Why Do You Love Me?

Disclaimer: See previous chapters.

Warnings: Same applies. This chapter is sort of a filler; Arthur comes to the rescue in the next chapter.

Response to reviews:

Cyn: It’s okay, I think I’m starting to like Dudley too. :Author grins madly:

Greeneyes: “…why didn't she notice what Harry's note was written in--isn't dried blood pretty obviously blood?” Hermione is under the impression that Harry is trying to fool her into thinking that he’s abused at home; she may be the smartest out of the trio, but Harry is persistent, and she believes that he would go to any lengths to fool them. (Of course, Harry has no reason to fool them into believing such things. But you must remember that he wants to get out of the Dursleys’ home, and may go to any lengths to do so.) :wink:

Hippogriffluvr: Sorry about the cliff-hanger…I’ll try to restrain myself this time; I hate them, too. I knew I shouldn’t have put it there…sorry!

PaddycakePadfoot: I think haggy is a word…I don’t know, I’ll have to look into that…oh well, I agree…Petunia is a haggy woman! :hehe: Thanks for your review!

Thanks to all others who have reviewed! (Annie W. M, ShellyD1982, Suzhoops, Vudu, thrnbrooke, Stacey Jo, Brittany, Kates, Alison, Redbat, Leader of the ’track down Peter Pettigrew and kill him in a horrible way’ hunting squad, Fox Loves Shinigami, cyn, greeneyes, Hippogriffluvr and PaddycakePadfoot.)


Chapter Three
Recovery

Dudley entered the room cautiously, eyes never leaving Harry’s unmoving form. “Harry?” As he approached the bed, Harry groaned and fell onto his side, face towards Dudley. “Oh, my God. Harry! Are you okay?” Dudley asked in a whisper, so as not to be caught aiding the “enemy”, as his father had dubbed Harry just the summer before.

Harry had a deep gash on his forehead, just over his lightening-bolt shaped scar, spanning across most of his forehead, slanted in a diagonal direction and bleeding profusely.

Harry blinked blearily, and flinched away from Dudley when he reached out to see how bad the gash really was; it was bleeding so much that he couldn’t even see the original wound through all the blood. “Harry, let me see it. I need to know if we need to get you stitched up.”

Harry gulped, his cracked lips unable to form words as he squinted up at Dudley, naked and ashamed. Dudley reached to his forehead once more, and Harry reflexively pulled away. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not like him. What he’s done to you…it’s disgusting! I would never do something like this to you. Never.”

Harry eyed him, distrust showing clearly in his clouded jade eyes. But this time when Dudley reached out to him, he forced himself to not pull away.

Dudley brushed Harry’s hair to the side and looked at the gash with distaste. “He did this to you, didn’t he?”

Harry’s eyes darkened and he tried to pull away again, but Dudley held him in place by placing one hand on Harry’s bare bicep. With a sigh, Dudley pulled away and walked to the dresser, pulling out a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. “Here, put these on. I’ll be back in a second to clean that wound up. Don’t touch it, all right? I think it needs stitches.” Dudley grimaced as he left the room, his late-night (or early morning, depending on how you looked at it) snack now completely ruined.

He went into the bathroom next door to his own bedroom and started pulling out the healing supplies that he thought might be needed for Harry, and when he was sure he had them all, he went back to Harry’s room. “I don’t think-” He trailed off when he noticed that Harry had barely moved an inch since he had last been in the room, and had yet to dress himself. “Harry?”

Harry looked up at him, tears gleaming in his eyes. Dudley shot him a questioning look, and Harry looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Harry, are…you’re not…um…” Dudley trailed off and sighed, looking at Harry with pity and sorrow in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Harry glared at him. “Leave me alone!” He rasped, sitting up even though all of the muscles in his body were screaming in protest. One tear trailed down his cheek as he forced his body into a sitting position; the pain in his head was nearly unbearable, but was nothing compared to the pain in his arse. It was as though he was slowly being ripped apart from the inside out, and he could do nothing to stop it. “Go away!” ‘I don’t want you to see me like this! I’m not vulnerable! I’m not!’ He added in his head.

“I’m just trying to hel-”

“I don’t need it! Just leave!” Harry grated out, cutting Dudley off.

“Look-”

“Go!” Harry said, letting out a soft yelp as he fell over and onto his back, no longer able to stand the pain in his body. But landing on his back was not a good idea; pain erupted immediately from the shallow gashes on his spine, causing the edges of his vision to become first blurry and then black. He felt dizzy and immediately rolled over onto his stomach, a few more tears flowing unchecked from his eyes.

“Just let me-”

“I can dress myself,” Harry said bitterly as a few more tears fell from his eyes.

“Fine,” Dudley said, frustrated. “I’ll just leave this here for you then.” He raised the small red kit in his hand to show Harry what he had, stepped towards the bed, deposited the kit on it, and immediately stepped away. “You, uh…you know where I am if you need…er…any…um…help. Okay?”

Harry attempted to glare at him but it only came out as a wince. Dudley sighed sadly and left the room, softly shutting the door behind him.

Harry watched Dudley leave. When he was completely sure that the door was shut and Dudley wasn’t there, he collapsed, sobs emitting from his open mouth freely, shoulders shaking uncontrollably and his eyes clenched shut tightly.

When the sobs finally slowed and he was left with a stuffed up nose and watery eyes, Harry glanced at the medical kit that Dudley had left behind. Curiosity overtaking him, Harry reached out for it, and cracked the lid open carefully. Inside there was peroxide and other antiseptics, wet wipes, tissue, gauze and bandages, medical tapes, and even a mirror.

Harry reached for the mirror, and winced at the image of himself that he saw in it. Blood was trailing in thin trails down his face, and a thick trail of it was making a slow path right down the center of his nose, which was beginning to sting slightly where it had been broken previously.

The pillow, which Harry had previously noticed was wet, was not wet only with blood, but also with sweat. It was rather disgusting, really. There wasn’t much blood on it, but there was a medium-sized puddle where he had been laying while in an unconscious state, and the puddle had soaked into the pillow, staining the whole thing (or at least most of it) a dark crimson color, making the puddle appear to be much larger than it really was; it, obviously, was no longer salvageable.

Harry glanced back at his reflection, then winced. The laceration on his forehead truly was a deep one, and would probably cause minimal scaring, at best, but it looked to be the type of cut to cause a large amount of scaring, and Harry had now come to hate scars because of a certain one that had brought on his fame. Not knowing where to begin, but also knowing that he had to soon, or else the wound may get infected, Harry reached for the wet wipes first.

Not wanting to start at the cut, Harry first decided to clean up his appearance a bit, by wiping the trails of blood off of his face and the blood from around the wound. The rest of his body was still killing him, but he managed to ignore it for a while as he tended to his needs.

Five wet wipes later, his face was mostly blood-free, with the exception of the stains left from the blood that had dried before he got the chance to clean it up and the blood still leaking from the deep gash on his forehead. Harry didn’t look forward to tackling that, as he was sure it would really hurt. But he could feel himself going light-headed, and he didn’t know if it was from the pain in the rest of his body, pain like he had never endured before, or if it was from the loss of blood. Yanking out a handful of wet wipes, Harry squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he dabbed gingerly at the cut. The pain that met him wasn’t immediate, but it was there nonetheless, and only got worse as the cleaning of the wound progressed. Harry sorely wished that he hadn’t asked Dudley to go away, because he wasn’t sure he would be able to do it himself.

Harry really wasn’t looking forward to using the peroxide, but knew that it had to be done; he also knew that there was only so much pain a human could endure, and he greatly hoped that he wasn’t coming too close to the line. He didn’t want to pass out before he got his wound patched up, or else it could get worse.

Taking a tissue and dipping it in the peroxide, Harry took a deep breath before going for the plunge. The stinging sensation only lasted for a few moments before it all went away. ‘Well, this isn’t as bad as Dudley always made it out to be,’ Harry thought to himself. Harry, though he had been a rather clumsy little boy, had never hurt himself enough to need the stinging anti-infectant. Either that, or the Dursleys were just too stingy to spare any for him.

Looking in the mirror, Harry could see that even though he had used the peroxide, the cut hadn’t stopped bleeding. ‘Of course, you git!’ Harry scolded himself. ‘It’s not magic! It can only do so much.’ Harry glared at his reflection as he taped a linen bandage to the cut on his forehead. Patting it softly and ignoring the pain that spread through his forehead every time he touched it, Harry put the mirror back in the kit and lay back on his bed, also ignoring the pain of the gashes on his back, though they really did hurt badly.

He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, in, out, in, out once more, concentrating on making the pain go away; it was becoming a little hard to ignore by that point. But then, Harry realized that the pain wasn’t as bad as it had been before. Actually, it was rather comforting. Harry blinked at the revelation. The pain made him feel like he was alive; let him know that there was actually substance to this hellish reality that was his life. It confused Harry to no end that he wasn’t as disturbed by his pain as he had been in the past, but he welcomed it nonetheless.

Harry blinked again and sighed, lifting the boxers that Dudley had thrown at him and pulling them on. He couldn’t stand, and he just barely managed to pull the boxers on, his arse throbbing in pain at the contact. Harry decided to just go shirtless; it would be much easier on him, not to mention that the room was actually awfully hot, and Harry didn’t want to sweat to death. Harry leaned back and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep and forget the entire incident.

Seconds after Harry had allowed his eyes to slide closed to blissfully welcome the oblivion that was looming, the door to Harry’s room was opened swiftly and shut silently. Dudley stood, staring at Harry and panting slightly. “Harry,” Dudley gasped out, back pressed against the door heavily as he wheezed for breath. “I just remembered,” He paused to take deep gulps of air into his lungs and to wet his lips, before beginning again. “The cuts on your back. They need to be cleaned; you can’t do it yourself.”

Harry’s eyes popped open, and he looked at Dudley in surprise as he sat up to greet him with a stare. Dudley returned his gaze, once again wetting his lips with his large tongue, his beady eyes gleaming. “Uh…no, I’m okay,” Harry said softly, voice cracking. “I think they’ve stopped bleeding.” Of course, that was a lie, but Harry was desperate for the feeling of reality that came along with the pain, and he was reluctant to have the new perceptions go away after he had just discovered them.

“They can’t have!” Dudley exclaimed indignantly. “They were bleeding badly when I last came in here, and that can’t have been more than ten or fifteen minutes ago!”

Harry shot Dudley a meaningful look, but Dudley was either very thick, or he truly hadn’t seen it. “Here, let me have a look,” Dudley said, stepping closer to Harry. Harry flinched away.

“No!” He burst out, then looked down at his hands. “I mean, I’m fine. You don’t have to.”

“But-”

“No, really,” Harry assured, looking deeply into Dudley’s eyes to prove his point. “I…I just need to get some rest, that’s all. I’ll be leaving tomorrow, you know. I can’t let them see me like this.”

“But Harry, you can’t even walk! You can’t tell me-”

“Dudley, I know what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it, I really do. But I don’t need your help.”

Dudley looked put out, but nodded and reluctantly left the room. Harry sighed in relief and lay back down, the gashes on his back throbbing slightly as the clots that had formed while he had been sitting up were rubbed off against the now completely blood-soaked sheets.

It was surprising how quickly the pain became familiar to Harry. Harry smiled softly as the pain intensified as he rubbed against the sheets again, and he was lulled into sleep by the tingling feeling that emitted from the cuts that were sure to leave scars on his back.

…
…
…

Harry blinked lazily and rolled over, wondering confusedly at the way the sheets were stickily clinging to his back. He also wondered where the pain in his back had come from. And when he noticed the sun shining brightly through his bedroom window, he wondered minutely why his aunt had let him sleep in so late.

He blinked blearily to clear his eyes and raised his hand to feel his scar, which was throbbing for some reason, and his eyes shot open wide when his hand came into contact with the thin gauze that was covering a majority of his forehead. “Wha’?” Harry asked himself, licking his dry lips and sitting up, setting his askew glasses straight on his face. Pain rippled through his lower half as he sat on it, and Harry winced as the memories of the night before came back to him in a blaze of pain and angrily grunted threats and insults. Harry pressed a hand to his temple and let out a nearly inaudible moan, eyes closed and cracked lips parted slightly. “Please, not again.” He groaned to himself, refusing to open his eyes and acknowledge the painfully obvious facts.

One hand found it’s way to Harry’s eyes and covered them, massaging slightly to relieve the pain behind his lids. When he lifted his hand away and slowly cracked his eyes open, the light that filtered into the room almost immediately blinded him. Harry groaned as he looked at the clock on his bedside table; one o’clock PM. Petunia really had let him sleep late. Harry wondered why. Then he remembered.

He was leaving today, and she didn’t want to see him at all for the remainder of his stay. Harry sighed, thankful to whatever God that had decided to have a fraction of pity for him.

Standing on shaky legs, Harry made his unsteady way to Hedwig’s cage. “Hey, girl.” he whispered. “We’ll be leaving soon! Don’t worry.” Harry smiled softly at her as he held out his finger to her in order to receive her affectionate nip. Harry reached into a drawer of the dresser behind him and pulled out a dead mouse, one of the many that he had decided to spitefully leave behind, and opened the door of Hedwig’s cage in order to give it to her.

Hedwig hooted thankfully at him as she swallowed her lunch, then nipped lovingly at his finger once more before tucking her head beneath her wing and falling into a light nap. Harry stared at her for a few minutes, thankful for the support she continued to show for him, even though she couldn’t talk. Harry smiled softly at the companionship he shared with the snowy owl.

It was when he was about to walk away from Hedwig’s cage that he noticed the bloodied sheets. When they had once been white, they were now almost brown with nearly-dried blood. Harry could feel his stomach lurch and he quickly closed his eyes. He felt disgusted and disgusting at the same time, as he willed his stomach to get a hold of itself, and instructed the bile that had already worked it’s way up his throat back down the way it had come. Breathing in deeply, Harry turned around and refused to look at the proof of what had happened the night before.

His memory was broken up, and he only remembered bits of what had happened. But the fact that there was blood all over the bed, and even some on the floor, proved to Harry what he otherwise could have denied. He had been raped, again, and no one was going to believe him, no matter what he tried to tell them. Even the physical proof wouldn’t be enough for them. Where Harry had once prided his friends on their smarts, Harry now cursed them. They were so smart that sometimes they could be thick with their so-called knowledge.

Harry laughed bitterly at the fact that Hermione hadn’t even been able to tell that it was blood that he had written his letter in and not a new red-colored ink. And knowing how head-over-heels in love Ron was with Hermione, Ron had probably hung on her every word, and wouldn’t believe anything that Harry had to say to him. But what worried Harry most was the fact that someone had posed as him.

It didn’t even bother him that the person had taken his birthday presents; he had lived with the Dursleys long enough to know that he should never expect something for his birthdays, but it was particularly heartbreaking that his friends hadn’t realized that it hadn’t actually been him that had taken their carefully thought out gifts.

Harry sighed. Mulling over these things would not get anything figured out. Besides, Arthur would be coming to get him soon, and he could go over these things with him then. He didn’t need to go over them now, all alone. It would only get him worked up, and that was definitely something that Harry didn’t want to be, especially when Arthur came to his rescue.

The only thing left to do now was wait. Waiting was really not something that Harry did well. Even after all that had happened to him, deep down he was still the same person he had ever been; he was just wounded a bit on the top. But maybe the incidents of the summer would finally teach him not to be so trusting all the time. And maybe it would help him to get inside the mind of Voldemort (not literally speaking, of course, though that would have been nice as well).

Harry couldn’t help but feel that now that he had had a taste of real darkness, and not the madness that Voldemort tried to portray as darkness, he would be able to fully understand it now. And maybe, even though it probably hadn’t been the reason Vernon had done it in the first place, it would help Harry to defeat Voldemort once and for all.