Disclaimer: If these characters were mine, I would be rich and then I could stay home all day…wait…I do that anyway…Oh, well. Still not mine.

Warning: This chapter contains themes of cutting, depression, and abuse.

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Where Do I Go From Here?

Chap. 3 The Birthday Blues

Harry woke the following day in the wee morning hours, his body stiff and sore from sleeping scrunched up as he had on the pitifully broken-down cot. As he turned and stretched his arms out to get some of the feeling back in them, he almost winced at the smell coming off of his clothes. Uncle Vernon had seen no reason to allow Harry a shower the day before, what with Aunt Petunia being gone most of the day, and himself maintaining as wide a berth from his nephew as possible. But now, Harry's overly large clothes absolutely reeked with the dried out remnants of urine that had gotten all over them the day before, and he knew his Aunt would let him get cleaned up as soon as she got close enough to smell him. Despite knowing that he would soon face a cold shower of water from the hose in the backyard, Harry was anxious for the opportunity to feel clean again.

Harry guessed he had a little time before any of the house's other occupants started to wake, so he dug out his hidden stash of food, finally deciding to eat the small can of Vienna sausages for his breakfast. Carefully peeling back the top, he fished one of the pieces of meat from the juices in the can and brought the morsel cautiously to his mouth. After the repeated bouts of nausea and stomach pain the day before, Harry wanted to be careful to avoid causing his body to react like that again, and he ate the meat with small, controlled bites, waiting for several minutes each time he swallowed a bite to be sure he wasn't going to sick up.

He was able to eat two of the sausages before his stomach started to rumble in protest, and he slid the can back under his cot, wrapping any rags he could find around it so that the strong smell of it would not reach Aunt Petunia's sensitive nose. He had just finished its concealment when the door to his cupboard rattled, signaling his aunt's mood as she angrily fumbled with the sliding bolt lock that kept Harry confined inside. With a sudden metallic scrape and click, the lock was successfully slid open, and Harry narrowed his eyes in discomfort at the bright light that flowed into his space from the foyer beyond.

"Up, Boy! Breakfast needs to be ready within half an hour, so you've no time to waste sitting around like a useless bump on a log. Get to work!"

Harry stumbled his way out, almost bumping his head on the frame of the small doorway, and making the mistake of catching himself on his injured hand as he struggled not to fall flat on his face. He winced and grinded his teeth together as pain shot through his hand and up his arm. But quickly schooling his face into an expression of objectivity, he picked himself off the floor as best he could and made his way to the kitchen.

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Later that day, after being hosed off in the backyard, Harry was finally dressed in some reasonably clean clothes, albeit many sizes too large, and was hard at work cleaning his aunt's bathroom. The work was slow going, and he was consistently berated every time his aunt checked on his progress. It seemed she was walking in every five minutes or so just to complain, but Harry decided now was a good a time as ever to proceed with the plan he had come up with just the night before.

"I'll be right back; and you had better be done scrubbing that toilet before I return."

Harry waited until her footsteps receded into the distance, and he risked picking himself up from his stooped over position in front of the toilet to be sure she wasn't within sight down the narrow hallway. Knowing he had precious little time, he quickly slung open the mirrored front of the medicine cabinet above the sink and began rummaging through its contents in the blind hope that he would find what he needed to tend to the infection in his wound.

Picking up various medicine bottles and tubes of ointment, he read each label, being careful to put the item back into its exact space when it saw that it wasn't what he was looking for. He had gone through the medicines on two of the three shelves and was beginning to grow desperate as the minutes ticked by and he still had not found anything that would help.

Hearing the noise from the squeaky step, Harry knew his aunt would be to the bathroom in a manner of seconds, so he grabbed the last few items off the shelf and hurriedly read each label before lifting them back to the shelf one by one. He had just about given up when he realized that one of the two medicines he had left in his hand was a tube of antibiotic cream. He stuffed it into his pocket and started to put the last remaining pill bottle into its place when he spotted his aunt in the hall. Knowing he wouldn't have time to put the last bottle back without being seen, he stuffed it down his pocket as well, and hastily shut the medicine cabinet just as Aunt Petunia came to a stop in the bathroom doorway.

She eyed him suspiciously as she settled her hands on her hips. "What are you doing?"

Harry gulped and slowly turned around, hoping she had not caught him. "Um," Harry looked around for an excuse before remembering he was standing in front of the sink. "Just washing my hands."

He turned the faucet on and soaped his right hand and the fingers of his injured left hand as she stood silently watching him from the doorway, as if she somehow knew he was lying but was trying to figure out why. By the time he was done with his quick wash up, Harry was practically sweating bullets. He dried his hands on the front of his baggy shirt since he wasn't allowed to use the family's hand-towel, and he grabbed the cleaning supplies up to return them to the cupboard under the kitchen sink.

His aunt stepped aside to allow him passage, and he almost winced in fear of punishment as he passed her, but he was able to remain unscathed. With a sigh of relief, he headed towards the stairs, only stopping for a second before descending them to peer over his shoulder. He could see his aunt glaring into the recently cleaned toilet as if it had wronged her in some way, in her effort to make sure Harry had cleaned it per the usual standards. Apparently, he had passed the test, because he wasn't yelled at or ordered to return. With a small half-smile of satisfaction, he took the steps two at a time, knowing that if he hurried, he would have the rest of the chores finished before supper.

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The day went well for Harry, all things considered. He was allowed a cheese sandwich for lunch, and he was able to eat almost half of the thing before his stomach started hurting. He was still pleased though, for it was more than he was able to hold down at once for several days. He was able to finish all his chores and after supper that night, which consisted of the hard, crusty end from a loaf of baked bread, he was told by his Aunt that he was once again allowed to be in his bedroom upstairs, provided he 'not infect any more of the house with his abnormal blood'.

Harry was glad that the cut hadn't bled all day, but as he sat in his room that night and unwound the strip of cloth he kept it bandaged with, he groaned in both pain and disgust when he saw what lay beneath it all. He had known that it was infected from its redness the day before and the throbbing pain that it elicited all day as he worked on his chores, but he was unprepared for the sight of it now, after being left untreated for so long. The entire site was swollen and inflamed, the redness hardly masking the pus forming along the edges of darkened skin, the dried blood flaking off in spots where some of the infection had started to ooze out, leaving the wound dotted with beads of drying, yellow goo.

Harry gingerly touched it with his other hand, wincing and drawing back when pain flared up at the contact. Mumbling under his breath, he checked to be sure that his bedroom door was locked before fishing about in his oversized pocket for the stolen medicine. He pulled out the antibiotic ointment first, but then reached back in to retrieve the bottle of pills he had been forced to hide before he could be caught. He had honestly forgotten he still had them.

He set his supplies on the bed and proceeded to organize the things he would need to doctor his injury. He rummaged about to find some more clothes he didn't mind parting with, and he tore another long strip of fabric from around the bottom of a worn out, grey tee-shirt. He then tore a few more pieces off so he'd have something to clean the wound with. When he felt he was as prepared as he could be, he laid the items on his bed and kneeled on the floor beside it, using the bed's surface to rest his sore hand upon.

Harry knew the area would have to be cleaned before he started and he felt like cursing himself when he realized that he forgot to bring a wet rag into his room to aid his efforts. So, he was forced to improvise. At first, he scratched at the dry blood with one of his nails, but he was only partially successful. He was able to pull some of the dried blood away, releasing some of the trapped pus from beneath; however, most of the particles were too small to get up with his small, chewed down nail. Finally, able to think of no suitable alternative, he spit onto the cut, and used one of the cloths he tore from his shirt to scrub at the opening, wincing whenever he hit a raw nerve.

When that part was done, he knew he had to squeeze out as much of the infection as he could. Gritting his teeth and tensing in anticipation to the pain, he pinched at the most swollen looking spots and had to bite his lip to withhold the screams of agony that almost broke free, his eyes watering at the effort. After using the cloths to wipe away the discharge, he twisted off the cap from the ointment and smeared a generous amount of it over the cut, then wrapped the entire thing up in the clean strip of cloth when he was finished.

Using the heel of his right hand to wipe away the tears that had formed as he worked, Harry then pulled his shirt off to inspect the other sore spots on his body, figuring that he might as well be sure that the ointment wasn't needed anywhere else. After a few minutes of checking himself over and applying the medicine to a few areas, he laid back, allowing his body to relax, and before he realized it, he had fallen asleep on the floor.

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He woke the next day to a blinding light that stung his eyes through his closed lids. Bringing his hand up to shield his face from it, he groaned out loud as his muscles protested the movement. Harry stiffly brought himself into a sitting position and looked around in confusion for a few moments before remembering where he was. He was so exhausted the day before that he had apparently spent the entire night on the floor where he had fallen asleep. He reached back to grab up his glasses from where they still lay, bathed in the sunlight streaming through the window, and pushed them onto his face.

Harry raked a hand through his hair and yawned, not quite ready to be so fully awake. He grabbed onto the side of the bed and used it as leverage as he hoisted himself from the floor. He knew one of his relatives would be by soon to tell him to make breakfast, so he set about cleaning his supplies up that he had used the night before. He had just gotten the cloths and antibiotic cream tucked into his hidey-hole under the loose floorboard when he realized there was still something left on his bed.

Picking the pill bottle up, Harry momentarily panicked, worried that his Aunt would notice its absence soon, if she hadn't already, and when that happened, he would be lucky to see anything more than the inside of his cupboard for the rest of the summer. He read the label and slowly released a breath he had not realized he'd been holding. The prescription was old, from the year before actually, and he didn't think she would be missing it at all if it had been sitting in the medicine cabinet that long untouched.

Harry sat on his bed, resting his back against the wall as he fiddled with the bottle, turning it round and round in his fingertips, listening to the slight rattle the pills made as the bottle was shaken. Sitting there like that, Harry allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts. He was really beginning to get worried about Hedwig, for one. He had hoped to see her last night, but she hadn't come to the window at all while he tended his wounds. Of course, Harry reasoned, she might have come while I was asleep.

While he pondered these things, he let his fingers still and he finally read the rest of the pill bottle's label. Sleeping pills. Aunt Petunia must have gotten them while he was at school last year; he sure couldn't remember her ever complaining about having a sleeping problem before. But then again, Harry thought, she does have to sleep next to Uncle Vernon, and I can hear him snoring all the way into my room. Harry snickered to himself over the little bit of humor he had been able to conjure up, but suddenly sprang to attention when someone banged on his door.

"Wakey, wakey, Freak!" Dudley's voice sang out in a cruel sing-song tone. "I'm hungry! Hurry up and get breakfast started already!" There were a few seconds of malicious laughter before loud footsteps sounded through the house, signaling Harry's cousin's departure.

With a disgruntled look on his face, Harry headed for his trunk for a change of clothes, tucking the old bottle of pills under the pile of clothes within. He didn't give any of it another thought as he made his way out the bedroom door, dreading the chore list that he knew awaited him downstairs.

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The next few days passed as the others before it had. Constant chores, a bite of food here or there, a shove or a kick when he wasn't moving fast enough, a verbal lashing for the slightest infraction, and a full-out beating for anything that could be seen as an act of defiance, which in coincidently, happened quite often. Although the wound on his hand seemed to be slowly healing, the rest of Harry's body was gradually deteriorating. It had only been a few weeks since he had returned from Hogwarts, but already, his ribs were showing and his hip bones seemed to jut out by a great degree. And when he happened to look in the mirror, he could see that his cheeks had begun to sink in a little as well. He would always screw his face up in disgust at how he looked, and it eventually got to the point where he refused to allow himself to even look in a mirror any more.

But it was during the nights spent alone in the dark that he would feel the worst. Some nights he was able to fall asleep quickly from the sheer exhaustion, but there were many nights that he could do no more than lay atop his sheets, curled up in pain, and wondering how he would be able to hide it all from his friends when the time came to catch the train back.

Feeling as he did, it was easy to let the days run one into another, until he was unaware of even what day of the week it was. It was only when Vernon was home for the day that Harry would realize that it was yet another Saturday. Therefore, he was surprised when he was distracted from his dark thoughts very late one night by a thumping, scratching noise at his window.

Wearily pulling himself from his bed, Harry cautiously walked to his window and opened it, the cooler night air assaulting his senses as a light gust of wind pushed its way into the stale, warm air of his stuffy room. He took a deep breath of the refreshing breeze and then almost cried out in alarm as something flew down in front of his face and barreled its way into the room. It wasn't until the creature alighted on his bed that Harry realized with a start that it was Hedwig.

"Hedwig!" Harry cried out happily, relieved to see his long-lost friend. "Where have you been girl?"

Hedwig hooted softly and turned her head to gently nip at Harry's fingers as he reached out to stroke her silky feathers. After a few minutes of petting, she hopped forward and extended a leg. It wasn't until then that Harry noticed the small scroll of parchment tied there, the white of the paper blending in with the white of her feathers. Harry carefully untied it and sat himself on the end of the bed closest to the window, hoping enough light would come through from the street lamps outside that it would allow him to make out whatever was printed on the parchment.

Harry,

Hey, Mate! I hope everything's alright. We've been keeping Hedwig here for you. We were all worried when she showed up a few weeks ago without a note or anything. I guess Dumbledore told you the same thing that he told me and Hermione, huh? I don't think a letter now and then would let You-Know-Who find you any easier, but you know how Dumbledore is. We had to get his permission before sending you even this note! Anyways, I just wanted to say: Happy Birthday!

I know we can't send you the usual things (Mum was really upset that she couldn't send you some treacle fudge), so we'll just hold on to them and give them to you when we see you at the train station. Oh, and Hermione wanted me to tell you Hi! Well, Mate, I got to go. I want to get this letter sent before Fred and George have a chance to--

The rest of Ron's sentence was missing, leaving nothing more than the scratch of ink across paper. The letter started up again further down the parchment, but in a tidier scrawl that made it obvious that Fred and George had, indeed, gotten Ron's letter from him.

Hey there, Harry! We wanted to say Happy Birthday to our best investor… well, only investor really, but still much appreciated! As you well know, we won't be returning to Hogwarts for the following school term, but we have no intention of letting anyone there forget us; therefore, we'll be sending you a selection of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shortly after the start of school. Consider it a belated birthday gift. Make sure to tell everyone where you got them from. We have to go…Mum's yelling for us. Bye!

--Gred and Forge

Harry couldn't help the smile that stretched the corners of his lips upwards, but just as swiftly, the smile fell from view. If today was his birthday, school was still a full month away. Rubbing his hand over his belly and feeling the sharp ridge of his hip as he lowered his hand, he wasn't sure he'd make it till then, not at this rate anyways. Suddenly angry at his situation, he kicked the bedpost as hard as he could, scaring Hedwig in the process. With a startled hoot, she took to the air, landing on the window sill and casting a furtive look in Harry's direction.

Harry's uncle gave a loud snort as his sleep was disturbed by the noise. Harry held his breath, waiting for the instant when his uncle would bust the door down in a fiery rage, but when nothing happened, he slowly released the breath, thankful that luck seemed to be on his side for once. With a sigh, he slumped down onto his bed, rolling onto his stomach and bending his knees so that his feet were propped up in the air. Supporting his head on one of his hands, he gave Hedwig an apologetic look.

"Sorry about that."

She hooted softly and hopped off the window sill, and with a few flaps of her wings, she landed on the bed next to Harry's head. She leaned down to nibble at a few strands of his long hair and he sighed again, making her feathers ruffle where his breath blew across her belly.

"Oh, Hedwig," he whispered, "I feel so alone."

She lowered his head to nudge at his cheek, but even that wasn't enough to lift Harry's spirits. Hedwig hopped back just in time to avoid the movement of Harry's head as he shifted onto his side and curled into a fetal position. Drawing the covers over his body, he lay for a long time, finding neither sleep, nor peace of mind. When his stomach suddenly gave a loud grumble of dissatisfaction, he tried to ignore it, but when it seemed to lurch and started sending sharp stabs of pain through his insides, he was forced to do something about it.

Harry looked under the bed, in the hole under the loose floorboard, and into the recesses of his trunk for something, anything, to eat that would ease the pain, but finding nothing, he allowed his body to collapse in defeat where he had been sitting by his trunk when another jolt of pain raced its way through him. Biting his lip to withhold a sob of despair, he rubbed one of his hands over his watery eyes, pausing as the fabric still covering his wounded left hand came in contact with his cheek.

Pulling the hand away from his face, he looked at it for several minutes, his face slightly screwed up in thought. Then he hastily began removing the makeshift bandage. Pulling it free, he threw the cloth to the floor and held his hand up to catch the light coming in the nearby window. Even in the dim light, he could still make out the red ribbon of healing flesh that trailed across his palm. He knew it would leave a scar, but he couldn't bring himself to care. What's one more scar to The-Boy-Who-Lived? Harry huffed in sick amusement at the thought.

He traced one of his fingers from his right hand down the raised edges of the cut, and when another flash of pain in his abdomen made itself known, he purposely pressed against the scabbed edge, wincing as he did so, but continuing to press harder and harder until the skin gave way beneath his touch and then broke open, blood instantly welling up along the reopened bit of flesh. Harry took in a deep breath, relishing the feeling of control that the action had given him as all the other things that had been bothering him seemed to float away into the back of his mind. All that there was for the moment was this cut and the pain it made, making him forget about the Dursleys, making him forget about Sirius, and making him forget about that damned prophesy. And with a small sigh of contentment, Harry leaned against his trunk and shut his eyes.

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A/N: Did you all like this chapter? If you did, let me know. If you didn't, still let me know. And for those of you who are wondering (and because I already got an email from a concerned reader), No, Harry will not be raped by his Uncle. That plot line is totally overused and I will be steering clear of it. That form of abuse occurs while Harry is at Hogwarts, and it happens after a series of worsening events. But that being said, please feel free to contact me with any questions or suggestions you have concerning this story. And please send me a review, those are the motivational tools I use to get my writing done. Thanks to you all!