Harry laid his face on his desk and sighed. He'd only been back at the Dursleys' for a few hours and he was already eager to leave. He didn't understand why Sirius had had to leave for a week or two on such short notice. Ever since his name had gotten cleared, Harry had stayed with him and he couldn't be happier. He'd figured it would always be that way. That he'd never have to go back. But there he was. Back at the Dursleys'.
"Potter!" Uncle Vernon yelled up the stairs. Harry sighed. He didn't know what he'd done this time, but he didn't want to. He walked to the bottom of the stairs where his uncle was pointing angrily at a white owl feather on the ground. "What is this?" He said grumpily. Harry shrugged. Uncle Vernon's already purple face got purpler than ever, if possible. "It's a feather from your bloody bird. Why is it here?" Harry shrugged.
"I didn't put it there." He said and his uncle did something he'd threatened to do many times, but had never really done, and he slapped him. Right in the face. Making it so he tasted blood. Harry was astounded. He'd never been physically abused before. Starved, yeah. But that's the most physical thing that his uncle had ever done to him.
"Move it." Uncle Vernon said. Harry was still too surprised to move, so he just stood there. Uncle Vernon slapped again. That brought Harry back to reality.
He picked the feather up and took it upstairs, still in shock. He sat at his desk after placing the feather in Hedwig's cage (he wasn't thinking about the trash bin right beside him) and just stared straight out his window. He held a hand to his mouth and then looked at it. And only the blood in his mouth made him realize what had just happened.
He'd been hit. He wanted to write to Sirius. To tell him. But he couldn't. Sirius wouldn't have left him if it wasn't absolutely necessary. He probably had a lot on his mind. And with that thought, he closed the matter. It's not like Uncle Vernon would do it again, right? Not knowing that Harry had wizard friends that could easily hurt him. Boy was he wrong.
Four more times. Four more times, just that day, he was hit. Once in the face, three times in the arm. He was developing bruises and his lip was busted. He sat by his window, looking out at the rain as he dabbed his bloody lip with a wet rag. He thought about his friends. He missed Ron and Hermione. They were always apart during the summer, but this time felt different. Maybe it was the whole hitting thing, but he felt more alone.
He sighed and collapsed on his bed. Hedwig was tapping on her cage, eager to get out. Harry looked over at her and shook his head.
"Sorry, Hedwig. You have to stay there." He said out loud, though he hadn't meant to. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, wishing he were back at Sirius's house. He looked over at the alarm clock beside his bed and groaned. It was still only 8:13. He thought about sending a letter to one of his friends, but decided better of it. He looked at his newly bruised arms and then closed his eyes, and in a matter of minutes, he was asleep.