Secrets

Harry stood at platform 9 ¾, waiting for Ron and Hermione to show. He was restless, and wanted to get as far away from London as possible. Every time he heard an unexpected noise, he flinched, thinking that it would be his uncle, coming to take him away. Finally, he could stand it no longer and pulled a fag from his pocket. He had just lit up and taken in a calming drag when he heard a chiding, motherly voice.

“Honestly, Harry, what sort of people have let you believe that a child your age can smoke,” scolded Mrs. Weasely. She pulled the fag from his lips, put it out, and promptly disposed of it, all in one quick, smooth motion. Harry shrugged, and was quickly enveloped in a warm hug.

“How was your summer, dear,” she asked, smoothing down his wayward hair.

“Pretty much the same as always,” he replied. It wasn’t a lie, really.

“Well, that’s good, then, isn’t it? Did your family get to go to Ireland again,” She inquired.

“Yeah,” he said. Same lie as the year before.

“Hey, mum, stop giving him the third degree,” spoke Ron. Harry looked up to see that his compatriot in crime had grown nearly five inches in one summer. He smiled. Except for the extra height, Ron looked just the same as always.

“I am just concerned for his well being,” she said, “I mean, look at him, it looks like he’s been visiting Auschwitz or something.” She tugged at his baggy clothes and made concerned, clucking noises.

“Come off it, mum,” retorted Ron, “if he says he’s ok, then he is.”

“Harry, Ron,” called a familiar voice, “we’re about to miss the train.” Abruptly, Harry felt himself being pulled toward the train by Ron and a very exuberant Hermione. The three of them practically ran through the train to try to get a compartment to themselves. Harry relaxed. Everything felt all right now. The train was familiar, he was with his two best friends, and there was no way that his uncle could get to Hogwarts, especially since he didn’t even know how to get onto the platform.

Finally, the trio found themselves in a cozy compartment and Harry plopped down onto the seat as if he was utterly exhausted. Really, though, he wasn’t. He’d merely given himself a “treatment” before he left the Durselys, and it was just now starting to take effect. He hoped that he would be able to use his “treatments” to normalize his demeanor.

“Geez, Harry, what’s so funny,” asked Hermione, eyeing Harry’s goofy, wide grin suspiciously.

“Aw, nothing. I’m just glad to be away from Dudley, that’s all,” Harry replied. That was a safe statement, because it was true.

“I dunno, mate,” said Ron, “you’re looking pretty kooky to me. Maybe you need something to eat.” With that, Ron went to flag down a refreshment cart. Meanwhile, Hermione turned to Harry and began chattering.

“So I’ve neglected my studies so much this summer, but I really think I can catch up, especially since I’ve decided to drop Divination and Muggle Studies,” she spoke.

“You had time to study this summer,” asked an incredulous Harry. He dwelled on the thought for a moment. Such an idea seemed luxurious to him. What would it have been like to feel safe enough to study? It had been all he could do to keep himself alive.

“Of course I studied some, silly. I’ve got to keep up. You really ought to as well. It’s not like we’ve had the luck to be surrounded by magic all our lives. Really, we have to make up for lost time,” she chided. Harry nodded.

“Anyway,” she continued, obviously oblivious to Harry’s disinterest, “I learned some really useful memory charms over the summer. They come in quite handy when studying. Basically, you look at an object and say ‘Quiero recordar,’ and you’re able to remember something with ease.” She looked at Harry, expecting him to say something concerning her achievement. Luckily, at that moment, Ron entered the car, carrying what looked like the entire refreshment cart. He had apparently thought that Harry looked like he needed food. Harry, not one to turn his nose up at food, grabbed a small pumpkin tart, and began munching on it. The three munched and chatted aimlessly until they arrived at Hogwarts.

Harry barely made it through the rest of the social events of the day. Dinner seemed to drag on for hours, mainly because Dumbledore decided to begin his speech by saying “Lemon Drops” in as many languages as he could. He only ended the madness because he couldn’t remember how vowel sounds worked in Gaelic. Finally, he closed his speach by singing some inane muggle song that Harry had never heard before. Apparently, it involved a lot of nonsense words. Hermione laughed, and seemed to know the song. Harry wondered why anyone would ever want to write a song wherein the most complex sentiment expressed is “Mmmbop.” Exhausted, he flopped onto his bed, and began to think through the night. Many comments had been made about Harry’s appearance. Nearly all of them had been made behind his back, but Harry had remarkably good hearing. Some had thought that Harry was too thin. Others, including a gaggle of girls at the Hufflepuff table, had whispered that he looked the epitome of emo, whatever that was. He could only guess that it was a compliment of some sort.

Relaxed and drowsy from a good meal, Harry began to drift off into sleep. It didn’t matter that he tried to fight it. His body took over and shut down due to exhaustion.

His first time had been nearly eight years ago. It had been a lovely spring day, and Harry was walking home from school, excited that he had received a decent mark on an exam. “Maybe,” he thought, “I’ll get a Popsicle like Dudley does when he receives a good mark.” He sped up his pace, wanting to get home to show aunt and uncle that he wasn’t entirely stupid after all. Maybe they would believe his teacher. Nearly running, he burst through the door, saying, “Look, look, I did good at school today.”

Petunia had been washing her favorite china when the little hellion burst in, startling her nearly out of her wits. She shrieked, dropped the dish she had been drying, and then grabbed Harry by the ear.

“Whatever this is about,” she hissed, “it better be important because you just destroyed one of my favorite dishes.” Petunia glared at the eight-year-old boy in her hands, daring him to speak.

Stuttering, Harry replied, “I…I did good at school today, aunt. I got a B+ on my math test.” He handed her his test, hands shaking.

Suddenly, Petunia let go of Harry, grabbed the test, and tore it to shreds. Then, she backhanded a very stunned boy, and grabbed his hair. Yelling, she drug him to the cupboard under the stairs.

“You just wait until your uncle gets home, you stupid little brat,” she screamed, throwing him into the cupboard. As Harry hit the wall, he heard the door lock, and he began to cry, fearing what might happen come dinnertime.

Later that evening, Harry heard someone fumbling with his cupboard door. Quivering in fear, he waited for it to open, knowing who was on the other side. The door swung open, and Vernon reached in and grabbed the boy. Immediately, he punched the boy in the stomach, causing him to sputter and stumble. Harry began to cry. Smirking, Vernon spoke.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, boy. Now strip. On the couch. Now.”

Harry knew better than to disobey, and he removed his shirt and practically ran to the couch. Laying there, he waited for the impending hiss and crack of the whip. When it did not come, he became confused. Shortly, he heard a low chuckle from behind.

“Stupid boy, you forgot to take it all off,” Vernon said, hitting the boy with his belt. Before Harry could move to acquiesce to this strange request, Vernon reached down and pulled his pants off. He began to run his hands over Harry’s body, touching him where no one had ever touched him before. Harry lay there, paralyzed in fear, waiting for his uncle to stop petting him and lay into him. Instead, he felt his uncle touching his bum, prying his cheeks apart. Before Harry could wonder what would happen next, he felt a searing pain ram into him, as if someone had decided to jam a stick up through him. Harry screamed, and then felt his uncle hit him.

“Don’t yell, boy,” he scolded. “It’ll just make it worse.” Just when Harry was about to think that it couldn’t possibly get worse, he felt something moving, in and out of him. It was as if it was determined to rip him in two, and it was definitely his uncle doing it. He whimpered, and was rewarded with a blow to the head. The moving continued, until it seemed like someone was trying to enter his body with a battering ram. It was then that Harry passed out from the pain.