A/N: Well, I got bored, and happened to be listening to my Pat Benatar CD at the time, so…yeah. There are more songfics on the way, but this if one I finished first, and therefore the one I upload first.
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They cry in the dark, so you can't see their tears
They hide in the light, so you can't see their fears
Forgive and forget, all the while
Love and pain become one and the same
In the eyes of a wounded child
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Harry couldn't cry. Crying made it worse. His uncle smacked his face with the side of his fist, sending his head reeling. Harry could feel blood drip onto his upper lip, and the pain in the center of his face. Uh-oh. His nose was broken again. It would hurt for a while, but that wasn't the problem. The beatings would get worse. The pain seemed constant, though this strangling feeling was new. Sort-of like trying to swallow a lot of water at one time, and not being able to gag. He choked, and gasped for air that didn't exist. It just made his uncle laugh. "I could kill you now," Vernon Dursley said, chuckling. Harry knew what was coming next. He could smell the liquor on his uncle's breath. "But the fun's only starting…"
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Harry screamed. "No!"
"Shut up, Freak!" His uncle threw another punch and broke his jaw.
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Because Hell, Hell is for children
And you know that their little lives can become such a mess
Hell, Hell is for children
And you shouldn't have to pay for your love with your bones and your flesh
––
A kick to the stomach. He was on the floor again. Someone with a bat. Harry was too exhausted to move. 'Maybe they'll kill me…' He thought. Piers, Harry realized, was the boy with the bat, when it first connected with his body. That wasn't good. Piers was malicious. He liked pain, especially if he was causing it to someone else. Harry could feel a thousand knives hitting his skin. He tried to figure out if it was worse than Crucio or not. Maybe. Crucio didn't leave scars. At least, not physical ones.
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Dudley looked hesitantly at his father, then, getting the affirmative, kicked Harry in the ribs as hard as his chubby legs would allow.
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It's all so confusing, this brutal abusing
They blacken your eyes, and then 'pologize
Be daddy's good girl, and don't tell mommy a thing
Be a good little boy, and you'll get a new toy
Tell grandma you fell off the swing
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He ran. He didn't know why. Reflex, maybe. They tried to punch him, and he ran. If it was a reflex, though, why hadn't it kicked in until now? He'd been beaten since he was six and had broken a total of seventeen different bones. He'd had bones broken by his relatives fifty four times. His right arm five, his left four, his jaw had been broken a grand total of nine times, and his nose seven. His ribs had suffered through thirteen breaks, and the other sixteen were miscellaneous other bones. And that didn't include fractures, cracks, or sprains. He would probably have another six to add to the tally sheet when he went back. He would have to go back. His relatives were the only people who would take him in. He was a freak.
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Harry coughed blood and tears leaked out, despite his attempts to keep them under wraps. His uncle back-handed him, knocking him into the desk. "Freak!"
––
Because Hell, Hell is for children
And you know that their little lives can become such a mess
Hell, Hell is for children
And you shouldn't have to pay for your love with your bones and your flesh
––
Harry was barely awake. His face was slammed into the bed, sending tremors through his brain. "How dare you? Get up! Freak! Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He lifted his head and looked into his aunt's beady eyes. "How dare you?" Harry said nothing, not sure of what he'd done. "When I tell you to do something, I expect it done! My poor Dudders is probably starving because of you!" She cuffed him again and trudged out of the room. Her "poor wittle Duddy" wasn't going to starve anytime soon, and would probably be able to survive for a few years off his fat stores, but Harry's aunt would die before admitting that. Now, why was he still in bed? He tried to sit up and the memories came back in the form of a sharp pain. Yes, wittle Duddy and his group of "well-behaved gentlemen" had tried to kill him again, this time using cricket bats.
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No, Hell is for children
Hell, Hell is for Hell
Hell is for Hell, Hell is for children
Hell, Hell is for Hell
Hell is for Hell, Hell is for children
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He fell. He was falling, falling. Then he realized, the pain was gone. Was he dead? Maybe…maybe it was over. No. They were probably torturing him senseless, while he was knocked out. He would probably wake up soon…It would hurt more then. He wished he was dead.
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Hell, Hell is for Hell
Hell is for Hell, Hell is for children
Hell is for children
Hell is for children
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A/N: A few people have been asking if I'm ever going to update Game Night. Yes. Eventually. I'm not very happy with the fic, and so it will probably go through a cleansing process (coughChocough) but yes, it will get finished. Eventually. And, about this fic. I was wondering. ShouldI add another bit at the end that explains it, or should I leave it? Leave your opinion in your review, and explain please.