God I hate school projects. But not horse shows. Those were fun! Sorry
it's taken so long
Chapter 4: Questions Without Answers
"Harry! Harry, wake up!" The black-haired teenager sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. Finally able to focus, Harry stared blearily at the boy in front of him, his head swimming in dizziness for a moment before he could fully concentrate. "What, Ron? It's too early." Harry made to curl back up and snuggle under the warm covers when he felt hands grasping at his shoulders. The sudden touch made him sit bolt upright, and it took all of his willpower not to shrink back from Ron's hands. Relieved to find his friend didn't think his reaction, odd, Harry pulled himself out of bed, trying to mask the fact that he was shaking. Calm down, idiot! He told himself sharply. This is Ron, just Ron. Still lost in his internal reprimand, he headed in front of Ron for the stairs, not even hearing Ron's voice. He caught Harry just before going down the first step.
"Hey, Harry! Going deaf? I've been yelling at you to stop. Well, here, you can't go downstairs yet, mum said to keep you alone so you have to wait, hmm, oh just stay here for a few minutes. Ron opened a closet door and before Harry could protest, pushed him inside, slamming the only escape route shut. The sudden dark made Harry sink to his knees, rocking, the dizziness he had just shaken away came back in an acute wave. His breathing quickened, his heart pounding and a sudden roaring in his ears made him gasp, his lungs searching for air that wasn't there. "Please, Ron! Ron? God let me out!"
Harry tried to scream, tried to pound on the door, but only hoarse whispers escaped his suddenly dry lips, and he didn't trust his balance enough to reach out the few inches needed. Instead he curled on the floor, lost in memories. He felt over and over the weight of fists and belts pelting at his head, his sides, his stomach. The weight of his uncle's body pressing down on him, an unseen force that hurt, hurt more than anything he had ever done to himself. Without noticing, his nails dug into the palm of his hand, finally puncturing through skin and allowing blood to slowly seep through and stain his cuticles a crimson pink. Sweat stung his scar and dripped into his eyes, blinding him further against the invisible man who would not let him go.
The tears that had refused to come for all those years, that he had forbidden to come, now fell in a silent torrent, mixing with sweat into a salty river that fell across his cheek and dripped down his lips. His breath came in harsh, ragged gasps, muffled in the various garments hanging in the closet. Bringing his arms in to his chest, he could smell the coppery tint of blood and mechanically brought his palm across the inside hem of his shirt, wiping the red stain off his hand. Suddenly he paused, straining. Someone was approaching! He quickly tried to wipe the tears away, but it was too late. The door opened and a burst of light revealed Harry's fear and pain. Ron took one look at Harry, his large eyes widening under a shock of brilliant red hair. "Mum? Come here, quick. Something's wrong with Harry!"
In an instant, Mrs. Weasley had shooed Ron away from the door and knelt down in front of Harry. Slowly she raised her hand, and unconsciously, Harry jerked back. "Harry, boy, it's okay. Whatever happened, it's okay. Come here." She inched her hand forward, until it brushed Harry's sweat-soaked forehead. Putting her hand around the back of his head, she pulled him close, into a tight embrace.
Surprised at the sudden contact, Harry tried to pull back, but somehow his efforts seemed only half-hearted. The comfort of Mrs. Weasley's arms far surpassed any comfort he could offer himself and, for the first time he could remember, Harry allowed himself to be weak, to lean his head against her soft shoulder, to trust his trembling body to another person. Suddenly he was tired, so tired. He could hear voices...something about Sirius, something about a Lily...Dumbeldore...Professor Snape...Lily? It took Harry longer than usual to recognize the mention of his mother's name, but at the moment all he could think about was sleep. Forcing his eyes open, Harry struggled again against the embrace, managing to pull away, although unable to meet the kind woman's eyes. A quick glance at Ron made him even more embarrassed. Not only did his friend seem confused and worried, but a trace of sympathy flickered in his eyes for the brief moment that their gazes locked. Harry gritted his teeth together. Sympathy. He thought, "I don't deserve any sympathy." Averting his eyes, Harry mumbled an apology and the half-hearted excuse of finding Hedwig to take a walk. Turning quickly, he almost fell down the stairs before he caught himself. He heard Ron try to follow, and Mrs. Weasley's voice calling her son back. With an almost desperate lunge, he stumbled out the door and into the warm air. His hair stuck in damp clumps against the back of his neck and forehead as he hurried away, tripping over his own feet in his haste.
He had thought he was safe here, that his uncle could never penetrate into this other side of Harry, this untouchable, revered Harry Potter. If only they knew. Their champion Potter, defeated Voldemort as a baby and can't even stand up against his own uncle. A muggle uncle no less! A failure, a disappointment. That was all he was. Why did life have to keep reminding him of that?
He just wanted to get away. Was that really so much to ask?
Chapter 4: Questions Without Answers
"Harry! Harry, wake up!" The black-haired teenager sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. Finally able to focus, Harry stared blearily at the boy in front of him, his head swimming in dizziness for a moment before he could fully concentrate. "What, Ron? It's too early." Harry made to curl back up and snuggle under the warm covers when he felt hands grasping at his shoulders. The sudden touch made him sit bolt upright, and it took all of his willpower not to shrink back from Ron's hands. Relieved to find his friend didn't think his reaction, odd, Harry pulled himself out of bed, trying to mask the fact that he was shaking. Calm down, idiot! He told himself sharply. This is Ron, just Ron. Still lost in his internal reprimand, he headed in front of Ron for the stairs, not even hearing Ron's voice. He caught Harry just before going down the first step.
"Hey, Harry! Going deaf? I've been yelling at you to stop. Well, here, you can't go downstairs yet, mum said to keep you alone so you have to wait, hmm, oh just stay here for a few minutes. Ron opened a closet door and before Harry could protest, pushed him inside, slamming the only escape route shut. The sudden dark made Harry sink to his knees, rocking, the dizziness he had just shaken away came back in an acute wave. His breathing quickened, his heart pounding and a sudden roaring in his ears made him gasp, his lungs searching for air that wasn't there. "Please, Ron! Ron? God let me out!"
Harry tried to scream, tried to pound on the door, but only hoarse whispers escaped his suddenly dry lips, and he didn't trust his balance enough to reach out the few inches needed. Instead he curled on the floor, lost in memories. He felt over and over the weight of fists and belts pelting at his head, his sides, his stomach. The weight of his uncle's body pressing down on him, an unseen force that hurt, hurt more than anything he had ever done to himself. Without noticing, his nails dug into the palm of his hand, finally puncturing through skin and allowing blood to slowly seep through and stain his cuticles a crimson pink. Sweat stung his scar and dripped into his eyes, blinding him further against the invisible man who would not let him go.
The tears that had refused to come for all those years, that he had forbidden to come, now fell in a silent torrent, mixing with sweat into a salty river that fell across his cheek and dripped down his lips. His breath came in harsh, ragged gasps, muffled in the various garments hanging in the closet. Bringing his arms in to his chest, he could smell the coppery tint of blood and mechanically brought his palm across the inside hem of his shirt, wiping the red stain off his hand. Suddenly he paused, straining. Someone was approaching! He quickly tried to wipe the tears away, but it was too late. The door opened and a burst of light revealed Harry's fear and pain. Ron took one look at Harry, his large eyes widening under a shock of brilliant red hair. "Mum? Come here, quick. Something's wrong with Harry!"
In an instant, Mrs. Weasley had shooed Ron away from the door and knelt down in front of Harry. Slowly she raised her hand, and unconsciously, Harry jerked back. "Harry, boy, it's okay. Whatever happened, it's okay. Come here." She inched her hand forward, until it brushed Harry's sweat-soaked forehead. Putting her hand around the back of his head, she pulled him close, into a tight embrace.
Surprised at the sudden contact, Harry tried to pull back, but somehow his efforts seemed only half-hearted. The comfort of Mrs. Weasley's arms far surpassed any comfort he could offer himself and, for the first time he could remember, Harry allowed himself to be weak, to lean his head against her soft shoulder, to trust his trembling body to another person. Suddenly he was tired, so tired. He could hear voices...something about Sirius, something about a Lily...Dumbeldore...Professor Snape...Lily? It took Harry longer than usual to recognize the mention of his mother's name, but at the moment all he could think about was sleep. Forcing his eyes open, Harry struggled again against the embrace, managing to pull away, although unable to meet the kind woman's eyes. A quick glance at Ron made him even more embarrassed. Not only did his friend seem confused and worried, but a trace of sympathy flickered in his eyes for the brief moment that their gazes locked. Harry gritted his teeth together. Sympathy. He thought, "I don't deserve any sympathy." Averting his eyes, Harry mumbled an apology and the half-hearted excuse of finding Hedwig to take a walk. Turning quickly, he almost fell down the stairs before he caught himself. He heard Ron try to follow, and Mrs. Weasley's voice calling her son back. With an almost desperate lunge, he stumbled out the door and into the warm air. His hair stuck in damp clumps against the back of his neck and forehead as he hurried away, tripping over his own feet in his haste.
He had thought he was safe here, that his uncle could never penetrate into this other side of Harry, this untouchable, revered Harry Potter. If only they knew. Their champion Potter, defeated Voldemort as a baby and can't even stand up against his own uncle. A muggle uncle no less! A failure, a disappointment. That was all he was. Why did life have to keep reminding him of that?
He just wanted to get away. Was that really so much to ask?