Memory's Prisoner

Chapter 4: Bad Nights

The Slytherins had integrated themselves into the crowd. They had gotten tired of standing and decided that sitting with the others wouldn't be horrible. Malfoy, Parkinson, Bulstrode, Crabbe, and Goyle ended up closer to the Golden Trio than they had planned. Hermione, Ron and Neville sat on the left side of Harry with the Slytherins on the right. They had just gotten comfortable when the next memory started.

Harry was once again in the kitchen, but this time, he was washing dishes on his own.

"I think I'm 8 in this one, depends on what happens next..." he trailed off as he watched the younger version of himself stand on a rickety step stool in front of the sink.

"Move over, Freak. I need this pan clean quickly and I don't trust you to do it," Petunia sniffed at him.

Harry attempted to quickly get off the stool and out of her way, but he misjudged how strong the stool was. The stool collapsed underneath him, sending Harry and the expensive glass he had been cleaning crashing to the floor. The glass shattered and Harry's arm bent at an odd angle as he hit the ground. He quickly got up, panic clear in his eyes, and tried to clean the glass shards.

"How dare you?! Do you know how much that glass cost?!"

"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia. I'll clean it," Harry whimpered, shying away from his aunt. Before he could duck out of the way, Petunia swung at him with the frying pan she had been cleaning, sending sprawling onto the ground into the glass shards.

"You little monster!" she roared as she grabbed his arm and dragged him into his cupboard. "You'll be lucky if I let you out of there before next week," she shrieked through the cupboard door.

Little Harry curled in a ball on his cot, clutching his broken arm, trying to ignore the pain as he had gotten used to doing.

Present Harry was also curled in a ball surrounded by his friends and acquaintances, trying to block out the hate he hadn't had to deal with all year. He felt vulnerable at Hogwarts, where he didn't expect the pain and hatred that came with living with the Dursleys every second of the day. He allowed his emotions to show, and they suddenly made him feel very weak and exposed.

Hermione ran a hand through his messy hair, unable to think of any other way to calm him down and return him to the present. Soon they were once again in the Dursley's home, the normally boring house decorated to the nines in tinsel and garland. It was Christmas time and a large tree stood in the living already surrounded by presents though they still had a few days until Christmas.

"Boy!" Vernon yelled as he pounded on the cupboard door. "Marge is gonna be here soon and I want you at the door waiting for her. And none of your freakishness, you hear me?"

Harry, about 9 years old at this point, emerged from his cupboard thinner than ever with bruises peeking out of his oversized shirt.

Several people gasped.

"What happened," Cho asked breathily.

"I don't remember. I just remember being really confused that the bruises were taking longer to heal than normal. Those had been there for a couple of days, and they had never stayed that long before."

"Your magic was healing you," Hermione whispered.

"I know. Aunt Petunia knew, too. It just made things worse really."

There was a loud banging at the front door, and little Harry opened it to reveal a female version of Vernon.

"Hullo, Aunt Marge," Harry mumbled not meeting her eyes as she walked in.

She sniffed at him. "Disgraceful boy. Can't even speak properly anymore. They should have left you in an orphanage like I suggested."

She strolled into the living room, her dog, Ripper, stopping to growl menacingly at Harry before continuing on after her. Harry finally allowed himself to breathe when both of them were settled in the living room. The night continued and Harry slowly made his way into the living to stand at the entrance and watch the telly before they noticed him.

Ripper noticed him first of course. Emitting a low threatening growl as it crept towards the unprepared child. He bark one, loud and fast, before charging the boy, who had finally noticed the enraged dog. Harry yelped and took off running.

"Don't you dare run around in my house, you heathen!" Vernon yelled his face turning a dangerous shade of purple that Harry associated with not eating for a week.

Harry opened the front door and ran outside, getting a burst of energy from the cool December air as the dog followed him out. His feet kicked up mounds of snow as he ran towards the park and climbed up a tree to avoid the dog. Ripper sat at the bottom of the tree barking furiously and clawing at the trunk waiting for his prey to come down. Harry whimpered as he hugged the branch tighter.

Several hours later, Vernon followed the tracks to the tree, picked up the dog, and left the sleeping boy shivering in the tree.