Summer school //Drarry//

CHAPTER 6

Most nights. Every week. He did it. He did it again and again. That monster that calls himself Harry's uncle. 

Harry could feel himself weaken. He had become the monster he feared he would become. His eating... Well, lack of it. He just didn't feel like it. He just couldn't get hungry. And didn't want to. He had seen Charlotte and Tim a lot less. He did every Sunday at the school. Few Wednesdays and just as few nights. 

They noticed. They always did. 

They got enough food down his throat, whenever he visited, to keep him alive. He would eat for them. Reluctantly, but he would do anything for them. He couldn't think of anybody else. Not that anybody would care. That's what he had been taught. 

I am worthless. I am unkind. I am a menace.

He thought those words etched into his mind might've been the reason for the appearance of the tiny scars on his left arm. 

He was his own monster under the bed. All the things that were thought in that head of his...

Currently, he was at the cottage, having a large Thursday dinner. The three chatted about school work, naturally. Harry had gotten to a comfortable state of speaking. Only to these friends, though. And the forced words by his so-called family.

The private tutoring made up for missing an entire muggle school year. His friends would often have colleagues to teach him. They would gladly do so too. The main subjects he excelled in were RE, English, Maths and Science. He enjoyed each and Tim told him he had A* potential, securing him a good future. Harry didn't care about the future, he probably wouldn't see it, even if Voldemort doesn't finish him off, however, he was proud nonetheless.

Ungrateful burden.

As he was eating, he felt eyes on him. Obviously Charlotte's. She had been staring at him recently. He didn't understand why. 

There was nothing to see. Just a scrawny defenceless boy. 

Thinking about it, he had no strength whatsoever. You'd think Quidditch and doing chores all day would put a little bit of health on him, but he hadn't been playing that long or too often, and beatings only gave him resilience. 

No. You still cry with every whipping. Every time he--

"So what's Hedwig been up to, recently?" She had a strange voice, restrained and clearly acting. Harry was suspicious. She had an idea. 

"Um, n-nothing. Why?" Just because he spoke more often didn't mean he didn't stutter in every sentence. 

"Are you free on Thursdays?" She burst. Confused, he knew there must have been some sort of event on Thursdays as growing excitement was evident in her tone, but he couldn't think what. 

Tim regarded her with horror. "No! No! He's not doing it!" Harry thought to Thursday, curious. Those were Vernon's unofficial drinking days. Everything was so much worse when he was drunk.

"I-I'd like to b-be." He said quietly. Thinking of it, there was little chance for Vernon to catch him when drunk. He was twice the stupid whale of a man he was. 

Charlotte broke into a wide Cheshire grin, "Great! Well, you remember Audrey? She has weekly checkups on her GCSE students..."

Harry hated this. How could Charlotte think this was a good idea? How could he have agreed to this? PE was officially the worst subject to exist. That was such a common phrase, yet he doubted anyone really thought of the meaning behind it. What really made it the worst subject?