Crack. The sound of the breaking bone was deafening despite the shouts and cries filling the kitchen. Vernon Dursley dropped the boy he had been shaking, and backed away from the hysterically crying child.

Six-year-old Harry Potter scrambled away from his uncle, trying to breathe through the pain in his arm. He couldn't remember ever feeling this much pain, not even when Uncle Vernon beat him with the belt until he passed out. A great roiling nausea swept through him as he fought to keep from vomiting. Aunt Petunia would kill him if he puked in her kitchen. He withdrew into a corner, rocking himself slowly, attempting to comfort himself as he knew there would be none from any other source.

Petunia entered the kitchen at a run. She had heard the sounds of her husband punishing the boy and had started downstairs to tell him to keep it down before the neighbors heard, when the sharp increase in the boy's shrieking sobbing, paired with the ending of Vernon's ranting, sent her running for the kitchen.

"Vernon, dear? What's happened?" she asked as she entered the room. Her husband's face was pasty, and the boy was rocking in the corner, cradling his right arm. "Vernon, answer me!"

"He deserved it, Petunia," Vernon said softly.

Petunia threw her husband a sharp look before going to examine her nephew. His arm was obviously broken above the elbow. She closed her eyes and sighed. "It's broken. He will have to go to the hospital."

"But Petunia! They'll know," he whined.

"Of course. But they'll have no idea who did it if you keep your wits about you," she snarled. Glaring at the boy in the corner, she continued. "This is our chance, Vernon. Our chance to be rid of the freak forever," she said, her eyes burning with a fierce light.

She approached her husband and began whispering to him. After a few minutes, the light in Vernon's eyes matched his wife's. They talked for a while longer as Harry cried in the corner. Finally, Vernon approached the boy.

"What's your name, boy?" he asked.

"Harry Potter," the boy answered.

He never saw the blow coming. The backhand from his uncle sent Harry sprawling. He landed on his broken arm and screamed. Using his good arm, Harry pushed himself back up, black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

"Your name is Evan. You don't answer any of their questions, or you'll think that broken arm is a good thing! Now, boy, what is your name?"

Harry trembled. "Evan."

Harry, no Evan, stood alone in the driveway of the emergency room. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had dropped him off down the street, and pointed him in the direction of the hospital. The thin boy shivered as the last hours replayed themselves in his mind.

Vernon had made sure that his nephew would tell no one by beating the lesson into the boy. He was now in so much pain that he didn't think he could make it the rest of the way to the door. Everything hurt, especially his chest and his arm, and his glasses were broken.

A gasp made him look up. Several women dressed in scrubs had just exited the building and caught sight of the battered boy. One ran back into the building while the others flew to his side.

"Oh you poor thing!" one of them cried out. A brunette with gray eyes picked him up gently, making a small noise of dismay as he first flinched away from the touch, then cried out in pain from his injuries. They carried him into the hospital, all exclaiming about his condition.


Sorry, all. The plot bunnies attacked, and I couldn't get the next chapter of Choices out, but I am working on it! This has been stuck in my head for awhile and I had to exorcize it before I could finish chapter 6 of choices.

Enjoy, and expect another chapter in a week or so.