Disclaimer: Still, none of this is mine. Including The Price Is Right (nn; ).

Warnings: Er, abuse and angst. Again. It's a Harry chapter, what do you expect? -sweatdrop-

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Harry awoke with a groan and opened his eyes. He was struck by a brief wave of panic as he saw only pitch black. That passed, however, when a small square of light caught his vision. As his eyes adjusted, he realized he was in the cupboard under the stairs, his old home. He sat up abruptly, and clapped a hand to his head. He had the mother of all headaches, and his shoulder hurt from being struck with the belt buckle. It certainly didn't help that the ceiling of the cupboard was quite low, and if he had sat up any straighter than he did, he would've hit his head on it.

When the pain in his brain receded a little, and turned into more of a dull throb than a sharp stabbing, Harry looked at his watch. About thirteen hours had passed since the episode with Vernon, he saw. It was nearly ten thirty in the morning the next day. Harry assumed it was a mixture between being beaten and knocked out and just being tired to begin with that had made him sleep so long. He yawned and stretched his arms out in front of him, with not nearly enough room to stretch them above his head, and felt something shift around his neck.

Feeling around his throat, Harry realized there was some kind of metal chain necklace fastened around his neck. It was rather heavy, and rather short, like a choker, with two metal rings attached to it. He tried to find a clasp to take it off, but couldn't feel one. He tried to lift it over his head, but it was too short; it didn't even make it over his chin. Vernon must have put it on him, before he stuck him in the cupboard. Harry didn't know how, though, because if there was no way to get it off, how was there a way to put it on?

Crawling over to the door, Harry turned the knob and pushed. It didn't open. Moving back a little, he slammed against it, and it creaked open. He had forgotten that the summer humidity often made the door stick. As he stood up, feeling achy, leaving the cupboard door open, he saw Petunia seated on the couch in the room across the hall, watching an episode of her favorite American show, The Price Is Right. She looked back at him.

"He's awake," she called into the next room, no doubt to Vernon.

Harry turned and started up the stairs as hastily as he could. Vernon was not someone he wanted to deal with. Not after last night. Much to his dismay, he saw both Vernon and Dudley rounding the corner into the hall, the younger and latter of the two with his Smelting stick clutched in his hand. Harry picked up his pace on the stairs and reached his room. Just as he was about to slam and lock the door, however, Vernon barged in, his son right behind him.

"Boy!" he barked. "Come here!"

Harry did just the opposite, backing away until he reached the window on the other side of the room. Vernon nodded to Dudley, and the two slowly closed in on Harry. Harry tried to make a dash for the door as they drew closer, but Dudley stuck out his Smelting stick to trip him. As he crashed to the floor, Dudley sat on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Harry's ribs felt like they were about to snap into pieces, and he could hardly breathe. He tried to buck the heavier boy off of him, but to no avail. He was so preoccupied with Dudley that he didn't notice Vernon approaching, taking three or four things out of his pockets. When Harry did notice, however, he saw a strip of material that resembled a dog leash, two gold rings, and something else that he didn't recognize.

Harry was quite helpless as Vernon clipped one end of the leash onto the chocker Harry was wearing. Vernon then nodded again to Dudley, who changed position on Harry. He was now sprawled on his back, Dudley sitting on his thighs, pinning his shoulders down with his hands. Harry bucked and thrashed some more, but the only thing that got him was several smirks from his cousin. He watched with dawning horror as he realized what else Vernon was holding. It was a piercing gun, like those you see at jewelry stores. Vernon took one of the small gold rings and inserted it into the gun. Harry frantically tried to twist around in Dudley's grip; he didn't know what Vernon was planning to pierce, but he knew he didn't want any bit of metal through any part of his skin.

Vernon reached down, grabbed the bottom of Harry's shirt, and pulled it up, exposing his chest. Harry's stomach twisted itself into a knot. He knew what his uncle wanted to pierce now. Piercing gun in hand, Vernon grabbed one of Harry's nipples and pulled it up roughly, causing the boy to gasp. Without a word, he positioned the gun and pierced it. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and bit his lip so hard to keep from screaming that he drew blood, but he couldn't stop himself from groaning. Vernon hadn't even iced it first to numb it. Before he could recover, Vernon pierced the other nipple as well. Harry let out a loud whimper and felt tears well up behind his eyelids.

A third nod to Dudley, and he got up off of Harry, who had long since lost feeling in his legs from his overweight cousin sitting on them. He immediately began to stand, but Vernon picked up the leash from the floor and yanked hard on it. Harry felt his choker become tighter around his neck, choking him briefly. He coughed and reached a hand up to his neck.

"On your hands and knees unless told otherwise," came the barking command. Harry coughed again and began to sit down instead. He got another sharp yank. "Hands and knees!" It was like a choke collar for a dog, he realized with horror as he complied and got up on all fours, watching his uncle in disbelief. "Come!" Vernon began to walk out with Dudley, and when the collar began to get tighter and tighter, Harry had no choice but to follow after them.

The hardwood floors really did a number on his hands and knees. Being made to crawl around the house was humiliating enough, never mind being collared and leashed. Harry blinked back tears as he was lead down the upstairs hall. What had he done to deserve this? He had just gotten home from school yesterday, and in the course of one day, things had become worse than ever. He missed Hogwarts more than ever. He wished he hadn't sent Hedwig off with a note saying everything was okay. He desperately wanted Ron or Hermione to show up at his doorstep and help him out, but he told them he was fine… and besides, he hadn't exactly been the nicest when they left the train station. Now that he thought back on it, he had been somewhat of a jerk.

Maybe some higher power had seen this and decided to punish him. That was the only explanation he could think of.

As they reached the stairs, Harry wanted to stand to walk down because he was afraid he would fall trying to crawl, but he didn't want to be yanked on again. If Vernon pulled the leash hard enough in the right direction, he could send Harry flying down the stairs. Harry decided to take his chances with crawling. He stumbled a couple of times, but managed to catch himself before he fell and got strangled.

Vernon led him into the kitchen, where Petunia was preparing a brunch of omelet and French toast. Dudley began whining about how healthy that was, and how he would much rather be eating a Twinkie, and Petunia assured him he could have as many Twinkies as he wanted afterwards. Harry was taken over to the corner of the table by Vernon's seat.

"Sit," he commanded. When Harry hesitated and then refused, he pulled the leash up farther and farther, cutting off the boy's air supply more and more. After letting him clutch at his throat for a good twenty seconds, Vernon let the leash go slack again. "When I say 'sit,' you sit!" he snapped. Harry only wheezed in response. He continued, "When I say 'Jump,' you say 'How high?' When I say 'Run,' you say 'How far?' Got that? …No, change that. When I say run, you run. You don't say anything. In fact, you don't speak unless asked a direct question, and you do not pull any funny business! Understand?" He yanked on the leash once more to get his point across. Harry nodded as frantically as a bobblehead doll, and coughed several more times. "Now sit!" Harry sat. Vernon gave a grunt, seemingly satisfied enough, and tied Harry's leash securely to the table leg.

At this point, Petunia had put out two plates on the table, and the three Dursleys served themselves. Harry sat on the floor, unmoving, stomach growling. He felt like crying, and the more he thought about it, the closer he came to it. He realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that his wand was still under the floor boards of his room. On this leash, there was no chance of getting it; and without it, he couldn't do any magic – not on purpose, anyway; and without magic, he didn't see any way of getting himself out of this mess without getting strangled in the process. And dying in the process would ultimately defeat the purpose of trying to escape in the first place. He sighed loudly, ignoring the glare he got from Vernon, and shifted his weight on the floor to try to keep his legs from falling asleep again.

Towards the end of the meal, Harry was slightly startled by a hand suddenly hanging down in front of his face; it was Vernon's, and it held a small piece of French toast. "Eat it," he heard. He stared at it, then reached up to take it. He received a sharp backhand. "No hands." Harry stared at it once more. There was no way he was going to be fed. He kept his mouth shut and looked down at the floor. Another backhand to the same spot, and he could taste blood in his mouth. He blinked back tears from the pain.

"Eat it," Vernon commanded again.

Harry still refused. He was hungry, his stomach was rumbling, but he wasn't about to humiliate himself more than he had to. Vernon huffed and muttered something foul under his breath. He reached down and squeezed Harry's cheeks together with one hand to make him open his mouth, then forced the piece of toast in with the other. He held Harry's mouth closed until he swallowed.

"I've yet to break you, boy," Vernon grunted, and turned back to the table. Harry remained sitting on the floor, again on the verge of tears. For his entire life, he hadn't cried very much. He got mad a lot, but he hardly ever felt like breaking down and crying. Humiliation was never something he had to really worry about before, and now he didn't know how to deal with it.

And so he didn't deal with it. He sat on the floor by the table, near his uncle's feet, and cried.

-->end chapter 3 -->

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Alright. That's as much of this as I've got so far (well, I'm working on the fourth chapter, but who knows when that'll be done. P; ). Should I post the fourth chapter? Only YOU can tell! (DUN DUN DUN). Please, R&R! Or at least do the reading part of r&ring. Suggestions, comments are helpful... flames, I suppose, are alright too. (I think most of that is from one flame I got from a story I posted on an old account... it was actually really hilarious, even though it was meant to be insulting. Really, I'm hard to insult. Try me. nn;; )

Ja, mata ne!