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2. Letters and leaving
2 weeks later...
Harry had still some bruises from the beating he had received from Dudley. A rather large cut was on his back. Since the Durselys did not want him to use any kind of medication, the cut was of a weird yellow-green colour. It was so infected that Harry had pain when he made a movement or when it was time to go to sleep. He, of course, could not sleep on his back but, nor could he on his stomach. He had had several ribs broken...and not taken care of. How much he wished he could do magic, just to make the physical pain he was in go away. Everything he wished for though, did not seem to ever happen.
He had wished to save him, there, in the department of mysteries. It had not happen. Why? Because it was him and nothing really good ever happens to him, or so he thought. Harry was not in a good mood. He felt so tired because he could not get enough sleep at night. It was not the nightmares, they did not bother him anymore, it was the pain.
Pain. How well he knew this word now. How much he did not want to. He hated it but could not live without it. It was almost a comfort sometimes. Hurting himself showed him that he was still there. The numbness was so present that he had to. He needed to bleed to see he was still alive.
A sound got Harry out of his thoughts. It was pretty late in the night but people were talking rather loud outside. Curious, he went to the window in the living room to see who it could be. What he saw intrigued him even more. Several people were outside taking pictures, smoking what looked like cigarettes and dancing. It was a strange dance, as if it was directed to the moon and the stars. Plus, all the people were dressed in black clothes. Velvet, silk, leather, and PVC seemed to be their favourite clothing along with chains, chokers and bracelets. They also had lots of black make-up on. It was strange. No, beautiful, Harry thought./ So beautiful, so sleek, so mysterious. I have to know. I have to know who they are. I NEED to know./ Pressed against the window, Harry saw them go far away in the streets. He was feeling he knew these kind of people. He had heard about them when he was a kid and went to muggle school. They were called...gothic.
These people were known to like black and everything that goes with looking into yourself and finding who you truly are. Well, in a depressive way. They were known to find just how bad a person or the world can be and still live with that knowing. It is like seeing all the evils of the world, understanding them, and still be yourself, Harry thought.
Feeling very tired suddenly, Harry went to bed. He fell asleep, more calm than he had ever be this summer.
"HARRY!!"
Harry was woken up very abruptly. Another letter from Hogwarts had arrived this morning. One came each day. The Dursleys put them in the fire every day and hit Harry every day for receiving a letter. As if it was his fault. If he could at least answer maybe they would not receive any anymore. The boy had not brought the idea up though, a little afraid his relative would hurt him even more. Today was different. He would tell them. He would tell them that he would answer and that the letters would stop coming each morning. Yes, it was decided, he would.
"Yes! I am coming down!"
Harry got up quickly and went downstairs. His 'family' was waiting for him in the kitchen, encircling the letter that laid on the table.
"So, how do you explain this one? Hum?" "I do not explain it." "WHAT?" "Maybe...maybe if I wrote back they would stop..." "MAYBE!! But maybe is not enough! You have to be sure boy!" his uncle roared back at his unsure answer. "Well...yes, I am sure they will stop." "No you are not...you are never sure. You are...a poor excuse of a human being. You are nothing. Nothing you hear me!"
Harry stared straight. He said nothing, because nothing came to his mind. He did not agree and he did agree. He did not care and he cared. He heard the Dursleys talk among themselves. They seemed to be talking about someone's departure. He was not aware that it was his own until all the members of the family turned to face him.
"You have to go. You go and the letters go with you. Won't they?"
Harry answered that surely they would stop since the wizarding world always seemed to know where he was. His relative winced at the hearing of the word wizarding, but agreed with Harry.
Preparation were made during the day for his leaving. Preparation was a big word. Harry was thrown in his room and told to take all his things and belongings. He only had one big heavy trunk and it was very difficult for him to carry it since he was injured.
Later that night he was on the porch. Outside. Alone. Hurting. The first thing he did was standing up, taking his trunk and going to the street. Once there, he hold out his hand up high and waited.
The Knight bus was not long to arrived. He had taken it once before. It had been a strange experience, but it was the only way he would get where he wanted to go without hurting too much.
"Hi!" "Hi...to the London muggle hospital please" "You are sure about it...St Mungo's is a much more sure place...young boy." "No, the London muggle hospital is fine. Please." "Ok! On to the London muggle hospital then!"
The bus started and hop they were gone. Harry did not remember that, in this bus, all the objets were moving and...well...hurting him even more. He told himself that he should have remembered but when you want to go somewhere, some sacrifices have to be made. Surely.
The ride did not last long. A chance for Harry. He thought he was about to die because his ribs had been hit by a nearby chair and it had made a not so nice cracking sound. The bus finally stopped, just before the entry of the nearest muggle hospital in London. Harry got up, not without pain, took his trunk and got out of the bus.
He had never really been to a muggle hospital. His relative never wanted to spend money for him so...no hospital for him. Anyway, he never really got injured when he was a kid. He never got that much beaten up when he was younger.
He entered and went to the woman who seemed to be in charge of the wounded.
"Humm...hi."
The woman looked at him with big eyes. Harry did not really know what he looked like so he did not understood why she had this look on her face. The boy was in a really bad shape. More bad than bad is. He looked like he had just got out of a war. All colours were on him. From green to purple. He was dirty, stink, was covered with dried blood and had that look in his eyes...so...full of pain.
"Oh my god!!" The woman started screaming. Several people came to Harry. He was first put on something that felt like a bed, he was being undressed, tubes where being put in his arms and nose, everything happened so rapidly that Harry saw it as a blur. After some time, he felt dizzy and fell asleep.
2. Letters and leaving
2 weeks later...
Harry had still some bruises from the beating he had received from Dudley. A rather large cut was on his back. Since the Durselys did not want him to use any kind of medication, the cut was of a weird yellow-green colour. It was so infected that Harry had pain when he made a movement or when it was time to go to sleep. He, of course, could not sleep on his back but, nor could he on his stomach. He had had several ribs broken...and not taken care of. How much he wished he could do magic, just to make the physical pain he was in go away. Everything he wished for though, did not seem to ever happen.
He had wished to save him, there, in the department of mysteries. It had not happen. Why? Because it was him and nothing really good ever happens to him, or so he thought. Harry was not in a good mood. He felt so tired because he could not get enough sleep at night. It was not the nightmares, they did not bother him anymore, it was the pain.
Pain. How well he knew this word now. How much he did not want to. He hated it but could not live without it. It was almost a comfort sometimes. Hurting himself showed him that he was still there. The numbness was so present that he had to. He needed to bleed to see he was still alive.
A sound got Harry out of his thoughts. It was pretty late in the night but people were talking rather loud outside. Curious, he went to the window in the living room to see who it could be. What he saw intrigued him even more. Several people were outside taking pictures, smoking what looked like cigarettes and dancing. It was a strange dance, as if it was directed to the moon and the stars. Plus, all the people were dressed in black clothes. Velvet, silk, leather, and PVC seemed to be their favourite clothing along with chains, chokers and bracelets. They also had lots of black make-up on. It was strange. No, beautiful, Harry thought./ So beautiful, so sleek, so mysterious. I have to know. I have to know who they are. I NEED to know./ Pressed against the window, Harry saw them go far away in the streets. He was feeling he knew these kind of people. He had heard about them when he was a kid and went to muggle school. They were called...gothic.
These people were known to like black and everything that goes with looking into yourself and finding who you truly are. Well, in a depressive way. They were known to find just how bad a person or the world can be and still live with that knowing. It is like seeing all the evils of the world, understanding them, and still be yourself, Harry thought.
Feeling very tired suddenly, Harry went to bed. He fell asleep, more calm than he had ever be this summer.
"HARRY!!"
Harry was woken up very abruptly. Another letter from Hogwarts had arrived this morning. One came each day. The Dursleys put them in the fire every day and hit Harry every day for receiving a letter. As if it was his fault. If he could at least answer maybe they would not receive any anymore. The boy had not brought the idea up though, a little afraid his relative would hurt him even more. Today was different. He would tell them. He would tell them that he would answer and that the letters would stop coming each morning. Yes, it was decided, he would.
"Yes! I am coming down!"
Harry got up quickly and went downstairs. His 'family' was waiting for him in the kitchen, encircling the letter that laid on the table.
"So, how do you explain this one? Hum?" "I do not explain it." "WHAT?" "Maybe...maybe if I wrote back they would stop..." "MAYBE!! But maybe is not enough! You have to be sure boy!" his uncle roared back at his unsure answer. "Well...yes, I am sure they will stop." "No you are not...you are never sure. You are...a poor excuse of a human being. You are nothing. Nothing you hear me!"
Harry stared straight. He said nothing, because nothing came to his mind. He did not agree and he did agree. He did not care and he cared. He heard the Dursleys talk among themselves. They seemed to be talking about someone's departure. He was not aware that it was his own until all the members of the family turned to face him.
"You have to go. You go and the letters go with you. Won't they?"
Harry answered that surely they would stop since the wizarding world always seemed to know where he was. His relative winced at the hearing of the word wizarding, but agreed with Harry.
Preparation were made during the day for his leaving. Preparation was a big word. Harry was thrown in his room and told to take all his things and belongings. He only had one big heavy trunk and it was very difficult for him to carry it since he was injured.
Later that night he was on the porch. Outside. Alone. Hurting. The first thing he did was standing up, taking his trunk and going to the street. Once there, he hold out his hand up high and waited.
The Knight bus was not long to arrived. He had taken it once before. It had been a strange experience, but it was the only way he would get where he wanted to go without hurting too much.
"Hi!" "Hi...to the London muggle hospital please" "You are sure about it...St Mungo's is a much more sure place...young boy." "No, the London muggle hospital is fine. Please." "Ok! On to the London muggle hospital then!"
The bus started and hop they were gone. Harry did not remember that, in this bus, all the objets were moving and...well...hurting him even more. He told himself that he should have remembered but when you want to go somewhere, some sacrifices have to be made. Surely.
The ride did not last long. A chance for Harry. He thought he was about to die because his ribs had been hit by a nearby chair and it had made a not so nice cracking sound. The bus finally stopped, just before the entry of the nearest muggle hospital in London. Harry got up, not without pain, took his trunk and got out of the bus.
He had never really been to a muggle hospital. His relative never wanted to spend money for him so...no hospital for him. Anyway, he never really got injured when he was a kid. He never got that much beaten up when he was younger.
He entered and went to the woman who seemed to be in charge of the wounded.
"Humm...hi."
The woman looked at him with big eyes. Harry did not really know what he looked like so he did not understood why she had this look on her face. The boy was in a really bad shape. More bad than bad is. He looked like he had just got out of a war. All colours were on him. From green to purple. He was dirty, stink, was covered with dried blood and had that look in his eyes...so...full of pain.
"Oh my god!!" The woman started screaming. Several people came to Harry. He was first put on something that felt like a bed, he was being undressed, tubes where being put in his arms and nose, everything happened so rapidly that Harry saw it as a blur. After some time, he felt dizzy and fell asleep.