Capítulo 16: A Desire to Vanish
Easter Holiday changed it.
He was outside, weeding the garden with torn clothing that had once upon a time been his. They were now stained and worn far past the endurance of the charms placed on them. A particularly pesky weed had him grasping its thorny stalk, heaving backwards with both arms, using his weight as leverage.
Something grazed against his side and he scrambled to his feet. He blinked, dazed and confused, what had hit him? Was it a squirrel or a bird? Some other animal that had hit him before escaping without being seen?
His hands touched something wet and he inhaled shakily. Actually seeing the red against his skin triggered the overwhelming sensation of pain.
He choked down a scream, hands pressing through the tear in his shirt against the gash in his side. It was lazily dripping down his skin and staining the side of his shirt further.
Dudley gave some sort-of delayed cry of surprise. Harry spun, looking for his attacker only to see his baffled cousin and his friends. Dudley was holding an industrial slingshot Petunia had bought him last Christmas.
'What was-' His thinking broke once he saw what had hit him, a decent sized rock with a few sharp edges.
Dudley blinked slowly, lowering the slingshot before releasing a piercing wail which instantly led Harry to clench his teeth.
Petunia hurried out to see what was going on, wringing her hands and rushing to her son. Dudley cried out something else, pointing with pudgy fingers at Harry while his friends ran.
Petunia's face tightened as she looked at Harry sharply. Her expression was pinched as she stomped over the grass, grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the house. "Come on," She hissed out sharply, eying his side, "And no bleeding on the floor."
Harry's face twitched in annoyance, it wasn't like she had cleaned the floors.
She yanked him inside towards the kitchen, fetching the rag Harry used to polish the iron burners on the stove. It was already blackened with polish, replaceable in her eyes.
"Here," She grunted, snatching a series of rags in similar shape, band aids, and masking tape from nearby drawers, "Clean yourself up and don't,"her eyes flashed, "touch anything."
Harry took the offered supplies sourly and locked the bathroom door behind him.
The gash wasn't large. It wasn't deep either, yet it seemed to continuously ooze out red like a wet sponge.
He shoved in the several rags, waiting until they had been soaked before taking them away. Everytime he tried, it would tear out the gooey clots just beginning to form, and start bleeding again.
Finally he settled with pushing in one rag, clenching his jaw against the searing throb, and using the masking tape around his waist to hold it in place. It held, he returned the unused rags, and was sent to his cupboard.
....
"Sanatas." Harry hissed, flushing angrily when nothing happened.
"Sanatas!"He tried again, more insistently this time, his voice wavering in his frustration. The crippling sensation of doubt started to worm its way through his forced bravado. "Sanatas!"
The skin around ugly black scab on his side itched and tingled uncomfortably. Harry groaned softly, smacking his fist against the small cot next to him in frustration.
What was he doing wrong? He'd done exactly what it said in the book, even checked his pronunciation multiple times just to make sure. The scrape refused to heal like Harry wanted. Instead it just tingled and itched never letting him forget about his injury. It was possible the constant buzzing of pain was clouding his ability to focus his magic.
Dudley was back in school, a true blessing considering for the first while only twisting a specific way would crack the scabs and cause the bleeding to start again. It had oozed a foul-smelling pus, to the point where Aunt Petunia had thrown a small tube of paste at him, ordering him to deal with it.
Now, it was a thick heavy scab with bumps and ridges on its surface.
"Sanatas." Harry tried again, swallowing and trying to direct the flow of something he couldn't see into his side.
In a moment of blind panic, Harry wondered if maybe his magic was gone, if maybe this was why people didn't use wandless magic. He cried out, then instantly realised his mistake and covered his mouth.
The damage was done, he heard the shuffle of movement above him and then the loud thudding sound of footsteps thundering down the landing towards the stairs. Uncle Vernon was awake. Harry's eyes widened in horror of the consequences, and he scrambled backwards on his cot, yanking his shirt down to try and hide what he'd been doing.
Vernon threw the door open. "What are you screaming about!" he thundered, his beedy little eyes glittering malevolently in the dark. "We have had enough of your racket!"
Harry tried to shuffle further back, tried to escape Uncle Vernon's reach. The obese man grabbed his ankle and forcefully pulled him from the cupboard under the stairs. Harry bit his tongue to crying out in pain as his shirt rubbed against the sensitive skin.
Vernon, not noticing or, more likely, not caring, yanked.
Harry scrambled with his hands to find something - anything - to grab hold of as he was bodily dragged out. Already his leg hurt from the intense pressure and blood was pounding in his head.
Vernon stomped through the kitchen and wrenched open the backdoor, dragging Harry along behind him. Still grunting something about how Harry wouldn't make any sort of distracting noise in his home, Vernon threw the small boy out.
Privet Drive was dark and cool at night. The cool night air felt almost soothing to the scrape which had, once again, cracked open. Harry could already imagine the bruises forming where Vernon had grabbed him.
Vernon had kicked him out, Harry thought in a dazed haze of disbelief. His uncle had actually kicked him out.
Harry was filled with the sudden, overpowering desire to run, to disappear into the dark and leave behind the Dursleys'... and leave behind everything.
But then Lily won't know where you went, a quiet voice whispered in the back of his mind.
Harry hugged his knees and tried to calm his breath so he didn't break down into sobs. He wanted to run away, but there was obviously some small part of him that still wanted his parents to come and rescue him.
He didn't know what to do.
....
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