Blister
Jennifer
Warning: Child abuse, self-harm, SLASH (m/m pairing), other stuff.
Disclaimer: I only wrote this not the series; I make no money from this, but I am using it to help my writing skills. Please don't prosecute me!
PLEASE CONSIDER: It has been well over a year since I have last written anything. Please understand my other stories have been unfortunately abandoned until I can go back over them and fix up the mistakes and make them better for the readers. Reviews as well as CONSTRUCTIVE criticism are welcome.
Prologue:
The air was hot, humid; the stench of overly sweet potpourri polluted the air as the Dursleys sat themselves down for afternoon tea. The hour is four as a young boy makes his way, albeit slowly, through an astonishingly long list of chores. This boy's name, Harry Potter, and unlike his normal Muggle family Harry is anything but. Harry, or the boy-who-lived as many know him in the Wizarding World, is just that; Harry is a wizard, and he isn't even an ordinary wizard. He, a knobby knee skinny teen with unruly hair and taped coke bottle glasses, is the only being, or creature, magical or not to have survived the killing curse, Avada Kedavra. This self same curse has marked him with a single lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
However Harry has many odd things about him, many things indeed. While Harry's doting family sit in front of the telly in the kitchen (enjoying, no doubt, the same biscuits Harry had had to make that very morning, those self-same biscuits which his uncle Vernon found unsatisfactory, which is the reason for his slow pace that very day.) Harry was forced to slave away in the hot sun, nearly one hundred degrees that day, wearing one of his only long sleeved shirts, tattered and stained, and a pair of ratty ripped jeans close to ten sizes to large for the malnourished boy.
Harry had no choice save for to wear these bulky clothes, but as he could not explain this to his new neighbor (who was at that moment asking him about his state of dress as he weeded the front garden), the real reason behind this he was almost grateful when his uncle called him in for, ostensibly, a drink of tea. Harry knew though that he was in for it by the look in his uncle's eyes. Harry knew he wasn't allowed to talk to neighbors. Harry though was suddenly happy remembering that now he wouldn't be allowed outside after this infraction. It wasn't his fault the Dursleys lived in a neighborhood full of busybodies almost as bad as his dear aunt Petunia.
As Harry -the too-thin, too-short malnourished boy- was drug up the stairs, hair breaking off in his uncles hands, thrown into his room, his ankles bruising where his cousin grabbed them, and finally kicked and hit until he nearly lost consciousness, he was thinking how oddly ironic it was that he should be beaten by a couple of morbidly obese Muggles when he was supposed to defeat the dark lord.
Harry's head was pounding. It had been only a few hours ago he had passed out and his head felt as though Neville were making potions inside it, not a pleasant feeling. Harry nursed his wounds quietly, moving cautiously towards the window where the pounding seemed to emanate. Had it been three days already?
Sorry for it being so short, however this is only the prologue. Hope you like it so far give me your opinions.