Disclaimer: Despite my profound wish to own Harry Potter; I do not. They belong-as I am sure you all know- to the very talented and acclaimed writer also known as J.K Rowling
Chapter 1: An answered wish
The day had not yet donned yet that did not prevent a member of the house of private drive from stirring. Bruised and aching limbs could be seen stretching from a tattered old bed sheet. The shaky limbs of one four year old Harry Potter.
Oh how he hated mornings. How he hated life. He tried to do his best yet his Uncle and Aunt sought to hate him. What had he done bad? He didn't want to be a freak he tried his hardest to stop. But weird and bad things kept happening. Especially when Uncle hit him and he got really scared. Oh that was bad. That was always bad. He gulped down hard when he remembered last time when Uncle whipped him. His back is all rough now from it. Uncle said that they were scars and that they were a test-oo-mate to his freakishness. Shivers run through his body.
And memory overtakes him.
His Uncle purple faced and screaming. His small body finding purchase on each jagged step, after being thrown down the stairs. His Uncle raising a belt. The buckle on the belt tearing into his skin as his Uncle rained slashes across his bruised and battered back.
A strike at the door startles Harry from his reminiscing. An angry screech reaches his delicate ears.
"Get your little do gooder ass up!"
Before Harry has time to respond a beefy hand reaches in for him.
"What do you think you are doing boy? I have to eat breakfast and here you are sleeping. Is this what I can expect from you after all my kindness. I cloth you, feed you, give you shelter and this is my repayment!"
A raised hand permeates Harry vision. Harry scrunches his eyes shut and although that saves him from seeing his enraged Uncle, it does nothing from stopping the pain as he is pelted across the room into the jagged fire place. A cry escapes his parched lips before he falls into the familiar darkness. The only comfort in his short life.
He wakes to blinding light. A lone tear falls down his cheek as the pain reaches him. What were once aching limbs now throb with pain. His movement is jittery as he curls around himself seeking comfort and finding none. More tears follow the first until they are streaming down his face. He forces his arms to move despite the pain. All to raise a small shaky hand to cover his mouth, blocking all sound. He knows that he will be in worse pain for disturbing his family. And so he sits curled on a filthy floor not fit for cattle let alone this small malnourished child. Blood mixing into his matted hair. Shivering all over as his body tries to cope to the harsh and unforgiving cold. Yet failing as sickness overtakes him; adding to his already impoverished state. Racking coughs shake his whole body jostling his bruised ribs. Yet the shaking hand manages to hold back the sound. He falls asleep like this dreaming of better things, of a family.
As if in response to his silent plea; Sirius Black took flight from Azkaban. With only one thing in mind; seeing his beloved godson.
This is my first story, so I am really new at writing. Reviews would be appreciated even flames, as I am sure that I could use a few pointers. The more reviews I get the faster I will update. So please review. And even if you really hate this fic, I would like to know so that I can improve. Thank you all for taking the time to read my fic!