take my hoodie ✓

twenty-six | anniversary

tw

~no pov

It was Christmas Eve, also Harry's third reason for hating Christmas.

It was the one year anniversary of when Louis assaulted Harry in a pub, and gave him a scar that stayed as a visible reminder. He wondered what happened to the creep, and wanted to go back to the pub to find out.

But he didn't let the stupid intrusive thought win. Instead, he sat and facetimed his recovery buddy as he ate a small salad.

"Do you wanna try eating something other than a salad for tomorrow?"

"I told you already, I hate Christmas."

Draco shook his head, laughing. "No I just mean, surely there'd be some fancy food tomorrow. You ready for that, or no?"

Realistically, Harry wouldn't be ready yet. The salads only just became easy to eat without feeling sick. But Harry wanted to be normal as quick as he can.

His anorexia made him feel even more like a freak.

"I'll try."

The progress scared Draco, because he also thought Potter's recovery must be too quick. But he wanted the boy to recover soon too, because he had other struggles.

"Finished!" Harry cheered, picking up his phone to show his empty plate, and then showed the floor and every nearby surface to prove he ate it all.

"I'm so proud of you, Potter."

That was Harry's favourite phrase.

"Done." Draco picked up his phone too, and repeated Harry's actions. His plate of soup and bread was finished. "Dobby is a brilliant cook. When you're ready, come round some time and eat with me."

"One day." Harry smiled, and almost panicked when he saw someone walk up to him in his corner of the facetime call. "I've got to go now. I'll talk to you later."

He called Draco on his shit phone, using Snapchat because he didn't have the SIM key anymore. He lost it somewhere.

"Boy."

"Yes sir?" Harry scrambled to his feet.

Vernon looked angry. He didn't know what he had done wrong. He was about to clean up after himself.

"What is this mess?"

Harry looked over to the kitchen counter to see the salad dressing out and empty bag of greens left next to it. It wasn't a mess, and he was about to put it away.

"I was about to put it away."

Vernon had been ticked off before he even saw the "mess", which wasn't good for Harry. The older man had also been hitting the younger boy less, so god knows how he was dealing with his explosive anger.

Even before Harry announced his anorexia, Vernon had been less violent.

So what on earth changed that?

"Sir, are you alright? Did something happen?" Asking Vernon why he was mad either made him angrier as he explained, or less angry because he'd be distracted and focussed on himself.

"Someone at Gunning's messed up a whole batch and made a terrible mess."

shit. im related to this

"And I come home after a long day of hard work to you." Vernon pointed a finger at Harry, walking towards him. "To you making another mess."

tw? sa n sh mentions

Harry was backing up, away from his uncle. When he hit the wall, he was no longer in Privet Drive with Vernon, he was back in that pub with Louis.

It was a year since it happened, and it'd been on Harry's mind all day. Now? Now he was back there, physically in the memory.

Had he been logical and told himself it was literally all in his head, maybe he could've avoided what happened next. But he didn't, and so, real Harry crumpled to the floor in a ball, sobbing.

Harry in the memory felt the very same fear all over again. He felt Louis' hands on his waist, his breath on his skin, and the paralysing terror.

He felt Louis kissing him, and then being slapped for not kissing back. The panic arose both with Harry then and Harry now, and he felt it all over again. He felt the man's mouth leave marks down his jaw and neck, and he heard himself moan unwillingly.

Harry felt the pure disgust and hatred towards himself for letting Louis feel accomplished. For giving Louis the false invitation that what he was doing was okay.

He heard the creep call him a little slut and kiss him again, silencing his protests. The way his lip was bitten hard and a tongue entered his mouth. He felt the hand on his waistband, the hand on his mouth.

He felt his control be taken away from him as his sleeve was unrolled. He remembered the way his fist hit the older man's nose. The way he felt fear all over again as he got dragged into the toilets.

He remembered defending himself, only for Louis to silence him with a hard slap to the face that left a red mark for days. He felt his arm get cut open by the man, and remembered loving the feeling even though he shouldn't have.

Disgust was what he felt when Louis smiled, but then submission when the knife pushed against his throat. He felt the cold blade on his neck all over again, digging into him hard enough to hurt, but not enough to bleed.

He felt his knees smash against the frigid floor and heard the zipper all over again. He felt his stomach churn, and current Harry's salad felt like it was making it's way back up.

The revolting, nauseating feeling of Louis inside his mouth was back, the way his throat was bruised and filled with something that only made both Harry's even more sick. The way he swallowed it then made Harry throw up now.

He could faintly hear shouting, and there was a kick to his stomach, but still, Harry was lost in his memories from that day exactly a year ago.

He felt his hair being tugged at the entire time, and usual Harry would've loved it, but Louis made him hate it. He felt his body being lifted by his damaged hair, and remembered the way Louis made fun of the clump left in his hand.

Harry felt the shame all over again.

He felt his body being licked, kissed and bitten, and that earlier spot made him moan again. Back then, he felt paralysed, but now, Harry remembered it all, felt it all.

He felt his breathing get restricted by a large hand squeezing his throat. He felt a hand shove down his boxers and the unbridled rage that came with it. And the pleasure, the pleasure he hated himself for feeling.

Both then and now, Harry felt the self-loathing towards his own body for being this way. He couldn't stand himself. He heard himself moan, and heard his own thoughts telling him he was fucked up for doing so.

And the adrenaline, he felt that too, when he stole the pocketknife and cut his assaulter with it. The determination that drove Harry to run out of the pub, messy and distraught and away from Louis.

Worst of all, he remembered the tears pouring down his face the entire time, the tears he never realised he spilled back then.

Finally, he remembered the first ever overdose that led him to spending Christmas even more alone in the emergency room. And the fear that came with the thought that Louis was going to come back and do worse, whilst Harry was helplessly attached to an IV.

Harry remembered it all, and felt it all too.

And he never hated himself more.

overdose, take two?