"Professor," he greeted cordially.
"Bruise cream? Bruised cheek? You getting into trouble Potter? Getting into fights?" Snape sneered at him.
"None of your business Snape." Harry snapped back.
Snape made a disapproving sound as Harry moved past him out of the shop. Snape was the last person he wanted to run into.
At least he knew Snape wouldn't tell anymore. Snape would be the last person to care if he was hurt. He desperately wanted to get something to eat, but he ignored his hungry stomach to get back to his room.
Once back, he stripped down to his boxers and rubbed the bruise cream over his entire body. It didn't make them hurt any less, but at least they were no longer visible on his skin.
That night lying in bed, he thought about nothing as he let himself sleep.
A week later, he found himself back at Hogwarts, the only place he could ever really call home. He found depression from the summers disappeared quickly as soon as he entered the large castle. He felt safe within the walls despite encountering some new monster every year.
After the sorting ceremony as he was about to head to the Gryffindor Tower with Hermione and Ron, Professor McGonagall stopped him, Draco Malfoy tailing behind her.
"Harry," she begun, "A new rule this year for the heads of houses. Miss Granger, please stay go see Snape for your head-of-house room assignment. Very well now Harry. You and Mister Malfoy will be sharing a dormitory. It's an interdisciplinary action we've decided to incorporate this year to show cordial relations between houses. You'll each have your own bedroom with a shared bathroom and common space. Now follow me and I'll show you to your place."
Harry met Malfoy's gaze. Neither boy was happy about this development.
When McGonagall left the boys alone in their new dormitory, they stared at each other for a moment before Malfoy said, "Just stay out of my way Potter."
He shoved past him, knocking into his bruised shoulder and he grunted.
Malfoy scoffed, "Some hero, did that hurt Potter? Pathetic."
Harry rolled his eyes and went to his room. He was exhausted. And he was hungry. He had desperately wolfed down his meal in the great hall, not realizing it until Hermione and Ron had said something about it. He made himself slow down, but in return, he didn't get to finish.
He layed in bed, tossing and turning as he tried to get comfortable desperately. As his ribs and body burned in pain, he knew nightmares would find him tonight.
A ten-year-old Harry stood in the kitchen, peeking around the corner at his aunt who sat on the couch, cigarette in hand.
"Come," she snarled at him.
He did as he was told and stopped in front of her, heart racing at what was to come. She blew a giant puff of smoke into his face and he had to keep himself from coughing.
She grabbed his arm and used his skin to put out her cigarette before pushing him away. He cried out at the burn forming on his arm.
Harry startled awake, covered in sweat, tears running down his face. He struggled to breathe against his bruised ribs. His body felt worse as the week went on, not better like it normally did. He kept applying the bruise cream so no one would see. It only lasted about a day each time so he had to reapply it each morning.
He stumbled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror. His face was pale and his skin clammy. His breath rattled in his chest, like he was starting to catch a cough.
He layed back down in his bed, hoping he could sleep it off and be better in no time.