Harry flexed his fingers in attempts to start the blood circulating again. It wasn't that it was cold in September, but at 6:00 in the night, when the sun had already gone down, it did get a little chilly; and sitting out in the garden, trying to pry the weeds out of the frozen ground had not done much to warm him up.
Finally the last weed came out of the ground; Harry stood up slowly and stretched out his sore and aching body. It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't spent the previous part of his summer being starved and beaten by the Dursleys. He cautiously tested out each leg before putting his full wait on it to take a step forward. Every time he took a step with his right leg he could feel the two segments of his femur grinding painfully together. He was about halfway to the house when Petunia stuck her head out of the window, Harry straightened up immediately. He wouldn't let the Dursleys have the satisfaction of knowing that that caused him pain. Petunia glared at him.
"What is taking you so long? I have to run to the store to get some biscuits. I want dinner on the table when I get back. Do you hear me?" Harry nodded and began to slowly make his way back to the house, "Hurry up!" she screeched.
"Sorry," Harry began meekly, "I sat down for too long, and my joints are a little stiff." He gave her a very weak smile before she scowled and turned back inside muttering, "Ungrateful little brat, doesn't even care that we're hungry." Harry shook his head slightly before making hobbling the rest of the way to the house.
Harry had just finished cooking dinner when Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley had arrived home. He had, as quickly as he could, put the plates and silverware on the table, but unfortunately, that had not been quick enough. A large fist came in contact with the back of his head, and he was sent flying across the kitchen where he hit the wall with a sickening crunch.
"Petunia gives you one easy task and you can't even finish it? Stupid boy!" He was rewarded with one swift kick to his already broken ribs before Vernon sat down at the table and was waiting to be served. It had been when he was getting up that he made the grave mistake. He had quickly glanced out the front window before turning around, and he had seen a person walking up the front walk. It had looked like, but no, it couldn't be, could it?
"Professor Snape?" Harry whispered quietly to himself, confused, what was he doing here? It had been then that Harry had learned just how cruel the Dursleys could be. He did not know exactly what day it was, his blows to the head had helped with that, but he did think that when September first rolled around that the Dursleys would take him to Kings Cross, glad to be rid of him, but it seemed that was not the case.
As soon as the cursed whisper had escaped his lips Vernon had glimpsed out of the window, risen and grabbed Harry roughly, successfully dislocating the shoulder of his already broken arm, and yanked Harry's face right up to his.
"Who is that?" Vernon's hot breath was sticking to Harry's skin, but he didn't dare pull away.
"Professor Snape," Harry replied in an unusually calm voice.
"From that school of yours?" Harry nodded in reply. Just then there was a knock on the door. Vernon shoved Harry down in the chair opposite the door and grabbed the knife Harry had cut the steak with, pushing it firmly into Harry's bruised skin.
"You want to stay here, got it?" he emphasized that last two words by pushing the knife further into Harry's back. He could feel the blood seeping out of the cut, but just nodded. Snape knocked on the door again. "Petunia, go answer the door!"
"Yes Vernon," she answered, getting out of her chair and heading for the door, throwing one cruel glance back at Harry before reaching for the doorknob. "Do come in." Her sickeningly sweet voice was almost too much for Harry to handle, but the blade in his back helped keep his thoughts straight.
As soon as Snape walked into the kitchen Vernon increased the pressure of the blade.
"Hello professor Snape," he said quietly, silently hoping he would see what was happening. No such luck. After a moments pause Snape began,
"I have come to collect you potter. Go grab your things." Harry didn't answer in hopes that one, Snape would either go away, or two, that he would see something was wrong, all that happened was the silent movement of Vernon causing more blood to trickle down his back, soaking into the hem of his dirty pants. "Go get your things! I don't have all night you know." Snape spat at him bitterly. Vernon, in fright that Harry might blow out his cover, pushed a little harder than needed on the knife. Harry gasped slightly in pain, but answered none the less.
"I think I would rather stay here professor, if that is alright with you." Harry kept his eyes on his hands, Vernon knew about that black eye and the bruises Harry had, if Snape showed any sign of knowing what was going on, Harry was pretty sure that knife would be the last thing he felt. Snape stared at him, obviously unbelieving, but nothing could have prepared Harry for what he said next.
"Yes, and I am Santa Clause. I have heard you complaining about those awful relatives of yours, there is no way you would want to stay here." When Vernon heard this Harry felt that damn knife go farther into his back, he was sure that there must be a puddle of blood on his seat by now. Snape continued, "Dumbledore sent me to get you, and that is what I plan on doing, now move!" When Harry made no response, Snape started walking towards him.
"No professor, please, I would really rather remain here." This had the desired affect as both Snape and the knife stopped their journey towards (or into) Harry.
"Much as I would love for you not to return to Hogwarts," Snape sneered, "I am on strict orders to return back as soon as possible, with you, so please go get your stuff!" Harry did nothing but stare at his hands. "Fine! If I have to physically move you, I will." Snape started walking towards Harry again and he panicked, seriously fearing for his life, though he might bleed to death at this rate anyways.
"Please sir, just leave." Snape stopped once again, he was obviously very aggravated.
"Potter-"
"Please," Harry begged, "Please sir, just leave."
"Fine!" Snape shouted in compliance, and with that, he disapparated. Vernon slowly and painfully removed the knife from Harry's back. He turned his infuriated face towards Harry.
"If that ever," Harry tried not to cringe at the fury his uncle was radiating, "ever, happens again, you will not be so lucky." With that he grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him out of the kitchen throwing him painfully into the cupboard and locking the door with the six locks they had installed since Harry's return that summer.
Harry lay down on the cold, hard floor, the events of the night playing over and over in his head. He had had a chance, why hadn't he taken it? Oh well, it was no use worrying about it now, he would spend the rest of his teen years locked in a cupboard, if he hadn't starved to death by then. He rolled over onto his ram in hopes that he could help diminish the pain in his back, but as his arm was both broken and dislocated it didn't help much.
After a few moments of useless attempts to lie down comfortably Harry sat up, deciding to do a full body check of his injuries in hopes that he might be able to mend one of them without his wand. The Dursleys had taken his wand, his trunk, all of his belongings and burned them as soon as he had stepped into the house. Luckily he had managed to save his wand from the same fate that the rest of his possessions had received, but it had only been for a few days. They had found his wand stuffed into a little crevice in the infinitesimal cupboard under the stairs and they had snapped it in half, gasping greatly when the gorgeous red feather and spilled out. Petunia couldn't help but use it for a decoration in the living room. Harry laughed at that, his wand, his prize possession being used as a mere decoration in a muggle's house. Shaking his head, he concentrated on the task at hand. How extensive was the damage?
He slowly pulled of his shirt, so as not to cause himself too much pain, not that it was really that hard. It was one of Dudley's old shirts and it practically fell of his emaciated body anyways. Even so, he winced as the shirt tugged slightly on the ribs that stuck so far out of his skin. Finally it was all the way off and he sighed sadly as he examined himself.
He pushed softly on each of his ribs cringing when his fingers came in contact with a broken one. After a few moments of searching he found that only 4 of his ribs were, in fact broken, luckily they were some of the bottom ones, so it was unlikely that they would do much harm to his lungs. He knew for a fact that his left arm was both broken and dislocated but he had no idea if anything was wrong with his right arm, and other than the many bruises and cuts he couldn't see much permanent damage. He grimaced when upon turning his arm over he found the burn mark, he closed his eyes, sighing in tragic remembrance.
"Get down here boy!" Vernon called into the door, banging his fist loudly causing Harry's aching head and scar to throb with pain. Moving very slowly and painfully he made his way towards the kitchen, ready to do whatever his tormenters wanted. "Make breakfast you worthless thing!" Petunia spat at him as soon as he set foot in the kitchen. "Yes Aunt Petunia" Harry replied wearily, making his way towards the stove. Despite the expression of nonchalance on Harry's face, he was fairly please to be able to make breakfast. Maybe this way he might be able to eat a little something, they hadn't fed him anything in two days for various trivial reasons.
He quickly the got the bacon in one griddle and eggs in another, hoping that if he got it all set up, he might be able to sit down for a moment. The pain in his scar was causing the edges of his vision to become blurry. He had had another one of those dreams, the ones that were more of a nightmare than a dream. He slid down the side of the counter, holding his head in his hands, desperately willing the constant throbbing to stop. He drifted slowly to and from consciousness.
He didn't know how long he had been sitting there, but what brought him back to reality was the smell of something burning. He quickly jumped up and caught sight of the bacon and the eggs, both burnt to a crisp. Pentunia came rushing over. "What have you done you idiot! These were the last eggs in the house!" With that she had taken the hot pan from the stove and shoved it onto Harry's arm, then onto his neck and whatever bare piece of skin she could reach, repeating again and again, "stupid boy, you would be better of dead, cant believe someone could be this useless . . ."
Harry spent the next few hours doing what he could to heal his wounds. He had managed to pop his shoulder back into place, but it was still terribly sore. He still cringed involuntarily every time he put pressure on one of his injuries. He figured that he would be use to the pain by now, but it seems as though the gods were once again against him. His ankle was purple and swollen, obviously broken, his femur snapped in half from when Vernon had jumped on his leg. He lay back down on the cold floor, terribly nostalgic for the mattress that he had had in here when he was younger, and despite all the pain, Harry managed to fall into a light sleep, sure to do more harm in the nightmares than good in the rest.