Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 4- The Whelp

Harry quickly began to lay out the cutlery, careful of making to much noise. The cramps in his stomach seemed to worsen, as the sweet aroma of the roast drifted up his nose. Still stiff from the day before beating, and the special punishment that morning, he carefully lifted the silver platter with the potatoes, pepper and roast chicken, and laid it gently on the table. Making sure they were shining, he laid the glasses down, and hurried to find Uncle Vernon's favourite juice.

His breath began to quicken as he realized that it had all been finished the day before. Harry was aware that if his uncle noticed the absence of the juice on the table, there would be hell to pay. And after the savage beating yesterday, Harry shuddered at how he would feel after today.

"D...dinners ready," called Harry, his voice trembling slightly.

"It had better be good boy." Vernon came stomping into the room, Dudley and Petunia following closely behind. Vernon took his usual place at the head of the table, Petunia at his right and Dudley at his left. Harry, was left to sit in his normal place, at Vernon's feet, so that he could be, if he was lucky, given scraps from the Dursleys plate.

Vernon went first, carving a humongous piece of meat and plinking it down on his plate, then taking four big spoonfuls of peppers and potatoes to go with it. Dudley took a similar amount to his father. Petunia, on the other hand, speared a small amount of meat into her plate, complete with a couple of spoons of veg.

"Boy," suddenly Vernon growled, dangerously. "Where is my juice? WHERE IS IT?"

Harry began to tremble, but did not say anything, knowing it would be useless.

Vernon stood from the table, and began to crouch down to Harrys level. He crouched down and leaned in, his nose almost touching Harrys. "Freak," he whispered. Then he clenched his fist, and slammed it straight into Harrys stomach. Harry whimpered. Vernon picked up the knife from the kitchen table and began to trace along Harry's arm as if he was preparing to write, then he paused.

Ding ding. Dingggg. Dingggggggg.

The doorbell was ringing.

Quickly, Vernon yanked Harry into a seat, and dumped some veg on his plate. Before going to open the door, he whispered menacingly at Harry, "Don't you dare eat a thing, freak."

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All the bloody houses looked the same, Snape thought. With their perfectly pruned hedges and flower beds, the same red coloured bricks. He sighed, remembering that the door number was 4. Quickly navigating himself through the street, and onto the Dursleys front porch, Snape rang the door bell impatiently.

Finally, a large whale of a man opened the door. As soon as he saw Snape's wizarding robes, Vernon's welcoming expression turned to one deep loathing, with a hint of fear. Snape sneered slightly, deciding to simply get the brat and leave.

"What do you want, freak," spat the oaf.

Grimacing slightly, Snape answered, "I have come to collect the Potter spawn. Your services in taking care if him will no longer be required."

Behind Vernon, his wife walked over, looking ever the image of a perfect house wife. She turned to face her husband. Though pale and a bit shaky she got up and gestured for her husband to come closer. She whispered something in his ear and they both seemed to hesitate. Then seeming to make up their minds Vernon gestured for Snape to step inside.

"I'll just put on some tea while little Harry gets packed. Harry dear?" she called suddenly.

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She was calling me 'dear'?

"Yes, ma'am?" Harry answered immediately from inside the kitchen.

"Go upstairs to your room and pack all your things, Harry dearest," she called. This was truly odd. 'She must be putting on for the visitor. But visitors never see me, especially the day after a punishment. As Harry closed the latching it shut, a tall, thin man with a hard face approached him.

"Pack all your things. We'll not be coming back." He sneered.

Harry looked back and forth between the man and Aunt Petunia. Who should I obey? Quickly, he decided that if the man was taking him, it had better be Him. Aunt Petunia rushed past him.

"We'll just let him say goodbye to this old house in peace. Let's take tea on the patio, shall we?"

She led him away, but he did not seem pleased about it. Harry wondered what was in store for him as he watched them go, the man dressed in black rather reluctantly. Where is he taking me? Why? He seemed awfully mean; have I done something wrong? The thoughts and many others ran through Harry's head as he packed his only possession, a small blue blanket with HP stitched into the corners, into the battered bag. He knew he had to leave the broken toy soldier that he had somehow managed to steal from Dudley's second bedroom; they didn't belong to him. He took the old pyjamas shirt and broken pencil. Quickly tidying the cupboard as best he could, he folded up the cot and the crusty blanket, and locked the door for good.

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