Harry picked up a heavy wrench from his old toolbox and slid back
under his Aunt's car. Wiping a black, motor oil-stained hand across his
sweaty forehead, he began to tighten a loose bolt. Suddenly, from somewhere
near the door leading back into the house, heavy footsteps slowly trod
towards him. Thinking quickly, Harry slid out from under the sedan just as
Dudley hurled his immense frame onto the hood of the car. Metal squealed
against the cement floor of the garage, and Harry felt his heart skip a
beat when he realized that he would have been split in two. He leapt to his
feet immediately and stared agape at his cousin, who shoved himself off of
the car and scowled at his missed target.
"Why'd you have to move? 'T would've been smashing if I'd gotten you," grumbled Dudley, brushing off his school sweatshirt.
Harry was still shocked. Dudley had beaten him to the brink of unconsciousness before, but he had never done anything that might have killed him. "If I hadn't moved, I could've been killed!" he cried, staring at Dudley in alarm.
The fat boy picked his ear absentmindedly; either he didn't understand what Harry was saying, or he simply didn't care. "Put a shirt on, there are no girls here to impress," grunted Dudley, seeing that Harry was only wearing a pair of baggy pants and loads of black grease.
Harry glanced down once at his scanty attire and immediately brushed the matter from his mind. "Whatever, just don't try and kill me again, alright?"
Dudley laughed raucously and kicked the front bumper of his mother's car. "Why, what are you going to do about it? We all know that you can't use magic outside of your freaky school." Harry said nothing in retort; he wished that Dumbledore had never sent those letters informing every student's family of the no-magic policy. After several mishaps involving muggles and the Finnigan family, the school administration felt it necessary to make sure that every magical household fully understood the reciprocations of juvenile magic. Seeing that Harry was stoically silent, Dudley began to slowly approach him. "Well? Are you just going to stand there?"
"No," replied Harry icily, shooting his cousin a deadly glare, "I don't need to use magic."
By now Dudley was about an inch from Harry's face, and his putrid breath caused poor Harry to grimace in disgust. "Aw, what's making your dainty little princess nose wrinkle up like that? Do I scare wee wittle Hawwy?"
"No, your breath smells horrible," said Harry, repulsing himself from the stench, "No wonder you've never had a girlfriend, who would want to put their tongue into that?" Red-faced and enraged, Dudley raised a blubbery fist to punch Harry, but the wizard caught his fist mid-swing and gripped it in a dead halt. "Are you sure you want to do that?"
Dudley paused and glanced apprehensively at the young man in front of him, and emerald eyes glittered back menacingly. Harry had definitely grown up since his schoolyard beatings as a child; the ungodly busy schedule of Quidditch practices and his brutal labor around the Dursley's house had left him with a substantial physique. Now, his well-earned and motor oil- streaked muscles flexed against Dudley's still-raised fist, he was not a figure that Dudley would normally antagonize. However, the piggish boy wanted to retain his status as dominant child of the household, and did not back down. "Come on, you dirty orphan, what are you waiting for?"
A powerful blow to his oversized stomach sent Dudley reeling backwards, and a second white-knuckled fist to his jaw caused him to fall to the ground in agony. He began rolling back and forth on the dirty cement, shrieking and moaning for his Mum. Crashing footsteps became apparent in the house, and with a gust of air Vernon and Petunia, Harry's aunt and uncle, violently swung open the door to the garage. "My baby!" wailed Petunia, falling to her knees beside what looked like a beached whale and desperately trying to soothe him. However, it was not the devastated mother that Harry was worried about, it was the incensed father. Vernon stood in the doorway leading to the house like a mad elephant, his barrel-chested frame heaving in and out with anger.
"How dare you...what did you do to my son? WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SON?" Vernon strode quickly towards Harry and pinned him by the neck against a large, standing tool-chest. His huge hand began to squeeze on the boy's throat, and instinctively Harry kicked his Uncle as hard as he could in the crotch. While Vernon doubled over, howling in pain, Harry sprinted out of the garage and into the house.
He had made it as far as the upstairs hallway when Vernon caught up to him. Harry was just in front of the window beside the bathroom door when he felt a powerful tug on the back of his pants-- Vernon grabbed a handful of belt-loops and yanked him to the ground. Seething with pure rage, he pounded a fist into Harry's chest and heard several loud cracking noises, causing the boy to scream in agony. "Never, ever harm my son! I keep you under my roof, clothe you, feed you, and this is how you repay me? BY BRUTALLY ATTACKING MY SON AND MYSELF?" Harry couldn't answer. He was wheezing and gasping desperately for air, and coughing up spots of blood; surely his Uncle broke several of his ribs. "WELL? Not going to answer me? Not going to respect your elders?" Out of all the pain he was feeling, Harry pulled a storm of anger from deep inside of his body and pushed Vernon as hard as he could. The huge man tumbled back, surprised by his young nephew's strength. Harry stood up, clutching his bruised chest, and glowered down at Vernon. "You can't treat me like this anymore!" Vernon stood up, red-faced and mustache bristling with anger. "How dare you speak back to your Uncle!" Before Harry, in his weakened state, could protest, Vernon grabbed the boy's face and smacked the back of his head against the window behind him, consequently shattering it. Jagged shards of glass rained down upon Harry, excruciatingly slicing open his once perfect skin in hundreds of places. Blood drained miserably from the wounds upon his bare chest and arms, and he fell to his knees in anguish and pure physical pain. Harry let out one hoarse cry of emotion before Vernon picked him up and threw him into the bathroom. "You got your filthy blood all over my nice white carpet!"
The door slammed and Harry was left as a broken, bloody mess on the tile floor. He leaned against the wall and coughed bitterly into his knees, oblivious to the fact that Ginny Weasley was watching him from miles away through a crystal ball. Slowly his mind fell into dark recesses of pain and hate, and he quietly collapsed onto the soft pink rug beside the toilet.
"Why'd you have to move? 'T would've been smashing if I'd gotten you," grumbled Dudley, brushing off his school sweatshirt.
Harry was still shocked. Dudley had beaten him to the brink of unconsciousness before, but he had never done anything that might have killed him. "If I hadn't moved, I could've been killed!" he cried, staring at Dudley in alarm.
The fat boy picked his ear absentmindedly; either he didn't understand what Harry was saying, or he simply didn't care. "Put a shirt on, there are no girls here to impress," grunted Dudley, seeing that Harry was only wearing a pair of baggy pants and loads of black grease.
Harry glanced down once at his scanty attire and immediately brushed the matter from his mind. "Whatever, just don't try and kill me again, alright?"
Dudley laughed raucously and kicked the front bumper of his mother's car. "Why, what are you going to do about it? We all know that you can't use magic outside of your freaky school." Harry said nothing in retort; he wished that Dumbledore had never sent those letters informing every student's family of the no-magic policy. After several mishaps involving muggles and the Finnigan family, the school administration felt it necessary to make sure that every magical household fully understood the reciprocations of juvenile magic. Seeing that Harry was stoically silent, Dudley began to slowly approach him. "Well? Are you just going to stand there?"
"No," replied Harry icily, shooting his cousin a deadly glare, "I don't need to use magic."
By now Dudley was about an inch from Harry's face, and his putrid breath caused poor Harry to grimace in disgust. "Aw, what's making your dainty little princess nose wrinkle up like that? Do I scare wee wittle Hawwy?"
"No, your breath smells horrible," said Harry, repulsing himself from the stench, "No wonder you've never had a girlfriend, who would want to put their tongue into that?" Red-faced and enraged, Dudley raised a blubbery fist to punch Harry, but the wizard caught his fist mid-swing and gripped it in a dead halt. "Are you sure you want to do that?"
Dudley paused and glanced apprehensively at the young man in front of him, and emerald eyes glittered back menacingly. Harry had definitely grown up since his schoolyard beatings as a child; the ungodly busy schedule of Quidditch practices and his brutal labor around the Dursley's house had left him with a substantial physique. Now, his well-earned and motor oil- streaked muscles flexed against Dudley's still-raised fist, he was not a figure that Dudley would normally antagonize. However, the piggish boy wanted to retain his status as dominant child of the household, and did not back down. "Come on, you dirty orphan, what are you waiting for?"
A powerful blow to his oversized stomach sent Dudley reeling backwards, and a second white-knuckled fist to his jaw caused him to fall to the ground in agony. He began rolling back and forth on the dirty cement, shrieking and moaning for his Mum. Crashing footsteps became apparent in the house, and with a gust of air Vernon and Petunia, Harry's aunt and uncle, violently swung open the door to the garage. "My baby!" wailed Petunia, falling to her knees beside what looked like a beached whale and desperately trying to soothe him. However, it was not the devastated mother that Harry was worried about, it was the incensed father. Vernon stood in the doorway leading to the house like a mad elephant, his barrel-chested frame heaving in and out with anger.
"How dare you...what did you do to my son? WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SON?" Vernon strode quickly towards Harry and pinned him by the neck against a large, standing tool-chest. His huge hand began to squeeze on the boy's throat, and instinctively Harry kicked his Uncle as hard as he could in the crotch. While Vernon doubled over, howling in pain, Harry sprinted out of the garage and into the house.
He had made it as far as the upstairs hallway when Vernon caught up to him. Harry was just in front of the window beside the bathroom door when he felt a powerful tug on the back of his pants-- Vernon grabbed a handful of belt-loops and yanked him to the ground. Seething with pure rage, he pounded a fist into Harry's chest and heard several loud cracking noises, causing the boy to scream in agony. "Never, ever harm my son! I keep you under my roof, clothe you, feed you, and this is how you repay me? BY BRUTALLY ATTACKING MY SON AND MYSELF?" Harry couldn't answer. He was wheezing and gasping desperately for air, and coughing up spots of blood; surely his Uncle broke several of his ribs. "WELL? Not going to answer me? Not going to respect your elders?" Out of all the pain he was feeling, Harry pulled a storm of anger from deep inside of his body and pushed Vernon as hard as he could. The huge man tumbled back, surprised by his young nephew's strength. Harry stood up, clutching his bruised chest, and glowered down at Vernon. "You can't treat me like this anymore!" Vernon stood up, red-faced and mustache bristling with anger. "How dare you speak back to your Uncle!" Before Harry, in his weakened state, could protest, Vernon grabbed the boy's face and smacked the back of his head against the window behind him, consequently shattering it. Jagged shards of glass rained down upon Harry, excruciatingly slicing open his once perfect skin in hundreds of places. Blood drained miserably from the wounds upon his bare chest and arms, and he fell to his knees in anguish and pure physical pain. Harry let out one hoarse cry of emotion before Vernon picked him up and threw him into the bathroom. "You got your filthy blood all over my nice white carpet!"
The door slammed and Harry was left as a broken, bloody mess on the tile floor. He leaned against the wall and coughed bitterly into his knees, oblivious to the fact that Ginny Weasley was watching him from miles away through a crystal ball. Slowly his mind fell into dark recesses of pain and hate, and he quietly collapsed onto the soft pink rug beside the toilet.