to figure out what to say. His aunt's screams filled his ears.
"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley prodded once more.
"Because you spent your hard-earned money to buy the food, and you worked hard to make it, and I didn't eat it, so…." Harry started, but Mr. Weasley cut him off.
"But you tried, dear, and that's all that matters to me. It's a start," Mrs. Weasley answered, giving in a reassuring smile.
There was an awkward silence, as Harry tried to figure out if she was being honest with him or not.
"Harry, there's nothing you can do that would make us mad at you," Mr. Weasley explained calmly.
I doubt that, Harry thought darkly. You'll change your mind when you realize how much of a freak I really am.
Now feeling extremely full, Harry severely struggled walking back up the stairs by himself. He was so sleepy that his eyelids wouldn't stay open. He had to grab onto the railing with all his might to keep himself from falling asleep right then and there on the steps. After a few minutes of struggling on his own, he barely noticed Mr. Weasley half-carry, half-drag him up to his room the rest of the way. Before he knew it, he was lying down in his bed again, with Mr. Weasley pulling the covers over him. Sleep welcomed him instantaneously.
A/N: And there we go. Another chapter down.
I am so very sorry for taking so long to post this chapter! I really thought I had finished writing it until I started making some simple changes here and there… and before I knew it, I had completely destroyed the chapter. I hope you liked it!