Harry Potter had learned to hate the snow at an early age. Most kids grew up thinking that snow was a beautiful and magical thing, but Uncle Vernon had told Harry that magic didn't exist. Besides, the snow just provided the Dursleys with another way of punishing him. Much as they were now.

At the moment, the eight year old Harry Potter was straining to lift the snow that he had pile onto the shovel. It was his job to make sure that the entire driveway had been cleared before his Uncle came home. However, Harry was finding that hard. Especially since Harry had a cold and had gone a week without any meals. His meals had been taken away as punishment. Uncle Vernon had been furious when he had received a call from Harry's headmistress informing him that Harry had been climbing school buildings. Harry had tried to explain to 'family' that it hadn't been his fault. Dudley, and his gang, had been chasing him, and when he had tried to jump behind the kitchen dustbins, he had landed on the school roof. Nobody had believed him. Harry really couldn't be blamed for all the strange and unexplainable things that usually happened when he was around, right?

Harry was really tired. He had been at it all day. And his Uncle was due home any minute. There was no possible way that he would be able to finish the driveway. The snow was still falling softly, and repeatedly covered Harry's attempts of clearing the driveway.

Looking down the street, Harry could see Uncle Vernon's car. He was going to be punished again. Subconsciously Harry pulled his arm around his ribs. They were still bruised from the last 'punishment', and he didn't think that they could take much more before one of them cracked. His Uncle's car was pulling into the driveway now, and Harry's panic was growing. He had to fight the urge to run, he had nowhere to run, and his Uncle would catch him anyway.

Uncle Vernon was getting out of his car, and he looked mad. Grabbing Harry by the arm, Uncle Vernon dragged Harry into the house for his 'punishment'.


He knew that his Uncle was striking him, but he was having a hard time registering where. He did understand that his Uncle was extremely angry, and that he should be worried, but his mind was too muddled, probably from all the blows to the head, to string coherent thoughts together.

"Vernon! Dear, dinner is ready!"

Aunt Petunia was calling Uncle Vernon. That meant that the punishment was over. Unconsciousness was lapping at the edge of his brain, and when his Uncle threw him into his cupboard, he passed out.