What Have They Done To My Mate! (Discontinued)

Chapter one.

Harry's Pov.

As if every single summer before this one hasn't been terrible to it's core, this one was possibly the worst summer one can even imagine. Most of the holidays, I have spent in that damned cupboard under the stairs. The horrible people, who everyone calls my relatives, didn't even let me go to that quidditch world tournament that would have gotten me out of their hair. I should probably thank all my lucky stars that I can go back to Hogwarts at all. I guess they wouldn't let me go anywhere if Dumbledore absolutely didn't insist on that.

I swear Dursleys get worse with every passing year, despite there seemingly being no way for that to be possible. When in the first year they put me into the smallest bedroom in the whole house to show how good and kind and considerate they were towards me, then now I'm all over again in that cupboard I started out in.

As if a competition of "hurt-Harry-the-most" has been started, Ron is also mad at me for a totally insane reason. He is furious because I didn't come to the quidditch game. He won't listen to a word I say, he doesn't want to hear me out, doesn't want to know that I wasn't allowed and he isn't the only one feeling disappointed because of that. He seems to think that I don't want to be his friend any more. I do, he just refuses to listen to what I have to say about it, what I have to say about anything, to be honest. And for some insane reason, Hermione supports him fully in this ridiculous battle against me. They both seem to think that I did something wrong. Well, I never told them about the abuse either, maybe they just think that I was too comfortable at my perfectly pretty house like a Malfoy, petting peacocks and ordering my relatives around like house-elves. It is anything but that, but who will listen to me and accept the reality as a truth? 

So here I am, sitting alone in a compartment, my friends have all abandoned me, walked off to do anything but see me. And as if the pain isn't already enough, uncle Vernon thought that I've been such a good little wizard that I definitely need a gift for that. And what is a better gift than a meeting with a leather belt and fists? He beat me with every ounce of strength in his body, it surprises me how I am actually still able to stand up. So all my body is aching. All I have left to do is just hope that my bones are not broken. It would be an even bigger pain in the ass than the bruises and wounds already are.

There is an echo of steps in the corridor, nearing my compartment's door. I beg in my mind that this someone will pass by and leave me alone as everyone else does. Though, considering my luck this is obviously too much to ask for. The compartment door slides open with a weak noise.

"Well well, Potter. Have Granger and Weasel abandoned you?"

The last thing I need is always the first thing I get. Malfoy. Surprisingly he is alone just like I am. I just opt to ignore him and stare out of the window instead of looking at his stupidly pretty face. I don't want to have arguments with him and I definitely don't want to be hexed. I've hurt enough already to last me for a whole year if not more.

"Did the cat get your tongue?"

He comes closer to me, but I continue ignoring him like I am already doing, there would be no point in paying any attention to him.

"Didn't your parents teach you how to talk? Oh yeah, they are dead."

He taunts and keeps talking about something that I can't even care to listen. I can't help it, but feel silent tears escape my eye and stream down my cheek. I pray that he doesn't see me cry, he would have such a field day otherwise. His words have never made me cry, never before, no matter how harsh, but probably the pain from the beating and occasional maltreatment that threads on the sexual side and my closest friends leaving me made me more emotional than I have ever been before.

Suddenly he shuts up mid-word and gasps silently as if he saw something that just dishonoured three generations of his pureblooded ancestors.

His cold fingers touch something on my neck, gently caressing the skin there. I jump away from his touch as if burned, never give your enemy a chance to put their hands on you if you can help it.

"Who did this to you? Whose hands were on your neck like this?"

My body fills with fear. My magic isn't strong enough to hide everything from sight anymore, it has already been keeping up something akin to glamours on its own accord, why couldn't it just have hidden those hand marks on my neck from the choking as well. He is surely going to make fun of those for months if not even longer than that. But no, he does something that seems the least Malfoy thing to do - he sits down next to me and turns my face forcefully to look at his face. The move is full of authority yet it is gentle in a way. He doesn't laugh when he sees my tears either. No, he looks almost sympathetic. What has gotten into him? What has happened to him over the summer? He has never been so nice to me. Malfoy has finally lost his mind, that is the only logical explanation for his behaviour. Part of me wants to get out of the hold, always fearing the worse, part of me just wishes for someone to care just like he seems to.

"Who did this to you, Potter. Please talk to me!"

I just shake my head and turn away from him, turning back towards the passing trees behind the cold glass. I don't trust him with something so personal, I wouldn't trust Ron or Hermione either. I just hope that he'll leave me alone if I don't answer. He must at some point get tired of sitting with someone who has sworn themselves to muteness for a few hours, right?

Wrong.

He goes from sitting beside me to kneeling in front of me. A Malfoy, on his knees, while prim and proper? He must have lost all his marbles. His hands are placed on my knees, his grey eyes begging for an answer I shouldn't give in to him. I can't be certain that he doesn't run out the door the instance I tell him to make sure the whole train hears how weak THE Harry Potter is. Yet something in me seems to break at the begging look in his eyes. Finally, I whisper those two words: "My uncle." He gasps, his eyes widen, I can't tell if from horror or from surprise, his mouth stays open in his silent gasp. Surprise seems to be spreading across him and seeping even into his bones as his whole posture seems to be conveying deep emotions. He probably thought that the golden boy was living like a king just as the rest of the world did. Far from that.

"Are you wearing a glamour or using your magic to hide?"

I shake my head furiously no, hoping that he trusts me with that lie and leaves it at that. He doesn't, and with a flick of his wand, he banishes the spell. I can see the horror in his eyes when he sees my bruised, broken and way too thin body. Scars running up and down my arms. Self-harm from where I hoped it could help me in any way, useless. Other scars littering on my body. Beatings, whippings, and cuttings. Performed on me by my uncle, aunt, and their whale of a son. He looked at me with a look that can't be put into words that would do it any justice. All I know is that no one has looked at me with such genuine emotions. Sadness, apology, horror, rage, pity, agony and love. I can see all of these in his eyes. He looks as if he truly cares for me. It shouldn't be possible, shouldn't be there, but yet, it is, it's all there in his eyes that stare back at me with complex emotions running rampant in his gaze.

08.02.2017

Edited 29.03.2021