Why Do You Love Me?

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Harry and Co.! J.K. is much more talented than I, and it will remain to be so for all of time! :author sighs sadly:

Warnings: Slash, rape, abuse, neglect, self-harm, bulimia (possibly), language and sexual content; you have been warned.


Drunken Vernon pronounces his "s" as an "sh" sound. This is because his disgustingly fat tongue is much too large for his hole of a mouth when his is in this state. That should explain why it looks weird when drunken Vernon talks.

A/N: Cliché? Maybe. Do I care? No. I've decided to give this particular plot bunny my own spin on it! R, R & R! (Read, Relax & Review!)

Chapter One

The Beginning

It had all started with a seemingly accidental slap over the head. After all, Harry had been pushing on his last nerves; it only made sense that he be punished. Vernon's eyes had gone wide with surprise at his own actions, and fear of what Harry would do with his magic in retaliation, and Harry hadn't seen him for three days after. Of course Harry had been shocked when it happened, but they had been having a rather heated argument over whether Harry would be allowed to bring his wand with him out of the house. Harry had been known to lose his temper every once in a while; it only made sense that Vernon had and hit him in the process. It was forgivable.

But how wrong Harry had been to believe that it would never happen again.

Five days later, after everyone had seemingly forgotten about it, Harry had been cooking breakfast in the kitchen when his Aunt Petunia had come in. It was a warm, sunny day in the beginning of July; nearly Harry's birthday. Aunt Petunia had gone about her usual business; watching Harry like a hawk, lest he burnt her precious Dudders' eggs and bacon. Harry was used to this, she had been doing it for about five years now, ever since the fateful day that Harry had been left alone in the kitchen to cook Vernon and Petunia their Anniversary dinner while they went to some fancy restaurant for their lunch and Harry had accidentally burnt the ham to a crisp, and completely slaughtered the desert (though by no fault of his own. His twelve-year-old cooking skills were hardly adequate enough to cook a whole meal, let alone a whole ham, no matter how much of a hero he was in the Wizarding world).

Harry had been slipping deeply into his musings as he mechanically flipped the bacon and waited for the toaster to pop up the toast. Aunt Petunia had just gone from the room to gather the mail that had been pushed through the slot, and came back with a newspaper that she set gently at the head of the table, where Vernon always sat. Flipping through the envelopes absent-mindedly as she watched Harry sharply out of the corner of her eye as he turned the bacon once more, she nearly missed the bright pink envelope that was addressed directly to Harry in bright red, sparkling ink. But she didn't miss it.

With a shriek, Petunia dropped the envelope and rushed from the room, Harry staring after her for a few moments before noticing the bright pink splotch on the floor. Stooping down, Harry picked it up and looked at it questioningly. "To me?" He asked no one in particular. With a small grin, Harry slipped his finger under the flap and opened the envelope. An equally bright pink piece of parchment fell from its folds, followed by a Galleon that was dyed a weird light pink color, to land on the floor with a soft windy sound and a clink. Harry eyed the items warily, before picking up the piece of parchment first.


Cho here! I was just wondering how your summer's been. Mine's been great! I've heard from Hermione that your birthday's coming up, and I've decided to send you this little gift. It may not seem like much, but looks can be deceiving. Don't touch the Galleon yet. Harry eyed those words oddly, before continuing to read the scrawled note. Yeah, I know that seems like something weird to ask of you, but it's a portkey to the Three Broomsticks. Before you start wondering why, let me just say that there's a little something special taking place there right now, so don't miss it! If you pick up the portkey with gloves, it shouldn't transport you, so pick it up and put it somewhere safe. Wouldn't want the relatives to pick it up; they'd be awfully scared to find that they'd been moved to the middle of no where in mere seconds. Hogsmeade is quite far from any muggle civilization, mind you! Anyways, this note is getting rather long, and I'm running out of red ink, so let me just tell you these final parting words: Touch the Galleon at sometime around noon-ish. That's when everything begins. If you aren't there by around twelve thirty, we'll send out a search party; I'm not kidding!

All the best!


Harry blinked confusedly. Cho had never sent him anything, and after their falling out in fifth year, Harry had been quite sure that she would never want to talk to him again. Something seemed weird about the "little gift", but Harry pushed down his gut feeling as he grabbed a dish cloth and picked up the portkey with it carefully covering his hand, pocketing the oddly discolored Galleon before Vernon or Petunia came back and saw it there. Tossing the hideous pink (Harry never had been able to stand pink after fifth year because of the rancid robes and other clothes of a similar color that Dolores Umbridge had decided to wear constantly) parchment and envelope into the nearest rubbish bin, Harry went back to the skillet to flip the bacon once more to find that it was already burnt, and the eggs looked much worse for wear.

Just as Harry was scraping the last bits of bacon from the frying pan, Vernon stormed in; he looked livid. His face was a bright puce color, and his moustache was trembling with suppressed anger. "Letters!" Vernon spat at Harry. "You're getting bloody letters! How many times? How many times?"

Harry blinked confusedly as Vernon's words became unintelligible. Vernon slammed his hand down hard on the counter, much too close to Harry for comfort. Vernon's other fist slammed into the counter on the other side of Harry, caging him in between the counter and his own fleshy body. Glaring deeply into Harry's eyes, Vernon continued to spout any words his mouth would form, spit spraying into Harry's face and causing him to flinch. Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out what Vernon was saying, but he knew the way he was looking at him couldn't be a good thing.

When Vernon's ranting finally wore down, Harry opened his mouth to speak, and instantly regretted it, as it only seemed to anger Vernon more.

"Ungrateful bastard!" Vernon spat, finally managing coherent words. "Filth! Disgusting, freakish…thing! We feed you, we give you the clothes off of our own son's back, and this is how you repay us? Secretly initiating contact with the likes of…of…" Vernon trailed off and reached for the now-filthy pink envelope in with the rest of the trash. "Cho Chang!" He completed the first intelligible sentence Harry had heard from him all day, and proceeded to drop the envelope only to slap Harry across the face. "Well, what did it say?"

Vernon glared at Harry expectantly, hand lingering in the air as an idle threat that provoked Harry into speaking. "Er…something's going on at the Three Broomsticks and she wants me to be there today by noon." Harry answered reluctantly, averting his eyes at the look of pure outrage on his uncle's face.

"And what? She expected me to take you there for this little get together? I thought I told you to tell your ruddy friends that the likes of them aren't welcome in this house, and as soon as you're seventeen, neither are you!"

Harry gulped as he watched the hand swing down again, this time connecting with the corner of his glasses, tossing them off of his face to land with a loud click on the tile floor just meters away.

"I…I did! I did tell them!"

"Do not fucking lie to me!" Vernon punctuated the sentence with another slap that sent a loud crack echoing through the house and snapped Harry's head to an awkward position, is neck cracking slightly with the force.

"I…I'm not!" Harry struggled to get the words out. He could taste blood, and his tongue was throbbing in pain. He must have bit it.

"I've told you that I don't like your kind! I've told you they're not welcome! I've told you!" Vernon was shouting, spit flying from his mouth violently as his face turned a dark maroon color. "How many fucking times do I have to fucking tell you?"

Harry cringed and tried to shrink away from his uncle, who was heaving with each breath he took, but couldn't seem to shut up about what he had told Harry.

"I know what you've told me! I swear I've told my friends they're not welcome here! I've told them not to send mail the mug-normal way! They know not to!"

"Well apparently that ruddy Cho Chang doesn't! What is she? Your fuck buddy? I could have sworn you were queer; like father like son, as they say." Vernon's breathing was back under control, and his eyes glinted maliciously; he knew that these words would provoke Harry more than any action ever would.

"My father was not gay!" Harry cried out, lashing out at Vernon and giving him the advantage he had pushed for. With a sharp lunge, Vernon had Harry on the ground. His body was laying on him heavily as he slapped Harry over and over again, muttering things under his breath such as, "Filth," and "Disgusting," with every blow he landed.

Harry was completely helpless to stop the beating. As the flogging continued, Harry could feel the world around him begin to dim; his vision became fuzzy as he lost all feeling in his head, and his breathing began to slow as his eyes slid slowly shut. The world of unconsciousness welcomed him with warm, fuzzily safe-feeling open arms, and Harry more than willingly went into the embrace, even as, in the living world, his uncle continued the vicious beating well after he fell into unconsciousness; even continued to beat Harry long after Harry's nose broke and some other bone in his body crunched loudly with the impact of his meaty fist

When Harry finally regained consciousness, he was back in the room he had woken up in that morning: his own. His body was achingly sore, and it took him a while to take in his surroundings before he realized that it was completely dark outside. It took him a few more moments to remember what had happened between waking then and waking now. Harry's head was pounding, and his left cheek felt a lot bigger than it should have been. Harry lifted his hand up to his cheek, and instantly regretted it.

Moments later, when Harry had regained his breath, he tried to sit up. His aching bones protested, but Harry forced himself into a sitting position. Looking across the room and into the full length mirror that stood there, Harry could tell that he was badly battered and bruised. The first question that flew through his head was 'Why did Uncle Vernon do this?' That was quickly followed by more, until the dam in his head burst and he was no longer safe from even his own thoughts; he feared he may drown in them if he didn't do something.

Reaching to his bedside table, Harry clicked on the lamp that rested there and reached for his glasses, which were held together with a band of white tape. Harry was confused for a moment; they hadn't been held together like this since his first year when Hermione had fixed them for him. Then he remembered what had conspired in the kitchen again, and shuddered violently.

As he tried to place them on his face, a shooting pain that began at the bridge of his nose and worked it's way into his temples and into the very core of his head until he could nearly feel his brain pulsing worked its way through him, making him shudder and gasp for breath; his vocal cords wouldn't allow him to scream.

Hedwig hooted comfortingly from her perch in her cage on top of the dresser to the left of him, and Harry forced himself to smile softly, placing the glasses back where they had come from, deeming it impossible to don them. "Hedwig," His voice cracked and fell to a whisper on its own accord. Harry pulled a face, though not completely successful because of his bloated cheek that was rapidly turning a dark purple that looked almost black in the meek lighting of the lamp beside him.

Resigned to make his voice a whisper, Harry closed his eyes, counted to ten, then started again. "Hedwig, can you…can you get out?" Hedwig hooted her confirmation, and Harry nodded. "Do it. Then get me a piece of parchment and a quill." Hedwig hooted again, and Harry could hear the creaking of the door to her cage as she quietly batted her wings and landed gracefully on the foot of his bed, nipping softly at his big toe that was sticking out from underneath the blanket before setting to her task.

When the quill and the parchment were pressed into his waiting hand, Harry petted Hedwig's head softly. Glancing around the room, Harry's brow furrowed as much as allowed with the injuries notwithstanding, then glanced at Hedwig again. "Do I have any ink?" He asked after a moment of Hedwig staring into his eyes in an almost eerie way.

Hedwig hooted again, this time to tell Harry that no, he did not, in fact, have any ink. Harry closed his eyes tightly again, thinking of anything else he could use, but came up blank. Just then, a drop of red dripped off of his forehead and landed on his arm. Harry's eyes trailed to the sticky substance, and a small grin alighted his eyes. He dipped the quill in the red drop of blood that was on his arm, and quickly began his letter.

When he was almost finished, the blood had dried up; both the blood that had dripped onto his arm, and the blood that had been the source of this drip. With a thoughtful expression, Harry glanced over at Hedwig, who was sitting at his feet and respectfully not bothering him. She was grooming herself, but when she felt Harry's eyes on her she looked up and met his gaze.

"Hedwig," Harry started in his raspy whisper. He held out his left hand, motioned to the index finger and said, "Bite this. Hard enough to draw blood."

At Hedwig's questioning gaze, Harry nodded encouragement and extended the finger further. With an apology in her eyes, Hedwig sharply nipped at the extended finger, and Harry had to suppress his yelp by smothering his mouth with the other hand. Harry nodded his thanks and dipped the quill into the blood dripping from his finger, hurriedly scratching out the rest of the note. With a soft blow to assure himself that the blood-ink was dry, Harry folded it up. Hedwig opened her beak. Harry put the letter in her beak and petted her on the head softly. "Give this to…Hermione." He rasped after thinking of who to send the letter to.

Hedwig nodded and swiftly flew out the cracked-open window and into the dark night. Harry lay back in his bed and thought; it was the only thing he could do until morning when his Aunt Petunia would come up and wake him from his musings, insisting that he make the whole family breakfast. His Aunt Marge was supposed to come to visit some time this week, and Harry was really not looking forward to that, especially after the incident five years ago when he had accidentally blown her up like a balloon. The Dursley's were surely going to be watching him with an eagle eye until he had to leave for school, as her stay was going to be extended (she would be staying until November, and Harry was glad that he would be leaving soon. He could barely stand her).

What Harry couldn't understand was why no one had came after twelve the day before. Cho had said that they would send out a search party, but why was no one there? Why wasn't Harry at the Burrow with Ron and Hermione and everyone else, enjoying himself and putting down Percy behind his back for the disownment of his family?

Harry buried his head in his hands and let out a soft, strangled sob. People always lied to him, kept the truth from him, and no one was looking for him; no one cared that he hadn't gone to the Three Broomsticks, and no one cared that he hadn't shown up for any other events that he had been invited to, and no one was going to come and rescue him from the abuse he had endured the day before.

A light tapping on his door broke him from his musings, and he looked up in time to see his Aunt Petunia entering his room, tray of water and dry toast in her hands. She softly shut the door behind her, and looked to Harry with her large, brown eyes full of sorrow. "I…I thought you might be hungry. You've been out for three days. Oh, gods, you look a mess." her voice shuddered, and she drew in a deep breath, grabbing onto the short, squat bookshelf by the door to steady herself. Her face was red and her mascara was running down her cheeks in rivulets, indication that she had been crying, but Harry hardly noticed these things because of his lack of glasses.

He tried to send her his most choleric, disgusted look, but failed miserably as his face pulled into a grimace of pain instead. "I, uh…" Petunia licked her dry lips as she searched for words. "I kicked him out."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Wh…what do you mean?"

"I told him to give you a strong talking to…not to beat you senseless. I just…I'm sorry, Harry," Petunia said.

Harry looked at her, even more confused at the way she was acting than he had been by the way his uncle had been acting. "But-"

"Here," His aunt said, shoving the tray into his arms. Then, as if noticing for the first time that he was bleeding, she pulled back. "Oh! That should have stopped!" She exclaimed, pulling Harry's hand towards her so that she could examine the cut on his finger.

"I…my forehead was bleeding earlier, too." Harry said, pointing to his forehead with his unoccupied finger, hoping to draw his aunt's attention from the fact that the wound on his finger was recent.

"You must have re-opened the cuts while you were tossing in your sleep. I heard you screaming; you were having a nightmare. I hope it wasn't about Vernon. He didn't mean to-"

"What the hell do you mean, 'He didn't mean to'?" Harry spouted, slamming the back of his arm into the tray on his bed and sending it flying across to land on the floor, the glass that had once held the water broken, and the toast sticking to the wall; apparently it wasn't as dry as it appeared. "He didn't stop, did he?"

Harry's aunt just stared at him, mouth agape and eyes wide. "He…"

Harry sighed. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them roughly with his fingers, forgetting for a moment that his finger was bleeding. When the blood seeped into his eye, Harry gasped. Petunia grasped his hand firmly, and yanked it away from his eye as he frantically tried to swipe at it to get the blood out.

"Blink." She commanded, and Harry did so, multiple times.

When the blood finally left Harry's eye, Harry looked at her, anger and hurt, but something else as well, lingering in his eyes. "How come you didn't wrap any of my wounds?" He asked insistently.

Petunia looked at him, worry creasing her normally scowling features. "When Lily was a child, she fell out of a tree and broke her arm. It mended almost over night, without any hospitalization or anything else of the sort; it was her magic helping her. I suspected the same would happen to you, so I left you be. Your nose mended, but it's still a little damaged. I suppose with another couple of days it will be fine. If you think you look bad now, you should have seen yourself three days ago!"

Harry blinked at her. "You should have wrapped my wounds. And what do you mean, my nose mended? Was it broken?"

Petunia nodded sadly, dropping Harry's hand and walking towards the door. "I fully expect you to clean up that mess once you're capable of it." She said, the normal harshness back in her voice. With that, she left the room, slamming the door roughly behind her.

That night as Harry lay in his bed, wondering where Hedwig was and what Hermione would think of his letter, Harry heard a car door slam in the front drive. Blinking curiously, as he certainly hadn't heard it leave and the front light wasn't on, Harry stood painfully and hobbled across his room to the window. Flipping the thin curtain open, Harry watched as his uncle made his way up the dark front drive, drunkenly tripping over the lawn gnome that Dudley had made at school and had been very proud of in grade four that Petunia had just recently found and put on display for the whole neighborhood.

Tripping over the wretched, three eyed, purple gnome put Vernon in a very angry state, and he made quite a ruckus as he cursed the "damned thing" out, landing a hard kick that caused it to break into four separate pieces to it just for good measure before Vernon made his way to the front door and drunkenly pulled out his keys from his pocket. After a few vain attempts, the door was unlocked, and Vernon failed to remember to push it shut after him.

He stumbled up the stairs loudly, and Harry could hear him as he fell twice before making his way to the top landing. Harry stood still in his place as he heard the footsteps make their way to his door and stop. Seconds later, his door was swinging open, and the light was flicked on.

"Hey, boy!" His uncle shouted gleefully, a sloppy smile adorning his fat, wet-looking lips. "Guessh wha' Uncle Vernon brough' home for you today!" Vernon swayed dangerously in the doorway as he shoved his index finger in the direction of Harry to punctuate the word "you", before he steadied himself in the doorframe and stumbled forward into the room, slamming Harry's door shut behind him. He messily brought a dark brown bottle up to his lips and slurped noisily from it, though most of the foul-smelling alcohol ended up on the front of him rather than in his stomach.

Harry watched in horror as his uncle approached him unsteadily. He was like a deer in headlights; his muscles refused to move and it was as if his feet were moulded to the floor.

"C'mon, boy! Guessh!"

Harry's eyes widened as his uncle took a large step towards him, lurching as he tripped over the previously-disposed-of tray that stood in his path. He let out a loud shriek as he hit the floor, cursing at Harry.

"You li'l fu'king bastard! Ushing your magic to trip me and what-not! You will be punished! Come 'ere, you li'l bastard! I'll show you who'sh got the wand in this family!"

Harry screeched as Vernon grabbed his ankle and yanked, causing Harry to sprawl on his back on the hard wooden floor. "No!" He cried out as his uncle pushed himself up to his knees in between Harry's trembling legs. Harry could only guess what was coming, but still he struggled. "Please, no!"

"But you're being punished, boy! If I don't do it now, it'll only be ten timesh worshe later!" His uncle shouted, his voice regaining its gleeful quality of earlier.

"No!" Harry continued to scream his protests as his uncle violently ripped off his pants and undergarments, flinging them across the room. Vernon took his time fumbling drunkenly with his belt, pinning Harry down by his chest, using one of his unoccupied knees.

Harry's lungs felt as though they were being squashed. His struggling stopped immediately as he began to feel light headed. With one final squeak, a protesting "No!", Harry was silent, but his eyes remained open and slightly un-focused (He still was not wearing his glasses because of the no-longer-broken but still painful nose), and he was forced to watch as his sickeningly fat uncle rammed his dick into his arse repeatedly. All the while a mantra of, "No, no, please no, I'll do anything," repeated in his head. Little did he know that he was saying it out loud, as well.

Dudley Dursley lay awake in his bedroom, listening to the sound of his cousin being raped by his father. He felt disgusted, but refused to leave his room for fear of what he may see, lest his uncle had not remembered to shut Harry's door completely and planned on giving the family a free show. Of course, he knew his mother was still awake, and she was probably listening as well as Harry repeatedly cried out "No! Please, no!". All of a sudden, Harry's cries stopped, and he heard his father grunt as he reached what Dudley could only believe was orgasm.

Minutes later, he heard Harry's door creak open and then shut loudly, the slam ringing through the whole house. If he and his mother had been asleep, that slam would surely have woken the both of them, but as it was, Dudley flinched at the sound and remained in his bed.

Petunia, however, had raced to the bathroom connecting to her bedroom almost immediately after Harry's cries had begun…and vomited into the toilet. Who would have ever thought it possible for her Vernon, her loving husband and her only son's father, could be so could as to rape a helpless child. That was what Harry was; a child. He would always be a child, but now all of his innocence had been ripped from him in a single night. How was he ever going to defeat a dark lord now?

He was no longer clean; no one would ever look at him the same. He could not save the muggle world, and if he couldn't even do that, Petunia was sure that Harry could not save the Wizarding world. And another thing Petunia was sure of was that it was entirely Harry's fault.

Vernon, of course, could not be blamed for his actions. He was a loving man; he was a loving husband, and a loving father. Harry had initiated it, and for that, Petunia would never forgive him. She still owed him her protection; her sister had risked her life for her, and Harry had been the result, and for that, Petunia would forever be in her debt. But for Harry to come on to her husband was unforgivable.

Petunia vowed that she would get back at Harry for turning her husband dark. She would stop at nothing to exact her revenge. And if she hadn't owed her sister a life-debt, she may have even murdered the young man that still lay in his room, broken, bloodied and utterly alone.

A/N: I've decided to post this chapter early. Review and tell me what you think! And if you didn't read the warnings and such at the beginning, please do so. I don't want to disgust anyone, but there are ample warnings. If you decide not to heed them, do not complain to me about the content of my fic. I will not listen.

The title may be subject to change, just to warn anyone and everyone.