Harry James Potter (swordofgryffin) wrote in fourteenshades, @ 2014-02-10 16:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | harry potter, x-fabian prewett |
kids like me should be against the law
Who: Harry & Open (to Remus or whoever)
Where: The Gym
What: Harry needs an hour or two to get out some issues
When: After this
Harry had only sort of been joking about punching the wall. He had thrown a book or two, which hadn't done anything except damage the books. He really did need to hit something, though, so he decided to take Remus up on his idea of going to the gym to vent his frustration in a grown up, mature fashion.
It had all being going so well, he thought, still fuming as he stripped off to his vest and wrapped his hands the way he'd been taught in the Aurors. Things between him and Lily were still a bit... well, shaky, but other than that he'd been quite enjoying his time in the village. Getting to see his parents, his extended family, people he'd never expected to see again.
Of course, there were some people he'd never wanted to see again.
It was strange because he hadn't been angry when he'd left, seven years ago, never to see his Aunt or Uncle again. He'd been quite calm about the whole thing. Relieved even, that they'd been taken care of. He was on semi-good terms with Dudley now - they even exchanged Christmas cards and made the occasional visit. But never Petunia or Vernon. He'd never been able to bring himself to it, and he was starting to understand why.
It took him a few strikes to warm up to the bag, but once he'd started it was hard to stop. How dare she come here and speak that way to people he knew, people he looked up to, people who looked up to him? Kids? She had threatened to lock him in his room, for fuck's sake. Harry didn't think he'd ever sworn so much, even in his head.
And everyone was very concerned, weren't they? Oh yes. NOW they were worried about him. Never mind when he'd been a helpless innocent child being tormented - he punched the bag with extra furosity - starved - again - practically enslaved - he hit it so hard it flew back and almost hit him in the face. He rested a second, sweat beating on his forehead and stinging his eyes. "Fucking fuck," he said. For some reason swearing took the edge off, probably because doing it in the Dursley's presence had always been akin to suicide. It was a childish sort of rebellion, but it did help.