A/N: Well hello there. I haven't written anything on this site in over ten years. Over the last two years of this pandemic, I returned to reading a lot of HP fanfiction after not having read any in about ten years. The idea for this one-shot came to me a little while ago and I decided to flex my writing muscles again. I've got a longer fiction planned and in the making, but thought I would write and publish this one first. There is a strong theme of abuse in this story, so read at your own discretion. I know this idea has been done before and all, but I've put my own twist on it. I appreciate reviews, but please don't flame me. It's been a long time since I've written anything at all, so hopefully this story doesn't completely suck.

Summary: Aunt Petunia's frying pan hits home the day of the Masons' visit to the Dursley home. Uncle Vernon loses his temper even more than in canon. Ron and the twins fail to rescue Harry in the flying car. A few changes to canon, and Harry's summer gets a lot worse before it gets better. Summer before COS AU. Oneshot.

Warnings: Mentions and descriptions of physical child abuse and violence. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to the Harry Potter franchise and this is solely a work of fan creativity.

...*... - indicates a time or perspective change.

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," he said.

"Too right you will," said Uncle Vernon forcefully. "The Masons don't know anything about you and it's going to stay that way."

-Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Chapter 2, The Worst Birthday

Harry paid dearly for his moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor the hedge was in any way hurt, Aunt Petunia knew he hadn't really done magic. She aimed a heavy blow at his head with the soapy frying pan and Harry was just not quick enough to duck. It struck him hard on the left side of his face and he fell to the ground, dazed. Aunt Petunia kicked at him to get up and set him to work, with the promise he wouldn't eat again until he'd finished.

Harry dizzily went about completing the chores Aunt Petunia had set him while Dudley ate sweets and watched smugly. It was scorching outside, and the sun burnt the back of Harry's neck as he stumbled about tending to garden and mowing the lawn. He could kick himself for rising to Dudley's bait, but he had said the very thing that Harry had been worried about – what if he didn't have any friends at Hogwarts after all? He had received no letters, nothing at all from either Ron or Hermione, nor anyone else.

"Wish they could see famous Harry Potter now," he though savagely, as he spread manure on the flowerbeds, his back and head aching, sweat running down his face.

Finally, at half past seven, Aunt Petunia screeched at him to get inside. He tripped, exhausted, across the newspaper she had spread on the ground to prevent his soil-covered body from dragging dirt across her pristine floors. She forced him to take off his shoes and socks. He washed his hands and she shuffled him off, barefoot, to this room after only a measly lump of cheese and slice of bread for dinner.

He had only just reached the upstairs landing when the doorbell rang, signaling the Mason's arrival, and Uncle Vernon's furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs.

"Remember, boy – one sound and you'll wish you'd never been born," he snarled.

Reaching his bedroom, in pain and supremely tired, Harry turned to collapse onto the bed. The trouble was, someone was already sitting on it.

The Masons had abruptly departed after the pudding incident and subsequent owl. Uncle Vernon made Harry read the letter out loud, which turned out to be a formal warning for Harry's supposed performance of magic outside of school and in the presence of muggles.

Harry trembled as he looked up from the letter to see Uncle Vernon's tomato-red, furious face.

"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school," said Uncle Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. "Forgot to mention it … slipped our mind, I dare say."

He was bearing down on Harry like a great bulldog, all his teeth bared. "Well, I've got news for you, boy … I'm locking you up … you're never going back to that school … never … and if you try and magic yourself out – they'll expel you!"

Harry had never seen Uncle Vernon this crazed or angry before. He was genuinely scared of what was coming. Uncle Vernon wouldn't really flay him to within an inch of his life … would he?

Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry by the hair with one hand and by the arm with the other and dragged him bodily up to his room. He threw him onto the floor, and Harry fell flat on his front, knocking his already bruised face onto the floor. He quickly turned over and sat up to see his uncle towering over him, absolutely livid.

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO MAKE A SOUND. AND NOW YOU'VE COST ME THIS DEAL. YOU AND YOUR – YOUR FREAKISHNESS." Uncle Vernon screamed, brandishing his fist at Harry, his eyes wild and face turning purple now.

He wound up and smacked Harry as hard as he could across the head. Harry fell over sideways with a yelp, stars bursting in front of his eyes. But Uncle Vernon didn't stop there. He pummelled Harry like he never had before, beating every part of his body he could get his fists on. Harry brought his arms up to try to protect his face, but Uncle Vernon grabbed his wrists tightly and roughly wrenched them down, clasping them tightly in his one hand. With the other hand, he clasped Harry around the throat and pushed him down to the floor again.

"St-stop!" Harry gasped, eyes bulging. Uncle Vernon's grip tightened. Harry tried to scream, hoping someone, anyone, would stop his uncle from strangling him to death, but all he could manage was a strangled choking sound. He was starting to see black spots at the edges of his vision. Uncle Vernon was screaming things at him, but he couldn't make out the words. He was panicking, struggling against his uncle's iron-strong grip on his wrists and throat. But Uncle Vernon did not let up and gripped harder.

"Vernon, stop!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, and finally, mercifully, his uncle released his wrists and throat. Harry gasped and rolled onto his side, coughing and shaking. His eyes darted up, still terrified of what his uncle would do next.

Uncle Vernon stepped back to the doorway where Aunt Petunia was standing, wide-eyed. Uncle Vernon dusted himself off and spoke in a dangerously calm tone of voice that Harry could barely hear.

"This door will be locked. You will not leave. Ever." Uncle Vernon hissed. "And I'm taking your trunk, that ruddy owl, and all of your things out of here at once."

He did just that, pulling it all into the hallway while Harry watched, horrified. Uncle Vernon slammed the door and locked it and Harry finally succumbed to the blackness at the edges of his blurry vision, slumping unconscious to the floor.

When Harry came to, it was obvious that several hours had passed, as there was light filtering in through the bars on his window. Wait … bars?

Harry jerked himself into a sitting position – a mistake, he soon realized. His body ached horribly, and his head felt fit to burst. He groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Slowly, he lifted his face from its cradled position and looked at the window. Sure enough, there were bars now installed on the outside.

A jolt of panic went through him as he remembered why his body hurt so badly. His heart was beating so hard it felt like it would beat out of his chest. He needed to get out of here. Before Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia did something worse to him. He crawled painfully to his bedroom door – there was a cat flap now fitted into it. He heaved himself up and grabbed the door handle, shaking it roughly. It was no use, though. It was definitely locked. His panic rose. He had a sudden wild thought that maybe he could fit himself through the cat flap. He knelt back down to inspect it. It was quite small, even for a cat; there was no way he could fit more than his arm through.

He took a few steps back and sat carefully on his bed, lest he hurt himself more. Unwelcome tears rushed to his eyes and he let out a small sob. He brough his hands to his mouth to stifle his cries. He was trapped. Imprisoned, really. He didn't even has his wand, remembering that Uncle Vernon had taken all his belongings. He didn't even have Hedwig for comfort, although he wouldn't have been able to send her with a letter anyways, with those bars now on the window…

Feeling hopeless and very afraid of what was to come, he lay down on his bed and let silent tears take over. He burrowed his face into the pillow and shook as he cried. He hadn't cried, especially like this, in a long time. After what felt simultaneously like a very long time and no time at all had passed, his tears stopped and, his breath hitching one last time, he sat up slowly.

Now that all his adrenaline had definitely worn off, the bruises on his body and head were making themselves even more apparent. His head in particular was aching, and he felt dizzy and nauseous.

Think, Harry, think! He mentally shouted at himself. There had to be a way to escape or call for help somehow. He was becoming increasingly aware of the pressure in his bladder and the rolling nausea in his stomach. Also, where had Uncle Vernon taken Hedwig? He couldn't bare to think about it.

In the midst of his musings, the cat flap on his door rattled and a hand shoved a plate with two slices of bread through the hole, followed quickly by a small glass of water. Judging by the delicate fingers on the hand, it had to be Aunt Petunia. Harry scrambled over to the door and knelt down beside the bread.

"Aunt Petunia, please let me out. I'm sorry! Please. I have to use the toilet. Please." Harry called through the cat flap. He tried to keep his voice even, but he could hear the desperation.

There was no response from her. Harry heard the clack of her heels as she walked back down the stairs. He lay back down on his bed, putting his hand to his aching forehead again.

He had to get out of here.

...*...

Three days passed after the disastrous night with the Masons. Harry's body and head were aching like never before. He actually thought his head felt worse. It didn't help that all that the Dursleys hardly fed him. Every day around noon, Aunt Petunia's hand would poke through the cat flap with a couple slices of bread, an apple, or a similar meagre portion of less-than-satisfying food, and then she would disappear. She never said anything to Harry, nor did she respond in anyway to his pleading through the cat flap.

Harry had ended up, embarrassingly, relieving himself in his rubbish bin, which was smelling up his room quite a bit. He didn't dare dump it out the window though for fear that the Dursleys would see, or worse, smell it. He cringed just thinking about it.

Harry himself was starting to smell as well. He had not been able to wash himself now in three days. He couldn't even change into a fresh pair of clothes, as he had not unpacked his Hogwarts trunk when he returned to the Dursleys this summer, and so his small supply of Dudley's hand-me-downs were no longer in his possession.

Suddenly, the cat flap rattled. Harry perked up. It was now evening and Aunt Petunia had already delivered an apple and slice of cheese to him earlier today…

"Push your dishes through the cat flap. Gently. I won't have you breaking anything," Aunt Petunia's shrill voice sounded. Harry did as he was asked, pushing through the three small plates and glasses and setting each one gently on the floor outside the cat flap. He heard the soft clinking of glass as Aunt Petunia picked everything up.

"Aunt Petunia, please let me out. I promise not to do anything, please!" Harry called hoarsely.

"Absolutely not!" Aunt Petunia shrieked back.

"Please!" Harry cried. "I-I … it's starting to smell, I have nowhere to-to use the bathroom or-or anything."

He heard Aunt Petunia pause outside. He crossed his fingers hopefully. The thought of human waste anywhere in her house, even Harry's room, must have struck a nerve. He waited with bated breath …

"I will discuss with Vernon. For now, you're not leaving, for any reason," she said with finality. Harry heard her walk away.

Harry let out a shaky breath. Uncle Vernon was not going to let him out. He might even beat Harry more, and his body really could not take it. Harry was getting really afraid that he might actually die before he was let out. No one outside of this house knew that he was locked in here, that he had been beaten and humiliated, that he felt sick and upset. He couldn't communicate with anyone either. No one from Hogwarts, not Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, or Dumbledore, would come to his rescue. Tears came to his eyes again, as they so easily did these past few days, and he brushed them away in frustration.

Harry could feel himself growing weaker and dizzier every day. After Aunt Petunia left, he resigned himself to lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. He must have fallen asleep because he had a very strange nightmare.

He dreamed he was on show in a zoo, with a card reading "Freak" attached to his cage. People goggled through the bars at him as he lay, starving and weak, on a bed of straw. The Dursleys appeared and Dudley rattled the bars of the cage, laughing at him. Uncle Vernon grinned menacingly, and Aunt Petunia turned her nose up at his filthy body. Uncle Vernon was holding a dead owl – Hedwig!

"Stop it," Harry muttered, as the rattling pounded in his sore head. "Not Hedwig … Let me out … please!"

He opened his eyes. Moonlight was shining through the bars on the window. And someone was goggling through the bars at him!

"Ron," Harry breathed. He gently put his glasses on his face and staggered to the window, pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. "Ron, how did you – what the - ?"

Harry's jaw dropped at what he was seeing, sure the recent blows to his head were making him hallucinate. Staring back at him, eyes wide, were Ron and his twin brothers, Fred and George, seated in a car that was hovering in mid-air outside his window.

"Harry," Ron gasped. "What happened to your face? And why haven't you been answering my letters?"

Harry flinched. He wasn't sure exactly why, but he was afraid to tell Ron and his brothers the truth.

"It-it's a long story," he settled on, grimacing at the Weasley brothers.

"Well, I've asked you to stay at least a dozen times," Ron responded. "And then Dad came home and said you'd got a warning from the Ministry for using magic. You know we can't use magic outside Hogwarts!"

"It wasn't me. Again, long story…" Harry said. He leaned on the windowsill. Now was his chance to tell someone and get out of here. "Listen, can you tell someone at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won't let me out? I can't magic myself out even if I wanted to – I haven't got my wand or any of my things, not even Hedwig, and they've locked me in here."

"We've come to take you back with us," Ron said. "We don't need to use magic."

Fred and George helped Harry tie a rope around the bars, and then with a lot of revving and an almighty lurch, Fred drove the car straight up in the air and pulled the bars clean off the window. Ron and George hoisted the bars into the car and Fred drove back up to the window.

Ron urged Harry to get in, but he couldn't leave without his things, especially not Hedwig and his wand. Fred and George ended up climbing carefully through the window, unlocking Harry's door with a muggle hair pin, and sneaking downstairs to get his things. As he suspected, his trunk and Hedwig were in the cupboard under the stairs. Fred and George brought everything up and pushed his trunk through the open window into the car. Harry sat on his bed through all this and tried not to pass out or throw up – his head was hurting so very much.

As George was passing Hedwig through, he fell a bit and her cage shook. Hedwig shrieked loudly. Harry's heart dropped.

"Hurry!" he urged George, who finished passing Hedwig to Ron and scrambled into the passenger seat of the car. Harry stood up to go after him, but just then the landing light turned on, and his door slammed open.

Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway, teeth bared and pure rage in his eyes.

Harry scrambled towards the window and had just reached out to grasp Ron's hand when Uncle Vernon grabbed his shirt from behind. Harry felt a sickening crunch as Uncle Vernon slammed his arm against the window frame and he screamed. Harry's arm had snapped. He was in excruciating pain, his vision white.

Unable to resist through the pain, Uncle Vernon threw Harry hard away from the window. His head hit the ground painfully as he landed, and his glasses flew off.

"WHAT THE RUDDY DEVIL – GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" Uncle Vernon screamed at the Weasleys.

Though his head was swirling, his arm agonizing, his body throbbing everywhere, Harry summed up the last of his energy.

"GET HELP!" he shouted, making eye contact with Ron from across the room. "DUMBLEDORE, THE MINISTRY, SOMEONE WHO CAN GET ME – "

"YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH, BOY!" Uncle Vernon bellowed and slapped a hand over Harry's nose and mouth.

Harry was starting to black out, but he could make out Fred's shout of, "I'm getting us out of here, we'll get some help!" He heard the engine rev again as Fred pulled away from the window.

Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry by his injured arm and Harry gasped in pain.

"BACK TO THE CUPBOARD WITH YOU, BOY!" he roared, hauling Harry down the stairs.

Harry had tears of pain stinging his eyes. All he could do was let it happen and hope the Weasleys managed to get help.

Uncle Vernon yanked Harry through the door of the cupboard. He grabbed both of Harry's upper arms and slammed him to the floor on his back. Harry's gasped again as his head hit the ground for a second time that night. Uncle Vernon kept Harry pinned underneath his obese body.

He screamed at Harry for several minutes and then stood up and took off his belt. Harry, his head pounding horribly and his vision blurry, understood too late what was happening. Uncle Vernon raised the belt and slashed it through the air like a whip. Harry screamed as the buckle made contact with his stomach and his body jerked in on itself in response. Blows kept raining down on Harry. He automatically curled on his side to protect himself, but it didn't help. The buckle hit his ribs, his back, his buttocks, his neck, his arms, legs, everywhere and anywhere all over his body. He was sobbing now, eyes squeezed shut. He couldn't handle much more. Uncle Vernon was going to kill him!

Harry was just about to completely lose consciousness when he heard Aunt Petunia's voice.

"Vernon stop! Stop! You'll kill him!" she cried, just like a few nights ago.

At last, Uncle Vernon lowered the belt and Harry felt an immense pressure lift off his body. Harry couldn't bear anything more. He let the darkness consume him.

...*...

Ron, Fred, and George had been caught by their mother almost instantly when they got back to the Burrow. She lectured them about disappearing and taking the car and wouldn't listen when her sons tried to interrupt to tell her why they had taken the car.

After several minutes of this, Ron finally had enough.

"HARRY NEEDS HELP!" he yelled loudly, face redder than his hair.

Mrs. Weasley stopped her lecturing, stunned. "What do you mean, Ron?" she finally asked, still sternly but much quieter.

Ron, Fred, and George took it in turns explaining what had happened. How they had flown the car to get Harry from the Dursleys, how they had to pull the bars off his window and collect his things from a locked cupboard downstairs, how Harry looked dishevelled and had a large bruise across his face, and especially what happened with Harry's uncle.

"Harry yelled for us to get help. We've got to save him, Mum! They've locked him and up and they're hurting him!" Ron said in a flurry, eyes alight in panic.

Mrs. Weasley's anger had faded as she heard the story, replaced with horror and worry at what her sons were saying. She pulled her sons to her in a tight hug and reassured them she would help. She sent them up to their rooms and immediately went to floo call Professor Dumbledore. If anyone could help, he could.

The Weasleys were not the only ones who thought something was wrong at the Dursleys. Mr. and Mrs. Mason had left the Dursleys in anger three nights ago, but the owl that had scared Mrs. Mason was not what ended up keeping them up the next few nights.

The boy, Vernon's nephew he had said – they couldn't stop thinking that something was amiss with him. They had not paid too much attention, mostly in shock at the pudding mess and then the owl flying through the window in broad daylight, but now that they thought about it a bit more, they wondered if they should do something. The boy had been drowning in oversized, worn-out clothing, barefoot, and sporting a large bruise across his cheek. The Dursleys had said they "kept him upstairs" because of some nonsense about meeting strangers, but the Masons didn't truly believe that. It seemed like he was being kept out of the way because the Dursleys didn't want the Masons to know he was there. All of this together, it certainly seemed as if the boy was being at the very least neglected, if not worse.

It was on this third day after that fateful night, the same night of the Weasley's attempted rescue of Harry Potter, that the Masons decided to make a report to the NSPCC.

Wizards, of course, had their Ministry implants in the muggle child protection agency, the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children (NSPCC), and so it was that when the Mason's report came in for the Dursley residence, one of those Ministry implants was instantly alerted. The Ministry of Magic Department of Wizarding Child Protection took the case immediately, since the Dursley residence was flagged as the home of the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter.

A Ministry agent would have been sent instantly to do a wellness check, except for the extenuating circumstances of the Dursley residence. Albus Dumbledore had been in charge of placing young Harry Potter there after his parents were murdered. Since the Ministry had been in such disarray from the war and disguised Death Eaters thought to be hidden in their ranks, Dumbledore had taken control of the Potter situation. As such, he had knowledge of all the protections around the Dursley home to keep Harry Potter safe. It was him the Ministry needed in order to visit the residence.

The sun was just starting to rise when Dumbledore finished up a rather distressing conversation with the head of the Department of Wizard Child Protection in his office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had been just about to accompany the agent along with an auror to the Dursley residence when Molly Weasley's head appeared in his fireplace.

"Albus, I have an urgent concern. Please can we speak for a moment?" Molly said hurriedly.

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment. He really should be going to the Dursley residence, and yet… something held him back, told him that he should speak to Molly Weasley first.

"Of course, Molly. I am in rather a hurry, though, so if we could keep this short, if you don't mind?" he said with a small smile.

Molly got straight to the point. The Weasley family had become increasingly concerned that Harry Potter had not responded to any of Ronald Weasley's letters. Three of her boys had travelled to the Dursley residence in search of Harry Potter, intending to "rescue" him, as they put. When they got there, they had witnessed through Harry's bedroom window several disturbing sites: Harry had a large bruise covering a good portion of his face, he appeared weak and dishevelled, and there was a bad smell coming from somewhere in the room. Further, Harry was very distressed, stating that he had been locked in and the Dursleys were not letting him out at all. The Weasley boys had pulled bars off his window, somehow unlocked the bedroom door, and collected Harry's personal items from a cupboard underneath the stairs. They were about to take Harry away with them, when Harry's uncle came bursting into the room, grabbed Harry and threw him down onto the floor. Harry had definitely been hurt in this process, although it had been hard to see in the dark. But it had been the last thing that Harry had yelled frantically at the Weasley boys – that they should get help – that caused them to leave and seek aid from their mother. Molly had subsequently sought Dumbledore out, and thus this conversation unfolded.

Dumbledore was supremely grateful that he had spoken with Molly Weasley before heading out to the Dursley residence. This report from her coupled with the anonymous report received by the muggle child protection authorities made this visit to the Dursley residence all the more urgent.

Dumbledore assured Molly that he would immediately travel to the Dursley home to check up on Harry and remove him if necessary and ended the floo call.

With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Dumbledore accompanied the Ministry agent to the Hogwarts entrance hall. There they met with Kingsley Shacklebolt, the auror joining them on this visit, and set off across the grounds to the apparition point.

...*...

Harry drifted in and out of consciousness. The floor beneath him did nothing to help his injuries. He couldn't think clearly, couldn't breathe properly, and everything hurt. It was dark in the cupboard and no proper light filtered in from the outside. He had no idea how much time had passed, whether minutes, hours, or days, but it felt like he'd been lying on the ground in the cupboard for a long time already.

In moments on lucidness, Harry thought the Dursley's might have left the house completely, for he did not hear any noises from outside the cupboard door. He wasn't sure though, for his head hurt so much he couldn't dwell on anything and his thoughts seemed to slip through his brain like water.

At some point he heard a knocking sound. It kept going for a while before it stopped, followed by a great BANG that sounded like the door had exploded! Harry's eyes snapped open sharply, suddenly aware again. But he still couldn't move. Was someone breaking in? Maybe to come after him? He couldn't suppress his fear and his heart was beating madly.

But maybe this was the help that he had asked Ron and the twins for at last! He closed his eyes and hoped to any god that may exist that this was help and not some new villain to cause him even more pain.

He heard voices and footsteps in the hallway now.

"Careful, now… proceed quickly but quietly. We can search the upstairs first…" said a slow, deep male voice. This was followed by light quick footsteps up the stairs. Harry heard the sounds of doors opening and closing. Then a gasp.

"Come look at this room," this voice was female, higher pitched and agitated. There were some more hurried footsteps and then –

"Oh dear," A softer, older voice now. Dumbledore!

Harry was fully awake at this point, but his vision swam, and his body shook in pain. His head couldn't make sense of everything, but he knew that was Professor Dumbledore. He tried to make some kind of noise to let his potential rescuers know he was here, but all that came out was a kind of raspy moan that made his throat hurt more.

It seemed to work though.

"Albus, I think I heard something," The slow deep voice said again. "From downstairs."

Heavy footsteps back down the stairs. Harry tried to make another noise. He ended up coughing painfully, choking on what tasted like blood, and then another raspy moan as he felt the responding pain in his throat and chest. His vision was speckled with black spots now. He was going to pass out again.

The cupboard door was wrenched open. A wand light was in his peripheral vision now. And then –

"Oh, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said wearily. Harry tried to look at him, tried to say something, but the blackness enveloped his vision again.

...*...

A much longer stretch of time must have passed. The next time Harry became aware of anything, he was lying on a much softer surface. He couldn't seem to move his limbs at all anymore. They felt very heavy. And oh how his head hurt still!

A voice now. "I think he's … yes, I think he's coming around."

He slowly opened his eyes. He was staring up at a white ceiling, brightly lit by the sunlight shining through the slats in the window. He snapped his eyes shut again. Too bright!

"It's alright now, Harry. You're safe. Please open your eyes," Dumbledore ... He remembered Dumbledore's voice earlier …

Hesitantly, he opened his eyes again, squinting at the brightness until his eyes adjusted. Someone gently slipped his glasses onto his face. He lowered his eyes to see he was lying in a bed with white sheets. Professor Dumbledore and two unknown wizards in lime green robes stood around him.

"Wh-where a-am I?" He stuttered hoarsely, eyes flicking back and forth between Dumbledore and the two strangers.

"You're at St. Mungo's Hospital, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore gently. "You were very badly hurt."

Harry took a shaky breath and looked at his body. His arms were heavily bandaged and resting on either side of his torso. His head seemed raised a bit on the pillow behind him. He tried to move his arms but felt shocks of pain through the heaviness sucked in a sharp breath.

"Try not to move, Mr. Potter," said one of the green-robed wizards. He had warm brown eyes and curly brown hair. "Your injuries need time to heal."

"Here," said the other green-robed wizard, who had short brown hair and a great mustache, and brought forth a small goblet of some kind of potion. He cupped his hand around Harry's neck, and brought the goblet to his lips, encouraging him to drink. Harry did so, finding the potion soothing to his throat and dampening the sharp feeling of pain in his arms. He sighed in relief as the wizard gently set his head back down on the pillow.

"How-how did I g-get h-here?" Harry asked confusedly.

"That is a rather interesting story, and I do wish to explain fully. But first, let's let these kind healers check you over," Dumbledore said softly.

The green-robed wizards – healers, apparently – waved their wands over him. Then they pulled back the sheets to reveal that Harry was wearing a hospital gown that ended just above his knees. The healers touched him, prodded his stomach and legs. The curly-haired healer tutted and made him drink several more potions (that were definitely not pumpkin juice). Finally, seeming to find no other cause to tend to, they stepped back. The mustached healer nodded to Professor Dumbledore, who nodded back. Both healers looked warily back at Harry, then stepped to the door.

"Let us know immediately if he is in any distress, Albus," said the curly-haired healer. They both left the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

"Sir?" Harry prompted. "What – er – what exact-tly ha-happened?" Harry tried and failed at keeping his voice steady.

Dumbledore moved closer to Harry's bed and sat down at an armchair to the left side that Harry hadn't seen before. He sighed wearily.

"Well, Harry, I received a concerning notice from the Department of Wizarding Child Protection at the Ministry of Magic, followed by an alarming floo call from Mrs. Weasley…" Dumbledore began. Harry listened as his professor explained that the muggle child protection office received a tip from a Mr. and Mrs. Mason about the Dursley's nephew. This set off a red flag in the system that notified the wizarding child protection authorities at the Ministry of Magic, who then alerted Dumbledore. Since Dumbledore had been the one to send Harry to the Dursley's and set up the magical protections around their house eleven years ago, they needed him to accompany him to the Dursley residence to perform a wellness check. They had just been about to do that, when Dumbledore had received a floo call from a highly frazzled Mrs. Weasley about Harry and what Ron and the twins had witnessed when they attempted their rescue of Harry. Professor Dumbledore had accompanied a Ministry witch from the Department of Wizarding Child Protection and an auror to the Dursley residence that same morning to find that none of the Dursley's were home. They'd had to break down the door to enter and searched for several minutes for Harry before finding a room upstairs with blood stains on the carpet, a bucket full of human waste in the corner, and a cat flap and several locks on the door. They had heard Harry's raspy moans from there, and Dumbledore had pulled open the cupboard door to find Harry unconscious and severely injured. Dumbledore had immediately taken Harry to St. Mungo's, where he had laid unconscious for over twelve hours while the healers and medi-witches and wizards worked to treat his many injuries.

Harry lay in shock at Dumbledore's explanation. He had so many questions. The Masons had made a report to child protection services? They'd only seen him for maybe a few seconds at most. But Harry knew he must have had a bruise on his face from where Aunt Petunia had hit him with the frying pan. And he was wearing a particularly old and baggy set of Dudley's clothes, which had probably looked even worse covered in the dirt from when he'd been outside gardening that day. Not to mention Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had initially pretended he didn't exist at all.

"Wh-what happened to the D-Dursleys, sir?" Harry asked quietly.

"Well, I'm told by Kingsley, the auror who accompanied us, that he and Delilah, the representative from the Department of Wizarding Child Protection, stayed behind to investigate. The Dursleys came home shortly thereafter and were immediately taken into custody. I believe they are being held at the Ministry of Magic right now, awaiting conviction and likely a trial." Dumbledore explained with a kind voice.

Dumbledore surveyed Harry through his half-moon spectacles and placed his hand gently on Harry's knee over top of his sheets.

"Harry, I am so very sorry that this has happened to you," he began sorrowfully. "I foolishly believed that you would be most safe with your aunt and uncle, and I will never forgive myself for it. More than that, I should have checked on you before. I assume this is not the first time you have faced abusive treatment at your aunt and uncle's hands?"

"Er," Harry blanched. He didn't know what to say to that. Sure, Uncle Vernon may have roughed him up before and Aunt Petunia may have slapped him here and there, but they'd never been so horrid to him before as they had been in the last few days.

Dumbledore very gently took Harry's hand in his own.

"Please be honest with me, Harry," he said tenderly. "I promise you that you will never return to your aunt and uncle's house again."

So, Harry took a breath and began to explain. He told Professor Dumbledore about not having a proper bedroom and being shut up in the cupboard under the stairs until he was 11. He told him about being starved and punished. He told him about Dudley and his gang beating on him and "Harry Hunting." He told him about how Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon screamed at him and never let him ask any questions, especially about his parents. He told him how the Dursleys would occasionally hit him, but that it had never gotten so bad as it had when the Masons came over. Harry told him about Dobby, about the pudding getting ruined by the hover charm, how he had received a notice from the Ministry even though he hadn't actually done any magic, and how the Masons had run from the house after the owl had swooped in. He closed his eyes and took a breath. Then he told Dumbledore how Uncle Vernon had shut him in his room, beat him senseless, put bars on his windows and the cat flap on the door. How Aunt Petunia had shoved measly portions of food through the cat flap and wouldn't let him leave even to use the bathroom. Harry's face burned as he told his professor about needing to use the waste basket in his bedroom instead. He then told Dumbledore about Ron, Fred and George coming to rescue him (although he left out the part about it being in a flying car) and Uncle Vernon catching him as he was about to escape through the window. Finally, he told him about Uncle Vernon's final beating, shoving Harry in the cupboard again and leaving him there, broken and unable to stay awake.

"I thought … I thought I might die like that," Harry whispered, ashamed. He blinked away the tears building up in his eyes. Harry looked up to see that Dumbledore, still holding his hand, also had tears in his eyes.

"I am so very sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said again, closing his eyes in apparent anguish.

There was a long silence now as Dumbledore gently but firmly held Harry's hand.

"What's going to happen to me now, sir?" Harry said shakily. He had no other family. Even though the Dursleys had been awful, the idea of having nowhere else to go somehow seemed more frightening.

Dumbledore looked up at him and smiled softly.

"I have gained temporary custody of you," he said. "Once you are healed up, I will take you to the Weasley's, if you approve. If not, you are welcome to come with me back to Hogwarts a few weeks early."

"I have a choice?" Harry questioned.

"Of course, my dear boy. I would not force you to do anything you did not want to after this horrible nightmare you've faced," Dumbledore responded, giving Harry's hand a light squeeze of comfort.

In the end, Harry decided to go to the Weasley's. However, it wasn't clear how long he would actually get to stay there, for he was not cleared to leave the hospital yet, and likely would be stuck in bed there for some time still.

When he wasn't sleeping, which he spent most of his time doing, healers and medi-witches and wizards came in and out of his room to examine his injuries, apply tonics and feed him potions to help him get better. It was several days before the sharp pains in his body stopped catching him off guard and his head stopped aching so much. In that time, Dumbledore visited daily to check in on him. He was not always awake when Dumbledore arrived, but his professor always made sure to stay until he was awake to ask if he needed anything or just to chat. Harry couldn't say how much he appreciated this, but it seemed Dumbledore understood anyways.

On his fourth day in hospital, Harry was feeling much more alert. He had even managed to eat his full lunch without once nodding off and was silently appreciating the feeling of a full stomach when he there was a knock on his door and Professor Dumbledore popped his head in.

"Ah Harry, you're awake. Excellent. I have brought a visitor with me, I hope you don't mind?" He stepped back to reveal a teary-eyed Mrs. Weasley. Harry's eyes widened. "May we come in?"

Once he nodded, Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley made their way into the room. Mrs. Weasley began to fuss, straightening his blankets and fluffing his pillows behind him. She gently cupped his cheeks in her warm hands and appraised him with concerned eyes.

"How are you feeling, Harry dear?" she asked him kindly.

"Much better now, thank you," Harry said embarrassedly, his cheeks flushing.

"I was ever so worried when Ron, Fred and George came to me like that. And when Professor Dumbledore told me what happened … well, I'm very glad he found you and that you're safe now," she rambled, smoothing his hair back and patting his cheek. "Whenever you're better, we'd love to have you over to the Burrow. Everyone is so glad you're going to be ok and looking forward to seeing you." She gave him a watery smile and finally sat down in the armchair.

The next day, Dumbledore brought Ron and Hermione by for a visit. They came in quietly, glancing at Dumbledore as if for approval, and approached his bed nervously.

"Harry, mate, it's good to see you," Ron began hesitantly.

"I don't bite, you know," Harry said sarcastically, raising his eyebrows at his two best friends.

Hermione burst into tears and threw her arms around him. Harry flinched at the contact with some still present bruises but hugged her back just as tightly. Ron smirked and took a seat beside Harry's bed. In no time at all, the three friends were catching up over a friendly game of exploding snap, which was stopped by a passing medi-witch when the lampshade next to the bed caught fire.

Harry was so happy to have his friends back, and he was even happier that they weren't treating him any differently. Really, he had never been better, despite some lingering injuries. He'd never be going back to the Dursleys, he was going to stay with Ron's family for the rest of the summer along with Hermione, and he'd be going back to Hogwarts with them come September first.

It was strange to think that he had the Masons to thank for this turn of events. And he really was very thankful.