Harry is a quiet kid who is slowly losing his mind, he has nowhere else to turn, no one to ask if he was ok, that was until school Swim team captain Draco comes into the picture showing Harry what it means to truly be loved.
In this world- a simple...
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Harry was uncomfortable.
Very uncomfortable.
The reason for this is not the kind of answer you would think about went it came to this factor.
He was wearing shorts .
Ugly. Grey. Shorts
Tight-fitting shorts that came to the middle of his thighs.
Not a big deal for most people, but for Harry he'd rather have double organic Chemistry with Mr Snape, then write 6 essays with a 12 hours loop of 'Bruh' ringing in his ear than wear shorts.
If there is one thing Harry hates, it's his body, that's why he must wear baggy clothes from his cousin. The more he could cover up the better.
++++++++ Earlier today
"Get up boy!" His whale of an uncle yelled. Making Harry shudder awake. He could imagine the purple faced man's mouth flapping desperately as speckles of spit came tumbling out.
He let out a hand and felt around for his glasses, slipping them onto the bridge of his nose and feeling his eyes adjust to the brand new day ahead of him. He had to get to school after a painfully long weekend with the Dursley's regretting his existence.
He shuffled his way to the bathroom sink and washed his face sighing slightly as he rubbed his face into his old towel. He swore he heard footsteps but he ignored it, when you had been hit in the head so many times you grow to be used to assuming you're hearing things, besides, he had only woke up anyway.
He peeled his shirt off. Yes, peeled. His shirt was stuck to his back from the blood that was drawn from it, it was safe to say that his back was disgusting it was littered with purple and green bruises and healed or reopened scars. He flinched as he stared in the mirror at his appearance
He was disgusting, and if even he thought he was disgusting who's to say everyone else wouldn't think so too no wonder why no loved him, he couldn't even love himself.
His eyes glossed over as he stared blankly in to the mirror what felt like a daily routine , suppressed feelings resurfacing, but he never seemed to let himself cry, he couldn't even find the tears to anymore. he had already cried to much. More tears had fallen from him alone that he believed 6 people could cry.
After he was finished freshening up he went to go get changed but once he opened his cupboard he was not prepared for what happened next. Harry gasped very audibly, all of his trousers were gone(not that he had many).
All except a pair of grey shorts. He mentally imagined himself screaming at Dudley but he couldn't it would only get him punished. Uncle Vernon has started these creepy punishments, and they were continuing to haunt Harry, every time when his Uncle stumbled in drunk, he was left praying for the man not to come close for he was fond of pushing Harry to do unthinkable things, placing hands on him in inappropriate ways - no one knew about it, it was something 'between him and Vernon'.
He flinched at the thought becoming increasingly uncomfortable and grabbed the shorts in a huff. Harry knew he didn't have a choice so he pulled them on glancing at the mirror in disgust of his bare, scarred legs and walked out of the small room.He rushed down the stairs to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, he couldn't eat because he had burned the bacon yesterday, Joke's on them it's not like he wanted to eat Dudley scraps anyway.
"Boy!" Uncle Vernon barked his chin waggling as he spoke, his beady eyes hovering over the top of the newspaper he was reading
"Yes sir," He said in return quickly abandoning the idea of a peaceful exit.
"Don't be causing any mischief today Dudley told me that you were getting a bit lippy last week and you know what happened." He gulped, memories that were tattooed on his skull of events, and nodded after he said this, picking up his tattered school bag slipping on his worn-out trainers and running out of the house.
End of flashback ++++++++
And here he is now full of anxiety and hating Dudley even more than before. Well, here it goes my last year of school(Yr13), one more year of torture.
