A/N: Thank you sooooooooooooo much to everyone who reviewed. I was so happy that you liked
my story that you inspired me and I just had to start writing right away. (I have to confess that I
love Harry torture also. Is that bad?)
I also apologize, but yes, this story is Americanized a bit. I know it's not perfectly British, but
really, I know very little about the different expressions used, so instead of making a fool of myself
and using British terms that I may get wrong, I am using American (I know . . .the ultimate HP
fanfic sin . . .) Don't hurt me, it's all I know! The furthest I have been away is to Canada! I do
have a very good friend who is from England, but she has lived here so long that she hardly
remembers the different terms. So, I am sorry to those of you who loathe an Americanized Harry
Potter (I don't think it is as bad as some of those that I've seen, hopefully) And I also apologize to
those who don't care and wasted a perfectly good minute reading this. I just wanted people to
know that I am not ignorant, and I am trying my best! Thanks for listening to me ramble.
I also have a question. Does anyone know how to post this without the formatting getting messed
up? If you do, please tell me! Also, if you know how to make the italics stay, I would really
appreciate someone telling me. If you know, you will have to tell me in a review because *sob* I
don't have my own e-mail address. *hides face in shame* I had to use my dads to register, but he
doesn't want it given out to everyone, considering he has about 5,567 unread messages at the
moment!
Once again, Harry Potter does not belong to me. It belongs to J.K Rowling, Bloomsbury
Publishing, Scholastic Inc. Warner Bros. and whoever else has their hand in the bag.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Normal
Chapter Two
Harry awoke to the sun pouring in his window and a pounding headache. He groaned and
lifted his arm over his eyes to block out the harsh light. He didn't know how long he was out, but
he did know it had to be at least several hours. Lifting his head slightly, he felt around to the bump
where Petunia had struck him with the hockey stick. As soon as he touched it he wished he hadn't.
It stung so sharply that his vision went blurry. He hissed in pain, and brought his hand quickly
away. His fingers were covered a thin coat of blood. He groaned once again, and heard a soft hoot
from Hedwig's cage.
"It's okay, Hedwig." She gave him an incredulous look accompanied by another soft hoot.
"Really, I'll be fine." He tried to stand up, but the room spun around him, and he had to drop to
his knees to keep from falling over completely. "Just a little dizzy, that's all. Just a . . . a small . . . a
small bump. N-nothing to worry about." What a thing for him to say! He, in fact, was extremely
worried. The calming words were as much for his own sake as for Hedwig's. But it wasn't just his
wound he was worried about. His aunt and uncle gave him these injuries! His remaining family,
*not* Death Eaters, *not* Voldemort, not even a fifty-foot fall off a broomstick. His only family
in the world, and here he was, being beaten for joking around with their *precious* Dudley.
He wondered what Ron and Hermione were doing right now. Hermione was probably
already halfway through their summer homework, happily writing essays and reading hundreds of
books. Ron was most likely practicing quidditch with his brothers, or being practiced *on* by the
twins and their inventions. He chuckled wryly. Whatever he thought he would be doing right now,
it was *defiantly* not this.
He thought for a minute he would write to someone, anyone, to get him out of Dursley's
home. He could just imagine if he wrote to Dumbledore. He would just say that the Dursley
residence was the safest place to be, and it was much better than being caught by Voldemort.
Come to think of it, Sirius and Hermione would probably say the same thing. The only person he
could think of who would try to get him out was Ron, and possibly Mrs. Weasley. But no one
questioned Dumbledore, and because of that, he knew was stuck with the Dursleys.
He stood up, slower this time, and went carefully to Hedwig's cage. He almost sprained his
ankle by stepping on a loose marble, and cringed when he saw the hockey stick Petunia used to hit
him with. It had a few small speckles of blood over the brand-name. He leaned heavily on the desk
with one hand, and with the other, opened Hedwig's cage. Then he opened the window.
"Why don't you go fly around a little bit. I know it's not nighttime, but you haven't been
out for awhile." She looked at him, her large eyes looking worried. He stroked her head
reassuringly. "It's okay. I won't do anything to upset the ogres. I promise I'll be fine." Another
wave of dizziness hit him and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep the room from tilting.
Hedwig hooted as if saying 'Yeah right you'll be fine.'
"I'm serious, Hedwig. I just need to get some pain-relievers, that's all. Then I'll be fine.
There's really nothing you can do, so go out and get yourself a rat, or something." Hedwig,
seemingly deciding that there really *was* nothing she could do, nipped his finger, and took off
out the window. He watched her fly gracefully across the sky until she was nothing more than a
tiny spec, and finally, disappeared.
Harry made his way to the door, a process that took far longer than it should have because
of the mess and the fact that every few seconds the room decided to flop upside down, or do a
somersault or something that made him grab the wall and scrunch his eyes shut. When he finally
reached the door, he realized that he couldn't open it. He remembered the click of the lock he
heard last night, and knew that his aunt and uncle had locked him in. Now what?
He pounded on the door, and yelled "Uncle Vernon? Aunt Petunia? Dudley? Anyone
there? Hello . . . I need help! I promise I won't do anything! HELLO?" He heard a noise coming
from outside that sounded like three car doors slamming. He made his way to the window, a little
faster this time, and looked out just in time to see the three Dursleys entering the house; Petunia
had her arm around Dudley, who was wrapped in a blanket. Vernon, just before entering, looked
up at him in the window, his face a mask of pure rage.
Vernon never looked pleasant, but something about the way Vernon reminded him of a
charging bull registered a panic alarm in his head.
He heard heavy footsteps on the stairs . . . someone grab the doorknob . . . a lock being
turned . . . defiantly not good . . . Harry was practically leaning out the window when Vernon
entered, equipped with clenched fists and a face so red, and veins popping out so far that he
looked as though he might burst. He saw his uncles eyes flit between him and Hedwig's empty
cage.
"So." Vernon growled, sounding remarkably like an angry dog. "I just came home from
taking Dudley to the doctor. Not good, it is. He has the flu, a very bad case I might add. The
doctor says that he is under too much stress, and it's . . . what's the word he used . . .impeding his
healing process."
"W-what's your point?" Harry knew he shouldn't egg his uncle on, but there was just
something about the man that made him so . . . just so . . . he couldn't even think of the word, he
just knew that he wasn't going to let the man blame him for everything.
"So, we were driving home, poor Dudley in shivers, and what do we see? None other than an
owl. A large, white owl, flying right over our heads! In broad daylight! Of course, it mightn't have
been yours, it could have been a coincidence. But I should know better by now, that nothing,
NOTHING, to do with you and *your kind* has *anything* to do with coincidence. But now,
now I see. You let it out. You let it out in broad daylight where *anyone* could have seen you.
What will the neighbors think if they saw you . . ." He never finished his sentence.
Vernon was so overcome with rage that he began making his way to Harry. Harry briefly
thought about jumping out the window, but severed that thought quickly. All he needed was a nice
fall out a window before Vernon dragged him in and beat him anyway. Five feet . . . three feet . .
. two feet . . . Harry closed his eyes, preparing to be struck, but instead of a smack, he heard a
crash, and loud swearing. He opened one eye to see Vernon sprawled out on the floor, apparently
having tripped over something. Vernon growled deep in his throat and shot up, surprisingly quick
for such a large man.
"YOU DID THAT, BOY, DIDN'T YOU!" It was more of a statement than a question.
"No, I-"
"Don't you lie to me, boy, I know you did it! You did it with your freak magic! First you
make my son sick, then you try to harm me . . ."
"I didn't, I-" He never even got to defend himself. He felt Vernon's large, beefy hand connect
with his jaw, felt the blood spray from his already cut lip. He felt his hair being pulled, his face
being scratched. He felt sharp kicks to his legs and hard punches to his already bruised ribs. He
raised his arms to cover his head, but they were pushed away. His uncle grabbed him by the wrist
and pulled him from the room. His head now felt like it was rolling, and it made his stomach
queasy when Vernon pulled him down the stairs. He was pushed violently to the floor in the
kitchen, barely noticing Petunia and Dudley sitting at the kitchen table, Petunia looking very smug,
and Dudley with pleasure and glee written all over his large face.
Harry lay face down to the cold tiles. He closed his eyes tight, but soon felt his uncle standing
over him. He felt Vernon's hand grab his hair and pull his face up off the ground, and he cried out
as the torn skin on his forehead was stretched, and his neck bent at a very unnatural angle.
"Open your eyes, boy," Vernon yelled. Harry ignored him, concentrating on trying to make
the pain go away, "I SAID OPEN YOUR EYES! Look at my son! Look at what you and your
abnormalities have done to him! Sick as a dog! Don't forget that little *tail* that . . . that oaf gave
him. Very painful and very expensive surgery to fix that . . . and you remember what else
happened in this kitchen? I think you remember. My poor sister, she was so frightened! And over
there," he roughly pushed Harry's head in the direction of the living room. "Over there is where
your kind *ruined* our fireplace, and then fed Dudley *poisoned* candy! It could have killed him!
But do you care? No! You and your freakish friends have brought nothing but pain and suffering
on this family . . ."
"Don't forget shame!" Petunia piped up.
"Yes, and shame! But all you do is sit in your room and look at those . . . those pictures -
if you can call them that - and think about your freak family! Not caring what happens to the
people who were decent enough to take you in! Well, you've hurt *my* family long enough. Now
it's your family's turn, starting . . ." He let go of Harry's head, and it hit the ground with a smack.
"With this." He had walked to the counter and picked something up. The familiar embossed cover
of his photo album flopped uselessly to and fro as Vernon waved it around.
He grabbed Harry off the floor with one hand, and lifted him to his feet. Harry's knees
immediately fell out from under him, but Vernon held him up, forcing him into the living room.
Harry tripped over his feet, that had apparently turned to jelly, as Vernon ushered him along,
Petunia and Dudley close on their heels like a pair of rabid dogs.
Harry was once again thrown to the floor, this time resulting in rug burns on his elbows.
He saw blood running down the lens of his glasses, which were dangerously close to falling off.
He quickly flipped over onto his back, prepared to push himself away from his uncle. Vernon,
Petunia and Dudley sat side-by-side on the immaculately clean couch.
"Petunia darling, would you like to do the honors?"
He held up the album, front cover open, and turned the smiling, waving pictures towards
his wife. Without a word, she grabbed onto the first page and slowly, agonizingly so, ripped out
the page. When she had finished, she tossed the it to the floor, and watched as her son and
husband repeated the process.
Harry couldn't move. The only thing he could think of was that he could always get a new
album, and as long as the pictures were okay, everything would be fine. Rip . . . rip . . . the sound
tore at him as if someone had reached inside his chest and was squeezing at his heart. Rip . . .
Hagrid had worked so hard on that album . . . the pages were piling up . . . just a few more, and
the album that was all he had to remember his parents would be a shell . . . one more page . . .
empty.
Finding his legs, he pushed himself to his knees. He slid his glasses up on his nose, his
hand brushing his cheek. It came back wet. He looked at his hand, prepared to see blood, but it
was clear. He hadn't even noticed he was crying. Looking at the Dursleys, who were sitting
placidly, watching him, he began gathering the pages into a pile. He stood, intending to leave the
room, but Petunia grabbed his wrist.
"I don't think we're done with you, yet. Vernon? Maybe you should light a fire . . ."
"NO! Aunt Petunia . . . please . . ." Harry stuttered. Vernon smiled at his wife proudly. He
lit the fire, and began stoking it with the sharp poker.
The fire grew quickly, almost too quickly in Harry's mind. "Give me the pictures, boy."
"NO!"
"GIVE ME THE PICTURES NOW!"
"I SAID NO! You've made your point perfectly clear! But I will not let you ruin my only
pictures of my parents! I won't let you." He held the pictures tight in his hands, his knuckles
turning white.
Vernon smiled at him, a smile Harry defiantly didn't like the looks of. Before he knew
what was happening, Vernon had spun around, still holding the red-hot poker. He pressed the tip
against Harry's bare arm, and Harry recoiled, crying out in pain, and dropping the pages to the
floor. He blew on the blistering burn on his arm, attempting to cool it down. During this time,
Dudley scrambled around on the floor, picking up the loose pages and handing them to his father.
Vernon held one page over the fire. Harry tried to rush at him, and take the pictures back,
but Petunia held his arms behind him, digging her fingers into his still-painful burn. He watched in
horror as the page dropped from Vernon's hand, and into the fireplace. The fire greedily
consumed his parent's wedding . . . acrid smelling black smoke poured into the room as he
watched his first birthday go up in flames. He struggled against his aunt, but he was just too weak
"What is wrong with you people?!? That's all I have . . . please, stop . . . please . . . I
promise I won't bother you! I'll leave tonight! Just stop . . .please . . ." He could now feel tears
steadily pour down his face, but he didn't care. There went his first steps . . . his father's surprise
birthday party . . . only one more page . . . he looked at it, and with horror saw it was the page
with his favorite pictures on it. His parents and him on a chair, laughing and Lily holding James's
hand to her pregnant belly. Time seemed to slow down as he watched it float onto the fire. Flames
began licking the edge of the black paper.
He never knew if he had broken free, or if his aunt had just let him go. He didn't care. He
ran to the fireplace, dropped to his knees, and reached into the fire. He ignored the searing pain all
over his hand, and tried to grasp the page. He got his hand around it . . . just as it crumbled into
ashes.
He pulled his burning black hand out of the fire, and heard laughter all around. He heard
bits of words "Stupid boy . . . think you're invincible, do you . . . think your *magic* will help you
. . ." But nothing mattered. It was gone. He had lost his parents once again. He felt someone
roughly pull him to his feet, but he didn't know who. He was ushered to the bathroom, and his
hand was shoved under the sink, the cold water making his skin raw and red.
He was returned to his room in a daze, not hearing anything around him, not feeling
anything except the loss, made new once again. He was pushed through the door so violently that
he practically flew across the room. Heading towards the open window. At the last second, he
reached out his arms and braced himself against the ledge, but the force was so strong that his
glasses went flying off his bloody and tear-stained nose, and right out the window. He heard them
hit the pavement below.
Vernon's voice come to him, as if from very far away "Have you learned your lesson."
Harry nodded numbly. "And don't think for a minute, boy, that that *bird* of yours is allowed
back in this house. Your windows *will* remain closed tonight, and as of tomorrow, the bars are
going back up. And if any of your *freak* friends show up, you're going to wish you had died
with your parents. You got that?" He nodded again.
"Got . . .get . . . glasses." he said thickly.
"You should have thought of that before you dropped them, now shouldn't you?" Harry
slid to the floor, all energy gone. His uncle stepped over him and closed the window, locking it. He
heard Vernon's voice mumbling to himself before he left the room. "Freak . . . abnormalities . . .
wizards - HA!"
Harry lie on the hard floor, not even bothering to move to his *bed*. He wanted nothing
more than to just pass out, and be oblivious to the world, but he couldn't. He was left with nothing
to think about besides the pain he was in and how was he *possibly* going to get out of this one.
He clutched his burned hand to his chest and did the only thing he could think of. He cried.
* * *
What Harry didn't know, was that there was a snowy white owl looking in on him through
the closed window. She saw her master, her best friend, lying on the floor in considerable pain,
and knew he must have help immediately. She swooped down to the pavement, picked up the
bloody, cracked glasses, and was off into the afternoon sky.
You know how "All work and no play make Jack a dull boy"? Well . . .
All work and no reviews make Avidia a sad girl :(
All work and no reviews make Avidia a sad girl :(
All work and no reviews make Avidia a sad girl :(
All work and no reviews make Avidia a sad girl :(
my story that you inspired me and I just had to start writing right away. (I have to confess that I
love Harry torture also. Is that bad?)
I also apologize, but yes, this story is Americanized a bit. I know it's not perfectly British, but
really, I know very little about the different expressions used, so instead of making a fool of myself
and using British terms that I may get wrong, I am using American (I know . . .the ultimate HP
fanfic sin . . .) Don't hurt me, it's all I know! The furthest I have been away is to Canada! I do
have a very good friend who is from England, but she has lived here so long that she hardly
remembers the different terms. So, I am sorry to those of you who loathe an Americanized Harry
Potter (I don't think it is as bad as some of those that I've seen, hopefully) And I also apologize to
those who don't care and wasted a perfectly good minute reading this. I just wanted people to
know that I am not ignorant, and I am trying my best! Thanks for listening to me ramble.
I also have a question. Does anyone know how to post this without the formatting getting messed
up? If you do, please tell me! Also, if you know how to make the italics stay, I would really
appreciate someone telling me. If you know, you will have to tell me in a review because *sob* I
don't have my own e-mail address. *hides face in shame* I had to use my dads to register, but he
doesn't want it given out to everyone, considering he has about 5,567 unread messages at the
moment!
Once again, Harry Potter does not belong to me. It belongs to J.K Rowling, Bloomsbury
Publishing, Scholastic Inc. Warner Bros. and whoever else has their hand in the bag.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Normal
Chapter Two
Harry awoke to the sun pouring in his window and a pounding headache. He groaned and
lifted his arm over his eyes to block out the harsh light. He didn't know how long he was out, but
he did know it had to be at least several hours. Lifting his head slightly, he felt around to the bump
where Petunia had struck him with the hockey stick. As soon as he touched it he wished he hadn't.
It stung so sharply that his vision went blurry. He hissed in pain, and brought his hand quickly
away. His fingers were covered a thin coat of blood. He groaned once again, and heard a soft hoot
from Hedwig's cage.
"It's okay, Hedwig." She gave him an incredulous look accompanied by another soft hoot.
"Really, I'll be fine." He tried to stand up, but the room spun around him, and he had to drop to
his knees to keep from falling over completely. "Just a little dizzy, that's all. Just a . . . a small . . . a
small bump. N-nothing to worry about." What a thing for him to say! He, in fact, was extremely
worried. The calming words were as much for his own sake as for Hedwig's. But it wasn't just his
wound he was worried about. His aunt and uncle gave him these injuries! His remaining family,
*not* Death Eaters, *not* Voldemort, not even a fifty-foot fall off a broomstick. His only family
in the world, and here he was, being beaten for joking around with their *precious* Dudley.
He wondered what Ron and Hermione were doing right now. Hermione was probably
already halfway through their summer homework, happily writing essays and reading hundreds of
books. Ron was most likely practicing quidditch with his brothers, or being practiced *on* by the
twins and their inventions. He chuckled wryly. Whatever he thought he would be doing right now,
it was *defiantly* not this.
He thought for a minute he would write to someone, anyone, to get him out of Dursley's
home. He could just imagine if he wrote to Dumbledore. He would just say that the Dursley
residence was the safest place to be, and it was much better than being caught by Voldemort.
Come to think of it, Sirius and Hermione would probably say the same thing. The only person he
could think of who would try to get him out was Ron, and possibly Mrs. Weasley. But no one
questioned Dumbledore, and because of that, he knew was stuck with the Dursleys.
He stood up, slower this time, and went carefully to Hedwig's cage. He almost sprained his
ankle by stepping on a loose marble, and cringed when he saw the hockey stick Petunia used to hit
him with. It had a few small speckles of blood over the brand-name. He leaned heavily on the desk
with one hand, and with the other, opened Hedwig's cage. Then he opened the window.
"Why don't you go fly around a little bit. I know it's not nighttime, but you haven't been
out for awhile." She looked at him, her large eyes looking worried. He stroked her head
reassuringly. "It's okay. I won't do anything to upset the ogres. I promise I'll be fine." Another
wave of dizziness hit him and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep the room from tilting.
Hedwig hooted as if saying 'Yeah right you'll be fine.'
"I'm serious, Hedwig. I just need to get some pain-relievers, that's all. Then I'll be fine.
There's really nothing you can do, so go out and get yourself a rat, or something." Hedwig,
seemingly deciding that there really *was* nothing she could do, nipped his finger, and took off
out the window. He watched her fly gracefully across the sky until she was nothing more than a
tiny spec, and finally, disappeared.
Harry made his way to the door, a process that took far longer than it should have because
of the mess and the fact that every few seconds the room decided to flop upside down, or do a
somersault or something that made him grab the wall and scrunch his eyes shut. When he finally
reached the door, he realized that he couldn't open it. He remembered the click of the lock he
heard last night, and knew that his aunt and uncle had locked him in. Now what?
He pounded on the door, and yelled "Uncle Vernon? Aunt Petunia? Dudley? Anyone
there? Hello . . . I need help! I promise I won't do anything! HELLO?" He heard a noise coming
from outside that sounded like three car doors slamming. He made his way to the window, a little
faster this time, and looked out just in time to see the three Dursleys entering the house; Petunia
had her arm around Dudley, who was wrapped in a blanket. Vernon, just before entering, looked
up at him in the window, his face a mask of pure rage.
Vernon never looked pleasant, but something about the way Vernon reminded him of a
charging bull registered a panic alarm in his head.
He heard heavy footsteps on the stairs . . . someone grab the doorknob . . . a lock being
turned . . . defiantly not good . . . Harry was practically leaning out the window when Vernon
entered, equipped with clenched fists and a face so red, and veins popping out so far that he
looked as though he might burst. He saw his uncles eyes flit between him and Hedwig's empty
cage.
"So." Vernon growled, sounding remarkably like an angry dog. "I just came home from
taking Dudley to the doctor. Not good, it is. He has the flu, a very bad case I might add. The
doctor says that he is under too much stress, and it's . . . what's the word he used . . .impeding his
healing process."
"W-what's your point?" Harry knew he shouldn't egg his uncle on, but there was just
something about the man that made him so . . . just so . . . he couldn't even think of the word, he
just knew that he wasn't going to let the man blame him for everything.
"So, we were driving home, poor Dudley in shivers, and what do we see? None other than an
owl. A large, white owl, flying right over our heads! In broad daylight! Of course, it mightn't have
been yours, it could have been a coincidence. But I should know better by now, that nothing,
NOTHING, to do with you and *your kind* has *anything* to do with coincidence. But now,
now I see. You let it out. You let it out in broad daylight where *anyone* could have seen you.
What will the neighbors think if they saw you . . ." He never finished his sentence.
Vernon was so overcome with rage that he began making his way to Harry. Harry briefly
thought about jumping out the window, but severed that thought quickly. All he needed was a nice
fall out a window before Vernon dragged him in and beat him anyway. Five feet . . . three feet . .
. two feet . . . Harry closed his eyes, preparing to be struck, but instead of a smack, he heard a
crash, and loud swearing. He opened one eye to see Vernon sprawled out on the floor, apparently
having tripped over something. Vernon growled deep in his throat and shot up, surprisingly quick
for such a large man.
"YOU DID THAT, BOY, DIDN'T YOU!" It was more of a statement than a question.
"No, I-"
"Don't you lie to me, boy, I know you did it! You did it with your freak magic! First you
make my son sick, then you try to harm me . . ."
"I didn't, I-" He never even got to defend himself. He felt Vernon's large, beefy hand connect
with his jaw, felt the blood spray from his already cut lip. He felt his hair being pulled, his face
being scratched. He felt sharp kicks to his legs and hard punches to his already bruised ribs. He
raised his arms to cover his head, but they were pushed away. His uncle grabbed him by the wrist
and pulled him from the room. His head now felt like it was rolling, and it made his stomach
queasy when Vernon pulled him down the stairs. He was pushed violently to the floor in the
kitchen, barely noticing Petunia and Dudley sitting at the kitchen table, Petunia looking very smug,
and Dudley with pleasure and glee written all over his large face.
Harry lay face down to the cold tiles. He closed his eyes tight, but soon felt his uncle standing
over him. He felt Vernon's hand grab his hair and pull his face up off the ground, and he cried out
as the torn skin on his forehead was stretched, and his neck bent at a very unnatural angle.
"Open your eyes, boy," Vernon yelled. Harry ignored him, concentrating on trying to make
the pain go away, "I SAID OPEN YOUR EYES! Look at my son! Look at what you and your
abnormalities have done to him! Sick as a dog! Don't forget that little *tail* that . . . that oaf gave
him. Very painful and very expensive surgery to fix that . . . and you remember what else
happened in this kitchen? I think you remember. My poor sister, she was so frightened! And over
there," he roughly pushed Harry's head in the direction of the living room. "Over there is where
your kind *ruined* our fireplace, and then fed Dudley *poisoned* candy! It could have killed him!
But do you care? No! You and your freakish friends have brought nothing but pain and suffering
on this family . . ."
"Don't forget shame!" Petunia piped up.
"Yes, and shame! But all you do is sit in your room and look at those . . . those pictures -
if you can call them that - and think about your freak family! Not caring what happens to the
people who were decent enough to take you in! Well, you've hurt *my* family long enough. Now
it's your family's turn, starting . . ." He let go of Harry's head, and it hit the ground with a smack.
"With this." He had walked to the counter and picked something up. The familiar embossed cover
of his photo album flopped uselessly to and fro as Vernon waved it around.
He grabbed Harry off the floor with one hand, and lifted him to his feet. Harry's knees
immediately fell out from under him, but Vernon held him up, forcing him into the living room.
Harry tripped over his feet, that had apparently turned to jelly, as Vernon ushered him along,
Petunia and Dudley close on their heels like a pair of rabid dogs.
Harry was once again thrown to the floor, this time resulting in rug burns on his elbows.
He saw blood running down the lens of his glasses, which were dangerously close to falling off.
He quickly flipped over onto his back, prepared to push himself away from his uncle. Vernon,
Petunia and Dudley sat side-by-side on the immaculately clean couch.
"Petunia darling, would you like to do the honors?"
He held up the album, front cover open, and turned the smiling, waving pictures towards
his wife. Without a word, she grabbed onto the first page and slowly, agonizingly so, ripped out
the page. When she had finished, she tossed the it to the floor, and watched as her son and
husband repeated the process.
Harry couldn't move. The only thing he could think of was that he could always get a new
album, and as long as the pictures were okay, everything would be fine. Rip . . . rip . . . the sound
tore at him as if someone had reached inside his chest and was squeezing at his heart. Rip . . .
Hagrid had worked so hard on that album . . . the pages were piling up . . . just a few more, and
the album that was all he had to remember his parents would be a shell . . . one more page . . .
empty.
Finding his legs, he pushed himself to his knees. He slid his glasses up on his nose, his
hand brushing his cheek. It came back wet. He looked at his hand, prepared to see blood, but it
was clear. He hadn't even noticed he was crying. Looking at the Dursleys, who were sitting
placidly, watching him, he began gathering the pages into a pile. He stood, intending to leave the
room, but Petunia grabbed his wrist.
"I don't think we're done with you, yet. Vernon? Maybe you should light a fire . . ."
"NO! Aunt Petunia . . . please . . ." Harry stuttered. Vernon smiled at his wife proudly. He
lit the fire, and began stoking it with the sharp poker.
The fire grew quickly, almost too quickly in Harry's mind. "Give me the pictures, boy."
"NO!"
"GIVE ME THE PICTURES NOW!"
"I SAID NO! You've made your point perfectly clear! But I will not let you ruin my only
pictures of my parents! I won't let you." He held the pictures tight in his hands, his knuckles
turning white.
Vernon smiled at him, a smile Harry defiantly didn't like the looks of. Before he knew
what was happening, Vernon had spun around, still holding the red-hot poker. He pressed the tip
against Harry's bare arm, and Harry recoiled, crying out in pain, and dropping the pages to the
floor. He blew on the blistering burn on his arm, attempting to cool it down. During this time,
Dudley scrambled around on the floor, picking up the loose pages and handing them to his father.
Vernon held one page over the fire. Harry tried to rush at him, and take the pictures back,
but Petunia held his arms behind him, digging her fingers into his still-painful burn. He watched in
horror as the page dropped from Vernon's hand, and into the fireplace. The fire greedily
consumed his parent's wedding . . . acrid smelling black smoke poured into the room as he
watched his first birthday go up in flames. He struggled against his aunt, but he was just too weak
"What is wrong with you people?!? That's all I have . . . please, stop . . . please . . . I
promise I won't bother you! I'll leave tonight! Just stop . . .please . . ." He could now feel tears
steadily pour down his face, but he didn't care. There went his first steps . . . his father's surprise
birthday party . . . only one more page . . . he looked at it, and with horror saw it was the page
with his favorite pictures on it. His parents and him on a chair, laughing and Lily holding James's
hand to her pregnant belly. Time seemed to slow down as he watched it float onto the fire. Flames
began licking the edge of the black paper.
He never knew if he had broken free, or if his aunt had just let him go. He didn't care. He
ran to the fireplace, dropped to his knees, and reached into the fire. He ignored the searing pain all
over his hand, and tried to grasp the page. He got his hand around it . . . just as it crumbled into
ashes.
He pulled his burning black hand out of the fire, and heard laughter all around. He heard
bits of words "Stupid boy . . . think you're invincible, do you . . . think your *magic* will help you
. . ." But nothing mattered. It was gone. He had lost his parents once again. He felt someone
roughly pull him to his feet, but he didn't know who. He was ushered to the bathroom, and his
hand was shoved under the sink, the cold water making his skin raw and red.
He was returned to his room in a daze, not hearing anything around him, not feeling
anything except the loss, made new once again. He was pushed through the door so violently that
he practically flew across the room. Heading towards the open window. At the last second, he
reached out his arms and braced himself against the ledge, but the force was so strong that his
glasses went flying off his bloody and tear-stained nose, and right out the window. He heard them
hit the pavement below.
Vernon's voice come to him, as if from very far away "Have you learned your lesson."
Harry nodded numbly. "And don't think for a minute, boy, that that *bird* of yours is allowed
back in this house. Your windows *will* remain closed tonight, and as of tomorrow, the bars are
going back up. And if any of your *freak* friends show up, you're going to wish you had died
with your parents. You got that?" He nodded again.
"Got . . .get . . . glasses." he said thickly.
"You should have thought of that before you dropped them, now shouldn't you?" Harry
slid to the floor, all energy gone. His uncle stepped over him and closed the window, locking it. He
heard Vernon's voice mumbling to himself before he left the room. "Freak . . . abnormalities . . .
wizards - HA!"
Harry lie on the hard floor, not even bothering to move to his *bed*. He wanted nothing
more than to just pass out, and be oblivious to the world, but he couldn't. He was left with nothing
to think about besides the pain he was in and how was he *possibly* going to get out of this one.
He clutched his burned hand to his chest and did the only thing he could think of. He cried.
* * *
What Harry didn't know, was that there was a snowy white owl looking in on him through
the closed window. She saw her master, her best friend, lying on the floor in considerable pain,
and knew he must have help immediately. She swooped down to the pavement, picked up the
bloody, cracked glasses, and was off into the afternoon sky.
You know how "All work and no play make Jack a dull boy"? Well . . .
All work and no reviews make Avidia a sad girl :(
All work and no reviews make Avidia a sad girl :(
All work and no reviews make Avidia a sad girl :(
All work and no reviews make Avidia a sad girl :(