We Will Protect You

Chapter 1 - Summer With the Dursleys

!!!TRIGGER WARNING: ABUSE, NEGLECT, SELF HARM!!!

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Harry Potter was seated on his bed, his baggy tee-shirt and shorts clinging to him due to the blood and sweat coating his body. His hair was matted and thick with blood, sticking to his forehead and covering his scar. He had cuts, bruises, and injuries of all sorts decorating his body.

He had bruises on his elbows, knees, forearms, and around his neck. There was whip lacerations on his lower back. His knees and elbows were severely busted. The palms of his hands and the soles of his feel had small glass shards trapped in them.

His older cousin, Dudley Dursley, sat beside him, trying to stifle some of the bleeding. He was trying his best, he was, but it was... it wasn't as successful as they would have liked.

"Dudley, I can patch myself up if you want—" Harry tried, about to pull his arm away. The messy bandages weren't doing anything to stop his bleeding, and allowing the older male to continue would be more wasteful than anything, but he was interrupted rather quickly.

"No, Harry. I can do this, don't worry," He responded, "I've been an arsehole to you, the least I can't do now is fix you up." Dudley insisted, furrowing his eyebrows and ripping the bandages off of his arm to try again. Harry just sighed.

"Fine, fine, okay," Harry said, rolling his eyes, "But I can help you, y'know. Just keep that in mind." He said, but Dudley just shook his head and kept trying. Harry knew Dudley probably had tears in his eyes, he always did when he bandaged him, because he was so guilty for hurting him.

"I know, but I can do this just fine myself." Dudley repeated, finally getting the thick, white material on Harry's arm properly. He gestured for the other one, which the messy haired boy supplied without any argument.

"I'll be the judge of that." Harry said, a mischievous yet soft grin covering his slender face. Dudley looked up, matching his grin and shrugging before getting back to work.

"Whatever, Four-Eyes." Dudley said, nudging him affectionately. Harry giggled along, playfully kicking him in the shin in response, "Hold still or I'll fuck up!" He said, grabbing his arm a bit tighter to try and hold him in place.

"Aw, Duddykins, that's so sweet," Harry cooed, sarcasm lacing his voice, and Dudley instantly knew by both the tone and the nickname he was about to be either insulted or teased, "You think that even if I hold still this might turn out well. So innocent." He said, laughing and looking away as he was swatted at again.

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Of course, Dudley's hard work from the night before was quickly put to waste, because Vernon and Petunia hated that their son had 'gone soft' and was now helping Harry recover from their abuse and beatings.

"Quiet boy!" Vernon screamed after Harry sneezed. He had been dusting, and some of the particles flew up his nose— it wasn't his fault he had sneezed. But Vernon hated his guts, so any noise must have been purposeful, just so Harry could mess with them.

"S-sorry, Sir. Some dust got up my nose, I didn't mean to..." Harry mumbled, well aware that it wasn't his fault and that he shouldn't have to apologize, but too scared to do anything other than what he was trained to do. Apparently, though, what he was trained to do wasn't good enough.

Vernon stood up, "You do not speak back to me, you brat!" He cried, walking over to him and grabbing him by the collar, "Never speak without permission, boy! You should know this by now!" He scolded, slamming him against the wall and slapping him.

Harry nodded, not daring to talk in case he broke this new rule. Vernon slammed him against the wall again, dropping him down to the floor and then walking back to his chair, sitting down once again.

Harry picked himself up, going back to dusting. Every time dust made its way back into his nose, he bit his tongue, swallowing back his sneezes. He felt tears prick the back of his eyes, so he dug his teeth farther into his tongue, holding back a sob. Why was his life like this?

Why was it him? Why was it no one else? Why did people hate him? Why did the Dursleys hate him? Why was he the 'chosen one'? Why did Voldemort try to kill him and his parents? Why him? What did he do to deserve this bullshit?

Harry was a baby that watched his parents get killed, nothing more. After that, his aunt and uncle had just decided he was the most horrendous being in the entire universe. He had done literally nothing, he was a year old, he couldn't have done anything. But they still hated him. Because his parents were magic.

He felt the familiar urge to hurt himself start nagging at the back of his brain, slowly making his tears become bigger and bigger. He had to do something. He didn't care how, he just had to hurt himself somehow. He glanced at Petunia and Vernon, who were still seated at the couch, watching the television.

They wouldn't even notice if Harry slipped off to the kitchen— if they did, he could just say he needed some water to get some dirt off of the table he was dusting. He could so easily just go to the kitchen and hurt himself. It would be so simple and, seeing as they were so buried in their TV show, they'd be none-the-wiser.

He glanced at the doorway, before setting the duster down, speed-walking to the sink. He bit his lower lip, turning the water the hottest it could go and waiting for it to begin steaming, before rolling his left sleeve up and shoving his wrist under the scalding hot water.

He hissed in pain but forced his arm to stay there, watching the water turn his wrist red. He watched red veins form as the water ran down his arm, slowly burning paths into his skin as they ran over the same spots over and over again. He smiled crookedly at the pain.

After about thirty seconds, he pulled his arm back, turning the water off and wiping his arm down with a towel, not bothering to be gentle. The pain of the towel rubbing harshly against his new injury was just extra satisfaction.

He walked back over to the place he was dusting, picking up where he left off like nothing was wrong.

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Harry sat, curled up on the floor by his bed. He was very, very hungry. The Dursleys hadn't fed him in almost two weeks now, and he was beginning to feel rather weak.

He was constantly exhausted and freezing cold, sometimes shaking for no reason, often finding himself spaced out. He was losing weight at an alarming rate, as well. He had dropped from ninety-eight pounds, which was still underweight, to ninety-one pounds in the span of two months.

He chewed on the inside of his lower lip, the tears that were seemingly constantly present in his eyes finally overflowing and cascading in rivers down his cheeks. A small sob forced its way past his lips, and then another, and then more, until he was bawling his eyes out.

He was cold, tired, hungry, in pain, and his head was constantly spinning. Life was way, way, way too much for him all the time, and he didn't know how to make it better. So he cried, and he hurt himself, and he tried to fix things, but he felt like he wasn't getting anywhere.

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!!!Hello! I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter of "We Will Protect You". This is gonna be a bit of a long story, but I think it'll be interesting (maybe I'm a bit biased, but it's okay). I feel bad for putting Harry through hell, but it'll be happy in the end!!!