Harry was crumpled in the corner, face-down in a pool of his own blood and tears. In his hazy mind, Harry wondered exactly how he was still alive after the ninety-nine lashes his Uncle gave him the night (or was it day?) before.
His entire back felt like one big slab of tenderized meat; his broken ribs scraped and rubbed against each other with every labored breath; and he was sure that his right leg was broken in no less than three places. Needless to say, Harry knew he wouldn't be moving any time soon. Maybe never again. As much as Harry wanted to hold out- for those few who believed in him, for Severus, for his much desired revenge- he knew that it was time to be realistic; he was going to die here, in this bloody and dark basement.
Harry watched listlessly as a small ray of light appeared as the sun rose, peeking valiantly through the small window. Finally, he heard the echoing of Uncle Vernon's alarm, and the stomping and grumbling that signified that Uncle Vernon was awake.
He listened to the footsteps make their way to the bathroom, then spent the next fifteen minutes lulling to sleep at the steady patter of the shower water. The entire house seemed to have cardboard walls… if you were inside of it. Harry had learned around second year that there was strong silencing wards around the perimeter of the house, along with a very specific obliviation charm. Basically, you couldn't hear when Harry was tortured, but if you wandered close enough to, then the knowledge would be wiped from your mind as soon as you stepped outside of the wards.
Three guesses who put those up, and the first two don't count.
But all too soon, the water was turned off, and it was only another fifteen minutes later that the rumbling, earthquake-like footsteps made their way down the stairs.
Harry listened very closely, knowing that the first place his uncle always went in the morning was the kitchen – and that he had to pass the basement door on the way.
Harry was momentarily confused when the footsteps stopped, just went silent. He strained for any noise, but heard nothing. Harry didn't know what was going on. Normally, Uncle Vernon would wander into the kitchen, complain about the Freak not doing anything (mainly cooking his meals, nevermind that he was chained and locked up in the basement), then demand for Aunt Petunia to cook him breakfast. After, he'd beat the Freak purely on principle, then get dressed, kiss Aunt Petunia, coo over Dudley, then head off to work; leaving Harry, once again, bleeding and without food.
But not so today.
Suddenly, so suddenly that Harry flinched and whimpered at the pain that that small motion caused, the basement door was slammed open.
There stood Uncle Vernon, grinning and chuckling maliciously, and holding a coil of – Harry's heart stopped cold – barbed wire. This was such a massive change from the normal way of things that Harry was thrown off balance… and terrified. He knew this couldn't mean anything good for him.
And Merlin, was he right.
Vernon walked down the stairs and over to Harry before just standing over him, staring. But something about the stare unnerved Harry; it had a nauseating glint to it as it roved over Harry's bloody, naked, exposed form.
Suddenly, Uncle Vernon crouched down to Harry's level; the move so unexpected that Harry flinched again. Vernon reached out with his free hand and stroked Harry's bruised cheek. Harry was in too much pain and too petrified to move away.
"Guess what, Freak?" Harry didn't answer, since he knew that he would be punished if he did. "It's your birthday. You're officially sixteen." Harry knew this was wrong, that he was only fifteen, but correcting Uncle Vernon was only something you did if you had a suicide wish. "And do you know what that means?" Harry tried to pull back from Uncle Vernon's fat, pudgy face and horrid morning breath; but the hand tightening in his hair prevented that. "Well boy?" Harry quickly shook his head.
Suddenly, a wide, lascivious, perverted grin spread across Uncle Vernon's face. "That means, Freak, that your arse is finally mine."
Harry froze, his eyes wide in fear and terror as his uncle's meaning sunk into his anguish-addled mind. He felt bile rise in his throat, and whined and tried to pull away. Uncle Vernon merely laughed in glee before slamming Harry's head into the cement floor.
Black flooded his vision as Harry briefly lost consciousness as his nose broke – again. When he came to, it was to the sight of his Uncle standing over him, still grinning. Memories returning in a flash, Harry attempted to jerk away, only to stop with a shriek of pain.
His whole body felt like it was on fire. Looking down, Harry discovered why.
His uncle had, while Harry was unconscious, bound his ankles, knees, and wrists together with barbed wire; the claws of metal breaking through the skin and making him bleed sluggishly. Looking down moved his throat, which lead to him discovering that the barbed wire also wrapped around his larynx, choking him and making him whimper pitifully.
Vernon chuckled. "Just to make sure that you don't try and run away, Freak, before I get back this evening. Unfortunately, I have a meeting with the board today, and I won't be back until later. And when I do…" He licked his lips as his eyes took in Harry's body, and he'd never felt so dirty. "Well, let's just say it's about time that I got something out of your worthless hide for taking you in all these years."
Then Uncle Vernon leaned over, brandishing the last of the barbed wire, and began to wrap it around Harry's eyes. Harry quickly closed his eyelids, screams coming out more like gurgles as he coughed up blood as he was blinded. He could feel the metal barbs tearing into his eyelids, his temples, the back of his head; but thankfully he didn't feel them tearing through and actually blinding his eyes.
Even so, the pain and terror and lack of oxygen was enough that, after throwing up blood and bile, Harry passed out again; the sound of his Uncle's laughter echoing in his ears.
He prayed he never awoke.
The plane finally touched down in England, cloaking keeping them from being spotted.
Not that there was anyone to spot them, as it was half an hour from midnight, and there was nobody to spot them.
One by one Hank, Charles, Eric, and Raven stepped out of the jet. Three looked around, taking in the wide expanse of cleared land, scattered with pits and construction equipment. As one, they all turned to stare at Charles in confusion.
"Are you sure those are the right coordinates, Hank?" Raven asked, comparing the paper with the hand-held GPS in Hank's hand. The numbers matched up perfectly. "It says here Number Four, Privet Drive, yet there's nothing here. And no mutant."
"I don't understand." Hank mumbled, inspecting the GPS and looking around, before doing it again. "It should be right here. All the calculations and calibrations were correct, they should be here."
Raven looked around and spotted a sign facing the other direction. She jogged over, intending to read what it said. All three turned at her gasp. She looked up in shock and confusion. "Look," She whispered. And she pivoted the sign around, so that they could read it as well. "We are in the right place."
The sign read: BUY REAL ESTATE NOW! SOON TO COME: PRIVET DRIVE. YOUR NORMAL, QUAINT SUBURBIA.
Eric blinked in shock, but didn't say anything, only staring at his friend as Charles placed two fingers to his temples as he concentrated. Abruptly, Charles broke the silence.
"We are in the right place. I can feel him. He's faint… it's like, he's here, but not here. At least, not yet."
"What do you mean, Charles?" Raven asked her lifelong friend.
"Exactly what I said Raven. I just can't explain it any better." Xavier rubbed his head, as though he had a headache. Eric could see the frustration and desperation that Charles was doing his best to hide.
"So… now what do we do? They're not here, and we have others that we need to retrieve as well…" Hank questioned, allowing his voice to taper off under Eric's piercing stare.
"We wait." Eric answered, and no one there mistook the obvious order.
Raven merely shrugged before walking back to the Blackbird, Hank following her like a stuttering, lost puppy. Charles threw him a thankful smile, and Eric nodded, understanding.
Neither wanted to leave, not when there was a chance that history could be repeating itself.
Charles walked over to an untouched plot of land, before stopping. He looking around, seeing nothing, before sighing and sitting down on the untouched earth. Eric meandered over and sat beside him, stretching out his legs and leaning back on his arms. Charles, in comparison, was curled up around his drawn up knees, looking so vulnerable, confused, and adorable and Eric had a hard time not kissing him right there.
Instead, he turned his attention to the starry night sky. "How long?" He asked, slightly startling Charles.
Charles looked at him, searching and seeming to find what he was looking for, before also looking up into the night. "Not long." He answered. "Not long at all."
At that moment, there was a shooting star, a flash of light, and Charles letting forth the loudest, longest, and most vulgar list of expletives Eric had ever heard – much less from those seemingly innocent lips.
But, as soon as the stars cleared from his vision, his heart stopped, his blood froze, and his mind blanked. One word summed up the entire situation in Eric's head:
'Scheiße…'
Not knowing how long he'd been unconscious, or when exactly his uncle'd be back, and having no clue what time it was; made the darkness behind his eyelids that much more horrible. Every honk was his uncle pulling in the driveway, every creak was the front door opening, and when it started raining outside, every raindrop was his uncle's footsteps coming down the stairs.
By the time his uncle finally did return, Harry was a blubbering, sobbing, trembling mass of shot nerves and terror. Only his uncle's malicious, gleeful laughter informed Harry that his uncle was well and truly home.
"Happy birthday, Freak." Harry didn't even get time to flinch away from the voice right next to his ear before he was yanked around and his face shoved into his uncle's naked crotch. His dick slid through the blood on his face and slightly into Harry's gasping, sobbing mouth. With a pleasured cry, Vernon shoved his cock into Harry's mouth in one forceful thrust.
Vernon forced two of his fingers in Harry's mouth as well to keep the choking, gagging boy from biting down as he began violently fucking Harry's face.
Just before Vernon balls drew up, and Harry passed out, he yanked his cock from Harry's mouth.
"Not yet, whore." Uncle Vernon growled, his voice strained from his near-orgasm. "Oh no. When I come, it's going to be inside your tight little arse." And he shoved Harry to the ground.
"…No… 'Leas… 'Leas 'ncle… no…" Harry sobbed out, choking, knowing it wouldn't make a difference no matter how much he begged.
And he was right, for Uncle Vernon just chortled and shoved his face to the ground, maneuvering Harry's arse into the air and holding it there; his fat, sausage fingers already bruising.
Harry tried to shuffle or move away, really he did, but there was nothing he could do with his arms bound behind his back with barbed wire and his legs in a similar position.
'He's going to have to take off the barbed wire on my legs to do… that. And when he does, I'll kick him, fight, escape, and runrunrun…' Harry thought feverishly. But it was not to be.
Vernon just pulled Harry's cheeks apart, exposing his hole that flinched and quivered in fear, before spitting on it. "It'll be so much tighter this way." He chucked, swiping his thumb through the saliva and plunging it into Harry's arse.
Harry gave a gurgle-scream and tried to pull away, all to no avail. For he had no where to go.
'Please,' Harry screamed in his mind. 'Let me go, leave me alone, don't wanna be here anywhere but here please lemme go lemme go LEMME GO!'
And as Vernon forced himself into Harry in one rough thrust- tearing and ripping and making him bleed- Harry screamed. But rather than the rough, broken sound of before, of a throat brutalized and torn; a long, haunting, lone note of phoenix song echoed around the basement; a manifestation of Harry's pain and anguish and desperate pleas.
Then a shooting star, a flash of magic, and a trill of song; and Vernon was swearing and screaming.
For the bloodied stump of where his cock used to be, as well as the boy that it was inside of, was gone.
Harry Potter, was no more.
