Chapter 2: A Letter of Hope
It was later that afternoon that Harry shook himself awake. His head had fallen against a bush and the indentations of a branch marred and creased the back of his neck. His left arm was stiff, the sleeve had fallen back down. He rolled it up to look at his handiwork. Blood had dried against his arm, and it was a good thing he was wearing a black shirt because it was clear some had stained the inside of his sleeve. The cut itself had gone fairly deep, the needle, which Harry found in his lap, was almost halfway coated in dried blood. Smiling to himself, Harry stood up and brushed the dirt and leaves off of his back and legs. He slipped through the door and hurried up to the bathroom, where he slowly washed the blood off of his arm. The warm water caused the cut to start bleeding again, and Harry used a tissue to stop the bleeding as he almost lovingly caressed and cleaned the needle. Hurrying back to his room, he tore the bloodied tissue up into small pieces and threw them in the trash. Just as he was finishing up, he heard the soft flutter of wings outside his window. Opening it, his snowy owl, Hedwig, fluttered into the room. Harry's sleeve, still partially rolled up, revealed the tail end of the cut. The owl glared at Harry and tugged viciously at his sleeve, covering the new cut. She wasn't too careful either, and her beak caught on his skin.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry Hedwig. But you don't understand, I know it's bad but it's something I have to do. Now what is that?"
Harry reached for a letter attached to Hedwig's leg, but the owl shook him off. It was clear that he was going to have to play on her terms. He sighed and sat down on the bed. Hedwig hopped up onto the window sill and started chattering at him in what could only be a reprimand. Harry began to feel ashamed. He hated the cutting- it made him weak. But it took so much else away, so much of the pain in living. The scars on his arms, legs, and hips would heal. The ones in his mind never would. Burying his head in his hands, Harry tried to calm himself down before he started crying. A soft weight on his knee and he fumbled to pull Hedwig closer, the bird didn't resist, strangely aware of Harry's need for comfort. After Harry sat up, the owl offered up her leg. Harry pulled the small parchment off and read the familiar handwriting.
Dear Harry,
How are things with the Muggles? Mum and Dad have invited Bill and Charlie back home for the three days before we leave for Hogwarts. They said you could come over early- maybe tomorrow? Hermione is already here, her parents went on vacation and you know Hermione, she wanted to study instead. I'll never understand her. Oh, forgot to tell you, we're going to Diagon Alley as well to get school supplies. Write back soon! If you can come, we'll be there at 11:00 tomorrow morning so be ready!
Your friend,
Ron Weasley
Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry put the letter down. Running downstairs, he found his aunt busy doing the wash. The instant he told her he had been invited to Ron's, a mixture of disgust and pleasure crossed her face.
"Another wizard?? Well I suppose it will keep you out of Dudley's hair, the poor baby is so nervous about starting school. Fine, you may go. In fact, the sooner the better- we have guests tomorrow night anyway."
A faint smile cracked on Harry's face as he repeatedly thanked his aunt, who hid an embarrassed grin behind an annoyed look.
"Go boy! If you expect to go on this little trip, I expect some chores to get done. Now, I want you to sweep the front steps, weed the flower garden, dust the pictures of my Dudley- now be careful if you break one deal's off, you hear me? Oh, and don't forget."
Harry barely heard her, and he nodded agreeably to her demands, lost in a happy daze. Just tonight! That wasn't enough time for Uncle Vernon to do anything, especially if Harry would be around friends the next day. As far as Ron and Hermione knew, his aunt and uncle, although annoying and rude, were at least kind and never hurt him. If only they knew. Harry shook his head defiantly. He could take anything that was thrown at him. He had to. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It was already past dinnertime, and although Dudley had come home dirty but in an overall good mood. Harry knew what that meant- some neighborhood kid was sporting a few new bruises. He tried to stay out of his cousin's way- when Dudley was happy, he picked on Harry more. But Aunt Petunia was worried. Uncle Vernon still hadn't shown up, and he was never late for dinner. She paced the hallway anxiously, murmuring to herself. Dudley put on a facetiously worried expression, patting his mother's back and offering reassurances. Trying to stay out of the way, Harry tried to busy himself packing for Ron's , but he couldn't concentrate. It wasn't like Uncle Vernon to be late- but when he was, it usually meant that he had been drinking. An involuntary shiver coursed down Harry's spine, and he almost dropped the black robe he was folding.
The creak of a door opening, and Aunt Petunia's reprimanding but relieved exclamations let it be known that his uncle was home. Harry listened carefully and was able to make out the distinct slurring of words as Uncle Vernon made his excuses for being late. The distinct sound of heavy footsteps sounded as his uncle made his way upstairs. Harry threw the robe into the trunk and hid, crouched behind his desk. The door to his room opened, and Harry watched as his uncle, red-eyed and smelling strongly of alcohol, stumbled through the room.
"Harry boy I can see you. There's no point in trying to hide. I hear you're leaving for one of the freak's homes soon? Good, the sooner the better. I'll just have to leave you something to remember me by."
It was later that afternoon that Harry shook himself awake. His head had fallen against a bush and the indentations of a branch marred and creased the back of his neck. His left arm was stiff, the sleeve had fallen back down. He rolled it up to look at his handiwork. Blood had dried against his arm, and it was a good thing he was wearing a black shirt because it was clear some had stained the inside of his sleeve. The cut itself had gone fairly deep, the needle, which Harry found in his lap, was almost halfway coated in dried blood. Smiling to himself, Harry stood up and brushed the dirt and leaves off of his back and legs. He slipped through the door and hurried up to the bathroom, where he slowly washed the blood off of his arm. The warm water caused the cut to start bleeding again, and Harry used a tissue to stop the bleeding as he almost lovingly caressed and cleaned the needle. Hurrying back to his room, he tore the bloodied tissue up into small pieces and threw them in the trash. Just as he was finishing up, he heard the soft flutter of wings outside his window. Opening it, his snowy owl, Hedwig, fluttered into the room. Harry's sleeve, still partially rolled up, revealed the tail end of the cut. The owl glared at Harry and tugged viciously at his sleeve, covering the new cut. She wasn't too careful either, and her beak caught on his skin.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry Hedwig. But you don't understand, I know it's bad but it's something I have to do. Now what is that?"
Harry reached for a letter attached to Hedwig's leg, but the owl shook him off. It was clear that he was going to have to play on her terms. He sighed and sat down on the bed. Hedwig hopped up onto the window sill and started chattering at him in what could only be a reprimand. Harry began to feel ashamed. He hated the cutting- it made him weak. But it took so much else away, so much of the pain in living. The scars on his arms, legs, and hips would heal. The ones in his mind never would. Burying his head in his hands, Harry tried to calm himself down before he started crying. A soft weight on his knee and he fumbled to pull Hedwig closer, the bird didn't resist, strangely aware of Harry's need for comfort. After Harry sat up, the owl offered up her leg. Harry pulled the small parchment off and read the familiar handwriting.
Dear Harry,
How are things with the Muggles? Mum and Dad have invited Bill and Charlie back home for the three days before we leave for Hogwarts. They said you could come over early- maybe tomorrow? Hermione is already here, her parents went on vacation and you know Hermione, she wanted to study instead. I'll never understand her. Oh, forgot to tell you, we're going to Diagon Alley as well to get school supplies. Write back soon! If you can come, we'll be there at 11:00 tomorrow morning so be ready!
Your friend,
Ron Weasley
Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry put the letter down. Running downstairs, he found his aunt busy doing the wash. The instant he told her he had been invited to Ron's, a mixture of disgust and pleasure crossed her face.
"Another wizard?? Well I suppose it will keep you out of Dudley's hair, the poor baby is so nervous about starting school. Fine, you may go. In fact, the sooner the better- we have guests tomorrow night anyway."
A faint smile cracked on Harry's face as he repeatedly thanked his aunt, who hid an embarrassed grin behind an annoyed look.
"Go boy! If you expect to go on this little trip, I expect some chores to get done. Now, I want you to sweep the front steps, weed the flower garden, dust the pictures of my Dudley- now be careful if you break one deal's off, you hear me? Oh, and don't forget."
Harry barely heard her, and he nodded agreeably to her demands, lost in a happy daze. Just tonight! That wasn't enough time for Uncle Vernon to do anything, especially if Harry would be around friends the next day. As far as Ron and Hermione knew, his aunt and uncle, although annoying and rude, were at least kind and never hurt him. If only they knew. Harry shook his head defiantly. He could take anything that was thrown at him. He had to. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It was already past dinnertime, and although Dudley had come home dirty but in an overall good mood. Harry knew what that meant- some neighborhood kid was sporting a few new bruises. He tried to stay out of his cousin's way- when Dudley was happy, he picked on Harry more. But Aunt Petunia was worried. Uncle Vernon still hadn't shown up, and he was never late for dinner. She paced the hallway anxiously, murmuring to herself. Dudley put on a facetiously worried expression, patting his mother's back and offering reassurances. Trying to stay out of the way, Harry tried to busy himself packing for Ron's , but he couldn't concentrate. It wasn't like Uncle Vernon to be late- but when he was, it usually meant that he had been drinking. An involuntary shiver coursed down Harry's spine, and he almost dropped the black robe he was folding.
The creak of a door opening, and Aunt Petunia's reprimanding but relieved exclamations let it be known that his uncle was home. Harry listened carefully and was able to make out the distinct slurring of words as Uncle Vernon made his excuses for being late. The distinct sound of heavy footsteps sounded as his uncle made his way upstairs. Harry threw the robe into the trunk and hid, crouched behind his desk. The door to his room opened, and Harry watched as his uncle, red-eyed and smelling strongly of alcohol, stumbled through the room.
"Harry boy I can see you. There's no point in trying to hide. I hear you're leaving for one of the freak's homes soon? Good, the sooner the better. I'll just have to leave you something to remember me by."