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The shrill shriek of his Aunt awoke Harry as she found his Uncle collapsed and unconscious on the kitchen floor. Harry sat up abruptly, holding in a whimper as the aches of his body became known. Taking a small breath, Harry grimaced at the agony that radiated from his throat at the gesture; weakness from last night's activities lingering after he had sobbed himself to sleep. His head pulsed, and his throat scratched, informing him of his dehydrated state; the tears probably hadn't helped. He reached towards his bedside table for the water bottle he kept there, thankful that he had had the forethought to buy it with the money he had been collecting over the years.
As he took a long draw, Harry kept an ear out for the sounds of his Uncle's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Harry let out a breath of relief when he didn't hear anything other than the sounds of his Aunt's piercing voice echoing from downstairs. Closing his eyes, Harry thought back to the events of last night and shuddered. He could still feel his Uncle's hands on him, touching him in a way that was violent in a different way than usual. Images of events previous to last night unbiddenly ran through his mind, and Harry reflected on the small touches he had ignored or been distracted from. Past punishments suddenly came into a new light, and horrible memories took on another lens, further perverting Harry's experiences.
He needed to escape. Quickly changing out of his ruined uniform, Harry dove beneath his bed, prying open the loose floorboard there, feeling around until he came across the lockpicking set he had traded some of his Aunt's pills for at St Brutus. It wasn't as intricate as some of the ones the other boys had, but he had only basic locks on his window. Inserting his half-diamond pick, Harry set it before extracting it quickly while placing light pressure on the tension wrench, hearing a resounding click as he did so. Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry quickly slid open his window, placing a small block of wood on the sill to keep it open enough for Harry to slip his fingers through. Bundling together his lockpicking set, Harry stuffed it beneath the loose floorboard under his bed and, after some brief consideration, the diary as well.
Scrambling out of the window, Harry landed lightly on the roof outside and kept low till he crept to the back of the house. Climbing deftly down the drainage pipe, Harry settled in the soft grass beneath him, thankful that the garden muffled his steps. Edging towards the kitchen window, Harry poked his head up to observe the scene in front of him. Petunia looked to be simultaneously lecturing and fussing over Vernon, dabbing at the small wound on his forehead. Harry could tell Vernon gave little regard to Petunia's words on setting a lousy example for Dudley, instead focusing on the throbbing hangover he was suffering.
"How did you even get like this, Vernon?" Petunia asked him, a desperate note in her voice.
Harry's eyes were riveted to Vernon's face as he went silent for a moment before a look of genuine confusion appeared.
"I can't recall Petunia; I must've fallen on my way to bed last night."
Petunia clucked her tongue at this before continuing her ministrations. Finished, she assisted him to his feet before supporting him slightly as she helped him up the stairs and to their bedroom so he could rest for the day; Harry snickered, seeing his Aunt buckle beneath the weight of her husband. Harry felt an overwhelming sense of relief that his Uncle didn't recall the events of last night. No doubt he would have blamed Harry for his fall, and in light of Vernon's proclivities, Harry would rather not know what punishments might be in store for him.
Closing his eyes, Harry leaned against the brick beneath the window, waiting for the hammering of his heart to slow as he breathed as deep as he could with his injuries. Feeling some semblance of control over himself, Harry rose to his feet, teetering slightly from the sudden rush of standing too quickly. Once the world ceased spinning, Harry made his way out of the garden and towards the park down the street, seeking solace.
Harry was content lying against the lone tree in the small, hidden clearing. Speckled sunlight danced over his form as it filtered through the leaves overhead, spots of sun moving as the tree shifted in the breeze. Harry always came here to think about nothing, to allow his thoughts to be blown away with the wind, to be focused only on the textures of the tree behind him and the cool, soft dirt beneath him. Harry's peace was broken by the sound of loud guffawing near his hiding place. Glancing between the bushes that concealed the small clearing, he spotted Dudley and his gang. Piers Polkiss was laughing uproariously, his expression exaggerating his rat-like features.
Harry groaned quietly to himself; this was the last thing he needed. Resigning himself to listening to their unintelligible drivel, Harry shuffled slightly to get comfortable and unintentionally snapped a twig. Harry froze, waiting for the hands of his cousin and co to drag him out but was relieved when after a few seconds, nothing happened. Instead, he overheard the impossible tales of Trevor McKinney, and doubtless, Dudley's little gang were hanging off every word. Harry rolled his eyes when he heard him recounting "getting off with some bird," Trevor wasn't anyone's definition of good-looking and went to the same all-boys school as his cousin; the odds of him even kissing a girl were low.
Harry had heard similar stories at St Brutus and knew they were valid from some of the obscenely graphic details. Even Caleb had a dalliance with some family friend of his. So, Harry had developed a rather good bullshit detector for people's stories, and Trevor's was all bull. The story continued to get more complicated and increasingly unbelievable until Harry had to place a hand over his mouth to muffle his sniggers.
"Oi Dud, your cousin goes to that school for crims, yeah?" Piers inquired.
"What of it?" Dudley answered gruffly.
"Well, he must get plenty of birds, right? I've heard they like them criminal types," Piers insisted.
"Potter's a poof, ain't he?" Connor Thompson interrupted before Dudley could answer, "no bird gets with a poof."
"He's bent alright," Dudley confirmed, "he's always arriving home late, hanging around with that boyfriend of his."
"You ever scared he'll try and mess with you in your sleep?" Connor asked.
Dudley scoffed, "course not, knows I'd beat the shit out of him if he tried."
Dudley's friends hooted over this, slapping him on the back as they did so. Scowling, Harry began crawling to the other side of the clearing, intent on escaping while their attention was diverted. He'd almost made it to the other side when he accidentally broke a branch, the loud snap cutting through the boys' laughter. Harry silently groaned, waiting for the inevitable; hearing the rustling behind him, Harry was unsurprised when he felt hands grip him and pin him to the nearby tree.
"Oi Dud, check out who we found hiding in the bushes," sneered Scott Hansaker, the final member of Dudley's gang. "What were you doing, Potter?" sneered Scott, "waiting for that boyfriend of yours? Or were you hoping being on your hands and knees would attract any old queer?"
Harry locked his jaw, intent on staying silent. He knew from experience the quickest way for Dudley and his goons to get bored was not to react.
"Like it rough Potter?" Connor mocked, gesturing towards the bruises on Harry's throat leeringly.
Harry couldn't stop himself from glaring at Connor, the loathing in his eyes causing Connor to take a small step back. Dudley confidentially swaggered over, a cruel grin stretching across his face. Gesturing to Piers and Trevor, Harry felt his arms being pulled back, held either side of the tree by the goons; Harry let out an involuntary hiss of pain as they stretched them back too far.
Dudley crowded into Harry's space, his face dangerously close; "It looks like the fag was spying on us," Dudley spat. "What were you doing there, Potter? Running away from my dear old Dad?"
Harry's eyes widened in shock, "What- "
"I heard it all, Potter," hissed Dudley, "I always knew you were a freak, but getting off with other lads? I'm glad he decided to teach you a lesson."
Harry began to laugh bitterly, "teach me a lesson, is that what you call it? You have no idea what your father wants to do to me," Harry taunted suggestively.
"What the fuck is that meant to mean?" Dudley growled, his face getting increasingly red at Harry's implications, his friends looking sick at the notion.
"Do you really want to know what your father was doing as he was holding me against the wall by my throat?" Harry goaded, "Do you want to know how his fingers wandered, how his eyes went dark, or do you want to continue in the fantasy where your Father isn't the freak or monster he's proven himself to be?"
"Shut the fuck up, Potter!" Dudley screamed before punching Harry. Dudley was blinded by rage and kept hitting and hitting until Connor finally pulled him back.
"He's had enough, Dud!" yelled Connor, struggling to hold Dudley back from tackling his cousin.
Piers looked at Harry's slumped figure concerned before hearing small chuckles emerge from him. Harry spat out the blood in his mouth before looking up at his cousin; one of his eyes was swollen shut, and his face was already beginning to discolour, but as Harry smiled with blood coating his teeth, the group collectively flinched.
"What's the matter Dud, can't handle the truth?" Harry jeered.
Trevor and Piers dropped Harry to the ground unceremoniously, joining Connor in holding Dudley back from further attacking his cousin. Harry was still laughing, turning more broken and manic as time went on. Between the three of them, they finally managed to pull Dudley away and towards the park exit, screaming obscenities and threats at Harry as he went. Scott stood silent and imposing, glaring down at Harry.
"You're a freak, Potter," Scott rasped, a notable tremor in his voice.
Scott turned his back on Harry, rushing to catch up with his friends, trying to ignore the manic laughing and crying echoing behind him, a broken, shredding sound from the boy in the dirt.
