The Idiot and The Heir

Watching From the Hedge

Over the next week, Harry spent every free moment writing to Tom. He had finished his summer work early, the diary ensconced memories had been happy to help where he'd needed it, making it much easier.

It was about then, that Harry first mentioned the Dursleys.

It was an offhanded comment, complaining about his cousin, Dudley. He was so comfortable around Tom, it had slipped out before Harry had even realized. He didn't like talking about the Dursleys to anyone. Even his friends only knew that he was reluctant to go home every summer, and that he took every chance to be at Hogwarts, rather then with his relatives.

Their reluctant acquiescence to his attending a school for magic of all things, aside, they were as bad as ever. Dudley still taunted him, but would scurry away if Harry so much as uttered an odd sound at him. Uncle Vernon watched him with narrowed eyes whenever they were in the same room together, as if he was a time bomb seconds from detonating. And Aunt Petunia kept him busier then before, giving him chores even when it wasn't really needed.

Today, Dudley had verbally hit every one of Harry's weaknesses, and it was all he could do not to really hex his cousin. As it was, his aunt had almost brained him with one of her large, and heavy, frying pans, because he had hissed at his cousin. The hissing had been an accident, Harry hadn't even realized he'd spoken anything other than English, and had only told his cousin to shove his opinions somewhere rather unpleasant, but it had sounded, to his cousin, like a deadly hiss.

Predictably, Dudley freaked out, and scurried off to tell his mother. Uncle Vernon had been at work thankfully, as Harry was sure he would have done much worse then attempt to flatten his head, he probably would have left Harry aching for days.

The conversation had been the same as always, he and Tom spoke of Hogwarts and everything magic. Tom was the one who first broached the subject.

Harry, you seem... upset. Did something happen?

Harry thought about it. Did he want to tell Tom? Tom seemed understanding, but Harry wasn't sure.

Why not, he finally decided, in for a penny and all.

It's nothing, really. My cousin was being a prat. I'm used to it.

You've mentioned living with your relatives. Are they magic?

Harry snorted, yeah right.

No. They hate magic.

Then why would you be left with them?

Apparently its 'safe'.

How could it be safe if they hate what is a part of you?

Harry stared at the page. He hadn't thought of it like that before.

Dumbledore had said that his mother's sacrifice gave him protection as long as he lived with his aunt, but living with his aunt's family was what had made him feel so hopeless as to try to take his own life. The torn up old sheet currently wrapped around both of his arms was only further proof of how he felt when at the Dursleys.

He rubbed his right forearm. The fresh cuts stung at the pressure, probably bleeding through the thin cotton hidden beneath his shirt.

Was Voldemort really such a threat, that Harry was safest where he habitually hurt himself just to cope? Hadn't Voldemort been gone the past eleven years? Had there really been nowhere else he would've been safe, at least until he was eleven?