Downstairs, Harry stayed there for a moment waiting for the horrid man's footsteps to fully disappear. He crawled across the basement weakly and grabbed the water bucket and rags made from his old clothing. With those in hand, he forced himself to get up and began to clean the mess he made, the sour bitter taste of Vernon's seed worsening by the minute and only making him throw up a second and third time until his stomach was empty. However, the boy continued to clean. His small hands shaking as he gripped the cloth and began to wipe away the mess he made. His gut felt like it was on fire, much like his throat. Any attempt to vocalise his sorrow would only seem to hurt his throat further. Harry continued to work, and when the mess was completely gone, he removed the frilly pink dress and put his old clothes back on, folded the dress properly and then placed it on the worn down side dresser. He then crept shakily for his bed where he curled up in the fetal position and wept quietly.