Hello, I wanted to write something Harry Potter/Wizarding World related. As someone who was also a victim of emotional abuse, Harry's story during my childhood resonated a lot. And it felt terribly unfair how his grief /trauma was not addressed. Here's that. There might be other stuff along the lines but I'll stick to a story that isn't graphic or too dark.

Chapter 1 - Nothing lasts forever, not even fear

In the middle of one of the bus stops in Surrey, the weather felt different. It was brisk. There was not a single drop of rain. And yet, the wind felt razor sharp. It howled against the fragile structure that was called a bus shelter barely helped the painfully thin young man …well…to hide from an eventual shower.

And yet, he had decided to stop for a moment, his trunk filled to the brim with his school material, laying on the other side of the family – if he could call them that- had not stopped to pick him up at King's Cross, London. It had forced him to make a stop at a glanced at his leathered old wallet. It was too big to be that of a teenager just out of school. A few tatters of used leather could be seen. Opening with a bit of difficulty the wallet, he noticed there was a ten quid bill. Ten Aunt Petunia wouldn't mind I have a small dinner…

Then, the horrible voice of Vernon Dursley flashed in his mind.

"You spent ten quid! All because of a snack!? You could've helped with the groceries, you ungrateful…"

He flinched, his breath hitching. It was not that cold, not for June anyways.

Harry Potter was gone past the point of caring what his family cared. For the last five years, they had made sure that he did not matter…or that his connection to the magical world was a stain to their decent little lives in Little was an hour of walking towards Privet Drive.

He ripped out the Band-Aid the Mediwitch in Hogwarts had placed a couple of weeks ago. During his second year, Harry had come to the realization even though Hogwarts was very unlike his home in Surrey, most Wizards and Witches had adapted their medicine to the way many non-magical doctors and nurses treated their has been around as long as magic has.

And yet, Madame Pomfrey never realized he had been slightly skinnier than most children in Hogwarts. Either that or she did not care. No one cared for him anyway. Except for Hermione. Half of the time, he wished Ron had been there as a friend. But as things stood after Sirius' death, it felt as though nearly the Weasleys had an undying loyalty for Albus Dumbledore. The old coot that ruined my life. Harry thought bitterly as he kicked a stray can of fizzy drink.

The letter that Hermione had delivered to him made him sob during the ride to Surrey.

Mione here,

I couldn't give this to you via owls since Dumbledore thinks it's too dangerous…I am so sorry things had to go this way. I won't say I warned you about all of this bull. You and Ronald never seem to listen. You know as well as I do that Padfoot's death has affected all of us. This is all unfair…

You should have seen Malfoy's face when he saw us walking from the Gryffindor Tower. He seemed shocked…it was no longer the face of the spoilt prat all of us came to know ever since First Year. I think he did flinch when Umbridge announced she'd curse you.

Don't tell Ronald this, but the reason I asked you for the invisbility cloak was so I could get to Madame Pomfrey's files. I told my dad about your bruises from Quidditch. Apparently, Dad told an orthopaedic doctor – the non-magical version of a doctor that focuses on the overall conditions of bones – and he was shocked. Harry, my dad told me you weren't just involved in sports' injuries, but in abuse ones.

Dad will try to contact the police and the Child Court. This will involve a lot of paperwork. I know this sounds awful of me to say, but I want to help you…I really do. Mum and Dad also want to help you.

Hope you'll be well,

Harry could not finish the whole letter. He crumpled it and threw it to the garbage. Hedwig, his snowy owl, hooted , her eyes peering into him.

"What?!" Harry snapped. "Mione's meddling with my life…! And I didn't ask her…" He shudders, thinking on the consequences. Even if the Child Protective Services came to his house, they would not do any good. Petunia and Vernon would lie to the officers' faces; they would say his bruises were from gang-fights with other local "miscreants".

Hedwig rustled her feathers against the distraught fifteen year old.

Sinking his face in the trunk, Harry sighed, unsure what to do. He didn't want to face his uncle and tell him how unfair it was that he had to buy a bus ticket from London to Little Whinging. In the end, he dragged his feet to an open grocery store run by the Maktars, a family of Lebanese migrants and asked for flat bread , sliced frozen Halal meat and eggs. And some dead rats for Hedwig. The Maktars had a hawk who they took to hunt in the British countryside.

"Bye Badr." Harry waved at the hawk perched near the balcony.

If he were to buy some groceries, it might as well be from actual nice folk. Most of the hypermarket owners in Surrey were nasty and mean to Harry. But for some reason, the Maktars had always been kind to him. It became a bit of a habit whenever Harry went shopping for his cousin's food, he always stopped at the Maktars. It did cheer him up.

No soon as he reached Privet Drive, Harry sighed once again. What was it again that Snape had had said to him during their occlumency sessions? 'Clear your mind'. Harry could not. All he could think was that Vernon would lecture him about arriving at six in the evening…and how stupid he was for not rushing.

Ringing the doorbell Harry half-expected Dudley to push him against the door while fiddling with his keys.

The Aunt Petunia that greeted him was nothing like the Aunt Petunia he had seen. She had circles around her eyes. Her usual cakey face of makeup was now dry. Her thirtyish face was now obvious with wrinkles. A faint reek of tobacco wafted from her. Her long neck had a very red scar.

"Oh…Harry…you're…You're late." She mumbled in a creaky and brittle tone.

"Aunt…why is …Uncle Vernon did not come to…"

A long silence followed that question. His aunt's eyes became glassy as she hiccupped.

"He was fired." She replied, allowing him to come inside the house. Harry noticed that the dining room was upside down – the shelf with all the precious silverware and porcelain his aunt had crumbled to the ground, the couch was filled with all sorts of stains.

Harry came inside hesitantly.

What in the world happened…? Harry thought as he rushed over to the cupboard where there usually rested a Muggle broom and a few old newspapers. He instinctively knew his uncle wouldn't want to have this mess in the dining hall.

"Harry…there's no need to…"

Harry whipped his head, completely taken back. His aunt did not want him to clean that mess? It felt wrong…to leave there…? And yet…he had arrived. Feelings of guilt and anger fought against in his mind.

"Aunt Petunia…what happened? I have the right to know-"

No one has ever told me anything ever since last year, after the Triwizard Tournament!

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, you-!" Petunia snapped in a shrill tone, but then her eyes whirled back to the mess. Harry stumbled backwards, shrinking away. "I'll clean this!"

Not waiting to be ordered around, Harry hurried back to his bedroom, a few tears stinging in his face.