Howling At The Moon

Chapter 3

It's been a couple of weeks since the attack and Harry's scars were looking slightly better. They no longer needed the bandages as they were no longer bloody and open, but the bruising and disfigurement was ugly, to say the least. He never took his shirt off and always swept his hair as far as he could to the left side of his face to try and cover it up, despite the fact that it's still too short. He'd also taken to wearing some hats.

He'd thought about stealing some of aunt Petunia's makeup if they were to go out but he doubts he'd ever live to tell the tale. He also doubts she'd let him see sunlight again as he'll probably make people's eyes hurt.

He's in the bathroom, finishing up after a freezing cold shower, when he just stares at himself in the mirror. He has a towel draped around his waist and looks at his chest and stomach. The scars stand out in the cold and they're all purple against his pale white skin. As are the ones on his face. They still have a long way to go until they fade until a more natural colour which he'll be satisfied with but right now he looks like he's taken a Sharpie and scribbled all over himself like a child.

He touches the ones on his face and flinches. They don't hurt, they stopped hurting a while ago. Mostly it's just psychological. He gets the flashbacks of that night sometimes and recently he's been having some nightmares. But he doesn't tell aunt Petunia or uncle Vernon about them because they wouldn't care.

Aunt Petunia just ignores him, much to his relief. She turns away from him when when she sees him as if she's afraid to look at him, like she doesn't want to see the damage done. It hurts a little but he can't say he's surprised.

Uncle Vernon wasn't happy. To find out that they had to pay for medical supplies for his "delinquent of a nephew" made his moustache nearly fall right off his top lip. He looked like he was ready to rip out Harry's hair but it wasn't until he stood up for himself and told him that if he hurt him anymore than he already was injured, that meant he had to pay for even more medical stuff, so best to leave him alone. He wasn't happy about that either.

He was confined to his cupboard at all times, he wasn't even allowed out long enough to clean or cook. He'd come out in the morning, go to the bathroom and fix himself up, cook a small breakfast if he could for everyone out of habit and try to grab some scraps for himself before aunt Petunia just shoved him back inside. He'd hear her mumble as she cleaned the house up herself and smirked to himself. She doesn't like it either, does she?

Whenever he was out, however, Dudley took a different approach. Instead of actively ignoring him like the plague or screaming at him like he's his worst enemy, he'd openly and gladly laugh at him and mock him, making him feel even more self conscious.

It was always the same insults, one after the other. Dogface. Scarface. Scarhead. Even mummy, one time, because of the bandages. He has to admit though, that one was actually kind of funny because it's true. So screw you Dudley, your plan backfired! That's what he tells himself whenever he tries to bring him down.

Harry shakes himself out of his thoughts and tears his eyes away from his reflection. He dries himself gently with the towel and gets dressed, heading downstairs.

He smells the breakfast that aunt Petunia is cooking, she's taken on the role of chef lately. Maybe she just doesn't want him to spill everything because he can hardly lift his arms at times. She glares at him as he walks by and he heads into the living room to do a quick tidy up so she doesn't have to. It'll keep her happy and off his back.

Dudley is sitting on the sofa watching tv so Harry works around him, picking up the shoes and jackets, packets of crisps and bottles of juice from his late night snacks.

"Move, cousin!" Dudley snaps at him, flapping his arms about aggressively.

Harry sighs. He wasn't even in his line of sight, he deliberately did not do that as to not upset him. How could he have gotten this reaction? "Sorry, Dudley. I didn't realise your head was too small to see around my body." He snapped sarcastically.