Broken Wrist, Faint Hope
AN: This is another one shot about Harry Potter. We can assume Harry to have just turned ten a few weeks ago? Yeah that would do fine.
This story is about one night in the cupboard under the stairs with Harry. It's not perfectly canon but close enough.
Disclaimer: Disclaimed
Harry Potter lay on his back in the dark cupboard. This time he was sure that it wasn't his fault. Well Piers was holding his hands so Harry kicked out, he didn't know that Dudley was such a bullhead to stand on slippery mud to take Harry's kick and fall on the ground cutting himself in the knee, nor had he known that a small cut could hurt that much given the way Dudley was bawling, especially when Piers had twisted Harry's hand until his wrist snapped. A broken wrist was bound to hurt more than a small cut, right?
His Uncle had been furious for 'hurting his little tyke' and locked Harry in the cupboard saying that he won't get any meals for two day. The thing his uncle didn't know was that he wasn't really punishing Harry as he really liked to be in his cupboard, alone where most people won't bother him. The real problem was hunger. Though, Aunt Petunia, knowing that he had broken his wrist had taken pity on him and sneaked him a glass of water and a loaf of bread with cheese.
With that problem solved, he only had one small comeback which needed to be overcome to complete his small version of paradise, his wrist.
He heard the tell-tale sound of the television switching off. His cousins came around to taunt him which Harry blatantly ignored and heard his relatives bounding upstairs.
Harry waited for a little while longer and when he was sure that everyone was asleep he sat up. Gently laying his wrist on his lap in the correct position so that it wouldn't heal the wrong way, he hovered his good hand over it. Then closing his eyes he concentrated hard on healing his wrist.
It took him almost ten minutes to feel the familiar buzzing of healing, though it was still an improvement, as the last time he had tried to heal his broken nose it had taken almost twenty minutes and he had still had the nosebleed for an hour.
He gently touched his broken wrist and the buzzing stopped. He slowly rotated it and winced in pain. It still hurt but not half as bad as it had earlier. It now felt as if he had merely sprained it, badly. He could not always heal himself but most of the times he had tried there had been an improvement and living with Dudley it had been nothing but an advantage.
He cradled his wrist, lay down on his small camp bed and sighed in relief.
He closed his eyes and thought about the giant man on a flying motorcycle who had frequently visited him in many dreams.
He turned over and fell asleep with a faint hope in his heart that the man was not just his imagination.
AN: I know that it's pretty small but I had this plot bunny and couldn't get this out of my mind. Hope you like it and please review.