The Innocence of Youth
Disclaimer for all chapters: I am not J.K. Rowling
Chapter Three
When Harry awoke the next day, Madame Pomfrey was immediately by his side, trying to coax him into drinking a bottle, and eating a piece of banana. However, Harry only ate very little of what she tried to give him. He looked at the banana as if in awe. The worries she had had in her mind the day before resurfaced. Had Harry been denied food, even as a baby? But no... that could not be possible. No one in their right mind would deny an infant food.
She was drawn out of her reverie by a soft coughing. She looked down to find Harry coughing up bits of banana. She noticed that he was desperately trying to muffle the sounds, and to clean up his mess of fruit. When she reached down to help him, he immediately drew back in fear. Another frightening concept pushed its way to the surface of her mind: had he been hit as well?
She slowly put her arms around him, and picked him up, whispering soothing words and gentle reassurances in his ear.
"Don't worry, dear, I'm not going to hurt you. How about we get you cleaned up, eh?"
She walked slowly over to a cupboard, and drew out a small set of pyjamas. Earlier, she had simply transfigured his robes into a set of nightclothes, but, now that he was awake, she was scared that such an action would alarm the child. She did not know if he had any memory of magic at the age of two.
She gently undid the buttons of his small shirt, and removed it slowly. She was taken aback by what she saw. They did not stand out, not overly so, but they were visible: the toddler's chest was littered with faint bruises, and there were shadows in the shape of large fingers around his small neck.
She numbly finished changing the baby, and gently placed him back on his bed, tucking him in.
Harry watched her with wide green eyes as she stumbled over to the fireplace, to floo call the headmaster.
Dumbledore walked briskely into the hospital wing from the fireplace, and headed over to the bed where baby Harry lay sleeping. He gently, but quickly, undid the buttons on Harry's shirt. Though his expression did not change, his face visibly paled several shades when he saw the bruises that marred the baby's soft skin. He then redid the buttons, and turned around.
"The evidence is of utmost importance if we are to file a suit against the Dursley family. But how are we to know for sure?"
"Albus! There is no other possibility of where those bruises came from! Can you not see the handprints?" Madame Pomfrey's voice got shriller with every word she said.
"I know, Poppy... but how do we know that it was Mr. Vernon Dursley who commited this henious act? How do we know it was not Petunia, or that Harry did not get into a fight with Dudley, or that all these are marks from some accident that was not meant to happen?"
"Albus, those hands are much to large to belong to either one of those people, and you know it was not an accident!You can't deny this, so don't even try!"
"Poppy, we must have patience. We'll see if we find out anything else, before we alert other authorities. I believe we must first find out why Harry has hidden this from us for so long..."
The aged headmasters eyes were completely devoid of any twinkle at that point. His shoulders were slightly sagged in defeat, as the horrible possibility that everyone had tried to deny for so many years weighed heavily on his mind.
Hermione gently stroked Ron's hair as he slept, his head on her lap. They had just been told of what the nurse had found: Harry's bruises. She was raking her mind, going through all her memories, trying to find one in which Harry had hinted at any sort of abuse at home. She couldn't remember a single time when he had revealed anything. In her mind, she was still desparately trying to deny the possibility. Harry couldn't have been abused... it just wasn't possible...but in her heart she knew. It explained every single one of Harry's insecurities, however small or insignificant they may have seemed, and every twitch or flinch that he made. It would even explain his small stature and frail-seeming body. It would explain his extreme hatred for his aunt and uncle, and his reluctance to return home every summer. It explained so much... but she preferred not having the explanations, and still living under the illusion that Harry had a normal home life.
Harry stirred, and woke up from his nap, but everyone was preoccupied, so he took the chance to take a look around him. Who were all these nice people? They hadn't hurt him yet, but would they in the future? Should he take the chance? The big man with the big beard seemed especially funny. He liked it here. He didn't want to go back home. Dudy was mean to him, and pushed him around. Uncle Vernon was big and mean and bad, and hit him a lot. Aunt Punia didn't give him any food, but she always gave lots to Dudy. They always locked him in his cupboard. He didn't like his cupboard. There were lots of yucky spiders. Did he have a mummy and a daddy like Dudy? If he did, he wished they would come and take him away. Maybe they would cuddle him all the time, like Dudy got cuddled. Maybe they would give him lots of treats and candy, like Aunt Punia gave to Dudy. Maybe they wouldn't hurt him... Uncle Vernon didn't hurt Dudy...
Were these nice people his mummy and daddy? Maybe...
But he vaguely recalled a someone with messy, dark hair, and a woman with brilliant red locks as being his daddy and mummy... none of these people looked like that...
Tears of dissapointmen filled his emerald eyes, and he lay his head back onto the pillow, and fell into a fitful sleep.
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