Disclaimer: I own nothing: I have no rights to Harry Potter, I have nothing to do with Missy Higgins. The only thing I have to do with them is I like them.
Warning: This story contains abuse.
Summary: SongFic to 'Scar' by Missy Higgins( chorus only). Harry is, once again, being abused for showing signs of magic. Finally the Dursleys decide to dispose of him, leading to a series of events which leave Harry with nothing: no home, no family. All he has is a scar.
Without further adeu, I give you SCAR...
S. C. A. R.
Doesn't that sound familiar?
Doesn't that hit so close to home?
Doesn't that make you shiver,
The way things could have gone?
And doesn't that feel peculiar
When everyone wants to leave them on?
Something I do remember-
To never go that far
Could you leave me with a scar?
SCAR-Missy Higgins
Thump. Thump. Thump. Harry heart beats fast, pumping with adrenalin. The chemical that his body released when ever he was excited...or scared. Thump, thump thumpity-thump. Harry was used to being scared. Scared of punishment, of Dudley, his uncle, punishments...thump. Thump-thump. The sound was so familiar, beating in his ears, part of his ears, his body.
Doesn't that sound familiar?
The fist came down on his head, dazing him. Black erupted in front of his eyes. He couldn't see but somehow he was still standing. The fists continued to hurt him, punching his body, ruining it. The pain was so intense. Did you know that when the body can't take the pain anymore the brain stops receiving the messages of pain? You can still hear, see what is happening to you, but cannot feel? That's what had happened to Harry, and in the process his whole body froze up. Then the insults started.
"You're a freak, abnormal. I don't know why I kept you. You're an inconvenience. Nothing but trouble. I should have drowned you as soon as I saw you. But NO, I had it in the kindness of my heart and took you in, raised you, fed and clothed you as one of my own, and look how you repay me!"
Had Harry been able to control his body, he would have nodded; it was always best if he agreed.
"You're a good-for-nothing FREAK!"
"Just like your mother, even got those stupid freaky eyes of hers, just as full of self-importance as her. And don't even get me started on you're father, the worthless, arrogant man-whore! You're just like him, give you five years and you'll be selling your body...you wicked child!"
That hurt Harry's feeling so much. Was he really that bad? Were his parents really that awful? It made him ashamed. All the thoughts he had, ripped from him, all his hopes and dreams. It hit him hard, right in the vulnerable spot, the subject that made him bleed the most: his parents.
Doesn't that hit so close to home?
"I've had enough! OUT OUT OUT!" The voice roared.
Harry still couldn't move a muscle. Large, strong hands picked him up by the arms and dragged him to the door. Harry felt the cool rush of air as the door opened. He was half-carried, half-marched down the driveway. Into the car. Harry was having trouble breathing; his ribcage didn't want to do the actions. Everything was surreal. The colours, lights and sounds were sharp and jarring to his befuddled senses. The engine was purring. They were on a highway. The car screeched to a stop on the side and he was kicked out-right into the middle of the traffic.
Out of nowhere came the screech of tires, blinding light-a truck. Harry caught a glimpse of the horrified driver, who was desperately motioning for Harry to move whilst he stepped as hard as he could on the brake. It was too late. Harry's body failed him and he crumpled to the tarmac.
Miraculously, he had managed to fall in time...the truck breezed over him, screaming to a stop ten metres ahead. It had hit him on the head, but hadn't smashed fully into him. Had it hit him on the body as it was about to, Harry would have been a mordern day tribute to "hung, drawn and quartered" saying. The traffic halted, but Harry noticed one last thing before he drifted into the darkness of unconsciousness. The Dursley's car had slipped away into the night, unnoticed. They did not care that Harry had almost-or in their eyes, definitely died.
Doesn't that make you shiver?
The way things could have gone?
Harry was somewhere soft. Somewhere white. The light was blinding and soft at the same time. A lady stood over him, calling out words, but he couldn't hear. A halo of light shone around her vibrant red hair. He was in heaven.
"Mum?" he croaked.
Glasses where pressed onto his nose, and everything came into focus. He was not in heaven. He was in a hospital, and the lady was a nurse. At first she seemed completely shocked that he was awake, then covered her emotions with a pleasant mask. She smiled kindly.
"Hello, what's your name? You gave us quite a scare!"
Harry was confused. He couldn't remember the events that had lead up to him being hospitalised. Uncle Vernon will kill me.
"Uh-I think my name's Harry, Harry Potter,' he said uncertainly. He wasn't often called by his name except at school. At home, the scrawny nine-year old usually went by the name 'Boy' or something simular. He didn't have a name; just a tone of voice was used from which he could pick up that it was he who was being addressed.
"Well Harry, I think the Doctor would like to have a look at you, so I'll just get him,' she gave him a reassuring smile before leaving.
Harry reached up to his forehead, which happened to be bandaged heavily. Soon a doctor who, in every sense looked like a doctor came in. He was in his forties, not yet balding but with a receding hairline of chocolate hair and eyes that were intelligent and lively. He seemed nice enough. His name tag glinted.
"Now, Harry is it? How are you?"
Harry thought quickly. All in all, he felt fine. There was no pain what-so-ever, the only thing catching his attention was a small hunger pain, but Harry was used to those. All Harry felt was an overwhelming desire to leave: Harry still held the innocent hope that the Dursleys wanted him back, perhaps even missed him, worried. Harry was aware he had a bandage wrapped firmly around his head.
"Could you take off the bandages?"
The doctor looked uncomfortable. "No, I don't think I can."
"Why not?" Harry whined. "I feel fine!"
The doctor looked, if anything alarmed. This kid had been hit by a truck, in a coma for three and a half weeks and nobody had looked for him, plus other things..."No, me and all the doctors agree."
Harry didn't understand. He wanted to leave. There was nothing wrong with him-so why weren't they taking the bandages off?
And doesn't it feel peculiar,
When everyone wants to leave them on?
"Harry," the doctor said gently. "I don't think you realise. You have been in a VERY bad accident, which sent you into a deep coma. It was so bad, that, since no parents had come looking for you we were preparing to turn off all life support systems at the end of four weeks. By law, we can do that, as you had been claimed a ward of state. You were just getting worse, nothing in you worked by it; you had machines breathing for you, pumping your blood. It's amazing you survived the crash at all. You had three days left. Then, suddenly you improved dramatically, impossibly. It shouldn't have happened, but suddenly your heart was beating, your lungs breathing, it was miracle. Yesterday we were able to take you off the L. S. S. ...if not for this phenomenal event of recovery; you would have been, well, for want of a better word-put to sleep yesterday."
Coma...Nobody came...life support...ward of state...put to sleep...accident...three days...yesterday…dead...the words rocketed around Harry's brain. He had been in a coma. Nobody had expected him to live, to survive...But no one had ever wanted him to live, either.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
The doctor's sympathetic eyes widened, and then narrowed. "Sorry? Why are you sorry?"
"Uh. Nothing."
"Now Harry, I have some questions to ask. When you were brought in, there wasn't just damage from the accident. Can you tell me about your family, your home life?" The doctor growled out the words, trying to keep calm.
"What does my family have to do with me being hit by a truck?"
"Everything. Harry, do your parents hit you, ever?" The doctor waited for an answer.
"I don't live with my parents, they're dead. I live with my aunt and uncle." Harry answered, looking at his hands.
"Oh...do you aunt or uncle hurt you?" the doctor was pressing now, and he knew it.
Harry looked suspiciously at the doctor. Maybe he was crazy. "Only when I'm naughty," he said at last. "But that's their job. Adults have to punish naughty children to make them good."
"And are you a good boy Harry?" the doctored asked softly, but he was pretty sure of the answer, and he awaited it with...fear? The doctor was in fact a social worker and had seen all this before. But to throw a child into the middle of a busy highway...
"I try to be," Harry said in a small voice. "I do all my chores: I look after the garden, clean, do the laundry, cook, and dust, what ever they ask. I just can't stop being ungrateful, I can't help it. Dudley always gets more than me, I never get anything, and sometimes I forget my place. I'm bad and I don't know how to stop!"
"What did you do this time?"
"I went too far," Harry calms a bit to say this.
"Could you tell me about it?"
"I didn't mean to be a freak." Harry held back a sob. The doctor leant forward, placing his hand comfortingly onto Harry's knee. Harry was scared to speak: he had been forbidden to even think about the subject.
Something I do remember,
To never go that far.
"I made it float, it was an accident, I made Dudley's rubber ducky float!" Harry chocked. "I don't know how, I just did!"
The doctor frowned. It was ridiculous what abusing guardians used as excuses! "Rubber ducks are supposed to float Harry, you did nothing wrong."
"Dudley was teasing me for being a filthy freak, and I got angry. He was playing with the ducky, not looking at me and I got angry...Then it floated into the air and into my arms!" Harry shook his head disbelievingly.
The doctor's mouth flapped.
"I told you I'm a freak."
The doctor struggled to get his composure back. "No, its ok...Harry you are NOT a freak," the doctor said kindly. "Can you tell me more?"
Harry launched into the tale of his miserable life story, which had the doctor almost crying at moments, and at the end boiling with anger. He hated the way people acted towards innocent children, and that's why he made it his life job to help them. He realised that little Harry's case was a serious one, pretty bad-he would even dare to guess one of the top ten cases in the U.K.. Telling a child they were abnormal and a freak, making him believe it, forcing them to do labour on the point of slavery. Not to mention the cruel way he had been treated by his cousin and ultimately all people his age, with no friends. That wasn't counting all the other mental and emotional problems he would no doubt have...This small, underfed boy had ultimately a lot going on behind those wire-rimmed glasses of his.
"...and all I want is to get these bandages off, so I can go home before Uncle gets too angry," Harry finished.
"I'm sorry Harry, but I can't allow you to go back there."
"Huh? Why not? Did I do something bad, don't they want me?" Harry said desperately.
The doctor felt this was the most heartbreaking moment of the job, telling a child they were not loved. "No Harry, YOU did nothing wrong, they did. They are bad and mean and it is illegal to treat a child as they treated you. They aren't your guardians anymore. In fact, by law, you are one of the Queen's children."
"But I don't want to be a child of the Queen; I don't want to be in trouble!"
"Harry, they're never going to hurt you again, I'll make sure of that. You can't live with them, you're safe."
"Oh." Harry wiped a single tear as he took it all in. Moments passed, and he lifted his head defiantly. The doctor was pleased to see that his spirit hadn't been crushed. "Where will I live? My parents died in a car crash when I was one."
The doctor's face was unreadable. "Do you still want the bandages off?"
Harry nodded and the doctor left swiftly. Minutes later a horde of doctors trooped in, coupled with a photographer, and, surprisingly some reporters. Harry was a miracle in a lot of people's eyes. His recovery was almost god-like and they all wanted to see this. Not much was going on in the country and some newspaper journalist had sniffed this story and decided it was a brilliant humane interest article to fill out the front page. Slowly, the lead doctor leaned forward and started to unravel the bandages. Harry felt silly with all these people staring at him. The last piece of white fell gracefully from his forehead, onto the bed and the doctor pulled back from him. Many eyes flickered to a curious mark on his forehead, and all frowned deeply.
"That wasn't there when he came in," one whispered. "I swear."
The scar was thin, as if it had been cut by a knife, precisely into the shape of a lighting bolt. It looked quite old, yet new at the same time. "Where did you get that scar?" a reporter asked eagerly.
Harry reached up and traced a finger over the scar that was so ordinary, so familiar to him, yet was getting him so much attention. He noticed a horrified expression on the social worker's face. "I dunno, I don't really remember. I asked my aunt once, and she told me I got it in the car crash when they died. I was banned form asking questions after that."
The social worker looked at the lady next to him, the nurse. "Told." he hissed. "It could have happened anytime he was a baby, a scar for life. Who knows what emotional scars he's got..."
The nurse nods, staring at the wretched thing in the bed, surrounded by white: sheets, wall, and floor.
"How could they leave him? How could they give him all those scars?" she mumbled to no one in particular, but a reporter heard and scribbled it down. The journalist's pen quickly underlined key facts. Truck...Abuse. No parents...Mysterious childhood...Scar.
Could you leave me with a scar?
Harry just gazed confusedly at the group, who were looked at him in a simular expression to the way they would look at someone who had just died. He wished he had a real family to hug and tell him it would be ok, not all this whiteness and uniformed adults who would forget him as quickly as they had met him. He wanted a home. Harry wanted many things during his life, but all he got was one thing he didn't ask for. He had got a scar.
Could you leave me,
Leave me,
With a scar?
The next day several people were in possession of a newspaper.
One Vernon Dursley sipped his tea and unfolded the morning paper. It didn't matter that it was filled with a load of tosh, fillers for the greyish paper since nothing was going on in the world at the moment. Reading the paper was part of his routine. LEFT WITH NOTHING BUT A SCAR! screamed the headline. Dursley's eyes popped at the picture of a thin child. A very familiar thin child with green eyes.Dursley swore,very loudly.
Another was a man who didn't look like he should be reading such an ordinary thing as a newspaper. Dressed in bright purple robes, he was anything but normal. Yet he sat in a high-backed chair at the head of a table. Just as he reached for the toast on the table in front of him, owls streamed into the hall that he happened to be in. One made its way directly to him, depositing a newspaper which really didn't belong in the settings. Opening it up, Albus Dumbledore sipped his pumpkin juice, and almost spat it out upon seeing the headline. Gulping the liquid down with difficultly (during which his fellows at his table, and some teens sitting at other tables in the hall peered at him curiously) he muttered "Oh dear."
Another person, who by the way really wasn't of much importance, stopped to pick up a newspaper on her way to work. She stomped through the London Underground station, finding a bench to sit on. She read the front page,snorting and tutting. "Really now!" she cried, tossing it away from her suit-clad body as she shuffled onto her train. "Mind The Gap," was the last thing she heard as the doors slid shut. She did not hear a man on the platform behind her pick up her discarded newspaper, and inhale sharply. The man, ragged and tired in appearance growled. "I hate you Sirius,' he murmured, gazing at the picture.
Harry gazed at the newspaper from his bed. The secretary reading it seemed not to notice the similarity of the boy in the bed and the boy on the front page. Would anyone ever notice him. The picture showed his scar in sharp relief to his skin. "Nothing but a scar," Harry murmured the words on the front page. "Too right."
Leave me with a SCAR...
A/N: this is my first ever song fic, so yeah. It was really something to pass the time so I will say this once THIS IS A ONESHOT!
I just love Missy Higgin's song scar,and I felt it tied in perfectly witht this. If you have not heard it, I suggest you do.
Can you review, please?