Unwanted

(A/N: Here's another update for you all! Thanks so much for putting up with me for this story, there aren't many more chapters to go and I'm grateful for everyone who reviews.)

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"Ignorant...dysfunctional...insolate...have the right to ignore me...I'll make sure that you are 'treated medically'...hadn't a clue what that woman was saying...wait until Vernon hears about this..."

The conversation had been the same all the way home, and it only kept spiralling down until Harry could feel his arm being pulled out of its socket with his aunt's rage. He kept thinking to himself; how could it be his fault? He had been the one who was forced to go to school; he didn't want to come home.

But as his feet grudgingly carried themselves back to the house, a small sense of relief clouded his thoughts. How he wished his uncle were here, to yell and shout and cause a fuss, instead of having to sit at home and wait for him in dread.

He might get it over with and use one of his drills on me, Harry thought bitterly.

Swinging open the door, Petunia shoved her nephew inside, surprisingly, Harry saw...without managing to crane her neck over the fence for once. She didn't care what the neighbours were up to this time.

Her lip curled as she faced him. "Start."

Harry shifted, taken aback by her look. "Start...?" He trailed off.

"Yes! Begin fully explaining to me what happened at that school! I suppose you went straight down to that dreadful nurse as soon as you stepped foot inside!"

"No, no, I didn't – I went to Maths!"

Here Petunia snorted, an odd noise as that of a pig, mocking Harry's comment. It took all of his wit and strength to keep a straight face.

"Maths, he says! From the riot I heard down that corridor it didn't sound all too peaceful! How anyone can concentrate in that racket I'll never know! You must have almost infected everyone, the way they were panicking - "

"Actually," Harry began, "They were - "

"I'M NOT FINISHED!"

Harry stared, his sentence cut short. His aunt Petunia hadn't raised her voice to him in such a long time, the notion almost shocked him. He could only breathe in the silence and interrupt every now and again with a tiny sniff. If she were this angry with him now, what would his uncle do when he got home?

"As I was saying, you should have stood up to the teacher and told her that your aunt sent you here, with no record and intention of sending you home! And don't - " she glared, stopping Harry before he could open his mouth to protest. "You always have to butt in when someone's speaking, don't you? You can't keep that mouth of yours shut for one minute, can you?"

Silence. Harry thought it best to stay quiet for a while. Normally he would feel angry at this point and claim how unfair it was that she wouldn't listen. But he felt too tired to argue anymore. He just wanted to sleep, and hopefully run down that cold.

"You're so rude! No wonder that school wanted rid of you!" Petunia went on. "Fancy, making me look embarrassed and like the enemy when you reported that you were unwell! Why, that nurse looked at me as if I were a sly old witch who didn't have a heart for anyone in the world! But no, I forget, you only think of yourself, don't you? Just like your mother...selfish cow that she was - "

"Don't!" Harry cried out without thinking. He had already had enough, he didn't want to drag the manners of his parents in on it too. Now his eyes were rimmed and sore, his voice was croakier than this morning.

"Oh, don't bother sticking up for her, that's the least you can do!" Petunia roared. "We never get any problems at school from Dudley, it's always you, you, YOU! And it's always your silly, self-centred ways that cause all this trouble! And stop SNIFFING!" she screamed, as Harry boldly did.

He frowned, at last having a proper say in the matter. "I can't help it, I already told you. I've got a cold...I just can't help it."

Petunia looked as if she were about to spit, her lips wrinkled so. Then she tossed her head and grabbed Harry by the scruff of his shoulder.

"I think I know what to do about that," she said.

"What?" Harry asked, struggling to keep up and with his feet on the floor. "What do you mean, Aunt Petunia? Where are you taking me?"

"How many times have I told you to stop asking questions?" Petunia scowled, her voice suddenly cold and hard. Her eyes flashed when she spoke; Harry knew that she was indeed so impatient now that she was beyond words. He had seen her this angry before, once when she was arguing with his uncle about 'second hand smoke', and 'too much pollution in the house', back when Vernon had his take of cigars every afternoon.

Petunia marched them into the bathroom, plopping Harry aside and taking heed to exploring the medicine cabinets, searching for remedies. She finally discovered an oily substance, which strongly smelt of fish, and was a faint lime green. She stared at it for a moment, sneered, then turned around.

"Here," she said. "You'll take this, without fuss."

Harry's face twisted into disgust. "What is that?"

"It's your uncle's," she explained. "He used to take it when he got those ratted headaches of his, often just after talking to you...here," she poured some of it into a teaspoon kept on the sideboard. It trickled slowly and landed in a sticky mess, reminding Harry of thick pondweed or slime.

The teaspoon was held out to him. "Just put it in your mouth," his aunt said.

Harry wrinkled his nose. "It smells."

"Oh, the taste isn't so bad!" Petunia snapped. "Just open up!"

Reluctantly, he shifted his mouth to accept the spoon and the medicine. Almost at once his face tightened and he squeezed his eyes together, his lips stiff and his throat almost closing off. He gagged, finally finding the courage to swallow.

"Yuck, urh!" he exclaimed. "That's horrible!"

Petunia sniffed. "Well, it serves you right for sleeping outside. It's all your fault, you know." She straightened up and prepared to replace the bottle back in the cabinet.

Harry was prepared to believe that, just as long as he didn't have to take any more nasty medicine that his aunt offered him. As her back was turned he tried his hardest to rid his tongue of the taste, shuffling about in the room.

"You can go now," his aunt said. "And stay out of my sight. Go – go to your cupboard if you have to, I just want you away from me, where I can't see you." At Harry's slow pace, she scurried along behind him, shooing him as if he were a pet told to sleep outside. "Well, go on then! Go!"

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Harry had departed to his bed and had slept for a few good hours. When he awoke, the fuzziness in his head had faded a little but his throat had gotten worse. He had to be dragged out of bed at three o'clock to serve some food for his uncle when he came in, which didn't please him a bit.

When Vernon arrived home, he came in silence (very rare in the Dursley house) and ate his meal, all the while staring at Harry in a malicious way, so such that Harry imagined that he was plotting his death. Vernon looked murderous.

Afterwards, he had called Harry into the living room to 'talk'. Harry knew it was serious then. His uncle never wanted to talk to him about anything, let alone ask for some time.

"Well," Vernon growled. "I think you've already figured out by now, boy, your aunt and I are not very happy about this."

Harry looked down at the floor, not wanting to make eye contact, for the sight of his uncle's tense eyes were making his own water. "Yes, Uncle Vernon."

"A boy of your age should be able to control a minor case of the chills. Not complain to the teachers that you have been sent to school against your will, because your nose was not treating you proper."

Harry wanted to go against this so much, that he almost spoke aloud. But quickly remembering, he stopped himself. Why wouldn't anyone believe him? He was willing to stay there if he had to, anything to serve this at home. It was even worse.

Here, Vernon smiled. "You might need some of my good old medicine to clear you up good and well - "

"Oh, no, Uncle Vernon," Harry suddenly jumped in. "I've had some."

The sense of glee seemed to fade from the face of his uncle. "You have?" he blustered. "Since when?"

"Aunt Petunia gave me some."

"Oh," Vernon paused, pulling slowly at his moustache. "Well, all right then. I'll see to it that you have some every morning and night until you are feeling up to rights again. Don't give me that look, you know that you deserve it. It's your own fault, and - "

But before he could continue, Harry's voice sprang up. "I – I deserved it?"

Vernon halted, surprised at the squeaky voice of his nephew and yet angered at the interruption that he caused.

"Don't barge in, boy," he said coldly.

Harry couldn't even remember if he had. "I thought you had finished, Uncle Vernon."

"Well, I hadn't," Vernon snarled. "And if you paid more attention to what people were saying, maybe you would notice! It's bad enough that you spent all weekend moping and dosing about, because you had gone and given yourself that bloody cold, but now you expect to be waited on hand and foot..." It was here that he took a breath. "...I won't have it! I won't put up with your little conspiracies that you plot with against your aunt and I, and your poor cousin Dudley! I'll make sure that you stay in your room until you show some sense in getting better again!"

Staring, Harry finally found his voice. "I – I didn't plot this against you, I didn't."

"Pah!" Vernon spat.

"I didn't!"

Smack. At those words, Vernon had clouted Harry so fiercely around the head that his nephew saw stars. He hadn't meant to hit him so hard as that, but his patience had worn through and he had only intended for a meaningful box on the ears. By the time Harry looked up in a daze, his uncle was scarlet as a pimpernel.

"I'll have no back talking off you, young man," he said, completely oblivious to having given such a walloping to the lad. "Now, you go to your cupboard...and I don't want to see you again until that cold of yours had disappeared, do you understand?"

He wrenched out an arm and caught Harry by the scruff of his neck, leading him forcefully back to the stairs. He ignored his struggles and protests of pain as Vernon's grip became steelier by the second.

"Uncle Vernon, it could take a few days," Harry said.

"Then you'll wait days, won't you? You might even be better tomorrow."

And Harry was back in the darkness again, in the closed room where only he could sit and dream of better times, of other things. The walls were still as musty as he had left them, the bed still as creaky. Filled with frustration and hurt, he flung himself onto the bed, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his temple, which was only making him dizzier.

Harry wondered, would the drill really have been easier for him?

He shuddered. He felt cold again from the drafts in the floorboards, and tried to curl up into the blankets. Sleep was the only escape at the moment, unless he wanted to spend another afternoon with the headaches and the sore throats, and Uncle Vernon's disgusting pond slime medicine.

He took off his glasses and placed them aside, and then noticing at the corner beyond his bed, his red and gold sweater from the mysterious weekend. He lifted it up and examined it, admiring it.

It must have been the most beautiful possession he owned. For it was different, like him, and nothing that Dudley had ever touched. Even the smell of the material excited Harry, dusty and old...yet it appeared brand new. Harry thought, I've never smelt something like this before. It all seemed special.

He held that sweater as he slept, cradling it in his arms and in a tight clutch, not wanting to let it go. And he dreamt, of a place beyond any other, across lands and through thick clouds of smoke, and above skies bluer than any before. And then they were filled with stars...beautiful things they were, which pointed out a path to a strange and hidden land.

Then Harry was across water, and through brick, and climbing high up flights of stairs. And when he walked through the door at the top, there was a man, with a white beard and startling blue eyes, smiling at him. Then he extended his arms, and said;

"We are waiting for you, Harry."

And when Harry woke up to the next unbearable day, he couldn't remember it at all.

To be continued

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(A/N: Feedback would be great! Thanks guys!)