Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, unfortunately. It's all JK Rowling's.
It was the perfect summer's day. The sun shone brightly in the sky, yet a pleasantly cooling breeze drifted through the open windows of The Burrow. Chatter and laughter seemed to permeate the walls with a sense of homeliness, and Harry Potter sighed in contentment. He was surrounded by people who loved him, and he loved in return. Catching Ginny's eye, he smiled, eyes sparkling, and she returned the favour, kissing him gently on the lips. Immediately, a chorus of disapproval erupted from the table.
"Ew!"
James and Al looked sickened. Everyone turned towards the scene, and laughed at the children's reactions, which, admittedly, were not too far removed from Ron's own. Harry laughed, and leaned in again.
"Don't do that!" huffed James crossly. "It's disgusting."
Harry merely laughed, ruffling James' hair, which, if anything, merely added to James' outrage.
"Quiet, you two" said Ginny with mock seriousness.
The day was carefree, relaxed and perfect. Lifted on the summer breeze, everyone seemed to float in a haze of happiness, unhampered by the experiences of their past.
Kissing Ginny on the cheek, Harry picked up Al's newly cleared plate and carried it over to the others. Al was a notoriously slow eater, and Harry noticed Bill slipping a sickle over to George. Evidently George had bet on the winning time. Harry caught his eye, and George winked, pocketing the silver coin into his magenta jacket pocket.
Yet, this feeling of contentment was not to last. As Harry reached to put the plate on the counter, he heard James' voice pipe up:
"What does abused mean?"
Harry looked round, alarm crossing his face, as the table fell silent and gazed at James in shock.
Hermione was the first to recover
"Well… it means someone being... being hurt. By somebody else."
"Oh." James' face contorted in confusion, and Harry exchanged a look with Ginny. She gazed back at him worriedly, biting her lip, and he knew that she was thinking the same thing as him- had James overheard their argument last night?
His question was answered.
"Why did you want to know that, sweetheart?" asked Molly concernedly, reaching for Arthur's hand.
However, James clearly wasn't listening.
"Who's," he screwed up his face in confusion, his lips searching for the word 'Verd-non Dursley?"
The plate slipped from between Harry's numb fingers, and the subsequent crash awoke a memory that hadn't shown its face for years.
"What are you doing, boy?" bellowed Uncle Vernon, blustering his way into the kitchen. "You are to clean the plates, not destroy our belongings.
Recognising the danger signs, Harry rolled his eyes. However, Vernon had been touchy all day after his meeting with a developer who had turned down a contract for drills, so he thought it best to avoid confrontation.
"I-I'm sorry. I was just-"
"Yes?" snarled Uncle Vernon, his eyes narrowing in malice. A muscle in his neck was pulsing madly and he was swiftly turning a dangerous shade of purple, clenching and unclenching his fist.
Despite his earlier misgivings about confrontation, a sudden note of defiance coursed through Harry.
"I didn't mean to. It slipped."
"Slipped, did it?" roared Vernon. "We'll see about that. Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Pick it up! Now!"
Harry moved to pick up the broken crockery, barely restraining his eyes from rolling. He winced as a sharp edge bit into his finger. The drop of blood hovered on his finger end, then trickled like a tear drop down his pale upstretched arm, still slightly wet from washing up. Gathering the pieces in his arms, he moved towards the bin, and deposited the pieces on top of a layer of chocolate wrappers from Dudley's television marathon of earlier- or, as Harry preferred to call it, sessions in the pig sty.
Turning round, with some regret, Harry glared defiantly into Vernon's eyes, waiting for a reaction.
"I'll have a full day of work for you tomorrow, boy. Make no mistake" growled Vernon, breathing heavily through his nose. His flared nostrils accentuated his pig-like features and Harry had to bite back a laugh.
Vernon's face turned blotchy.
"Do you think it's funny, boy? You abuse our kindness in taking you in when nobody wanted you-"
This, however, was the final straw.
"I didn't want to be taken in by you!" shouted Harry, against his better judgement, every portion of his brain telling him that this was a mistake. Sure enough, Vernon swelled in anger and Harry took an involuntary step back.
Then Vernon let out a roar which seemed to shake the house's very foundations.
Wham!
Harry was lifted off his feet by the force of the blow. Lying on the kitchen floor, he chastised himself for angering Uncle Vernon. He didn't want a repeat of last week- yet, judging by Vernon's complexion, it seemed increasingly likely. Nonetheless, Harry attempted to clamber to his feet, but was stopped by a kick to the stomach. Doubled over and gasping for breath, he moved once more towards the exit, but Uncle Vernon's fists rained down on him. Kicking out, he was pleased to hear an 'oomph' from Vernon, yet the reprieve was slight. Harry had barely made five yards before Vernon's foot once again made contact with his back. His face squashed against the lino flooring, he began to descend into a haze of pain which eventually forced him into action.
"I'm…sorry" gasped Harry. He had received beatings before, but none as bad as this. He could feel blood oozing from a cut on his head, and pain radiated from his bruised body.
"Oh, you will be boy. You will," came Uncle Vernon's voice, cruelly cutting through Harry's hopes of a reprieve as he aimed another kick at Harry's stomach. Groaning, Harry curled into a ball and once again hoped for a saviour- someone, anyone, to take him away from his relations. The dreaded sound of Vernon drawing back his belt only served to bolster Harry's resolve: he would find a way out. A strange form of warmth seemed to fill him. As he winced at each blow, the power seemed to swell inside him until he felt unable to contain it. Just as he faded out of consciousness, the smashing sound of crockery met his ears, and a strange chocking noise was the last he heard before the kitchen faded into a blissful wave of darkness and peace.
Some hours later, Harry's eyes flickered open. With consciousness came the biting shock of pain, and the promise of a summer holiday of misery. No doubt he would be shut in the cupboard for weeks this time.
Groaning, he lifted his head a little. His bed swam into focus, the mattress gone. Evidently Uncle Vernon had removed it. He doubted that he could move in any case. His limbs were too heavy, the pain dragging him into a lethargic agony of constant wakefulness. As he accustomed himself to this contrast, he heard the cupboard door open, hitting against his leg. He hissed as pain shot through his once more, aggravating a bruise. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Dad says you're to stay in here for three weeks," came a spiteful voice from the door, "Loser." A boot connected with his leg, and Harry suppressed a grunt of pain. Dudley's laughter echoed in his ears as the door shut once more behind him.
Dreaming of his mother's arms around him, all Harry could do was mutter against the carpet: "I wish I had a family that loved me. I wish I had a family that loved me. I wish I had a family that loved me."
The kitchen came back into focus as Harry found himself pressed up against the sideboard, plate lying cracked and forgotten at his feet. Shaking his head to clear it, he tried to ignore the many pairs of horrified eyes staring up at him.
"Sorry," he forced out, avoiding their eyes and bending down to the cracked plate. Taking a moment to collect himself, he brought out his wand and cleared his throat.
"Reparo," he said firmly, and the plate drifted back together. The scars of the break were not visible, and the plate was whole again, healed by the intervention of magic. Stowing his wand in his back pocket, Harry rose and put the plate down, carefully watching his shoes as he made his way towards Ginny. The undeniable sound of sniffing from the other end of the table made him feel increasingly uncomfortable.
'I'm sure someone is coming down with a cold' he told himself sternly, 'And the two questions wouldn't necessarily be related. Only Ginny knows everything. They won't connect.'
However, as he sank into his chair, he saw that it was hopeless. A sense of panic began to overtake him, but his experience as an Auror allowed some vestige of control to be wrestled back from the overwhelming emotion. Nevertheless, it continued to fight for dominance, and Harry met Ginny's eyes with a look of pure desperation. She gazed back at him, her beautiful eyes filled with love and compassion- but not pity. Clearing his throat, Harry turned to James, who was still looking up and down the table with a sense of expectation tempered with a slight look of doubt no doubt borne of everyone's strange reactions. Reaching blindly for Ginny's hand, he took comfort in the feel of her hand as it found his.
"Vernon Dursley was- is- my- uncle." Harry said, holding James' gaze.
"Oh!" said James brightly, "Like Uncle George, and Bill?"
"No." said Harry firmly, his mind struggling to reconcile the image of a rampaging Uncle Vernon in the same context as his brothers in law. "I mean- yes. He was my aunt's husband. But he wasn't- he's not a- a- nice person."
"Oh." James looked suddenly upset. "Why?"
Harry closed his eyes for a second, uncomfortably aware of everyone's eyes on him. He realised that his grip on Ginny's hand had tightened considerably, so he flexed his fingers. Ginny squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back for a second. Opening his eyes, he exhaled and leaned towards James.
"He- well, he- he- I don't really know, James. Some people just- aren't nice. I suppose he was scared, in a way."
Harry sighed for a second, wondering how much he should say to his young son.
"He- there are people who don't like people who are different. They want everyone to be the same, or they think that they are better than everybody else. But there isn't really a reason. They're just not- not nice. Do you understand?"
James looked serious for a second.
"I think so," he announced, frowning a little. Then, his face brightened. "Can we go and play now?"
Feeling, slightly flummoxed, but nonetheless relieved by his reprieve from questioning, Harry agreed, and James ran off, carrying Al and various other children in his wake. The sound of laughter again sounded, muffled by the walls separating the adults from the children.
Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed, examining the ceiling. Ginny's hand was still tight in his.
"Sorry, Harry," said Ginny suddenly, breaking the silence Harry looked up at her. "I shouldn't have shouted last-"
"It's fine," blurted Harry hurriedly, cutting Ginny off. "I'll just go and- and-"
Gesturing loosely towards the door, he made to rise, but Ginny held tightly to his hand.
"Oh no you don't, Harry Potter," she growled. "Not until we sort-this-out!"
"There's nothing to-" Harry began. As if by instinct, he glanced across the table towards Ron for support. As he met Ron's horrified eyes, his eyes darted towards Hermione. They, alongside Ginny, knew something of his relatives. However, not wanting to discuss it, they knew little of the full extent of the Dursley's actions. Ginny knew more- after all, in becoming parents their own childhood experiences had come up in conversation. Hermione had evidently surmised much of the reality from the broken bits of information she had received, as her face shone with understanding and an unreadable emotion. Her nod towards his chair was clear enough though.
Voice fading out, Harry sank back into his seat.
A/N I'm back! I know I upload really sporadically, but I've been so busy with schoolwork. The Easter holidays have given me some time to write though. Please review- constructive feedback is welcome!