Summary: Pre-Hogwarts. When life on Privet Drive begins to get unbearable, can the Boy-Who-Lived live up to his name? H/D in later chapters.
Disclaimer: Blah de blah blah. Do you really think I am J.K. Rowling? Are you positively stupid? I seriously don't see any point in me actually filling this out.
Sometimes I just sit and wonder if there is ever going to be a point in my life where I can smile and at least pretend that I have someone in my life that actually loves me. I'm not talking about a best friend or a one-night stand; I'm talking about head over heels, weak in the knees love. It may have to do with the abuse I always had to put up with, the hate that practically rollsat me in waves, or even the fact that everyone I held close to me died. I just can't comprehend the fact that somewhere on this godforsaken planet someone right now is being held in the arms of someone that they love.
As I sit here in this confined cupboard, I try to remember my parents. I try to remember the one time in my life that I may have been loved. It all comes back to me as black. I know nothing of my past or future, all I know is the present. I know what it feels like to be pushed, beaten, tormented, raped; I know things you couldn't even imagine. I know how it feels to be treated like dirt, as if I were a speck of lint on your prized jacket, a piece of gum stuck to your shoe. I know the feeling of being touched, but not embraced.
The ceiling above me shakes as dust and cement falls from the surround walls. Dudley is making his morning round up and down the stairs 10 times. Sometimes I wish the stairs would collapse on top of me, taking the baby whale with it. Today is going to be yet another school day, a day of wrong answers, wrong clothes, wrong everything. I stay on the moth-eaten blanket I call my bed until a loud bang comes to my ears, sending vibrations throughout my slender form.
" Come out freak, get us our meals!" the infuriated voice of Vernon Dursley booms.
The door opens letting a slither of light through, even this burns my sensitive eyes. Everything is blurred to me, I am used to that. I need glasses, but Aunt Petunia says the money would be better spent on toys for her beloved Duddlykins. I grab blindly at the door handle only to be roughly pushed down by the said child. Sighing, I try again successfully.
I walk slowly with a limp that I gained last night due to my weekly punishment. I only got a beating, which was something to be thankful for. As I opened the kitchen door, all eyes went to me. They stared on with hatred as I fry their bacon and eggs. The cooking was going fine until one of the egg yolks burst, disturbing the perfect yellow circle. I stared on with horror. Oh God, why do you have to be so cruel?
"What is this boy? Are you so stupid that you can't even cook properly?" Petunia ground out glaring holes into me. "Grab the pan. You heard me! Do it!" She screamed gesturing to the scolding metal pan.
I closed my eyes and took up the iron instrument. I held it in my hands even as it burned my calloused hands, turning them red and inflamed. I waited for it to end, waited for her words to stop. They didn't come as my skin cracked, or even as the smell of cooking flesh built up in the room. It was only when I felt my grip on consciousness loosen did she call out to stop and try again. I placed the pan back on the stovetop and set back to cooking. My body screamed at me to stop, but I couldn't unless I wanted to go to the basement.
Even mentioning the room sent shivers down my spine. The basement is where I get my worse punishment. It was a room with only one piece of furniture, a bed. One could think of a million horrible things that could be done on that, but they wouldn't even be close to describing the horrors that go on down there. Every weekend I am sent there only to be followed by one of Vernon's "friends". Only until they are done with me am I allowed to go. If they don't bring their equipment, it only lasts around an hour. They've made sure I have at least one scar from every visit; I must have hundreds by now.
"Go get the mail, you have nothing else to do." Vernon spat at me not even bothering to let my blistered hand rest.
Even then I listen to him, making my way to the front door. I reach down and grab the small amount of envelopes in front of the mail slot. One piece grabs my eye. It is a creamy white with a lavender wax seal. It has my name on it. I have never gotten mail before, and yet I stare at my name with great interest.
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whining
Surrey
I quickly opened the letter, not wanting to let one of the Dursley's see it. What it said amazed me immensely.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, Internationally Confed. Of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Terms begin on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
The boy was at a loss for words. This had to be a dream, it wasn't real! He pinched himself. He then reminded himself not to pinch himself with burned fingers. Deafening footsteps sounded behind him. He cowered, trying to hide the piece of parchment. It was to late, he was in for it.
"Let me see that!" the bulky man demanded, thrusting his hand out for the letter.
Harry reluctantly folded the paper up and gave it to his uncle. He awaited his punishment as he watched Vernon's eyes row wide and face turn a dark shade of purple. He wasn't shocked as a pair of fists collided with his jaw. The force of the blow sent him hurtling through the door. His uncle followed his body out into the yard and started to beat him repeatedly. As the obese man struck blow upon blowto the child's ribs, Harry heard a loud crunch. Fits and feet flew over the fragile structure of the weak child.
When Vernon finally looked up, he saw half of the neighborhood watching his every move. He took one last look at the freak and fled back into his house. A small elderly woman approached Harry. Her eyes widened as they took in his broken body.
"Somebody call the cops! Please, don't just stand there! He is going to die!" She screamed turning around to the gathering crowd.
Many scrambled back to their homes in search of a phone. The woman sighed. She would have to contact Dumbledore. Why hadn't the seen it earlier?
That is the first installment of my story. I didn't like how the books turned out mainly because Sirius died. In my story a lot of things are going to change, but if they are for the better I do not know. Please review to give me some input. I need to know what I'm doing right/wrong. Thank you.
-The Flaming Phoenix-