Chapter Four: Meeting Abuse
Cold.
That was the first thing Hermione felt. Cold, and the smell of rain, the stickiness of mist, and the feel of soft earth beneath her back.
She opened her eyes, and almost immediately closed them again. There was a pair of big green eyes staring down at her. Eyes that looked strangely familiar….
She opened her left eye the merest crack, in case this was some monster staring at her with a mind to making her his breakfast. What she saw was a little boy with messy black hair and eyes opened wide, as if that would enable him to see the world better. She lifted her lids the rest of the way and sat up. The boy jumped up as if electrocuted and staggered backwards, tripping over the cuffs of old, worn out jeans that were much too big for him. He sprawled flat on his back in the dirt. Propping himself onto his elbows, he tried to scoot backwards, making himself very dirty and never looking away from her face, with those big green eyes that made her heart melt.
"Oh, how cute!" she exclaimed.
A look of confusion crossed over the boy's face. He opened his mouth, looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something, and then closed it again, as though thinking better of it.
Hermione shifted onto her hands and knees, so she was in a crawling position. She smiled at Harry, for it was he, albeit a much younger Harry than the one she knew. He smiled back, hesitantly, as though he'd never had much practice, or much reason, to smile at anybody. Hermione wondered which of the Shards this was. At a guess, she would have said Loss, for his eyes were so wide he looked as if he were searching for something.
"What do people call you?" She asked kindly. Even though she already knew, there was no point in saying she did. This Harry would have no memory of her, so it was better to start from square one: introduction.
"Brat." He answered.
"What?" she asked, incredulously.
"Brat." He said again.
"Is that what your parents call you?" No point in saying she knew he was an orphan either.
"Dunno, never met 'em" He said matter-of-factly, without a trace of embarrassment.
"Well, what do your aunt- I mean, the people who take care of you call you?"( Oops, she'd almost said 'aunt and uncle'. I'm going to have to watch what I say around him.)
"No-one takes care of me. I look after myself, mostly." He answered simply.
"But don't you have, uh, relatives, someone you live with?"
"Yes, my aunt and uncle and cousin."
"Well, what do they call you then?" Hermione silently congratulated herself. Not only had she not revealed how much she already knew about Harry, she would finally get him to say what his name was.
Or so she thought.
"I told you, Brat."
"But that can't be your real name!" She exclaimed.
"You want my name? Well you should have said so! I'm Harry, please ta meetcha." He said, smiling at her.
Despite her confusion, Hermione smiled back. "Well, why didn't you say your name was Harry when I asked what people called you?" She asked weakly.
"Because people call me Brat, even though my real name's Harry. If you wanted me to tell you my name, you should have said, 'what's your name?' instead of 'what do people call me'. It's not my fault you're so mixed up."
Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or not. This Harry reminded her of herself when she was younger, too clever for other people to be at ease around. She knew from being in similar situations herself that the last thing Harry needed right now was for her to be harsh and tell him not to be such a smart aleck. So she stood, and looking around at the bleak, gray and misty landscape, said "Well, Harry-who-people-call-Brat, what say you and me go see if we can find anybody?"
His answer was one a typical child would give.
"Why?" He asked, tilting his head to one side and looking at her quizzically.
"Because this doesn't seem like a very nice place to be." Hermione answered, mentally resigning herself to a long question and answer session, much like the ones she and her father had had when she was younger.
"Is there a nicer one nearby?" Harry asked.
"I don't know. Why don't you come with me and find out?" Hermione suggested gently.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why should I go with you? You haven't even told me your name yet."
"Oh, I'm sorry! I'm Hermione."
"Hermynee." He repeated, sounding it out carefully, but not quite managing it.
"Yes, that's it, but you can call me Mione if you like, that's what my parents used to call me, anyway." Hermione had heard much worse pronunciations of her name before, and was pleased that Harry had gotten most of the syllables correct. "Now, shall we go?" She urged.
"Where?"
"Somewhere nicer than here."
"How do you know there is a place nicer than here?" he demanded.
"I don't" Hermione sighed. The Harry she knew wasn't nearly this….this…aggravating. Despite herself, Hermione felt herself becoming angry. She took a deep breath, and tried to calm down. But there remained a nagging voice in her head telling her that every minute she spent here talking to this younger Harry was another minute that Harry's body became weaker.
"Tell you what, if you come with me, whether or not we find a nicer place than this, I'll give you a big surprise present when we get there, how's that?" Hermione had never known any little kid to not be quiet and do what was requested of them after being promised a present, so why should Harry be the exception?"
"Why?" he asked again. He appeared surprised, as if no-one had ever offered him a present before in his life. This was lost on Hermione however, as she rounded on him and
yelled, "Don't you ever get tired of asking questions? Just do as I say and come with me, or you'll regret it!" Immediately, Harry's face took on a completely submissive look and he said, in a whisper that betrayed his fear, "Yes, ma'am." He stood, staring at the ground and cringing, almost as if …. what, Hermione couldn't say, but she felt a horrible feeling rise in her stomach as she looked at him.
Her look softened. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, all right? But what were you asking me 'why?' for? I thought you'd like a present. Wouldn't you?"
"I don't know, no-one's ever given me one before. That's why I asked you why, my aunt and uncle and cousin have known me my whole life, and they've never given me anything like that. You're a stranger, and you offer me one before you've know me ten minutes. Why?" He said the last word so quietly, his voice so full of…amazement.
Hermione was stunned. What sort of life had Harry had, up to this point? He didn't look more than four years old, and yet, he seemed older, if not in body, then in experience. What had been done to him that he didn't believe himself worthy of anything like a present?
She looked him over carefully, from the bare, cracked and dirty feet, to the clothes too big for him, to the downcast eyes and dejected look, as if he had never had anyone care for him, and didn't expect anyone to either. She remembered questioning Harry about his life at the Dursleys. He had been evasive, answering in as few words as possible, never quite meeting her eyes, and never willingly giving up details of his existence before he knew her and Ron. Ron had told her somewhat more of Harry's conditions when he had rescued Harry the summer before second year. She knew there had been bars on his window, and his uncle had forcibly tried to prevent Harry from escaping, and that Mrs. Weasley was always shocked at how thin Harry looked at the end of the summer. She remembered too, how when she had first known Harry, he flinched every time someone touched him, even if it was accidentally. She had once found him sleeping over his homework at the common room table during first year, and when she touched his hand to wake him, he had sprung up at the first brush of her fingers, staring around wildly, fists clenched as though expecting to see an assailant. She had excused this odd behavior as the results of whatever dream he had been having, but now she wondered if there wasn't something more to his behavior, something darker than nightmares.
She reached out a hand to him, meaning to help him up. He was so busy staring at the ground that he didn't notice her hand until she was almost touching his face, and when he did finally see, a look of stark terror stole over his face, and he threw his arms up, as if to block a blow. He covered his head with his arms, curled up into a ball, and lay on the ground, shaking.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Genuine concern had replaced Hermione's anger. Why should he be so scared of her?
"I'm sorry for asking so many questions, I didn't mean to make you angry, I just wanted to know why… I'm sorry!" The last part was almost a plea.
"Harry, wha…?"
"Please don't hurt me," he begged.
Hermione gasped. He was expecting to be physically punished by her, and looked as though this sort of thing had happened to him before! What kind of person would…
Oh my.
So that was what she had seen. That was where the feeling of horror came from. She had seen what a lifetime of abuse had done to Harry. So this was why Harry never told her details of his life at the Dursleys. This was why he flinched every time someone touched him. The Dursleys must have never treated him like a human being. The only time they touched him was to discipline him. This was the Shard of Abuse that Dumbledore had told her about. Hermione seriously doubted whether anyone had ever shown Harry kindness. The only people he had to share his life with up to this point had hurt him so badly, inside and out, that he expected no less from anyone else.
Hermione hung her head in shame. And I proved that expectation right, by yelling at him. Hot tears blurred her vision. And in yelling at him, she realized, she had shown herself no better than the people who had brought about the creation of this Shard. She let out a choked sob. Raising her head, she looked over at Abuse. He was in a crouched position on the ground, knees tucked up to his chest, head bowed over them, his hands partially covering his neck, which, Hermione noticed, bore bruises.
She crawled over until she was facing him, reaching out her hand once more. He stiffened, as though sensing her approach. At the first touch of her fingers on his cheek, he whimpered, but quieted when he realized the touch of her hand was gentle, not harsh, as he had expected. She ran her fingers under the curve of his jaw, and he raised his head to look at her. She stared into his eyes.
And saw.
She saw raised fists raining down, shouting, angry faces, the dark interior of an oh so familiar cupboard, images of children his own age laughing and playing, while he watched, forbidden from joining in their fun by his cousin, who hurt him without a second thought, as though he were just a punching bag with no other reason for existence than to be treated harshly by the people who had been entrusted with his care.
She looked away, unable to bear anymore, and he cast his eyes down in shame.
And at long last, Hermione understood why Harry had never told her the complete truth of his life at the Dursleys. He actually believed that he deserved this, and was embarrassed and ashamed to face people because he believed himself to be the lowest of them all. Shame, that was what it all came down to.
Hermione reached out, put her arms around Harry, and gathered him into her lap. He tried to fight at first, clearly surprised at what she was doing, but relaxed as she began stroking his hair and face with one of her hands, while the other held him firmly in place on her lap.
When Hermione had been much younger, and things went wrong, as they do so often for little children, her mother would hold her on her lap, and rock her, and sing to her, and at those times Hermione had believed that all was right in the world. Harry, orphaned and abused, must have never felt this, and Hermione wasn't going to let another minute go by without showing him that life could be better than what he knew. She was going to prove to him that she wasn't like his aunt and uncle and cousin, that she cared for him.
She rocked him back and forth on her lap, singing softly.
"Tell me the reason I was, born to roam.
Tell me the reason I am, so far from home.
Tell me the reason, only birds can fly.
Tell me the reason I was, born, just to die"
She remembered this lullaby from her toddler days. At the time, she found the words somewhat silly, but the melody had been pure and sweet, and as any child could tell you, songs always sound good when it's your mother who's singing.
"How many mountains will I, have to climb.
How many memories will I, leave behind.
How many daydreams, will I make come true,
How many heartbreaks, until, I find you?"
She could feel Harry relaxing even further into her embrace. He raised a hand to her face, feeling the changing shape of her mouth as she sang.
"There is a valley called, Peace of Mind.
There is a river running, right by its side.
There is a moment, of glories so new,
There is eternity, to spend, loving you."
Hermione raised the hand that had been stroking Harry's face to her eyes to wipe away her tears, and realized that it was already wet with Harry's.
(AN: The song is actually a campfire song I sang at Girl Scout Camp quite a lot. It may be copyrighted under the GS Organization, for all I know. So the following is a disclaimer in case it is:
Disclaimer: The song is not mine, I just like the tune. SO THERE!)