If there was one thing Harry Potter was sure of, it was that every single inch of his scrawny, sunburned body was in terrible pain and that it was just bound to get worse.

The 15 year old crouched behind a bush in the garden of 4 Privet Drive, his hand covering his mouth as he tried his hardest to keep his cousin, Dudley, from hearing his gasps for breath. For as long as he could remember, Harry had always been Dudley’s punching bag, but until this summer the young wizard had always been able to outrun his bullying older cousin. This summer, though, things had dramatically changed.

“I know you’re around here somewhere Harry, come out and play.” Dudley called out in a sing-song voice, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Harry used his other hand to clamp his mouth shut tighter, knowing Dudley was close enough to hear any noise the raven-haired boy made and from this particular spot he had no good escape route should he be caught.

“There’s no need to hide, cousin, I just want to play.” Dudley repeated in the same eerie voice, causing Harry to shudder.

Playtime with Dudley was never fun and he was in no condition to engage in ‘Harry Hunting’ after working outside in the sun all day. His lips were cracked and dry with the onset of dehydration and his limbs trembled slightly with fatigue as he crouched down, wishing with ever fiber of his being that Dudley would just move on so Harry could readjust himself into a more comfortable stance. After a few moments, he heard Dudley’s footsteps retreating and he allowed himself to take a few deep breaths and shift slightly to let the blood flow to his numb feet, although he wouldn‘t dare move from his hiding spot until he was sure the coast was clear.

His Aunt and Uncle weren’t home, although they wouldn’t have been much help anyway--they always turned a blind eye to Dudley’s bullying and often joined in on the ’fun’ in their own twisted, sadistic ways. They had left Dudley ‘in charge’, as if the miniscule age difference of only a few months made Dudley more mature and deserving to ‘keep Potter in line’. Dudley had taken this to meaning Harry was now his personal plaything and he could do whatever he wanted under the excuse of being ‘in charge’. The first act of Dudley’s position of authority was to give Harry a list of punishments for possible transactions. Some were tame--a punch or two for a first offense, and as the list grew the ‘punishments’ became more and more severe until Dudley decided the punishment of death was not out of the question.

The first ‘rule’ Harry broke? Breathing. Dudley had expressly forbidden his younger cousin to breathe, which Harry could obviously not comply with. Therefore, Harry had spent the last half hour dodging Dudley and hiding whenever possible. He was sure Dudley was having fun with his little game, Harry had never been seen as much more than a freak or a nuisance to the Dursley family, and certainly not a human being with feelings and needs.

Feeling like he was finally free to move now that he hadn’t heard Dudley for a few minutes, Harry carefully crawled through the bushes and rose to his feet, shaking his legs slightly to get rid of the pins and needles sensation that now assaulted his weary limbs. His head throbbed a bit from a mixture of the heat, the work he had been doing outside and the lack of food, and he resigned himself to a 9th meal lost, knowing Dudley would never willingly let him eat while in charge.

Harry was about to start searching for an unlocked window to try and escape to his room when a huge meaty fist appeared out of nowhere, slamming into his head with the force of a baby elephant in a stampede. Pain like he hadn’t felt in ages exploded in his skull, causing him to yell out in surprise and clutch his head in agony, too stunned to do much of anything else. He staggered backwards and tried to make sense of his surroundings as he grew more and more disoriented. The dark-haired boy fell backwards into a sitting position, groaning in agony, and looked up with a mixture of anger and worry at his older cousin.

“How do you feel? You better be able to play.” Dudley sneered, looking down at Harry with a look of fury and disgust, “We haven’t even begun our game yet and you’re already injured, you pathetic waste of skin.”

“I’m only injured because you hit me.” Harry replied, dazed, “Why’d you hit me?” He paused, his face paling quite a bit beneath his sunburn, “I feel sick.”

Dudley’s foot made contact with the side of Harry’s head as the older boy yelled something about respect, although Harry couldn’t make out what exactly was said before he succumbed quickly to darkness, his only thought being that he hoped someone would save him.

By the time Harry awoke, the sun was setting and judging by the temperature difference before and after his assault, he could assume he was now inside. His muscles felt stiff and tense and his eyes felt like they were glued shut. He could only assume it was blood fusing them together, since he felt a slow trickle of liquid creeping down his face and a tremendous amount of pain engulfing his entire head, throbbing in time with his heart.

The wizard reached up to wipe the blood from his face, thoroughly annoyed by it’s slow trickle against his forehead and cheek, only to learn that his hands were bound and he was unable to move. Struggling against the clotted blood holding his eyelashes together, he managed to crack open his eyelids, although it didn’t do much good in his dark surroundings. The curtains had been drawn and the light was off, and in the distance he could hear Dudley laughing and calling out for Harry to ‘come find him‘ because it was ‘time to play.’

Harry struggled against the kitchen chair, which was uncomfortable under normal circumstances and even moreso when tightly tied to it, although he only succeeded in dragging a spindle from the back of the chair painfully against his spine, which always grew more noticeable in the summers due to lack of proper nutrition.

The Gryffindor boy sighed, deciding he had to figure another way to get out of this mess. Instead of flailing his entire body about, which only led to bile rising in his throat as he was assaulted by nausea, assumingly related to his head injury, he concentrated solely on twisting his hands in an effort to free at least one of them. While the limited freedom wouldn’t be nearly as satisfactory as total freedom, it would be a good place to start. After all, being restrained like this was eerily similar to the graveyard that still haunted his dreams. He felt magic crackle in the air as he thought of Voldemort and the graveyard, and his heart ached for Cedric and the loss of an innocent life. The panic and anxiety that always followed any thought of Voldemort’s resurrection was growing as Harry remained unable to escape his restraints, and with a particularly powerful surge of energy he found the ropes disappear and he quickly rose to his feet, rubbing at the blood on his face quickly, barely noticing the cuts on his wrists from struggling with the ropes.

“I can hear you moving around, Harry. I’m waiting for you, you wouldn’t want to break any more rules now, would you?” Dudley taunted, his voice traveling down the stairwell, “Hurry up Harry, I’m in charge and I say that you have to play the game…correctly, Potter, no magic allowed.”

Harry was tempted to flee, but the small amount of fear he felt towards his ogre of a cousin was quickly squashed by righteous anger and foolish Gryffindor bravery and he soon found himself quietly climbing the stairs, ready to give Dudley a taste of his own medicine. If he could only make it to his bedroom, he could get his wand and teach his cousin a lesson, legalities be damned.

Instead, when he reached the top of the stairs he found Dudley standing in front of him, a malicious grin on his abnormally large face. Harry groaned, his body already sluggish and extraordinarily heavy and fatigued from what he had already been through, and what he expected was a concussion now that he not only felt sick but incredibly dizzy and slightly confused as well. He gripped the banister tightly, not trusting his cousin in the least, and said as strongly as he could manage, “Move out of my way.”

“You’re not playing the game right.” Dudley whined, “You’re supposed to run, I’m supposed to chase you. You’re doing it all wrong!”

Before Harry could even process what his cousin had said, much less formulate a response, Dudley had ripped Harry’s hand from the banister and the younger boy found his feet lifted from the ground as Dudley grabbed his shirt and used it to yank him into the air.

“Listen here, you little freak, I’m in charge and we do as I say!” Dudley yelled, causing the pain in Harry’s head to intensify exponentially, “And I say we’re going to do an experiment. You’re supposedly special, with your stupid magic and your freaky ways…let’s see how special you really are.”

With that, Dudley tossed Harry into the air with all of his strength, watching as the younger boy fell down the stairs like a discarded rag doll. Harry knew something was wrong as soon as he felt the impact of the first step about halfway down the staircase. He had been carelessly pushed down the stairs in the past, yet he had never been hurt. He had always assumed it was related to his magic, but if that was the case, why did he just hear a rib crack, why was his body screaming in pain? Why was his magic failing him?

When he finally reached the bottom of the staircase, he laid still, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible since deep breathing had suddenly become painful after the brutal impact of his ribs hitting the wooden stairs. Once again, he silently begged someone to come to his rescue and save him. He didn’t care who it was, as long as they could help. As his world faded to black once more, he realized he’d even be happy to see Snape at this point.

The next time Harry became aware of his surroundings, it was to the excruciating pain of being dragged up the staircase by his hair, and although he had been taught over the years to suffer in silence, he couldn’t help the shrill screams that cut through the silence with each stair his battered body came in contact with. Finally, the floor smoothed out, although the tugging of his hair didn’t cease. Harry was in so much pain that he couldn’t tell what was going on, where he was, he could barely remember who he was. His voice was growing hoarse from screaming and tears mixed with the blood on his face, coating his pale skin.

Bright light assaulted his vision and when his hair was released, Harry realized that he was in the bathroom. No sooner had this realization occurred, Harry found his head being forced under the water of the bathtub without warning, and within seconds Harry felt like his lungs were on fire. He just knew this was the way he was going to die, that his Aunt and Uncle would return home to find their nephew face down in the tub. Dudley would probably claim it to be some twisted form of suicide.

Just when Harry thought he’d have to give in and take a breath of bath water, his head was released long enough for him to inhale a breath, and then was forced down again. The deep intake of oxygen had cleared Harry’s mind a bit and he began to fight back, pure rage taking over all other emotions. While his tiny frame was no match for Dudley’s boxing frame, Harry did have one weapon Dudley would never possess, and just as Harry’s lungs felt ready to burst, a ripple of magic once again flowed from the young wizard, causing Dudley to let go in shock and Harry to escape, running as fast as he could down the stairs and away from his cousin.

Harry didn’t stop running until he was safely outside, and using the remainder of his strength, which he could only assume came from pure adrenaline at this point, he climbed a tree and prayed he wouldn’t fall out. At least he knew he’d be safe here, Dudley had never been able to get his fat rear up a tree, and with any luck he wouldn’t even be seen in the dark. Trying desperately to block out the intense waves of pain crashing through his battered frame, Harry closed his eyes and silently chanted, “Only two days until school, two days left. Two days left. Two days left.”

--

Harry looked at himself in the mirror, fairly satisfied by his reflection. No matter what sort of brutal summer he endured, Harry’s magic always seemed to find a way to make him appear relatively normal when it came time to leave for school. He hadn’t had a chance to look at himself before boarding the train, and had hid in the loo for most of the journey just to keep himself hidden away from his well-meaning friends. From what he had seen in the small train mirror, his injuries were concealed, but he was certain Hermione would hug him and he couldn’t stand that sort of affection at the moment. Every part of him was blue and purple under the glamour and even getting dressed was excruciatingly painful and exhausting. He was fairly certain he needed medical attention of some sort and had planned a fake tumble on the stairs to give him an excuse to visit the hospital wing as soon as practical.

As they reached Hogsmeade station, Harry slipped out of the loo and made his way to the exit, wanting to get as far away from his friends as possible. With any luck, he’d be able to beg off the opening feast by telling McGonagall he had a headache and then dodge Ron’s questions by feigning sleep when everyone eventually made their way to the dormitories. He knew this tactic wouldn’t work forever, but he needed to stall for just a bit longer. He could barely think through his pain and knew that if startled, he was liable to break down and tell someone about everything that had occurred between him and his cousin.

Of course, if Harry did tell and word got back to his relatives, as he was certain it would, they would kill him the next time they laid eyes on him, no doubt about it.

As luck would have it, the first and only professor Harry encountered was Snape, and as soon as he made a move towards the staircase the potions master descended on him like a hawk.

“The feast hasn’t started yet, Mr. Potter, there is no need for you to start wandering the halls this early in the term.”

Harry flinched slightly at the close proximity between himself and the professor, and he looked away, “I have a headache, sir, I was going to just head up to my dormitory…”

Snape reached in his pocket and retrieved a small phial of green liquid, handing it to the weary fifth year, “This should relieve you of your headache, you may proceed with the rest of your classmates to the Great Hall, unless, of course, you have something to…” the professor paused dramatically, “hide?”

Harry stiffened, shaking his head vigorously despite the pain and dizziness he felt at the simple motion, “No sir, nothing to hide. Thank you for the potion.”

Harry downed the potion, handing the empty phial back to Snape and turning towards the hall, dreading being amongst his classmates again. It would take one small slip up for the whole truth to come out, and there was no way he’d allow everyone to know he had been so badly beaten by a muggle, not with the high hopes the wizarding world seemed to hold for him. Had he not felt so overwhelmed and unwell, he would have taken great satisfaction in the surprised look that had crossed Snape’s face when Harry had been more polite than he ever had in the past.

Harry positioned himself at the end of Gryffindor table, closest to the doors, and laid his head down on the table as he tried to block out the sounds of hundreds of students entering the hall. He caught vague snippets of conversation, most of which were mundane statements about the summer holidays, some of which talking about himself and Cedric and the scandalous things the Prophet were printing about him. He didn’t bother to look up when Ron and Hermione sat on either side of him. The dark-haired boy knew it was his friends simply because they would be the only ones to perch themselves beside him when he clearly wished to be alone.

“Sorry we couldn’t sit with you on the train, mate, prefect duties.” Ron said awkwardly. Apparently his ginger friend assumed Harry was behaving sullenly over not having been entertained on the train.

Harry remained silent, feeling stupid for not remembering that he hadn’t needed to hide from his friends on the train. The long journey would have been much more comfortable in an actual seat instead of the cramped bathroom. He halfway listened to Hermione as she began to rant over the new professor’s ministry agenda, only vaguely aware that he had zoned out for most of the headmaster’s speech and sorting and hadn’t even realized the new defense professor had been introduced.

After all of the important news had been shared, Dumbledore clapped his hands together and the food appeared on the table. Harry lifted his head slightly, turning a delicate shade of green as he eyed the food, although he hadn’t eaten in 4 days…or was it 5?…he was having a hard time keeping track of time. He lowered his head again, swallowing back a mouthful of saliva and wishing nothing more than to escape the room full of people and retreat to his warm, soft bed in Gryffindor tower.

“Harry? Harry!”

Harry lifted his head and glanced over at Hermione, only then realizing she must have been trying to get his attention for some time, if the anxious expression on her face was anything to judge by.

“Harry, you look awful.”

“Thanks, Hermione.” Harry retorted tiredly, his stomach churning unpleasantly as his nose was assaulted by the aroma of the food on the table after previously being shielded by the fabric of his robes. “Could you give me the password for the common room? I just want to go to bed.”

He laid his head back down, and could swear he could feel Hermione and Ron looking at each other over his head. For a brief moment, he felt his glamours slip, and he quickly reinforced them, his breathing quickening slightly with the effort, which only made his ribs hurt even more.

“I…excuse me.” Harry muttered, standing from the table and propelling him outside the door as he felt his glamours begin to slip again. He just didn’t have the energy anymore to hold them in place, it seemed. The Gryffindor heard the door creak open behind him and he forced his magic to hold so his injuries wouldn’t be seen.

“I thought I told you that your presence at the feast was mandatory.” Snape hissed silkily, “Yet you insist on being overly dramatic and causing a scene wherever you go.”

“I don’t feel well.” Harry pleaded, hating the weakness evident in his voice.

Snape’s voice sounded far away when he spoke, the words echoing through Harry’s mind over and over again for what seemed like ages, although it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds between the time the professor spoke and the time pandemonium broke loose.

“Finite.”

Unable to stop them, Harry’s glamours fell. Blood rushed through his ears and his heart began to race. This couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not in front of the one teacher who hated him most. No, this couldn’t be happening.

Harry could heard Snape’s voice, but was unable to make out what the professor was saying nor could he respond. He was vaguely aware of being gently placed on a stretcher and levitated, and though he wanted to protest that he could walk, that he didn’t need something so unnecessary and over the top, he couldn’t get his mouth to work and after a few moments he was too exhausted to even try to protest. Suddenly unable to keep his eyes open any longer, the Gryffindor succumbed to the darkness that had been calling for him for so long.

--

“Minerva, you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down, Albus? Have you seen the boy laying in that bed? Have you seen the bruises on his body? 13 broken bones, internal injuries, a very severe concussion! How on earth do you expect me to calm down?”

“Minerva is right, Headmaster, we need to know that the boy won’t be placed back into this sort of environment again. If you wish, I can talk to the boy’s family myself, perhaps--”

“That will be quite unnecessary, Severus.” Dumbledore said quietly, “Regardless, the blood wards on the Dursley residence keep Harry guarded and safe from Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. He must remain under their care when not in school, it is the only safe place for him.”

“Safe?!” Shouted both professors incredulously in response, “Do you call this safe?”

“Certainly this is not ideal, but I’m sure it was some sort of misunderstanding.” Dumbledore spoke quietly, “Once Harry is awake, we will get to the bottom of this. Until then, lets not overreact.”

“Overreact?” Snape said in a dangerous voice, “If not for Poppy’s quick and efficient wand work, this child could have died. And you have the nerve to call it overreacting to want to keep this from happening again?”

As the conversation progressed, the voices went from sounding miles away to their proper place at the foot of the bed to Harry, who was struggling to rejoin the conscious world. He blinked open his eyes as he finally realized what was happening, shocked that Snape, of all people, was standing up for him.

“Ah, Harry my boy, you’re awake!” Dumbledore said kindly, bringing his hands together and taking a seat near the boy’s bed, “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell us how you came to get the injuries Professor Snape discovered on your person this evening?”

Harry struggled to sit, although he had to settle for half-propped up on his elbows as that was all the energy he could gather at this particular moment, and nervously looked at the three adults surrounding his bed. His heart began to race and he stammered, “I…I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Harry knew that excuse was weak, but he still felt a bit disoriented and sick and that was the best he could do at the moment.”

“I think you do, Mr. Potter.” his head of house said gently, yet in a serious tone, “You were gravely injured, you could have lost your life. Why didn’t you notify someone that you were in need of assistance?”

Harry shook his head, his heart racing. He couldn’t tell them--he definitely couldn’t let Snape know that he couldn’t even stand up to his cousin, who was a muggle his own age. If the Slytherins found out, he would never hear the end of the ridiculing he would receive. He shuddered slightly, and fought tears that threatened to escape, “I got in a fight, it’s no big deal.”

“Ah, a muggle-type brawl then?” Dumbledore asked, refusing to meet Harry’s eye and looking a bit towards the young boy’s left, “Now Harry, you mustn’t engage in such activities, you could have gotten yourself killed. Do you have any idea how serious your injuries were?”

Harry shook his head, feeling ashamed for lying and being chastised by the headmaster, even though he wasn’t even really involved in the sort of fight that Dumbledore assumed he was. “I’m sorry, sir.” he said quietly, guilt washing over him in waves. Guilt for being caught in his injured state, guilt for letting himself get hurt to begin with, guilt for lying about his injuries.

“You had severe injuries, if you hadn’t been treated tonight, you may not have lived until morning.” Snape said cooly, causing Harry to look in the professor’s direction. He had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he had nearly forgotten the presence of the two professors. The minute his eyes locked with Snape’s, though, he felt a sharp stab of pain and as if he was watching a film of the events between he and Dudley, Harry began to remember that particular night in vivid detail.

Harry broke eye connection and looked down, trembling and teary, and then looked back at Snape with an angry expression, “What did you just do to me?” he asked indignantly, knowing it had to be Snape’s doing since the potions professor was now looking sickly pale, an unreadable expression of emotion on the normally stoic professor’s face.

“Albus, I will require the use of your pensieve.” Snape said coolly, rapidly composing himself before turning to Minerva, “I believe we have some business to attend to in Surrey.”

Harry zoned out for a moment, wondering exactly what Snape had done and what he was planning to do, and didn’t realize he was being spoken to until he noticed a thin, pale hand waving in front of his face.

“Mr. Potter, can you hear me?”

Startled, Harry quickly responded, “Yes, sir. Sorry.”

“You’re never going to go back there again. Do you understand me? Whatever the headmaster asks, answer honestly. If aurors are brought in, answer truthfully and with as much detail as possible. You have my word, you will never step foot in their home again.”

Harry stared up at Snape, unable to speak but feeling the safest he had ever felt in his life. If it had been anyone else, he would have scoffed, but for some reason, he had a feeling that when the potions professor reassured him, he meant every single word.