Broken:

She stood her ground. For, Lucy Drake did not cower. It hadn't even occurred to her. It was not ever allowed. There she'd been, in the living room, her drunken father yelling at her. He had been angry because he had apparently lost some gamble and owed many galleons, galleons he did not possess. Therefore, he was blaming her for his bad luck, simply because he could.

"Why aren't the dishes done?" He screamed. "The table isn't cleared off!" He raised his arm, as if to hit her, but she was used to it. She hadn't liked it, but she was used to it. "You stupid girl, why can't you do anything I ask? Look at me when I talk to you!" But she already had been; he of all people should've known that. Lucy knew what she'd contemplated was practically suicide, but she'd felt compelled to do it anyways.

"I am." She smirked, and instantly regretted it. She knew she shouldn't have said that. He raised his hand again, only that time, it collided with her cheek. The young girl staggered back, shocked; he had just hit her harder than ever before. Tears were in her eyes, threatening to escape. She backed away, a hand to the injured cheek. He looked murderous still. He walked up to her, and pushed her into the wall. He jerked his arm back, before shooting it right into the mortified girl's stomach. She couldn't breathe. He let go of her, and she slid down the wall. His foot then collided with her side, and then his foot hit her face. Once more to her face, and he was done, but only with the non-magical beating. She knew what was coming, as she had endured it for many years.

"You made this happen, don't disobey me again, or it will get worse." Lucy quickly shot up, balanced herself, and ran to the stairs. Not the ones that went upstairs, but the ones to the basement, where she'd lived. She knew he was coming after her, that he would catch up to her, heck, she was even leading him to a secluded area with only one exit, the exit she had frantically made her way to. But, when the frightened young lady got to the door, opening it delayed her, and he caught up to her.

Before she could do anything, he shouted the all-too-familiar curse he'd used many times on her. He would usually beat her and make her weak, and then move on to using painful curses. "Crucio," He shouted, his wand out, pointed at her. No matter how many times he did this to the girl, it never got easier. She never got used to it. Her bones were iron hot, burning her from the inside, while her body was dipped in acid and stabbed with poison-tipped daggers. She shook, collapsing, and thumped down the stairs. That only added to the pain.

She could feel every last strike against each and every stair. The stairs were not carpeted, so she was hitting bare wood. At last, she hit the unfinished basement's floor and landed in a heap. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't see. She hadn't even heard him as he came down the stairs, but she had felt it when he stomped hard on her stomach, again. The pain seemed to last for days, when in reality, it had only been five minutes. When the pain did end, however, she still could not breathe.

Finally, the evil man was gone, upstairs. She heard the door lock behind him. Now, since the curse had stopped, she could finally breathe. Only she couldn't, she still was stunned from the kicking, falling, and curse. She lay on the ground, panting, crying, alone. Sure, she could act brave in front of him, but alone? She was scared and alone every day. The tears poured out, leaving clean trails down her dirt-caked face.

As she finally started to breathe, she looked at her body, examining the wounds she could see. Her stomach had bruises already, like her arms. Though she couldn't see her face, she could feel it. She could feel the blood dripping down, felt it on her face and then heard it drip into a small puddle on the dirt floor.

After a few moments of doing this, she smelled something she hoped wasn't really there. Maybe she was just imagining it; all those curses had probably driven her crazy by then, right? Well, she hoped so, because what she smelled was smoke. Not cooking smoke, mind you, but real smoke. The kind you smelled when you hosted a bonfire or a house was burning. So, based on her observations, either the evil being had tried to cook, and failed, or the house had been on fire.

Knowing he hadn't ever cooked, she bet on the latter one. She knew that she would be burned alive if she didn't get up, but she couldn't. Her body was just too sore; she guessed that her wrist was broken, along with a few ribs. There'd also be bruises all over her pale body, maybe her ankle was sprained as well. Her cheek was split, the fall hadn't helped at all with that one, but no matter how hurt she was, it wouldn't matter if she was cooked in this house. She had already wasted precious moments she'd needed for her escape. She'd pushed herself up, causing her wrist and ankle to flare with pain in the process. Yup, her wrist had definitely been broken.

When she got up, she couldn't breathe again. The smoke had already gotten down into the dirty basement. If the house collapsed, it would be on her tiny frame. She'd limped over to her corner. In it, a threadbare blanket lay, along with a small, brown duffel bag. In the duffel bag was her only pair of night clothes. She'd picked up the blanket, and stuffed in it the bag.

Before she got back up, she clutched her precious locket that she'd always worn. It'd belonged to her mother. She ran her fingers along the smooth surface, cherishing what she had left of her dear mother. Her initials, D.L.E., were inside it opposite of her picture. She'd been quite beautiful: dark red hair, green eyes, pale face, even a few freckles could be spotted here and there. Lucy had looked just like her, only younger.

Closing the locket, she'd slowly and carefully gotten up. She had spent too much time admiring the locket; beams had been close to falling from the ceiling. She grabbed the bag and looked around for her escape. Unfortunately, there was none. The windows were too small and high to get to, and the door was blocked off by a small beam that had already fallen. Accepting the fact that this was the end to her horrid life, she sat down. Setting the bag on the floor, she lied down, using it as a pillow.

Not long after that, the fire had spread rapidly. Fire was all around her, and she was finding it harder to breathe. Good, she'd thought to herself, perhaps I will not have to die by being burned to a crisp. Her thought was proven wrong; however, when the fire brushed against her already tortured leg. She hissed; this would be very painful.

She hadn't bothered to call for help, there'd been no use. Besides, nobody would ever hear her even if she had tried. Her father had obviously gotten tired of her, lit the house on fire, and ran. He would most likely have been far away right then, thanks to magic. They had no neighbors, seeing as the two of them lived in the middle of the woods, and even if they did have neighbors, nobody would ever be stupid enough to come into a burning house to save a pathetic child who was better off dead. At least, that was what her father had always told her: "Nobody will be able to save you, because nobody could ever care about a useless child who is better off dead." Her leg was on fire, literally. She had tried putting it out, using her bag, but that had only made it worse. Now, she could smell her own flesh burning, making her almost vomit. The only thing that had stopped her was the miserable fact that she hadn't eaten in at least four or five days, there was nothing in her stomach to get rid of. Her stomach was empty.

She heard creaks and cracks, and knew that her time would soon be up. The beams holding up the house were wood, and would not stay up for very long. With the smoke in the air, fire consuming her leg, and beams ready to fall, all hope was lost. She was going to die. She was going to die alone, with nobody to miss her. Once she was gone, it would be as if she'd never existed. She would not live on in anyone's heart or mind, because nobody knew about her, aside from her horrid father, that is.

This is awful, she'd thought, it's my birthday and I am dying a painful death. Then, however, she realized that she had never given much thought to birthdays. They were only a reminder that she had spent another year with that awful man.

Lucy was in the kitchen doing the dishes, as she heard him enter the room. His footsteps thumped hard against the worn out linoleum. She knew it was coming, she deserved it, and she wasn't working hard enough. She couldn't do things properly that day, because I hadn't eaten in days and had virtually no energy.

"Why aren't those dished done yet?" He bellowed.

"I-I'm sorry, I just- I'm so tired and hungry…" she started.

"Stop with the complaining and answer the damn question! Now, why aren't the dishes done yet?" He repeated.

"I am too slow." She gulped.

"That you are, you filthy squib!" She had shown no signs of being magical and was already three years old. He'd always hated her, but now that she was presumed to be a squib, he'd wished she had never been born. She was thought to be his worst mistake, as he'd always put it.

He rushed up to her, and slapped her across her small face.

A tear rolled down Lucy's cheek as she remembered the worst beating of her short life before that fiery night. She'd known she was a broken child that could never be fixed. After all, how could someone even be fixed without all of the pieces?

The seconds ticked on, and her leg was still being eaten alive by the hungry flame that would stop only when nothing else remained. She was slipping in and out of consciousness, her vision was starting to blur.

Maybe, I won't be conscious when I die, she'd desperately thought; maybe, I will fall asleep and never wake up. She was just starting to close her eyes, when she heard the noise. It wasn't very loud, yet she heard the faint sound that gave her just an inkling hope. Enough hope to keep fighting to keep her eyes open, for she knew that once they closed, they wouldn't open ever again.

It was a little popping noise; the sound of a witch or wizard using magic to appear in another location. Someone was there. They would find her soon enough. She only hoped it was before she was dead.

With her new found hope, she'd taken the time to actually look around at what was happening. Yes, she knew the house was on fire, beams were slowly falling, and her leg was on fire. But what she didn't know was that there was a beam on her leg, and that was what was holding her leg down, and the beam was on fire, flames licking her leg as the wood burned. If only she could just get her leg free, she might have had a chance. She struggled in an intense battle with the beam, and lost.

She remembered the popping noise and fought harder, thrashing about, knowing that if she could only free her leg, she could hop up and help whoever would save her. That is, if they were here to save her. It was still quite possible that it was her father who had come back to watch her burn. Even so, nobody would have saved her if she were dead. So, it was settled, she would try to survive, even if it was no use. At least she would die trying.

Finally, her leg seemed to move. It slid slowly and painfully out from under the beam, and she cried out as it finally was free. Even still, with her leg being out, she could not stand up. Lucy was simply in too much pain, exhausted, thirsty, and choking on smoke. She heard the front door creak open and footsteps above her head. She wanted so desperately for them to hear her, save her, anything. Though, when she tried to yell out, all that came out was a pitiful screech. Lucy banged her hands on the ground, but that had only brought down more ash from the ceiling.

She heard the footsteps walk back towards the front door, and finally Lucy's voice was higher than a whisper.

"PLEASE! HE-!" She choked on smoke and couldn't finish her cry for help. She sighed as she heard the footsteps come closer. But then, they walked out of the house and she heard the door slam. "NO! COME BACK!" Feeling the tears coming, she. Lucy knew for a fact she was doomed, that hope that had risen in her smoke-filled chest collapsed and a little part of her died inside, realizing the horrid truth that nobody cared. She was just some little girl, a nuisance even. Her vision went fuzzy and she coughed. She knew her end was soon to come.

For about ten minutes, she went in and out of consciousness, gasping for fresh air that wasn't available. If she wasn't burned alive, she would surely suffocate first.