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Harry Potter and the Unacknowledged Trauma


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Yeah...in case you guys haven't noticed yet, I'm rather obsessed with Harry Potter. Anyway, this idea just kind of took hold, and I couldn't get it out of my head until I started writing it. It's one of the things that bothers me the most about the series, honestly. Why wasn't Harry more traumatized by what he went through in the fourth and fifth books? I mean, he was an angry SOB in the first part of the fifth book, but that didn't last very long. I know if I'd been through something like that, I wouldn't be able to let it go so easily. Pun not intended. So, without further ado, here is chapter one.

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On June 25, 1996, Harry Potter awoke in the Hospital Wing to a warm and wet bed. He was still groggy from the effects of the Dreamless Sleep potion he’d been given the night before, so he didn’t immediately realize what condition he was currently in. He kept his eyes closed as he listened to the murmurs from familiar voices surrounding his bed — voices he recognized as belonging to Mrs. Weasley and Sirius. He didn’t yet want to acknowledge his state of awareness, but something finally dawned on him.

He stifled a gasp as he recognized the sensation of emptying his bladder. Yes, Harry Potter was peeing himself in bed, with his godfather and surrogate mother just feet away. He would have clamped down on his muscles to stop what was happening, but he could tell he was nearly finished. Instead, he simply let his pee continue to flow until it slowed to a trickle and finally stopped.

What baffled him the most, though, was why he had just wet the bed. With his eyes still closed, and the voices around him still murmuring, he thought back to the time he had spent sleeping.

And he remembered everything. Apparently the potion hadn’t fulfilled its promise of a dreamless sleep. As Harry’s pajamas and bedding cooled down, he shuddered both from the chill and from remembering the nightmare he had awoken from.

Kill the spare.” The high, cold voice echoed through his head again.

His eyes flew open. He had relived the horrible moments when Cedric Diggory was murdered, followed by the aftermath of Voldemort’s resurrection. Harry hadn’t shown it much in the cemetery, but he had been more scared last night than he could ever remember feeling. He only fought through it in an attempt to stay alive. But now that he was lying still, with no adrenaline rushing through his veins to preoccupy him, all he could do was think about the truly awful things he’d been through in the last day.

Harry must have made some kind of noise, for Mrs. Weasley and Sirius both turned to him with looks of deep concern on their faces. Harry pulled the blankets higher, pretending that he was cold in order to hide his accident from them.

“How are you feeling, Harry dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“I’ve been better,” he admitted with a wry grin, thinking only of how very wet he was in that moment.

“Harry, stop,” Sirius said in a low voice. “Don’t put on a front for our sakes.”

He gulped and nodded. “Truthfully, I’d kind of like to be alone for a little while.” He didn’t mention why.

Sirius and Mrs. Weasley both frowned, but obligingly stood up and left the Hospital Wing. Once the door had swung shut behind them, Harry peered intently over at the place where the real Alastor Moody was resting. After detecting no movement from behind the curtains, he scrambled out of his clammy bedthings.

It was a bloody miracle that neither adult had noticed what happened. His pajama bottoms were soaked through. The sheets were practically transparent they were so wet, with the mattress faring no better beneath. The blanket also had a sizeable wet spot right about where his crotch was when he was laying down.

A mortifying thought occurred to him then: what if they had noticed, but were too polite to say anything? But he figured Mrs. Weasley would have come up with some excuse to stay and baby him if she suspected anything.

He relaxed a bit until something else crossed his mind. Merlin’s saggy left tit, he didn’t know any spells that could clean up this mess! How was he supposed to explain it away?

With his cheeks growing redder by the second, a very soggy Harry Potter walked over to Madam Pomfrey’s office. He knocked quietly, looking at his bare feet in shame while he waited for her to open the door.

When she did, he heard her cluck her tongue in sympathy before murmuring something indistinct. A warm feeling — rather like that of a Muggle blowdryer in use — rushed over him from head to toe. Almost as quickly as his pajamas had become wet, they were now dry and neatly pressed.

“You’re not the first, dear,” Madam Pomfrey said softly. “Dreamless Sleep often has this side effect because it makes the drinker sleep so deeply that they aren’t aware of their body’s needs. Don’t fret; it’s easily taken care of.”

Harry huffed in relief. He hadn’t wet the bed because of a nightmare, then. It was the potion that caused it to happen. He immediately determined to stay far away from any more Dreamless Sleep potion. He wasn’t too keen on this happening again.
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Harry was released from the Hospital Wing 24 hours after he’d first been admitted, and he spent the rest of the day wandering the halls aimlessly. Ron and Hermione tried to follow him, but he didn’t want their company. He managed to duck into a secret passage they didn’t know about, and they hadn’t bothered him since. What Harry didn’t expect was to bump into his godfather in that secret passage. Sirius, in his Animagus form, tilted his head and whined softly at him.

After that, Harry allowed Sirius to accompany him in his wanderings. They shared a solemn but companionable silence. Harry kept his left hand firmly embedded in the soft fur of Sirius’s neck; it provided him a sense of comfort that nothing else had since he’d returned from the graveyard. He returned to Gryffindor tower that evening and began packing his things, still stuck in a melancholy funk. It seemed like he’d never break out of the dark place he’d fallen into, but at that point, he didn’t really care if he did or not.

The next night was the annual Leaving Feast. Most of the students were subdued, and the chatter in the Great Hall was muffled. Harry sat between Ron and Hermione, moodily staring at the food on his plate but not eating anything. He only turned his attention to something else when Dumbledore stood up and began his speech. To say Harry was surprised that Dumbledore told them the story of how Cedric died would be a massive understatement. He clenched his teeth and stared at his goblet of pumpkin juice, fighting the feeling of hysteria that was threatening to overtake him. All he wanted was to escape the stares and whispers that were aimed his way.

He was relieved beyond words when the students were excused to bed. He was the first one out of the Great Hall, and he sprinted the entire way back to his dormitory. Tears were streaming down his face, and he didn’t want anyone to see him like that. Once he reached his bed, he yanked the curtains shut and curled up in the fetal position beneath his duvet.

A few minutes later, he heard Ron enter the room.

“Harry?”

“Go away,” Harry muttered.

“I’m here if you need to talk,” Ron persisted. “Hermione’s worried too, just so you know.”

Harry rolled over, refusing to respond to his best friend. Soon enough, he had drifted off to sleep.

He had yet another nightmare about Cedric’s death, likely brought on by Dumbledore discussing it at length at dinner. He sat straight up in bed with a muffled yell and realized almost immediately that he was peeing again. He buried his face in his hands miserably, too distraught over the fact that he was wetting the bed again to try and stop said occurrence.

He’d never be able to hide this accident. He hadn’t bothered to ask Madam Pomfrey for that spell, because he’d been sure that he wouldn’t have the problem again. But now that he had—or rather, was still having—he didn’t know what he would do.

He sat there in his expanding puddle of pee, feeling helpless and despondent. He was going to have to admit to someone what was happening. Wetting the bed clearly wasn’t going to be a one-off like he’d initially believed.

Harry’s cooling pee was soaking into his mattress before it even occurred to him how normal messes at Hogwarts were cleaned up. He straightened up, then whispered as loud as he dared for Dobby to come to his aid.

A loud crack! announced the house-elf’s arrival. “What can Dobby do for Harry Potter?” the elf asked in a quiet but squeaky voice.

“Er, Dobby, I seem to have…” Harry trailed off, too embarrassed to continue. Instead he simply gestured at his lap, which was just as thoroughly drenched as the first time he’d wet himself.

“Dobby understands, sir. Dobby is happy to help Harry Potter.”

“Dobby, don’t tell anyone, please?” Harry begged. “I don’t want anyone to know what happened.”

Dobby nodded. “Dobby will not say a word to anyone.”

Harry sighed in relief again as his favorite little house-elf began to clean up the mess. Wordlessly, Dobby indicated that he should get out of bed. He did so, and stood beside his bed, dripping pee onto the floor and shivering uncontrollably. Dobby removed the sheets and bedspread, then snapped his fingers. The soiled bedding disappeared. Dobby snapped his fingers again, and Harry's mattress was instantly dried. With a final snap of his fingers, Dobby had remade the bed. Harry noticed almost immediately that a fresh pair of pajamas were lying on his pillow.

"Thank you Dobby," he whispered. "Don't know what I'd have done without you."

The house-elf smiled brightly. "Dobby thinks Harry Potter should take a bath to help him relax. Dobby thinks that it will help Harry Potter feel better."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I will. Thanks again."

He gathered up his clean pajamas and briefs then made his way to the en suite bathroom. He turned the shower on full heat, then stripped off his pajamas. As he climbed into the shower, he saw his wet clothes disappear — likely Dobby's doing. Harry smiled softly at Dobby's help, then sighed miserably. He was going to have to figure out a way to handle his new bedwetting problem when he was back at the Dursleys, for they surely would be merciless if they ever found out.

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Chapter Two:

OoOoOoOoO

The next afternoon, Harry was sequestered inside a compartment on the Hogwarts Express with Ron and Hermione. He had just been to see the Weasley twins and had given them his winnings from the Triwizard Tournament. Godric knew he didn’t want the money (nor did he need it), and Cedric’s parents refused to take it, so he thought Fred and George deserved to have it instead.

 

But once he got back to his compartment and sat down, exhaustion set in. After his accident last night, he hadn’t been able to fall back to sleep. He was actually kind of afraid to. What if he had that same nightmare and wet the bed again? He didn’t think he could bear the shame of calling for Dobby twice in one night.

 

Harry bought a bunch of sugary treats from the trolley when it came around, but the candy was doing nothing to help him stay awake. He yawned constantly and felt the urge to rub his eyes like he was a toddler fighting nap-time. But he was fourteen, for Merlin’s sake, and he could bloody well act like it! He wouldn’t fall asleep, and he certainly wouldn’t wet himself in front of his friends.

 

“Harry, you look awful,” Hermione said gently. “You really should get some rest.”

 

“I’m fine,” he responded gruffly. “Don’t want to sleep.”

 

Hermione pursed her lips. “Well, why not?”

 

“Just because, Hermione. Please drop it.” Harry turned his head to look out the window.

 

The compartment lapsed back into a sad, tense silence. Harry continued to watch the scenery flash past the window, lost in thought. And before he knew it, he was nodding off.

 

 

“Kill the spare.”

 

“Avada Kedavra!”

 

Harry stared into Cedric’s open, lifeless eyes. Everything had happened so fast; how would he explain this to everyone when he got back?

 

He was heaved roughly to his feet by a short, squat man, and promptly dragged over to a tombstone. The man shoved him against it, then conjured ropes from his wand that tied Harry to it so tightly that he could hardly breathe. At one point, though, as the man hit him in the struggle, he realized who was hidden under the cloak: Wormtail.

 

“You!” Harry gasped in fury.

 

Wormtail ignored Harry and stuffed a cloth into his mouth so that he could not speak. Wormtail then resumed his task. A few moments later, he pushed a giant cauldron into the space in front of Harry.

 

A bright flash of green light blinded him, and suddenly a tall man stood before him where the cauldron had once been.

 

“Robe me.”

 

Wormtail scurried forward and helped the man into a robe. The man turned his head and stared straight at Harry—the horrifying red eyes were the only thing Harry needed to see to know who this man was, though he had known it from the moment he recognized Wormtail. Lord Voldemort was back from the dead.

 

The green light flashed again, and Harry had been released from his bindings. He stood across a small circle of space from Voldemort, clutching his wand desperately.

 

“You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?”

 

Harry gulped.

 

“We bow to each other, Harry.”

 

A heavy, invisible force pressed Harry into a bowed position against his will. He glared at Voldemort as the weight was lifted, but didn’t say anything—for what could he say?

 

“Crucio!”

 

Harry banged his head against the window as he jolted back to awareness. He raised a hand to the throbbing bruise on his scalp, and it was then that he realized that he was peeing his pants. For the briefest moment, he simply allowed himself to pee the way he had the previous two times he wet the bed. It almost felt like comfort.

 

But then he realized what he was doing.

 

He clenched his muscles tightly and managed to stop the flow. Carefully, glanced at his lap to examine the damage he had done to his jeans. He sighed in relief; though he felt positively drenched, there wasn’t a visible wet spot on his lap. He sat up a little straighter, then realized that all of his pee had pooled in the seat of his trousers. Well, at least he’d be able to hide that for now. He would just have to stay in his seat for the rest of the ride home and hope that his jeans dried before he had to get off the train. He didn’t know what he’d say if they were still wet, but he had several hours still to come up with an excuse.

 

“Harry, are you all right?” Hermione asked.

 

He slowly nodded. “Nightmare.”

 

Her face scrunched in sympathy. “I’m sorry; I should’ve known.”

 

“It’s okay,” he muttered.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ron asked.

 

Harry shook his head, a dull expression on his face. “Even a Dreamless Sleep potion didn’t stop the nightmares. I don’t think talking about them will, either.”

 

“Wish you could come straight to my place this summer,” Ron lamented.

 

“I wish there was some sort of news about You-Know-Who,” Hermione added.

 

“I wish I could sleep again,” Harry complained.

 

“You win, mate,” Ron said with a small grin.

 

The three friends burst into laughter. There were two sides to Ron, really: the side that could lighten even the darkest of moods with a well-timed joke, and the side that could create dark tension at the drop of a hat.

 

Harry soon relaxed, nearly forgetting about his wet pants. The only thing that prevented it from leaving his mind entirely was the fact that his arse was beginning to chafe against the material. Wet jeans were extremely uncomfortable. After an hour or so of sitting there like that, he could hardly sit still with the discomfort he was feeling.

 

Maybe I could just pee a little more to warm myself up, he thought. As he contemplated this, he even began to relax his bladder in preparation.

 

He started and clenched his muscles again when he realized what it was he had just considered doing. Harry Potter was many things, but he was not a pants-wetter on purpose. He took a deep breath, because he knew he needed to ask Hermione if she knew that cleaning spell.

 

“‘Mione, are there any cleaning spells in our textbooks?”

 

She frowned at him. “Of course, Harry. Why do you ask?”

 

“Just curious, I guess,” he mumbled, shrugging.

 

“Okay,” she said slowly, clearly suspicious of him. “Well, there’s Scourgify, which is the most commonly used one, although it only works on solids. Tergeo is the spell to clean spilled liquids.”

 

Harry nodded, pretending to be very interested. “I didn’t realize there were so many.”

 

“Yeah. There are dozens of them, but those are the two we learn while in school. The other spells sanitize things more, and are only really used at St. Mungo’s.” She turned her head to look out the window.

 

Harry gulped, worried that he was pushing his luck, but still asked, “Do you know any of those spells?”

 

Hermione turned and fixed him with a stern glare. “I know you’re not just curious, Harry. Why are you suddenly so interested in learning cleaning spells?”

 

“I — er — I was thinking maybe I could use them when the Dursleys ask me to clean the house, so I could get it done faster,” he lied, thinking quickly.

 

“Harry, you know you can’t do that,” she chastised. “Underage magic is against the law, and you don’t need to be getting yourself into trouble like that.”

 

“I suppose you’re right,” he said dejectedly. He was glad she had bought his cover story, though.

 

Ron, who had been staring oddly at Harry since the conversation had begun, finally cleared his throat. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” he asked carefully. “Something seems a bit off about you right now.”

 

“I’m fine!” Harry snapped. Though he had briefly considered confiding in his friends about his problem, he really didn’t want them to know. They would be disgusted with him.

 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Ron said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

 

Harry sighed. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not mad; at least, not at you guys. Everything just feels so off.”

 

“I wish there was something I could do to help,” Hermione said softly.

 

“Same,” Ron agreed.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Once again, they stopped talking. Harry began shivering from the chill of his wet trousers. The urge to re-wet them just a little bit returned once more, but this time, he indulged the tiniest bit. He relaxed his bladder and peed slowly for five seconds — long enough to warm up his jeans, but not so long that he would get a wet spot on his crotch. He sighed as his hot urine soaked through his briefs and warmed him up. It felt so good that he almost let himself do it again. But he realized that if he did, it was quite possible that pee would start running over the edge of the seat; that would be a dead giveaway. Besides, they were nearly to King’s Cross. He’d just have to convince his friends that he needed a moment alone before leaving the train, and then he’d quickly change his briefs and pants. Yes, that was what he would have to do, else he risk everyone in school and all of their parents finding out that he was apparently a pants-wetting baby.


And because Hermione wouldn’t share those cleaning spells with him, he knew he was going to have to find another way to deal with his nighttime wettings once he was back with the Dursleys.

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First of all, I know a few events are out of order here. There wasn't much other choice. Also, events of the upcoming summer will be similar, but mostly different from the books. Also on purpose. Lastly, I hated writing Draco as the villain here. Even though he's a total git, I love him, and writing mean things about him hurt my soul. You may now proceed. XD

OoOoOoOoOoO

Chapter Three

OoOoOoOoOoO

About half an hour before they were due to arrive at Platform 9 ¾, Draco Malfoy and his stupid thugs dropped by to pay a visit. Hermione had just finished telling Harry and Ron about how she caught Rita Skeeter when the compartment door slid open.

 

“Very clever, Granger,” Malfoy sneered. “So you caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter’s Dumbledore’s favorite boy again. Big deal.”

 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stayed silent, glaring at Malfoy.

 

He smirked maliciously at them. “Trying not to think about it, are we?” he gloated. “Trying to pretend it hasn’t happened?”

 

For a second, Harry thought Malfoy was referring to when he’d peed his pants having that nightmare. But he quickly realized that the wannabe Death Eater was talking about Voldemort and Cedric Diggory’s death. He continued to scowl at his arch nemesis.

 

“You’ve picked the losing side, Potter!” Malfoy said angrily. “I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this!” He pointed at Ron and Hermione. “Too late now, Potter! They’ll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord’s back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well — second — Diggory was the f — “

 

As soon as Malfoy uttered Cedric’s name, Harry jumped to his feet, completely forgetting about his wet pants. “Furnunculus!” he roared.

 

Simultaneously, Ron and Hermione had also stood up and cast their own curses. Harry looked around after all of the spells had sizzled down. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were unconscious in the doorway of the compartment. Fred and George stood just beyond them in the corridor.

 

“Thought we’d see what those three were up to,” Fred announced, using Goyle as a doormat and entering the compartment.

 

“Interesting effect,” George added, stepping hard on Malfoy’s crotch as he, too, came inside. “Who used the Furnunculus Curse?”

 

“Me,” Harry admitted.

 

“Odd,” George said aloofly. “I used Jelly-Legs. Looks as though those two shouldn’t be mixed. He seems to have sprouted little tentacles all over his face. Well, let’s not leave them here. They don’t add much to the decor.”

 

Ron and George each started shoving one of the unconscious boys out of the compartment and into the corridor. Harry was worried about following suit, having suddenly remembered his wet jeans. He subtly reached his hand back and felt his backside. Wet, but feeling somewhat dry. Harry carefully moved forward to kick Malfoy out of the compartment as well, making sure to be done quicker than the other two boys and returning to his seat as fast as possible. He looked around at his friends, and was relieved to see that none of them were looking at him strangely. He knew they would be if they had noticed anything awry. The group settled in and began playing Exploding Snap. Soon the small space was filled with laughter, and the rest of the journey passed by rather quickly.

 

The Hogwarts Express pulled into the station precisely at 8 PM. Fred and George had excused themselves a few minutes ago to fetch their belongings, so as the brakes squealed and the train slowed, the trio were left alone in the compartment. When it finally shuddered to a stop, Ron and Hermione immediately began making sure all of their belongings were collected, then hauled their trunks off of the luggage racks. They both stopped and looked at Harry when they realized he wasn’t moving to do the same.

 

“Harry? Are you coming?” Hermione asked.

 

He nodded. “You guys go ahead, though. I need a minute alone before I face the Dursleys.”

 

“Don’t stay here too long, mate,” Ron cautioned. “Don’t want the train to take you back to Hogwarts.”

 

Harry smirked at him. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”

 

His friends left the compartment chuckling — struggling to move past Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle —  and closed the door behind them. Harry immediately leapt to his feet and rushed to the door to pull the blind down. For what he was about to do, he wanted no witnesses, especially Malfoy and his goons. He couldn’t bear to think about what might happen if they were to wake while he was...busy. As soon as he was sure he was relatively alone, Harry sat back in his seat. Over the last 20 minutes, he had developed an ever-growing need to piss. He had ultimately decided he’d just wet himself the rest of the way since he was already halfway there.

 

He leaned over, groaning at the pressure this put on his bladder, and removed his socks and shoes. He put them on the seat across from him, then sat up straight and relaxed. Pee quickly re-wet his briefs; this time, the fabric wicked even more of the moisture until Harry could feel the wetness at his waistband. His jeans were even easier to soak. In fact, they became saturated so quickly that his pee arced out of his pants in a forceful stream. Harry hadn’t a clue he could pee so much.

 

His jeans grew wetter with each passing second, and soon he was drenched to his knees. He was glad he’d had the foresight to remove his shoes and socks, for the pee was now streaming down his calves and dripping off of his ankles onto the floor. Harry felt like he peed for another minute before his stream finally slowed. He pushed the last few spurts out, then sat there panting for a moment. He was glad he no longer needed to piss, but he was even more disgusted at himself for what he had just done.

 

Harry shuddered in horror before getting back to his feet. There was pee everywhere! He had left what he dubbed a small lake in his seat, and his pants were still dripping copious amounts of urine on the floor. There was nothing to be done about it, he determined. And because he was still on the train, the magic couldn’t be linked to him, so he hurriedly fished his wand out of his trunk.

 

Tergeo,” he said firmly, waving his wand randomly.

 

Nothing happened.

 

Harry suspected that this was because he didn’t know the wand movement to accompany the spell. He sighed. He was just going to have to clean up the old fashioned way and hope nobody noticed the leftovers. He hauled his trunk off the luggage rack and opened it up. He tossed his wand back inside, then fished out a clean pair of jeans and briefs. Once he’d set those aside with his socks and shoes, Harry peeled off his wet clothing and used them as best he could to soak up the puddle in his seat.

 

When that still wasn’t enough, he pulled out an old jumper he’d inherited from Dudley and cleaned up the rest. He used one of the sleeves that was still dry to dry himself off. He hated the lingering smell of pee on his body, but still pulled on his clean clothes and shoes. He wrapped his drenched pants, briefs, and jumper inside of his winter cloak to keep them from leaking all over the rest of his belongings, then shut the lid. He locked it for good measure, just in case anyone tried to get in it.

 

Then he dragged his trunk out of the compartment, sighing in relief when he saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle still unconscious in the corridor. He made sure to run Malfoy over with his trunk as he exited the train.

 

“There you are,” Mrs. Weasley said loudly when she spotted him. “Is everything all right? Where were you?”

 

“I’m fine, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry replied. On a whim, he decided to tell the truth. “I just needed to use the bathroom.” Well, part of the truth, anyway.

 

“Oh, good. I was so worried,” she huffed in relief. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to let you out of my sight after what happened, dear.”

 

He smiled sadly. “I’ll write every day, I promise.”

 

“I suppose that will have to do for now,” Mrs. Weasley acquiesced. “But I will be writing to Dumbledore until he lets you come stay with us. I do think he will let you come to us later in the summer.”

 

“I appreciate that, Mrs. Weasley.”

 

“Well, I suppose it’s time to say our goodbyes, isn’t it?” she added, somewhat tearful.

 

“See you, Harry,” Ron said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

 

“Bye, Harry,” Hermione said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

 

“Harry — thanks,” George murmured in his ear. Fred was nodding enthusiastically on Harry’s other side.

 

Harry grinned at his delighted friends, glad that his prize money was able to do some good. Then he turned and strode through the barrier with his friends right behind him. Uncle Vernon was waiting — sulking — closer to platform 8 than where Harry stood. With a final wave to his friends, Harry followed his uncle to the car.
 

Throughout the long ride back to Privet Drive, Harry worried and wondered about how he would handle his newfound problem. First, and most important, he would never again pee his pants on purpose like he had back on the train. That simply wasn’t worth it. But beyond that, he was at a loss. Maybe he would have to try to use magic anyway, hoping that he didn’t get caught. Either way, he’d figure it out. And it was still worth hoping that he might not wet the bed anymore, fragile though that hope may be.

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Well, since I've already got this chapter done, I might as well post it to keep this thread alive! :D

 

OoOoOoOoO

Chapter Four

OoOoOoOoO

 

Harry stayed up extra late that night, hoping that if he went to the bathroom before falling asleep, he would be unable to wet the bed. It was sure to work, he just knew it. So he paced his room for hours, till his eyes were drooping and his feet were dragging. It was 2 AM when he finally decided it was time for a piss.

 

He quietly opened his door and tiptoed down the hallway to the bathroom. He closed the door and locked it, but didn’t turn on the light for fear of waking his aunt and uncle. He inched his way over to the toilet, feeling blindly with his hands outstretched. When he reached it, he pulled down his pajama pants and briefs, then sat on the toilet (so he wouldn’t have to worry about aim). He held his member downward and relaxed. He began to pee, but it was only a miniscule amount. Harry had been hoping he’d be more full by now. He sat on the toilet for another five minutes, just in case more urine had developed, but eventually deemed his attempt a failure and stood up. He flushed, washed his hands, then went back to his room dejectedly.

 

Hedwig hooted softly at him as he closed his bedroom door.

 

“I don’t know what to do, Hedwig,” Harry whispered. “What if I wet the bed again tonight? I’m fourteen years old — I shouldn’t have to worry about this.”

 

He shook his head sadly and climbed into bed. He was just going to have to hope for the best.

 

OoOoO

 

Harry awoke to his aunt angrily pounding on his bedroom door the next morning.

 

“Get out of bed this instant!” she called through the door. “You’re supposed to be making breakfast!”

 

Harry rolled over, and as he did, he made contact with something that made a small splashing sound. His eyes widened in horror, and he sat bolt upright to stare at himself.

 

“Not again,” he whimpered.

 

“Now!” Aunt Petunia shouted.

 

“I’ll be right down,” Harry answered, trying to hide the panic in his voice.

 

He wasn’t as soaked as he had been the past few times he’d peed himself, and luckily his mattress had been spared because the bedspread had become bunched up beneath him. But he was still mortified with himself. How was he going to take care of this mess without making it painfully obvious what had happened? Harry sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he would have to ask to do laundry that afternoon.

 

He stripped his bed and rolled everything into a ball, which he stashed in the closet. Hopefully the room wouldn’t begin to smell before he got the chance to clean more thoroughly. When he was done with that, he looked around his room desperately for something he could use to clean himself up. He hadn’t showered last night, and now that he was covered in pee again, he knew he had to do something. But Aunt Petunia wasn’t patient; he didn’t have time for a shower right now, so he was going to have to improvise.

 

Harry’s gaze landed on his desk next to Hedwig’s cage. He had procured a bottle of hand sanitizer to use after he cleaned out his owl's cage, and he snatched it up quickly. This was going to be his saving grace. He stripped off his wet pajamas and briefs, tossed them on top of his pile of bedding in the closet, then wrenched an old shirt off of a hanger. He then pumped as much hand sanitizer as he could into his hand and began rubbing it up and down his legs. When he felt mostly satisfied, he wiped the excess off with the old shirt. Then he repeated the process on the rest of his body.

 

As he dressed for the day, he again tried to think of a way to fix his problem, or at least be able to clean up afterward. He decided as he clomped down the stairs and into the kitchen that he would have to actually read through his textbooks to try and find the cleaning spells Hermione had mentioned.

 

He was serving the bacon when he finally worked up the courage to ask his aunt, “Can I do some laundry later?”

 

His aunt and uncle both glared at him. Dudley snickered behind his hand, making Harry worry that his cousin knew what had happened somehow.

 

“The laundry needs doing anyway,” Petunia sniffed. “But you’ll do ours before you do yours, understood?”

 

Harry internally sighed with relief that she wasn’t going to put up a fight. “Yes, Aunt Petunia. Should I start right away?”

 

She nodded briskly, then turned her attention to her husband and son. Since Harry was done making breakfast, he quickly grabbed a piece of toast and a slice of bacon, then went to gather the household’s laundry. He was already in a much better place, knowing that he would be able to clean up his accident without anyone knowing.

 

Harry loaded up several baskets full of dirty clothes, sheets, and towels, then carried them to the laundry room. He sorted things by color — just the way Aunt Petunia liked — and started the first load. Once that was done, he ran back upstairs to his room to get his things arranged. He had a large rucksack that he had been given to put his laundry in; it was partially filled with clothes long-since forgotten. He dumped those things out, then unlocked his trunk and pulled out his wet clothes from yesterday. He shoved those into his bag, then made sure to check everything else in his trunk thoroughly for any damage from his wetting. Fortunately, everything appeared to be fine. Still, Harry shoved most of his clothes from his trunk into his laundry bag to be on the safe side. Lastly, he placed his pajamas from last night in the bag, then stacked it beside his bedding. Now all he had to do was wait his turn. In the meantime, he was going to do some actual studying, hoping to stumble across a good cleaning spell.

 

OoOoO

 

By the end of the day, Harry had completed everyone’s laundry but his own. His aunt, uncle, and cousin had already retired to bed, so he was left alone to clean up his things. That was a great blessing for him, he figured, because nobody would be around to potentially see or smell his laundry. He hauled his things down to the laundry room with The Standard Book of Spells Grade 4 tucked underneath his arm. He might as well do more research while he waited for his laundry to be done.

 

Harry scoured each chapter of his textbook for some hint of a cleaning spell, but none were forthcoming. He sighed in frustration, then got up to switch his laundry around. He decided to take a shower while that load was being washed. Then, if he still had time before he went to bed, he would look through his older spellbooks. Maybe the spell he was looking for was mentioned in earlier years and he just hadn’t paid attention.

 

He kept his shower short, and returned to the laundry room with his other three spellbooks. His laundry was done an hour later, and he still hadn’t found anything useful. With a defeated sigh, he carried his things back to his room, made his bed, and went to sleep. Maybe he’d have more luck tomorrow.

 

He could have whooped with joy when he awoke to a dry bed the next morning. He spent the entire day reading through his textbooks — of every subject except History of Magic and Divination — for anything that might help him. Even if he had to brew some kind of potion in the dead of night to help himself stay dry, he would try it. But again, Harry didn’t find anything he could use. Hermione had said the cleaning spells were in their textbooks, yet he hadn’t even found a mention of them. Maybe she already had the books for fifth year and had read ahead. He smirked to himself at that thought. Of course Hermione would do something like that.

 

Harry sent Hedwig to Flourish and Blotts with a small bag of Galleons and a note requesting The Standard Book of Spells Year 5 the next morning, after nearly throwing a party for himself for staying dry for the second night in a row. Maybe he was going to break his bed-wetting problem without the assistance of magic. A boy could dream.

 

The day after that, he woke up dry once again. Harry was in such a good mood throughout the day that his aunt and uncle kept throwing him strange looks. He ignored them except to do the chores they gave him. That night when he was getting ready for bed, Hedwig returned with his new book. He set it on his nightstand with a cheerful smile, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t need to find a cleaning spell after all.

 

His lucky streak ended around 3 AM when he had another nightmare about Voldemort. This time it was a repeat of the dream he’d had last summer before returning to school; the one where he’d seen Voldemort kill the old man. Harry jolted awake at the flash of green light that ended the old man’s life. His heart was pounding, and he thought he could feel it pulsing in every part of his body.

 

Slowly, it dawned upon him that another part of his body was pulsing, but not with his heartbeat. He slumped in defeat against his pillows as he peed himself again. What was even the point of trying to stop once he’d started? So he just peed all over himself and the bed, this time well aware that he was getting pee on his mattress, too. He was so disheartened that he even considered just going back to sleep in his puddle of urine.

 

But Harry knew he’d soon be uncomfortable after he finished his pee, so he prepared himself once more to clean up a mess. Since it was still very early, he actually stood a chance of doing some laundry before the Dursleys woke up. His pee finally slowed to a dribble after what felt like five minutes. He pushed the last few drops out, making sure his bladder was completely empty, then climbed out of bed and stripped off the bedding for the second time in a week. He tiptoed out of his room and downstairs to the laundry room, still wearing his drenched pajamas. Once he reached the laundry room, he shoved everything inside of the washing machine, then peeled off his wet clothes and added those, too.

 

Harry stood there shivering as he started the washing machine. Then he grabbed a towel and went into the downstairs bathroom to take a shower while he waited for his laundry. For a long while, he sat on the floor of the shower, fighting the urge to cry. But he soon swallowed his self-pity and cleaned up. When he was finished, he wrapped the towel around his waist and went to move his laundry to the dryer.

 

After that, he returned to his bedroom to put on clean pajamas and grab his new spellbook.

He sat on the floor of the laundry room, taking comfort in the rumbling of the dryer while he carefully read through the Table of Contents. There wasn’t anything that specifically mentioned cleaning spells, yet again, but Harry wasn’t going to give up. He was through hoping that the problem would just go away, too. It was time to get in front of this train wreck and find a solution.


Harry slowly read through a chapter titled Common Charms for Everyday Use. There were charms to heal injuries, charms to weed a garden, charms to cook food, and even charms to get wads of gum off the underside of tables. But nothing was mentioned about a spell that could get rid of liquids. Maybe he’d have to try using Tergeo again. He didn’t know the wand movement, but maybe if he tried enough different things, he’d stumble across it.

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Chapter Five

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

Harry spent the next five days attempting to find the correct way to cast Tergeo. When he had time to himself, he would spill small amounts of water on his desk. Then he would wave his wand and utter the spell. The very first wand movement he attempted was the tried-and-true swish and flick. It didn’t work, as he’d known it wouldn't, but he still felt like he’d accomplished something by trying it. He then tried waving his wand in every shape he could think of: circles, triangles, squares, diamonds, ovals, pentagons, rectangles, and even a seven-point star. When none of those worked either, he tried slashing his wand in every possible direction.

 

He eventually gave up, though. Nothing he tried was giving him even the tiniest bit of success, and he was sick and tired of wiping water off his desk. His one consolation was that during his hunt for the correct way to cast Tergeo, Harry hadn’t wet the bed once. He felt a lot more accomplished about this than he ought to as a fourteen-year-old. But five days of staying dry at night gave him more hope than he’d felt since before the Triwizard Tournament had begun last year. That was pretty significant.

 

The night after he ended his search also ended his nearly week-long streak of sleeping dry. It was, of course, triggered by another nightmare. But this one was different from the others; for once he didn’t dream of Cedric’s death or of fighting Voldemort in the graveyard...

 

Harry stood alone in a dark and cold corridor. Everything was shrouded in a black mist, with only the occasional flickering torch to provide a feeble, faltering light. He walked along the corridor, wondering where he was and why he was there. The further he walked, the harder it became to see, until he was finally running his hands along the wall on his right to keep from falling over.

 

Suddenly, the thick mist evaporated, and Harry was standing in front of a door. Instinctively, he just knew it was locked, and he also knew with a certainty that he had to see what was behind it. He reached out his hand to grab the doorknob.

 

His fingertips brushed against the cool metal—

 

A searing pain in Harry’s forehead had him sitting up with a sharp gasp. He rubbed his scar as the pain continued to throb, and he pondered his strange new dream. And then he realized that he was peeing. Again. His heart dropped into his stomach, which oddly caused his pee to flow harder. He was transfixed as he watched it arch out of his pajama bottoms and begin soaking into his blanket. It was one of the strangest things he had ever seen.

 

He watched as he peed all over himself and the bed until his stream finally came to a dribbling halt. When he was finally finished wetting, he looked over at his alarm clock and was horrified to see that it was nearly 8 AM. He wouldn’t have time to clean up this accident, much less himself, before the rest of the household awoke. In desperation, he scrambled out of bed and stripped his sheets and blanket off. The whole time, he was dimly aware of pee dripping from the cuffs of his pajamas.

 

OoOoO

 

Unfortunately, Harry’s dry spell seemed permanently broken after that. Every night for the next week, he dreamed of that strange corridor, and every night he awoke to a sharp pain in his scar and pee streaming from his pajamas. Each time he awoke, he grew more and more depressed that he was officially a permanent bedwetter. Once again, he sent Hedwig to Flourish & Blotts to pick up a few advanced spell books, one of which taught theory on wordless and wandless magic. He hoped that if he could teach himself wandless magic, he wouldn’t have to master any kind of wand movement to use Tergeo. Hedwig returned with a note saying the books were out of stock and he would have to wait three more weeks for them to arrive.

 

Harry was officially out of ideas.

 

On the eighth night he awoke to find himself peeing his pants, he decided there was only one thing he could conceivably do to solve his problem. He had to resort to the Muggle method of handling bedwetters. He was going to have to buy adult-sized diapers.

 

Harry considered himself blessed when the Dursleys announced at breakfast that they were taking a drive to see Marge for the day. He nodded once to indicate that he’d heard their commands to not touch anything in the house, including the food, but he was more focused on how he was going to acquire the diapers he’d decided he needed. He excused himself from breakfast to grab a few things from his bedroom, then returned to the living room to wait for the Dursleys to leave.

 

As soon as the sound of the Dursleys’ car had faded into the distance, Harry bolted from the house and raced out of Privet Drive to a nearby neighborhood, his backpack bouncing against his back with every step. Once he reached Magnolia Crescent, he pulled his wand from the waistband of his jeans and held it up. Within seconds, the Knight Bus had appeared in front of him with a loud bang!

 

“Hey, Ern, look! It’s ‘Arry Potter!” Stan said gleefully when the doors opened.

 

“Hello, Stan,” Harry muttered.

 

“Wotchu call us for?”

 

“I need to visit Diagon Alley,” he admitted reluctantly.

 

Stan nodded. “Well, ‘op on!”

 

He climbed aboard and took one of the chairs near the back, hoping that Stan would just ignore him. Fortunately, there were plenty of other passengers on the bus for the conductor to harass, and Harry was able to take the entire ride in contemplative silence. Of course, the ride took less than 20 minutes because of how vomit-inducingly fast the bus was. Stan gave him a cheerful wave as he disembarked; he tried to return it, but he felt he was rather unsuccessful considering what he’d come to London to do.

 

Harry walked across the street, looking both ways before ducking into a deserted alleyway. Once there, he pulled his invisibility cloak out of his backpack and slipped it on. He really, really didn’t want anyone to see him or find out what he was doing. It was too mortifying to even consider. He adjusted the cloak, and when he was satisfied he was out of sight, he slipped inside the Leaky Cauldron and carefully made his way to the entrance to Diagon Alley.

 

The street was as bustling and busy as ever, which made it relatively difficult to maneuver his way to Gringotts. He eventually made it inside, and ducked behind an empty desk to remove the invisibility cloak. He shoved the cloak back into his backpack, then he approached the counter where the goblins waited to help the patrons.

 

“I need to get some money from my account and exchange it for Muggle currency, please,” Harry said nervously.

 

The goblin raised an eyebrow. “Do you have your key?”

 

He nodded and pulled the key from his pocket. The goblin took it from him and waved him in the direction of the vaults. Harry followed his guide to the minecarts and climbed inside the one indicated, then proceeded to wait some more for the ride to end.

 

When they went over a particularly rough patch of track, Harry felt a sick swooping feeling in his stomach. He suddenly realized he hadn’t peed since he’d wet the bed that morning, and he was rather desperate. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d missed the signal that he needed to take a piss, but he was now in for a bad way. What if he didn’t make it until he’d finished at Gringotts? He didn’t want to pee his pants before he was able to go to the convenience store.

 

He crossed his legs uncomfortably and fought the urge to grab his crotch. Just then, the cart went down a steep decline, and along with the drop in his stomach came a spurt of pee into his briefs. Harry crossed his legs tighter and clenched his muscles. He was never going to make it, he realized. The cart jerked to a stop, causing him to lose another, longer spurt of pee. His briefs were saturated now, and he was fairly certain there was a wet spot on the front of his jeans.

 

Harry clambered out of the cart as quickly as he was able with his full bladder. He waited impatiently for the goblin to get out and unlock his vault door. It slowly swung open with a loud and rusty squeak, and he had to fight the urge to duck inside and slam the door behind him. Instead, he put on a facade of calm and walked inside his vault.

 

“Could I have a few minutes?” he asked the goblin anxiously. “I wanted to grab a few heirlooms my parents left me, too.”

 

The goblin squinted suspiciously at him, but agreed to his request.

 

As soon as the vault door had boomed shut behind him, Harry began dancing in place. He was going to lose the contents of his bladder right then and there, he just knew it. In complete desperation, he fought to undo his belt buckle, nearly crying out in distress when he lost another spurt of pee. He hurried to an empty corner of his vault so he wouldn’t get piss all over his belongings, and he was on the verge of completely wetting himself when he finally managed to get his belt undone. He yanked his pants and briefs down as fast as he could. Pee burst out of him like the spray from a firehose as soon as his member sprang free, and he just barely managed to aim himself away from his jeans around his ankles.

 

It felt so good to relieve himself in that moment. Harry was, of course, mortified at his lack of self-control. He watched his puddle of pee grow ever wider, and his feeling of shame grew right alongside it. He felt like he peed for 2 straight minutes before his stream finally trickled to a stop. He carefully stepped back from his mess, then pulled his pants back up. With his face red in embarrassment, he quickly stuffed a bag full of Galleons. He glanced around quickly to see what else he could take with him so the goblin would be satisfied with his earlier excuse to be alone.

 

There was a rather nice pocket watch resting on a small shelf alongside a rather old book. Harry grabbed both items and dashed over to the vault door, which he knocked on twice. The door again opened, and he stepped outside before the entire vault could be revealed to the goblin, quickly slamming it closed behind him. He walked back to the minecart and climbed inside before shoving the pocketwatch and book into his backpack. He was beyond ready to be out of the bank and away from wizarding society.

 

The currency exchange took a lot less time than Harry had anticipated. He was striding out of Gringotts with over 500 pounds in his pockets within 10 minutes. He was glad for the excess of Muggle money if he was honest with himself. He didn’t know how many diapers he would end up needing over the course of the summer, and he didn’t want to have to make this same trip again.

 

Once outside the bank, he slipped back beneath his invisibility cloak and left Diagon Alley undetected. As he walked to a convenience store a few miles away, he counted how many days would be left until he returned to Hogwarts. Today was only July 15th, which meant he would need enough diapers to last him at least another 50 days.

 

Harry approached the small convenience store with a twinge of fear in his gut. He snuck into another alleyway close by and removed his invisibility cloak before shoving it back into his bag. Then he walked inside the store and made a beeline straight for the diapers. The aisle was split down the middle, with children’s diapers on one side and adult diapers on the other. His face flamed a bright red as he realized he was actually going through with this. He was going to wear diapers to bed for the foreseeable future.

 

Still, he wanted to make sure he chose the right product so that if — when — he wet the bed, he wouldn’t leak everywhere. Harry carefully examined the children’s nighttime diapers, some of them called Pull-Ups, and ultimately determined that, though they would fit around his skinny waist, they wouldn’t hold nearly enough of his pee to keep from making a mess. So he turned to browse through the adult diapers.

 

Harry liked the idea of diapers he could slip on and off because it was convenient. But as he examined the backs of those packages, he realized that there was every likelihood of those leaking, too, for the simple fact that they didn’t have anything to keep the pee from overflowing out the leg holes. So, with a heavy heart, he selected a package of diapers that had tapes to fasten around his hips. They were super heavy-duty protection and could hold up to 2300 ml of pee. They also had an elastic edging around the leg holes to prevent leaking. The package he had chosen contained 20 diapers inside it, so he grabbed a total of 3 packages.

 

As he had been perusing the diapers, he realized that there were probably other ways he could protect himself at night, so he started looking further down the aisle. There were plastic briefs he could wear over a diaper for extra protection, so he grabbed two of those. Next he picked up a large box of wipes — to use when he had accidents, of course. Then he walked over to the bedding aisle and looked for a waterproof mattress cover. He needed to keep his bed at the Dursleys’ as clean as possible, and it already had several yellow puddle-shaped stains from his previous accidents.

 

After that, he went over to the cleaning supplies and hunted for something that would clean the stains out of his mattress — or at least remove the smell. He ultimately settled upon a cleaner meant to remove pet urine stains. If it was powerful enough for that, it was powerful enough for his pee. Finally, he got himself a special laundry soap for his clothing. The last thing he wanted was to wear clothes that smelled of his piss.

 

Harry walked to the checkout counter, his arms loaded with his purchases. He fought the embarrassed blush that began staining his cheeks when he set everything down in front of the cashier. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

 

“You taking care of your grandmother or grandfather?” the girl asked.

 

“Oh, er, my — my granddad,” Harry stuttered, eyes wide. He hadn’t even considered that the Muggles wouldn’t think the diapers were for him.

 

“That’s so sweet of you,” she continued as she scanned everything. “My grandparents have both passed.”

 

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said sincerely. “My parents both died when I was a baby, so my — granddad — raised me. It’s the least I can do to help him, right?”

 

The cashier nodded. “I bet he’s really proud of you.” She pressed a button on the cash register as Harry swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He’d never know if his family was proud of him. Not really. “Your total is £123.97.”

 

Harry handed over the money, then thanked the cashier when she handed him 3 plastic bags full of his supplies. She smiled warmly at him as he left the store. As soon as he was clear of the doors, he was running back to the alley. He shrugged off his backpack once more, removed the invisibility cloak, book, and pocket watch, then began packing his purchases inside. He had to work hard to arrange everything so it would all fit, but he finally managed it. Then he placed his invisibility cloak and book on top, zipped up the bag, and began the walk back to the Leaky Cauldron. He shoved the watch into his pocket, grasping it as though it would anchor him to his parents.

 

His return trip home felt so much worse than his trip to London. Harry was certain everyone was staring at him and that they all knew exactly what was inside his backpack. He avoided looking anyone in the eye, and nearly sprinted back to Privet Drive once he’d gotten off the Knight Bus once again.


Back in his bedroom, Harry shoved all of his things under the loose floorboard beneath his bed. He would worry about sorting and organizing later, but for now all he wanted was to forget all about his predicament. He had had enough for one day.

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Flower, it was briefly mentioned in the first book that Harry saw grandparents and aunts and uncles surrounding him along with his parents when he first looked in the Mirror of Erised, but that was it.

Anyway, here's a rather long chapter again. :D

OoOoOoOoO

Chapter Six

OoOoOoOoO

Nobody noticed that Harry had been gone for most of the day, and for that he was grateful. He had briefly considered taking a nap after his tense and difficult trip, but realized that if he was going to sleep at all, he would need to wear a diaper. So he decided to turn his attention to the one other thing he had been thinking about nonstop since leaving school: Voldemort.

 

He pulled out three separate pieces of parchment and wrote short letters to Ron, Hermione, and Sirius. He asked them for updates in the wizarding world, especially any news concerning Voldemort and the Death Eaters. On a whim, he pulled out another piece of parchment and wrote a subscription request to the Daily Prophet. Once done, he tied the four notes (and a small sack of Galleons for the newspaper) to Hedwig’s leg and sent her off.

 

While he waited for responses to those letters, Harry decided he’d at least watch the Muggle news. If Voldemort was out there wreaking havoc, then surely the Muggle world would know about some of it and would be reporting on what they believed the cause to be. This was how the Dursleys found him later that evening.

 

“What are you doing boy?” Uncle Vernon roared. “We told you not to touch the telly!”

 

Dudley sneered at him from behind Petunia’s shoulder.

 

“I just wanted to watch the news,” Harry sighed. “I didn’t touch anything else, I swear.”

 

“Get to bed! I don’t want to see your ruddy face anywhere near me until I say you’re allowed out of your room!”

 

Harry did as he was told, figuring that it was late and he ought to get some sleep anyway. Before he holed himself up in his bedroom, he took a quick trip to the loo. He was able to pee like normal, and he wondered if it was because he was less afraid of wetting the bed from now on.

 

When he was back in his room, he made sure he locked the door. He didn’t want the Dursleys barging in on him when he was wearing a diaper. Who knew what they’d do? Slowly, Harry pulled his backpack out from underneath his loose floorboard. He took everything out, one item at a time, and arranged it all in rows on his bed. He had so little space to hide his diapers and other supplies in; still, there had to be somewhere that was easily accessible and also safe from prying eyes.

 

He finally realized he’d been staring at his answer all along: his school trunk. But in order to fit everything the way he wanted, he was going to have to organize his belongings. This, more than anything else, was perturbing for Harry. He still had junk in there from his first year at Hogwarts.

 

It took him an hour to finish emptying and sorting the massive amount of books, clothes, parchment, broken quills, empty ink bottles, old candy wrappers, and various random rubbish from his trunk. He thought it rather hilarious, in a manic sort of way, that his pile of things to toss was larger than his pile of things to keep. Then he began the tedious task of putting everything back that he intended to keep, including his diapers and other supplies.

 

That part of his job took a lot less time, something that he was immensely grateful for. When he was finished, and his diapers were carefully hidden beneath his invisibility cloak, he removed one diaper from a package. He held it in his hands, testing the weight and wondering how in Merlin’s name he was going to do this. Harry knew how he was going to do it, obviously, but he didn’t know how he would handle the emotional turmoil it brought with it. What he was doing was certainly a stigma, in either the Muggle or wizarding world. And yet, he was more afraid of what would happen if he didn’t use the diapers.

 

He then took the time to thoroughly scrub his mattress. The pee stains actually came out easier than he’d thought they would. When he was done with that, he put the waterproof cover on his bed, then added clean sheets and his comforter. Harry laughed to himself as he realized his bed was basically wearing a diaper, too.

 

And then it was finally time for him to do it. He didn’t know much about how nappies worked, but the pictures on the package were clear enough. He stripped down to his birthday suit, tossed his clothes to the side, then unfolded the diaper. At first, he tried to strap it on while he was standing up, but he couldn’t get it to stay in the right position. Harry soon realized he’d have to be laying down for it to work. He laid the diaper out on his bed, then carefully laid himself down on top of it, making sure to position himself in the correct place. Then he folded the front of it over his privates — making sure he was adjusted down there first. The tapes were easy enough to fasten once he figured out how to keep the diaper tight around his waist and legs.

 

Harry stood up once he was done and examined his reflection in the full-length mirror on his closet door. He flushed in embarrassment at the sight of himself. Still, he stared at the diaper taped around his waist with a sort of wonder. He was wearing a diaper...at nearly fifteen-years-old. He never would have thought such a thing was possible, and yet he currently stood in the middle of his bedroom, wearing nothing but a diaper. Huh.

 

He finally turned away and pulled a pair of plastic briefs over his diaper. Then he put on his pajamas and returned to looking at himself in the mirror. He had been beyond worried that it would be ridiculously obvious that he was wearing a diaper beneath his pajamas, but it wasn’t. He sighed in great relief at this revelation, because that meant he wouldn’t be discovered when he eventually was allowed to go stay with the Weasleys.

 

That was when Harry realized that he hadn’t heard back from Ron, Hermione, or Sirius. He walked over to the window and gazed out at the stars, hoping for a glimpse of Hedwig on the horizon. A few minutes later, he figured no letters were forthcoming, and decided to get some sleep.

 

The next morning, Harry was glad to wake up to a dry bed. It was odd, because he felt rather damp around his privates, yet his mattress and sheets were drier than desert sand. He took off his pajamas and examined himself in his mirror yet again. His diaper was obviously wet, though it hadn’t leaked at all. As he stared at himself, he became aware of his need to take his morning piss. An odd desire struck him then. He was already in a wet diaper — why not just pee in it again? What was the harm?

 

With that logic, he let go. Pee sprayed against the inside of his diaper, immediately surrounding his privates with warmth. The sensation was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced before, including when he’d purposely peed his pants on the Hogwarts Express. When he was finished, his diaper was positively bulging. The front of it was so saturated that it had a yellow tint to it. The sight was oddly comforting, though he had no clue why.

 

Harry shook his head and turned away from the mirror. He pulled off the plastic briefs, then carefully laid on the floor. He undid the tapes on his hips and slid the soaked diaper out from between his legs. He stood up again and pulled a few wipes from his stash, then proceeded to clean himself up. At the very least, he was satisfied that his bed would no longer be at risk of ruin from his nighttime accidents.

 

OoOoO

 

After that first night, every morning Harry awoke wet — which was actually only once or twice a week — he would take his morning piss in his diaper. Every time he did, he found it to be comforting, though he still had yet to figure out why. For the time being, he wasn’t going to question it. He had other things he needed to use his brain power on.

 

And he did focus on the much more important issues surrounding Voldemort and the Death Eaters. It took four days for Hermione to write back to him, and when she did, she was less than forthcoming. She had simply stated that she couldn’t say anything in a letter, but that she wished she could. He received similar answers from Ron and Sirius a few days after that.

 

He continued to write to them, hoping that eventually they would cave and give him some information. In the meantime, he checked the Daily Prophet every morning for anything noteworthy. He usually tossed them to the side after seeing unimportant articles on the front page. If Voldemort had attacked someone, it was sure to be front page news.

 

With every passing day, he grew more and more frustrated that he hadn’t heard anything useful from his friends. Now that he didn’t have to panic over wetting the bed so much, he had a lot more energy to spend on being angry about his circumstances. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he should have been removed from the Dursleys’ home weeks ago. He was slightly glad he hadn’t because he’d been able to figure out a temporary solution to his bedwetting problem by himself. But mostly, he was furious that he hadn’t been given any information at all. In a moment of intense anger, he wrote a letter to Dumbledore demanding answers. He never heard back.

 

Harry’s life continued in much the same pattern for several more weeks. Depressingly enough, he even spent his birthday holed up with the Dursleys, though he had hoped he’d be long gone by then. His birthday cards from Ron, Hermione, and Sirius were just as bare of information as any of their letters. Hermione’s said “I expect we’ll see you soon,” but he had no idea what that meant. When was soon?

 

He was left to hunt for information on his own. The Daily Prophet never gave him any useful insight, but still he continued to get them every morning. He also continued to try and catch as much of the Muggle news as possible. His aunt and uncle caught him listening at the door one evening and eventually forbid him from so much as looking at the telly again.

 

So he simply took advantage of their oversight. During the day, he took to lounging beneath the sitting room window when the Dursleys would watch the news. He could hear it then, but he wasn’t technically looking at the television. He loved finding loopholes to the stupid rules the Dursleys gave him.

 

This particular day found him lurking once more behind the hydrangea bush beneath the sitting room window. And once again, nothing even remotely interesting was on the news. Still, he sat there, listening intently for even the most benign statement that might relate to Voldemort. He finally decided to just go for a walk around the neighborhood when the news turned to stupid gossip. He was crawling out of the hydrangea bush when a loud crack! echoed through the neighborhood.

 

Harry was instantly on his feet, pulling his wand out of the waistband of his jeans. In doing so, however, he had smacked his head against the open window. His eyes began watering and he was seeing spots. His vision completely blackened when his uncle appeared at the window and wrapped both of his meaty hands around Harry’s neck.

 

“Put — it — away!” Vernon hissed. “Now! Before — anyone — sees!”

 

“Get — off — me!” Harry choked out. He pulled uselessly at his uncle’s fingers with one hand while still clenching his wand in the other.

 

The pounding in his head worsened as his air supply was drastically lessened. Rather suddenly, a particularly painful beat resounded against the top of his head, and Vernon released him with a yelp. Harry fell over the hydrangea bush, gasping for air. He had just done accidental magic — again. He scrambled back to his feet and looked around the neighborhood for whatever had made the strange noise moments earlier. There was nothing but the curious neighbors peering out their open windows and doors.

 

“Lovely evening!” Vernon shouted. “Did you hear that car backfire just now? Gave Petunia and me quite a turn!”

 

When the neighbors had all retreated, Vernon motioned for Harry to return to the window. Harry did so, but remained far enough away that his uncle couldn’t touch him. A long argument ensued over why Harry had made such an infernal noise and why he was lurking under the window like a serial killer and why he was such a smartass. Eventually, he snapped at them, made sure they knew how stupid they were, and stomped off into the street before they could punish him further.

 

Harry found his temper escalating as he walked, rather than receding as it usually did. He began to fall into that same pit of despair he had been wallowing in far too frequently over the last several weeks. He took a detour from his usual path and headed toward the neighborhood playground. He dropped onto the only unbroken swing and resumed his moping. The afternoon faded to evening as he sat there, uncaring about anything but his own troubles.

 

He only looked up when he heard someone singing loudly and off-key. It was a crude song, and yet the person’s companions laughed raucously at it. Harry knew right away it was Dudley and his stupid thugs crossing the park. His anger flared again, and he found himself anxious for a confrontation with the bullies. He welcomed a fight; it would at least give him something to do.

 

But the group continued on without even noticing him. A few minutes later, Harry abandoned his swing and began the trek back to Privet Drive. As he walked, however, Dudley and his so-called friends re-entered his line of sight. They had stopped at an alleyway and were discussing the latest kid they had beaten to a pulp. Harry waited for the rest of the group to disperse before finally seeking out a fight with his cousin.

 

“Hey, Big D!” he shouted, using the stupid nickname Dudley’s friends had apparently given him.

 

Dudley turned around. “Oh, it’s you.”

 

“How long have you been ‘Big D’ then?” Harry taunted.

 

“Shut it,” Dudley snapped as he resumed walking home.

 

“Cool name,” Harry continued. “But you’ll always be Ickle Diddykins to me.”

 

“I said, SHUT IT!” his cousin roared.

 

“Don’t the boys know that’s what your mum calls you?” Harry pushed.

 

“Shut your face.”

 

“You don’t tell her to shut her face. What about ‘popkin’ and ‘Dinky Diddydums,’ can I use them then?”

 

Dudley glared at him and ground his teeth together.

 

“So who’ve you been beating up tonight?” Harry continued relentlessly. He was growing desperate for a fight of any kind, yet Dudley wasn’t rising to the bait. It was maddening. “Another ten-year-old? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago.”

 

“He was asking for it,” Dudley snapped.

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“He cheeked me.”

 

“Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that’s been taught to walk on its hind legs? ‘Cause that’s not cheek, Dud, that’s true.” Harry grinned in satisfaction.

 

Dudley again resumed walking home, and as he did, he growled, “Think you’re a big man carrying that thing, don’t you?”

 

“What thing?” Harry asked, wanting to hear his cousin say the “forbidden” word.

 

“That — that thing you’re hiding.”

 

“Not as stupid as you look, are you Dud?” Harry said, smirking. “But I s’pose if you were, you wouldn’t be able to walk and talk at the same time…” Wanting to further provoke the fat lump, he pulled his wand out of his jeans once more.

 

“You’re not allowed!” Dudley said desperately. “I know you’re not. You’d get expelled from that freak school you go to.”

 

“How d’you know they haven’t changed the rules, Big D?”

 

“They haven’t,” he insisted.

 

Harry laughed.

 

“You haven’t got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?” Dudley snapped.

 

“Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten-year-old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?” Harry sneered.

 

“He was sixteen for your information, and he was out cold for twenty minutes after I’d finished with him and he was twice as heavy as you. You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out — “

 

“Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxing champ frightened of nasty Harry’s wand?”

 

“Not this brave at night, are you?” Dudley snapped.

 

“This is night, Diddykins. That’s what we call it when it goes all dark like this.”

 

“I mean when you’re in bed!”

 

Harry’s stomach dropped to his feet. No. There was no way Dudley knew about...that. “What d’you mean, I’m not brave in bed? What — am I supposed to be frightened of pillows or something?” he taunted half-heartedly in an attempt to cover his sudden nerves.

 

“I heard you last night,” Dudley said, his eyes gleaming triumphantly. “Talking in your sleep. Moaning.”

 

Harry froze. He had dreamed about Cedric’s death last night, and had awoken in a very wet diaper. “What d’you mean?”

 

Dudley laughed. “‘Don’t kill Cedric! Don’t kill Cedric!’” he mimicked. “Who’s Cedric — your boyfriend?”

 

“I — you’re lying,” Harry said desperately.

 

“‘Dad! Help me, Dad! He’s going to kill me Dad! Boo-hoo!’”

 

“Shut up,” Harry snarled. “Shut up, Dudley, I’m warning you!”

 

"Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me!"

 

Harry finally reached his limit of taking crap from Dudley, and aimed his wand at his fat cousin’s heart. “Don’t you ever talk about that again. D’you understand me?”

 

The two continued their standoff for several minutes when suddenly, the street went pitch dark. The air turned to ice, and terror took hold of Harry’s insides. He knew that feeling — but what were they doing in Little Whinging?

 

Dudley whimpered and insisted that Harry stop performing magic, and Harry insisted he wasn’t the one doing it. Dudley proceeded to punch him in the face, hard. That was when the dementors swooped in. Harry scrambled to his feet, hunting for his wand, and finally muttered, “Lumos!” in a desperate attempt to find it. As soon as he had hold of it, he was aiming it toward the dementors.

 

But he was having a hard time coming up with any good memories to fight them with. His first attempt at casting his Patronus only resulted in a small wisp of silver from his wand. Harry’s knees began trembling; memories were running through his head, memories of things he would much rather forget. Cedric, lying dead in the grass; Voldemort rising from the cauldron; himself, wetting the bed.

 

It was a few seconds before Harry realized he was peeing himself where he stood. He gasped and stared around, trying to stop the flood of urine coming from his jeans, but the freezing cold air and fright running through his veins prevented him from doing so. He continued to piss himself, and again tried to cast his Patronus. Again he failed.

 

More horrible memories washed through him, and Harry succumbed to the realization that he would die in that alley, peeing his pants, and never see his best friends again. Oddly, it was that thought that gave him the strength to raise his wand one more time and cast his Patronus. This time, he was successful, and the stag began chasing the dementors away from Little Whinging.

 

Harry sighed in relief that the cold and depression were lifting from the alley. He considered stopping his accident, but at the realization that he was nearly done peeing, decided not to. He pushed the last few drops out as his Patronus chased the last dementor away from Dudley. Then he moved to try and help his cousin off of the ground. As he moved, he realized he was cold all over; he was drenched in sweat. It was good, he thought, because it would hide the obviousness of his accident from the Dursleys.

OoOoO

Harry would struggle in a lot of ways to recall the next several hours. Everything he thought he knew about his life on Privet Drive was turned on its head when it was revealed that Mrs. Figg wasn’t just his crazy neighbor, but a Squib very well aware of how important he was. His world spiraled out of control when his aunt admitted that she knew what dementors were. And he felt like he’d died when he received notice that he was expelled from Hogwarts for using the Patronus Charm.

 

Dudley was in a bad way all that night and into the next day. His parents decided that he needed a visit to a doctor, so they left the house and told Harry not to touch anything, as per usual. He paced back and forth in his bedroom until several witches and wizards arrived in the kitchen to steal him away from the Dursleys at last. Harry was most likely in a state of shock, he figured, because of the many traumatizing things he’d been through in the last 24 hours. All he wanted to do was sleep.

Edited by RidikulusRaven (see edit history)
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