What Words Can Do (TOMARRY)

Summer

Italics = Harry
Bold = Tom

Harry! Quick question!

Ask quickly. I'm not sure how long the Dursleys will let me relax.

Are you going to be home in roughly an hour?

I don't even know if I'll be here 10 minutes from now.

Well can you try to not be home in an hour?

I can try, but no promises.

Trying is better than not trying.

I guess.

So how are they treating you?

Oh they're treating me like royalty.

Sarcasm?

Sarcasm.

Don't worry, I'll get you out of their lives.

What?

...

Tom?

What did you mean by that?

Um, okay?

Harry quickly shut the diary quickly, shoving it under his pillow as his aunt pounded on the door. "Get up, you lazy freak," she called. Grumbling but not arguing, Harry got up and walked out of the room.

It's been about 2 months of summer and something about this summer made his experience a lot worse. Maybe it was because he could barely ever talk to Tom. The Dursleys had noticed he'd been spacing out a lot more than usual, giving Vernon more reasons to beat him.

Today was one of those days.

After Harry walked out of the room, a pot was hitting his chest harshly, causing him to lose his breath. His aunt gave him a harsh look, ordering silently for him to begin on dinner. His mind was focused on what Tom had meant and therefore burnt the food. Something that had been occurring more and more this summer.

The beefy man he was forced to call his uncle stood up, face red with anger. He grabbed Harry's arm, forcing his hand into the boiling water. Harry screamed and he felt his skin burn. The grip from his uncle was tight, unmoving. Time slowed and Harry began crying. Something he hadn't done in front of the Dursleys in a long time. This only seems to fuel Vernon's anger.

After basically throwing Harry's arm out of the water, he threw his nephew on to the floor. Harry covered his head bracing himself for what he figured would come. Vernon grabbed the pot of hot water and dumped it over the crying Harry. He writhed, silently begging the pain to stop. Once the water stopped hitting his body, Harry laid in a fetal position, getting ready for the next attack.

"Avada Kedavra," Harry heard, but was sure it was just his imagination. When his uncle fell to the ground, stiff, Harry knew otherwise. Still, he couldn't force himself out of his balled-up position. Two more killing curse screams erupted, then there was silence.

"Hey, Harry," a soft voice cooed. "Harry, it's me, Tom. You're safe now."

"Tom," Harry sobbed, not coming out of his position. Tom sighed sadly and picked Harry up bridal style. He sat him down on the sofa and knelt in front of them.

"They can't hurt you anymore, Love," Tom said assuringly. "I'm sorry you had to witness that. Come on, let's go get you into Saint Mungos." Harry nodded, forcing himself to his feet.

Tom apparated them to Saint Mungos and it wasn't long before Harry was in a room, getting checked on by a nurse. She told him what he already knew - the excessive amounts of bruises, the few broken ribs, and the burns. She gave him a potion or seven and did a couple spells before releasing him.

Once they did, Tom took him to the Hogshead where he had been staying all summer. The rest of summer was spent of Harry telling Tom everything that had happened.

He tried to enjoy it, despite the bad feeling in his gut that something bad was going to happen.