Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, all characters belong to JK Rowling :)

Chapter warnings: talk about child abuse, mild self harm

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"It's called Coke, Ron."

"It looks suspicious."

Harry and Hermione sat opposite Ron at the table, Harry wielding a bottle of Diet Coke. Ron had been looking for some item of clothing or other in the boys' shared room upstairs, and had accidentally discovered Harry's stash of Diet Coke in one of the drawers. Now, the only witch and wizard in the house who had grown up in the muggle world were having to explain the concept of Coke to a rather perplexed Ron.

"It's not suspicious, Ronald. It's a very popular Muggle drink, which was originally created by Dr. John Pemberton as a tonic for common ailments."

It was difficult to take Hermione's oddly extensive knowledge of Coke seriously when she herself was struggling to make it through a sentence without breaking down in giggles. Harry wasn't faring much better, having to literally clutch his side from the pain of laughing too hard. Clearly, the other adults in the living room were not immune either, as Sirius was chuckling loudly behind a copy of The Daily Prophet, and Remus was stifling a grin with his hand, observing the teenagers with amusement.

"Why is it that colour? I thought 'fizzy drinks' were meant to be, like, orange or something?" Ron had his nose on the table, his face right up against the bottle in an attempt to examine it.

Both Harry and Hermione broke down in fits of giggles at that. It wasn't the 'orange' comment so much as Ron's obvious confusion. Hermione nearly fell off of her chair she was laughing so hard, and had to grab Harry's shoulder to stabilise herself. This just exacerbated the giggles.

"Will you two stop laughing at me!" Ron snapped indignantly. "I think you're forgetting, I wasn't brought up in the muggle world - how am I meant to know what any of this shit is?"

"Language!" Mrs Weasley scolded from where she was chopping vegetables over by the stove.

Ron sulked at the reprimand, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring furiously at the offending bottle. Harry thought he might actually pass out from lack of oxygen, and judging by Hermione's flushed face and gasping breaths, she was in danger of the same thing.

"Herm- Hermione!" Harry spluttered. Hermione just shook her head, unable to speak through the onslaught of giggles. "Wizards don't have fizzy drinks!" He all but shrieked, unable to contain the peals of laughter.

Hermione drew a shaky breath, and wiped a tear from her eye. As soon as she noticed the evil look Harry was giving her, she quickly caught on. "Oh yeah! Ron, why don't you-" she spluttered, and tried to regain enough composure to speak. "Why don't you try some?" Her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, though she didn't let it show on her face.

"This is a trick, isn't it? It's gonna do something awful to me." Ron glanced from the bottle to them and back again, looking suspicious.

"No! No, I promise it's not! Look, Harry will try some!" Hermione tried to reassure Ron, but it was rather undermined by her clear amusement.

"Yeah! Watch," Harry grinned, and grabbed the bottle. He unscrewed the lid and was just about to take a swig when he broke down in giggles, and had to wait until he'd composed himself enough to drink. After several false starts, Harry finally raised the bottle to his lips and took a long drink of the dark liquid, holding it his his mouth for emphasis.

In hindsight, that was a very bad idea.

Harry swilled the Coke around in his mouth, intending to prove to Ron it was safe. However, he then accidentally caught Hermione's eye, and chaos ensued. The two had only just managed to recover from the attack of giggles - however, one look at Harry, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk and eyebrows raised practically above his hairline, was their undoing.

Harry lurched forwards and Coke sprayed out of his mouth onto the table. He was up in a flash, coughing and spluttering, completely helpless against the Coke dripping down his chin and leaking from his nose. He was doubled over, hands clamped over his mouth and nose and his face turning alarmingly scarlet as he struggled for air between choked coughs. Hermione just watched the whole thing unfold from her chair, reduced to a floppy mess of giggles and tears of mirth.

"HERMIONE!" He screamed, his hands flailing wildly. Hermione finally composed herself enough to run and grab him some kitchen roll from the counter which she handed to him quickly, still shaking with laughter. Harry pressed the tissue to his nose, trying to stop the Coke from dripping onto the floor. However, it was still running down his chin and soaking his shirt, seeping through to his bare chest and coating his skin with the sticky liquid. He coughed and spluttered, tears streaming down his face from the burning in his nose and throat. There was a growing puddle of Coke on the floor at his feet, frothy and mingled with spit. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if it started coming out of his ears, as well. It was all rather undignified.

It took five minutes and half a roll of kitchen towel for Harry to compose himself, whilst Hermione, much to his annoyance, remained fully incapacitated. She was sitting at the table, her head in her hands, hiding her face and her shoulders were shaking with silent hysterics. Ron, however, had gone distinctly pale and wide-eyed.

"You said it was safe!" He said, horrified at the display he had just witnessed.

"It is safe," Harry said, his voice sounding somewhat nasal due to his Coke-filled sinuses. "Unless someone makes you laugh while you're drinking it. Then it can become quite dangerous." Harry dabbed at his leaking nose, sniffing loudly. "Go on, try some. I promise you'll be fine, just as long as you don't laugh."

Ron looked very sceptical, but took the bottle nonetheless, and - tentatively - took a tiny sip. A sip which, much to Harry's disgust, he immediately spat back out, directly into the bottle. Ron spluttered and coughed, while Harry just rolled his eyes, and Hermione's laughter increased tenfold. She pointed at Ron with a shaky hand, unable to do much more than that before she collapsed back in her seat, clutching her aching belly.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT!" Ron yelled, red-faced and watery eyed.

"Ronald Weasley!" Mrs Weasley dropped her knife on the chopping board with a clatter and glared at her youngest son. Choking children and hysterical witches she could tolerate, but bad language was a definite no.

"Sorry, mum!" Ron apologised sheepishly, and glared at Harry. "You're trying to kill me!" He hissed accusingly. Harry couldn't help but snigger at that.

"It's not poison, Ron. It's just that you've never had a fizzy drink before - it's fizzy." Harry explained, albeit in a rather patronising tone.

"It's like liquid pins-and-needles!" Ron exclaimed loudly, which brought more muffled chortles from Hermione's hunched-over form. She had resumed her earlier position, hands over her face and slumped over the table. "Or- or…" he continued, his tomato-red face screwing up in concentration as he searched desperately for the right analogy. "FIREWORKS! It's like drinking fireworks!"

Hermione completely unraveled at that. Her undignified snorts only seemed to add to the humour of the situation.

"I've never thought of it like that," Harry chuckled, wiping at his burning nose with his sleeve. "Ach, I'm all sticky!" He complained, pinching a section of his shirt and peeling the sodden material away from his chest.

Hermione sat up, cleared her throat, and wiped her teary eyes. "I'd put that straight in the wash if I were you, Harry. You mustn't leave-" she choked on a giggle. "You mustn't leave fireworks around the house!"

It really wasn't that funny, but Harry was still helpless against the onslaught of laughter which rendered him yet again a floppy mess, leaning heavily against an equally debilitated Hermione for support. Even Ron smirked at the bad joke.

"Come on, Harry - Hermione's right, we need to remove the hazard!" Ron laughed, reaching over the table to try and help Harry take off his shirt.

Fortunately, the table was quite wide, so all Ron succeeded in doing was lifting the front of Harry's shirt to just under his ribs. However, the action still resonated with Harry, and his laughter instantly ceased.

"No!" He exclaimed, jumping up from the table so fast that his chair toppled over backwards, falling to floor with a clatter. All laughter stopped at that sound.

"Harry, what-" Hermione was cut short as Ron jumped in.

"Mate, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

But Harry was already halfway up the stairs.

Harry slammed the bedroom door shut with slightly more force than necessary, the crash seeming to reverberated throughout the entire house, and flopped down onto his bed, breathing heavily. He wasn't angry with his friends - they hadn't done anything wrong. Ron was just joking. He knew that. Harry was angry with himself for reacting that way - and for having a reason to cover up in the first place. And now he'd blown it with them. They had just been having a laugh, and Harry had ruined it. He always ruined it.

Harry brought a hand down on his head. Hard. His teeth rattled at the impact, but it wasn't enough. He felt as though his head might explode from the pressure of his racing thoughts, and Harry didn't know how to alleviate it. So this time he used both hands, hitting his head repeatedly with increasing force. It felt good - the throbbing pain in his skull, the dizzying rush in his head, the stars imploding in his vision…

Harry's hands were yanked away from his head and strong arms wrapped around him from behind, securing his hands behind his back. He struggled desperately, in a blind panic from the restraining hold and the memories that surfaced with it. Suddenly, the grip released, leaving him unrestrained. At least, physically - but mentally, Harry was still trapped.

He couldn't breathe. Suddenly, he was back at Privet Drive. His uncle was holding him from behind as Harry attempted to run, snarling threats in his ear, squeezing Harry's middle as he struggled. Harry could feel Vernon's hot breath on his cheek, his fat fingers digging into Harry's ribs and his voice deafeningly loud as he yelled directly into Harry's ear. But that voice - it wasn't his uncle; it sounded like…

"Harry! Harry, calm down!"

Harry was brought back to Earth by a loud, but calm, voice. His eyes snapped open and he looked around frantically, his breathing coming in short, sharp gasps. Harry was in a blind terror, and his legs flailed wildly as he scrambled backwards. One of his feet made contact with something soft, and he heard someone swear loudly.

"Harry, look at me."

Harry searched desperately for the origin of the voice, wide-eyed with fear. Emerald eyes met steely grey, and Harry's shoulders dropped. Sirius was crouched in front of Harry, his eyes filled with concern and sporting a bright pink mark on his right cheek. Hot shame prickled inside Harry when he realised that he was the reason for that mark.

"Sirius, I-" Harry choked, his stare fixed on that angry red mark, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay, Harry. It was my fault, I shouldn't have grabbed you." Sirius said, taking Harry's hand in his own and squeezing it reassuringly. So it had been Sirius who had been holding him, Harry realised. And he had kicked him. Guilt gnawed at his insides, a queasy feeling settling in his stomach.

Sirius reached up to brush Harry's hair away from his forehead, but quickly retracted his hand as Harry flinched violently. "Sorry, Harry," he said, though Harry wasn't quite sure why. He should be apologising to Sirius, not the other way around.

"I'm sorry I kicked you. I just- I couldn't breathe. One minute, I was here, and the next, I was at Number Four, and Uncle Vernon…" Harry took a deep breath. "He used to hold me like that. When I tried to run away." He said, and looked down in shame.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't know-" Sirius began, but trailed off. "Are you okay now? You were hitting your head pretty hard…"

Harry blushed. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sirius asked, giving Harry's hand another reassuring squeeze.

Harry took a few shaky breaths before speaking. "I know I overreacted, downstairs. I was just terrified that someone would see…"

"You didn't overreact - you were scared. Though I take it you haven't told to Ron and Hermione yet?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to worry them," he said quietly.

"They're your friends, Harry - they would never judge you, and you will likely find that you need their support once you're back at school."

"I know, I just- I don't want to be a burden on them, like- like I am to you, and Remus, and Mrs Weasley-"

"Harry, listen to me. You are not a burden. Of course we worry about you, but that is because we care about you - and I wouldn't have it any other way. It's up to you whether or not you tell them, but I would strongly suggest that you do. They would want to know." Sirius gave Harry's hand a squeeze, and made to stand up.

"Are they okay?" Harry asked.

"Yes, they are fine. A little confused, and unsure of what they did - but they aren't angry with you, Harry. It's more likely that they are annoyed with themselves for upsetting you."

Guilt churned in Harry's stomach. "Could you- please could you ask them to come up? You're right, I need to tell them."

Sirius smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course; I'll send them up now."

Harry smiled in thanks, and stood up, walking over to the chest of drawers and retrieving a clean shirt to change into.

"Oh, and Harry?" Sirius popped his head into the doorway. "Why do you have a drawer full of Coke?"

"Oh, um- I… just stocked up on it before I came, so I'd have enough to last me," Harry stammered. It was a half truth.

Sirius chuckled. "Okay," was all he said, before he left.

Harry was left in the bedroom, standing like a lemon in the middle of the room and racking his brain, thinking of what he was going to say to Ron and Hermione. It was going to be difficult, and awkward, but, deep down, Harry knew that it needed to happen. It was just a matter of when, and with the new school year rapidly approaching… there was no point in putting it off any longer.

~~

Hermione peeked around the door, smiling nervously when she saw Harry sitting on the bed. "Hey," she said, almost sheepishly, and came over to join him. Ron followed suit, his eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

"Look, mate, I'm really sorry. I didn't-" Ron began, but Harry cut him off.

"It's fine, Ron. You didn't do anything wrong, I just-" Harry took a deep breath, and felt Hermione take his hand in her own. "Sirius told me that I should tell you, and I'm going to, but- please don't get pissed, okay? I'm sorry I didn't tell you before…"

"Harry, we're your friends. We're here for you, no matter what," Hermione said quietly, giving Harry's hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Yeah, mate. You can tell us anything," Ron interjected, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

"Okay, well- you know how the Dursleys aren't exactly… loving?" Harry prayed that they would put two and two together so he wouldn't have to say it outright. They just nodded, looking mildly confused. "Um, well, my uncle- and Dudley too, I guess- they um…" he trailed off. Hermione seemed to catch on then. Her face filled with shock, and her eyes teared up.

"Oh, Harry!" She whispered, and flung her arms around his neck.

"What? I don't- what do you mean, Harry?" Ron asked, but the question lacked its usual tone of confusion. Harry had a feeling Ron knew exactly what he was getting at.

"It might be easier if I just- if I show you." Harry said, and Ron nodded. Hermione let go of him, and Harry stood up. He didn't look his friends in the eye as he hesitantly took hold of the hem of his shirt, and lifted it to about halfway up his ribcage. In doing so, he revealed the large bruise spanning across one side of his body, mainly around his ribs. When he had arrived at Grimmauld Place, the bruise had been a deep purple and had covered almost all of his ribcage. Now, it had healed to a sickly greenish yellow colour, and looked much less severe. Despite this, the effects on Ron and Hermione were instantaneous.

When Harry finally lowered his shirt and looked up, he saw Hermione, with a shaky hand over her mouth and tears streaming down her face, and Ron, pale-faced with his fists clenched by his side.

"Those pricks did this to you?" Ron asked, his voice worryingly even. Harry just nodded. Suddenly, Ron was on his feet, his complexion going from ghostly to puce in a matter of seconds. "I'll kill them!" He said loudly, causing Harry to noticeably flinch. Hermione shot Ron a warning look, and he immediately calmed, any trace of anger gone, replaced by a look of utter grief that shattered any sense of justification Harry had possessed. Why was he telling them? Why was he showing them?! Hermione was crying, Ron looked like he might burst into tears at any moment; he was hurting his friends, telling them these things just so that he could feel better - so that they could comfort him. It was selfish, and thoughtless, and all Harry wanted in that moment was to take the metal strips and slash, cut, tear - until his blood stained his skin, until all of that guilt had seeped out of his body, through the open wounds… but he couldn't do that. He had started this conversation, and now he had to finish it - whilst inflicting the least amount of pain on his friends as possible.

"I- it's really not that bad, I promise!" Harry stammered, wrestling with his shirt as he attempted to pull it back down.

"Not that bad!? Harry, look at your ribs!" Ron spoke quietly, but his voice did not lack emotion. Sadness and anger contorted his pale features, a look in his eye that, in four years of friendship, Harry had never seen before, and which he hoped he would never have to see again.

"I know, I know- but it was never usually that bad. It was just a one-off." The lie came easily enough, and judging by the visible dropping of Ron's shoulders, and the unclenching of his fists, he seems to believe it easily enough. Hermione, however, looked far from convinced.

"Still, mate- how could they do that to you?" Ron muttered.

"Well, they were never exactly accepting, were they?" Harry snapped, though instantly hating himself for it.

"Not liking magic doesn't justify what they did to you, Harry. No one deserve to be treated like that; least of all you." Hermione said quietly. The tears had stopped, for which Harry was grateful.

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"What for?" Hermione asked. "For telling us?"

Harry nodded weakly, and slumped down onto the bed beside her. Ron sat back down, next to Harry.

"Don't be. I'm glad you did. You shouldn't have to go through that - but you don't need to do it alone. We are here for you, Harry. You would do the same for us." Hermione briefly placed a hand on his shoulder, and Ron smiled at him sadly - though nowhere near his usual happy grin.

Harry smiled weakly in return. "Thank you," he mumbled.

"You don't need to thank us, mate. Come on - we should head downstairs; mum's finished making lunch," Ron said, standing up and offering Hermione a hand. She took it, and Ron pulled her upright - however, when he offered the hand to Harry, he politely declined.

"I'm not hungry," he said, too tired to come home with an elaborate excuse. Worry flashed across both of their faces, but didn't linger for too long. In their eyes, Harry had been eating fine lately, so there was no reason to be concerned about him missing one meal.

"Are you sure? We could bring something up for you, if you'd like?" Hermione offered, but Harry shook his head.

"Don't bother, I'm kinda tired anyway - I'll probably just go to sleep or something," he said, and for once, it wasn't a complete lie. Harry was exhausted, and honestly was contemplating having an afternoon nap.

"Okay," Hermione said, looking slightly nervous, though she said nothing more. The two retreated downstairs, leaving Harry alone in the bedroom. He closed the door behind them, sighed heavily, and ran a hand through his unruly hair. Deciding that a nap might not actually be too bad of an idea, Harry threw himself down onto the bed, face first into the pillows. Despite the anxiety and guilt still roiling in his gut, it wasn't long before Harry was asleep, curled up in a ball on top of the duvet, still with his glasses on.

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Thanks for reading! Take care 3