SLAP!

The sound resounded off the walls. Eight year old Harry slammed back into the wall from his emence force.

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT SPEAKING, BOY?" Vernon Dursley of number 4 Privet Drive bellowed. Harry whimpered and balled himself into a tighter ball in response. These beatings had gone on for as long as the raven-haired boy could remember. Vernon marched drunkenly over to the boy lying on his floor, the stench of liquor nauseating the small being. Harry instinctively yelped as his uncle towered over him.

"What's wrong boy, does your sweet, caring Uncle strike fear into you?" the large man sneered. Please just beat me tonight, please don't do anything else, just beat me and get it over with. Harry's mind was sluggishly racing, how could he keep his uncle's mind on a beating and nothing more? "I...I...I di-din't mean to make...make y-y-you mad." the boy stuttered inching himself backwards. "Did I SAY you could talk Boy?" bellowed Vernon. So infurated was he now, Harry cringed as the last thing he felt was his head crack the counter before the comforting darkness of unconsciousness set in.