Chapter Text
It had been a long, excruciating summer for Harry Potter. With a heavy sigh, he dragged his trunk into the nearest compartment and heaved it into the overhead rack before he plopped down tiredly. He was jittery thinking about seeing his friends again. It had been too long in his opinion. There had been a flurry of letters between the three of them with Harry making sure they knew to direct the owls to only come at night. It meant a lot of sleepless nights for Harry, but it was worth it to remember he had people outside Privet Drive who liked him and cared about him. Now, after two months, he finally got to see his friends in person again.
The longest summer ever started out normally for Harry. The moment he arrived at the Dursleys, his belongings were locked away in his former bedroom, the cupboard under the stairs, and he was given an impossibly long list of grueling chores. It felt as if they saved up all the hard stuff the whole year just to give it to him when he returned from school. Cleaning the gutters, cleaning out the shed, weeding the gardens, planting a vegetable patch, mending the fence, scrubbing the house top to bottom, windows inside and out... these were all chores he was used to and was able to get into the rhythm of completing them again with little to no food. His rations for the summer had seemingly gone down since the incident with the flying car and the pudding last summer.
One thing that had changed for the better was that his relatives barely acknowledged his existence. As long as he only got water to drink; ate only what was provided to him; completed his chores; and didn't speak to them, he was left alone to do his chores in relative peace. It wasn't until Uncle Vernon announced three weeks into the holiday that his sister Marge and her favorite dog Ripper were coming to visit for two weeks at the end of July.
Happy birthday, Harry, he thought miserably.
Having Aunt Marge in the house was a special kind of psychological torture for Harry. She would poke and prod at Harry constantly, making disparaging remarks about his weight (he looked sick and should be put out of his misery), his respect towards his "betters", his work ethic (he was useless and couldn't do anything right), and too many other things that were hard for Harry to remember. He was pretty good at tuning out her voice and continuing with his chores. It wasn't until her last week at Privet Drive when she fell ill with a summer cold that Harry's life was made so much worse. He was given the task to wait on Marge hand and foot which meant he was responsible for taking out her horrid dog that hated him and was forced to be in close contact with her. He had to listen to her tirades about his character and personality because the one time he tuned her out and she asked for something in the middle of a tirade, he was wacked with her walking stick over the head.
By the end of the second week, Marge was feeling well enough to return home to her other dogs. They celebrated with a farewell dinner made of all of Marge's favorite dishes that Harry was responsible for making. Harry's mouth watered and his stomach rumbled as he cooked the roast and potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and cheese cauliflower. Thankfully with so many vegetables in the dishes, Harry was able to nick a few carrots and cauliflower florets as he was cooking to stave his hunger, and no one was the wiser.
It was dinner that night when everything went wrong. Marge, being her usual self, wouldn't let up on verbally attacking Harry. It was when she called his mother a whore, the woman who died to save her son's life, that Harry snapped. His face flushed as he shouted back at the horrid woman, and he could feel his magic rising up around him in his fury. The hairs on his arms stood as if electrified. As she continued to berate him, wagging her fat finger and stepping menacingly towards him, she started blowing up like a balloon. The finger that had been wagging in Harry's face grew to be four times wider and longer like a balloon used to make animals and hats. She stopped advancing, starting at her finger, then hand, then arm in shock. Her whole body was quickly swelling, and she and Petunia were screaming nonsensically while Vernon had his pudgy fist around Harry's neck ordering him to stop it, to fix his sister.
When a gust of summer wind blew through the front windows, Marge, who was now floating near the ceiling, was blown right out the open back door. Harry took his uncle's distraction and shoved the hand away. He ran upstairs, dragged his photo album and invisibility cloak out of his hidey hole and grabbed Hedwig who hooted in alarm. He broke the lock on the cupboard and pulled his trunk out the front door.
The next 24 hours were a whirlwind. Harry accidentally summoned the Knight Bus when he fell over after being startled by a dog. He got a room at the Leaky Cauldron and the next day enjoyed his freedom on Diagon Alley. He bought all his school supplies and new uniforms since he was taller this year. Hedwig enjoyed her freedom too after the innkeeper, Tom, vanished the lock on her cage. He couldn't remember feeling so carefree before. It didn't bother him in the least that he had blown up his aunt. He couldn't care if she had blown all the way to Australia.
As he was sitting down to dinner in the pub, the Minister for Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge, joined Harry. At the end of the meal, claiming the need for Harry's protection–from what, Harry didn't know because really, what could be worse than the Dursleys– the minister took him back to Privet Drive himself. He left after scolding Harry to mind his elders and don't get into mischief. The man was an idiot.
The rest of Harry's holiday was spent locked away in the crowded cupboard under the stairs. He was let out in the morning and afternoon to use the loo. He was allowed five minutes every other day to shower with cold water and brush his teeth. His aunt supplied him with a small glass of water and usually some crackers around noon every day. Other than that, Harry was forgotten. Hedwig hadn't returned after she was released from her cage, and Harry didn't blame her one bit.
So now, sitting on the train, Harry was anxious to see friendly faces for the first time in a while. He was excited to not be hated and to feel normal again. He was about an hour and a half early for the train, so he decided to occupy his mind with the summer homework he was unable to complete in his day of freedom. His trunk had been locked in with him in his cupboard, but there was barely space for Harry to move around with it sitting on its end at his feet. There was no way he was going to be able to get into it to help him get over his boredom.
He was stuck on a difficult question about uses of dung beetle larvae in potions when Ron and Hermione entered the compartment.
"Harry!" Hermione dropped her trunk in the doorway and rushed to give him a tight, one-armed hug. "Oh, I've missed you!" Her other arm was wrapped around the belly of a large, ugly, shaggy, orange cat-looking creature.
Harry couldn't attempt to fight the huge grin on his face. "You too, guys."
"Oi, 'Mione, are you going to move your trunk and let me in, or am I to stay out here blocking the hallway the entire ride?"
"Oh! I'm sorry!" Hermione grabbed her trunk, and with Harry, they lifted it easily into the racks above their heads. Ron's joined hers quickly and he sat himself heavily next to Harry.
"Who's the cat?"
"Oh! This is Crookshanks! My parents allowed me to get him for my birthday. Isn't he adorable?" Hermione gushed scratching the beast beneath the chin.
"Bloody menace, that thing is," Ron countered. "Scabbers has been scared stiff since Hermione came over with that beast." He reached into his pocket where Harry assumed Scabbers was hiding and Harry felt a ping of jealousy at his best friends getting to spend time together over the holidays.
"It's not Crookshanks's fault. He's a cat. What do you expect him to do?"
The descended into an argument, and Harry returned to his work.
Ron's head looked over his Harry's shoulder at the parchment he was writing on. "Ew! Why are you working on Potions? We have all night!"
"Ron!" Hermione said. "If Harry wants to work on his school work, let him." She turned back to Harry. "Do you need help? I finished mine ages ago."
For the next hour, Hermione and Harry worked on his Potions essay together while Ron flipped through the highlights section of Quidditch Weekly. Cat and rat seemed to be at peace for the time being. By the time the lady came around with the trolley of snacks and sandwiches, Harry was starving. He hadn't had anything since his crackers and water the day before. He bought one of each and a few extras of his favorites to save for later. As he had on his very first time to Hogwarts, Harry sat, chatted, and laughed with Ron while they ate his hoard of snacks. Hermione, picking a plum sugar quill and a bag of plain cheese crisps sat back to talk with her two best friends.
It was nearly two hours later, halfway into the trip to Hogwarts, when the train came to a screeching halt. The three of them looked out the window to see why they would have stopped, but all they saw was dark, looming trees, drapes of moss, and a fine mist. Their ride so far had been fairly dark as they passed through several rain storms and heavy clouds on the journey. They could only see around 50 meters outside the train, but they saw they were surrounded by trees. Hermione got up to check in the hall only to see a head from every one of the compartments doing the same.
"Everyone, return to your compartments, please," a man called as he walked from the rear of the train. "I'm going to check with the conductor."
"Is it me or did it just get really cold?" Hermione asked as she closed the door and returned to her seat. She shivered and pulled her cat into her chest.
"No, it feels like the temperature dropped 10 degrees," Harry responded. Glancing out the window again, Harry saw something. "It looks like someone just boarded the train, but I couldn't see who it was."
He stood to pull his cloak out of his trunk to give to Hermione for warmth when it felt like the temperature dropped even more. His vision went dark, and his ears began ringing. He felt himself falling, but it was as if in slow motion. He lost all sense of where he was, and he never felt if he hit the ground or was still falling. The ringing got louder and louder until it morphed into the shrill scream of a woman. A slimy feeling covered him in a trail from his neck down his body like a hand's caress. It moved across his belly and progressed lower, slowly, almost sensually.
The woman screamed again, "Not Harry!"
He couldn't move, could barely breathe. His fight or flight responses kicked in to his terror of what was happening, but he was helpless. Whatever terror was around him wasn't physical. He wasn't physical, was he? The caressing feeling didn't cease as it moved over his most sensitive and private areas. He didn't want it!
What's happening? Don't touch me! Why are you doing this? Stop touching me! I don't want it! It hurts!
There was a painful pressure in his head. It felt like someone was trying to smash his ears together through his skull even while his body felt pain he had never experienced before.
He felt violated. The hand-like slime feeling still running along his body. He tried to move. Tried to get the slimy feeling off him, but his arms and legs wouldn't move. The pain in his belly and lower back spiked and he nearly cried out. As his terror mounted, his panting breaths became shorter and more desperate. He was hyperventilating. He couldn't stop. A whimpering sob escaped him as he struggled for breath. His chest felt like Dudley was sitting on him, and he struggled desperately.
Suddenly, everything stopped at once, and Harry succumbed to unconsciousness gratefully.