In Company of Wolves
Disclaimer: As always, this writer holds no rights to any of the character created by J.K. Rowling. If you wanna sue, the only thing worth anything is my textbooks – and they aren't even mine. sigh
At the time I started this story, the fifth book was not published. As such, the first version has numbers of flaws that I am only now working out. I thank all of you loyal readers for your patience and understanding, and sincerely hope that you will like this version as well as the first. I would like to also thank those who have continued to leave reviews and inspiration for the continuation of my writing, it has helped get my butt in gear and finish this.
The slender, dark haired boy made his way to the kitchen of the small house in trepidation. Marks of abuse could be seen on his pale body that was emaciated due to malnutrition. There was also a look in his eyes that belied his mental state: A haunting mix of self loathing and indifference that was constantly present. It had also been some time since he had last bathed. This summer had been worse than any of the others; Dudley by himself had been particularly nasty, but Aunt Petunia and Vernon… they took particular delight in his misery, finding fault with everything that he did, even more so than usual. In contrast to his previous summers, Vernon had taken to beating him several weeks after he had returned from Hogwarts; the black and blue marks that remained on his body testified to the enormous man's rage. Thankfully, nothing important had been broken thus far in his body.
No one was awake yet and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. In the cold gray dawn of morning, the young man entertained many a thought, though none of them came to fruition. If he tried to run away, the Aurors would catch him and force him to remain at his prison at number four Private Drive. He couldn't use magic to solve any of his problems – it was forbidden to use outside of school unsupervised. If he did, he would be suspended… or expelled, like he almost was last year. It hadn't even been his fault! He had been trying to protect his cousin at the time.
Unlike in the Wizarding World where the name 'Harry Potter' brought with it respect and even admiration, here it was spat from fat lips with distain. It had grown even worse now that Sirius was dead. Now there was no check for their anger. They couldn't care less what wizards would think; they were all freaks in their eyes. These people were supposed to be his family, yet their abuse was even worse than Voldemort's.
The once vivacious green eyes of the Boy-Who-Lived were now growing dull, attaining a lifelessness as he went about his chores mechanically. Breaking the eggs into the pan he had heated on the stove, he stirred them around gently, adding in salt and pepper for seasoning. He could hear creaking upstairs as one of the other occupants of the house rose from their slumber and cringed as he heard the heavy footfalls make their way downstairs. Vernon had been out drinking with his friends the night before and he was sure to be in one of his moods and with a hangover to boot. A moment of inattention caused several of the eggs to brown. His face pallid, he turned to face the oppressing bulk of his uncle, his fat face red with fury.
"Burn the eggs, will you?" He hissed, stepping forward into the small room. Harry quailed before him, trying to escape the meaty hand descending on him. At this point all protests were useless, as Harry knew from experience, and he clenched his teeth to hold back a whimper as he was hit. The force from the impact sent him into the wall behind him, his breath jarred from his chest upon impact. This didn't stop more blows from falling on his light form. Nothing could stop the man once he got going, and the least little thing would set him off.
Even through all this Harry made no sound, taking the abuse as he always did. He wouldn't give Vernon the satisfaction of making him cry out. This infuriated the large man, and grabbing the oversized clothing hanging of Harry's lanky frame and threw him to the floor. He lay there with no strength left to rise. If only Dumbledore would allow him to use magic over the summer! Then none of this would happen. It was so simple… he was Harry Potter, for crying out loud! The freaking savior of the Wizarding World! How was he supposed to face Voldemort in this condition? None of the other family members had risen yet, and they wouldn't for several hours. Nothing short of a bomb would wake up the members of the Dursley family. Muttering drew Harry's attention to the present as Vernon yanked him up by his hair only to throw him again to the floor.
"You and your freaky friends… there will be no freaks in my family! Not if I have anything to do about it! Maybe the beatings aren't a good enough lesson for you then, you little queer!" The loathsome would hung in the air between the victim and his tormenter. Harry lay sprawled on the hard wood floor, panting softly. "Perhaps this will teach you a lesson then!"
Harry jerked away in horror as he saw Vernon's bathrobe pool on the floor beside him. Weighty hands reached for his pants, ripping them from his body with a jerk. He was forced into a submissive position on his stomach. This wasn't happening…
"No…" Harry gasped through bloody lips, unable to do anything to stop the monster above him. A heavy mass was on his back before he could think and something large and hard was shoved against his anal passage. He jerked in shock, but was unable to move more than his head.
A wave of pain tore through him, radiating up his spine as his channel was breached without so much as the least of preparation. His assailant finally got what he wanted as a muffled scream ripped from Harry's throat. The intruder did not wait for him to adjust but continued to pound into him. Harry felt the skin inside him tear, sending new waves of agony though his tortured body. There was still no movement from the second floor, but at this point, Harry couldn't think beyond his suffering. He prayed to all the gods he could think of, that somebody would come and rescue him, but his pleas fell on deaf ears if they were even heard at all.
Pig like grunts came from the man above him as he spread Harry's legs further apart, drawing another scream from Harry's broken form as his position changed and pace redoubled. The thrusts shook Harry's body, the pain overloading his senses until he just lay there numbly, waiting for the torment to end or for his body to give way under the pressure and die.
A wave of hot sperm washed the torn insides of his bowels as the man he called 'uncle' brought himself to completion inside his nephew's body. He didn't wait before drawing his member covered in blood and feces from Harry's body.
"Clean up this mess, boy, or you won't get any dinner." Without another word, he lumbered off. Harry lay there numbly for several minutes in a puddle of his own blood before he managed to drag himself to his former bedroom, the cupboard under the stairs, passing out on a pile of filthy rags before he could do anything else. A green glow surrounded him as the first seeds of hatred matured.
Slowly the poor boy drifted awake, the aches of his body reminding him of the horror he had suffered through mere hours ago. A sickly feeling was firmly placed in his gut where the remains of his uncle's semen had congealed. He slowly reached behind himself and probed the gaping hole with his fingers. Odd… he had expected a warm flow of blood; he remembered that something had torn inside as his… his… 'Vernon' violated him. All the remains were dry, and the tear had already scabbed over.
He shut his eyes and swallowed, accepting the unwonted healing, just grateful not to have died from the blood loss. He would be returning to Hogwarts in a few weeks; he could survive this nightmare. He was the Boy-Who-Lived after all. He had survived multiple encounters with Voldemort… a few weeks of this were child's play in comparison. Or so he hoped. He lay there silently for quite a few long minutes before realizing that he didn't hear any sounds at all coming from the rest of the house. He opened the door to the little space and looked out. Someone must have shut it when he was comatose; he certainly hadn't been conscious enough to do it himself.
The house was empty. Biting his lower lip to keep him distracted from the pain that permeated his body, he forced himself to his feet. Hobbling out into the hall, he was grateful that there wasn't anyone here to witness this humiliation. Or take advantage of it, like Dudley would. Belatedly, Harry remembered that it was once again his overweight cousin's birthday. The 'family' must have gone out to celebrate it.
Harry decided to take advantage of their absence and slowly made his way to the shower on the second floor. Turning on the water, he stood beneath the scalding spray and let it wash away the accumulated dirt and grime as well as traces of his uncle's enjoyment from his tired body. For a boy his age, it wasn't right for him to be so weary of life. He felt the depression seep into the core of his being, the force of it ripping at his emotions until he felt like he could barely stand. His breathing turned harsh as he began to sob, salty tears falling from his eyes to mix with the shower's water as it spiraled down the drain.
His body ached with every movement, pain rippling through his abdomen as he fought for his breaths; sinking lightly to the ground, he curled up into a fetal position and cried for his lost innocence.