I'm back! Sorry for the wait, like I said in the Author's Note, life's been really busy lately, and one of my thumbdrives with most of my fan fictions broke a few months ago as well, here you go! Finally, the next chapter! please review and give me ideas, i really need them!

Poll: What house should Harry be in?

Slytherin

Hufflepuff

Ravenclaw

Gryffindor

(Remember the abuse thing)

Reviews:

Dark Neko 4000-just read on and see!

Everyone else- Here's the next chapter!

Hagrid and Harry had finished buying Harry's school things. Hagrid led him back to the train station and handed him a ticket, "Here you go. This ticket will get you on the Hogwarts Express on September 1. I have ta deliver something ta Dumbledore, but i'll see ya 'gain soon." Hagrid left and Harry started the long walk back to the Dursley's. (I don't think it ever explained how he got home, and this fits the whole, the Dursley's don't care' thing)

It took a good 2 hours or so to get back to the Dursley's, and he was always receiving strange looks from the other civilians as he dragged his trunk and Hedwig along on the sidewalk. Once he finally reached the Dursley's, he tapped the trunk in one spot and the trunk shrunk in his pocket. He had gotten that trick from he owner of the trunk shop, he didn't want his new things burned.

His wand, he stuck in his trunk right before he shrunk it, then he hid the shrunken trunk in the bushes outside the Dursley's house so they wouldn't find it. Better safe than sorry. Harry tried to sneak into the house and back into his cupboard, but he wasn't nearly that lucky. Uncle Vernon was standing right inside the door with a horse whip in his hand. Harry started to shake violently as Uncle Vernon shut the door and dragged him to the stair banister

Harry knew he deserves this, it was his fault his parents died, he was a burden, a freak, a worthless brat, but it still hurt. he still wasn't healed from his last beating 2 days ago when he was thrown in the cupboard afterward and not fed or let out for several hours till they left for the island. That time wasn't as bad as other times, but it still hurt, it always hurt.

Harry was tied with a rope that Aunt Petunia was holding to the banister. Aunt Petunia and Dudley left the house. That wasn't a good sign. Whenever they left, it was generally because Uncle Vernon as pissed off and he tended to beat Harry more then.

Uncle Vernon snapped the whip and yelled, "You worthless freak! How dare you be a freak like those freaks like your stupid parents and have that giant thing come into my house!" Harry had learned long ago it was better just to remain silent during the abuse, not to make a sound, otherwise it only got worse. That's why he lost his arm and eye, screaming when Uncle Vernon burned his arm with the fireplace, when they had a real one, and then he stabbed his eye since he screamed and completely took off his arm.

Uncle Vernon started hitting Harry with the whip, tearing off his shirt, revealing his scarred back, arm, and metal arm, and proceeded with only hitting him harder. All the while, Harry was biting his tongue so hard so he wouldn't scream, that he drew blood.

Each crack of the whip, each time it hit his skin, Harry died a little inside. This wasn't the first time he had been beaten, or the last, but for some stupid, foolish reason, he had a tiny bit of hope the Dursley's would someday change. Fat chance of that happening.

After Harry had long last track of time, Uncle Vernon finally stopped and put the whip away. Once he was out of earshot, Harry finally let out one pathetic, tiny, quiet whimper. Once Uncle Vernon came back, he untied Harry and threw him in the cupboard. Once he locked the door, he yelled through the door, "You don't deserve Dudley's second bedroom freak! You only soil it wit your freakiness! You won't be let out for a week!"

He stomped away, and Harry bravely turned on the light in the cupboard and brought out his sketch book and pencil. he had traded for them at school. He learned ho to steal candy fromt he vending machine,a nd he had traded for this, his only comfort in life, with a kid from school, when he as allowed to go to school anyway. He hadn't been to school in months now.

Flipping through his sketch book, he looked back at the pictures he had drawn of the two man he was generally having dreams about. Okay, maybe dreams wasn't the right word, visions as more like it. He saw a handsome boy's past and then the past of another man, who eventually became a teacher at a magical school.

Harry was lying to Hagrid when he pretended he didn't know what magic was, he just didn't want anyone to find out about the dreams. A voice in his head told him he shouldn't, and keep it to himself. In truth, he had the memories fo the boy, Tom Riddle, and Severus Snape, and knew spells, dark and light, way beyond N.E.W.T. level.

His pictures were all of either the two men, or Harry after Uncle Vernon had thrown him back in the cupboard. For some reason, Harry felt safe with Tom and the black haired man, like they understood him. Tom had grown up as a freak in an orphanage, and had gone to become the most brilliant wizard of his age, the black haired man was abused as a child, not as bad as Harry was, but still abused, and he had loved Harry's mother. Without those memories and the sketch book, Harry would have probably given up on life long ago.