Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters nor the scenery which you could recognise, the only thing I take credit for is the plot.

Pairings: None for this chapter.

Warnings: DarkHarry, Dumbledore, Hermione and Weasley bashing (excluding Bill, Charlie, Fred and George).

Word Count: 6,010

Date Rewritten: 28/12/2020

It has been two weeks and young Harry Potter finds himself locked in Dudley's second bedroom, a small room filled to the brim with broken toys, discarded items and objects his cousin was too stupid to understand. Once he had set foot into his relatives' house after getting off the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross Station for the holidays. Aunt Petunia had confiscated his trunk, locking it in his old cupboard under the stairs while Uncle Vernon had dragged through the house before being tossed into his new room.

He had laughed about that for a while, that his relatives' had only decided to give him Dudley's second bedroom was because they were terrified that there were wizards watching the house and that is how his letter had been addressed to 'Harry Potter, the Cupboard Under the Stairs.'

Though as the days progressed and nothing strange happened, Harry could tell that they were becoming braver, with no other indications or letters, Aunt Petunia had finally started up again with her snide remarks and comments here and there. Belittling her nephew, slowly increasing the harshness from insignificant comments to burning his hands on the stove for even the smallest mistakes while completing his chores.

Uncle Vernon had become even more vicious while he had been at school, probably because there was now definitive proof that his nephew was abnormal, that he didn't fit in to his idea of a perfectly normal family life. He began the summer with small shoves every time he was in the same room as Harry, verbal abuse and long lists of impossible chores to complete. Turning into full beatings just a few short days ago, days without food and to Harry's surprise he had been locked out of the house over night because the rest of the family had gone to bed before he had finished de-weeding the garden.

Now with nothing to do besides his daily chores, Harry finds himself so bored that he would happily sit down and do his homework if it weren't stuck in his trunk downstairs.

The box room he was in left much to be desired; but for an eleven-year-old, who had spent the better half of his life living in a boot closet, appreciated it much more than any other child would. Even if it wasn't as nice as his room had been in Severus' chambers.

He had a bed. Or rather a pitiful pile of ratty, torn up blankets piled in the corner of the room closest to the small barred window. To the left of his 'bed' stood a rickety old desk, he had salvaged from the garbage when his spoilt brat of a cousin had thrown it out demanding his parents buy him a new, modern one. And although it wasn't in perfect condition, Harry found that it would be serviceable enough to complete his homework and write letters to his new friend if he even managed to sneak his stuff up.

Currently, the Boy-Who-Lived is lying on his back on his blankets trying no to open up the fresh wounds which litter his already badly battered skin. A few new bruises being added daily to his ever-growing collection on his small frame. He stares up at the ceiling, looking at the chipped paint, passing the time by counting the cracks running along the plaster, until his Aunt came calling in the morning.

It is late at night; or rather early in the morning. Long since the sun had set, and the moons and stars had taken its place. All residence' are fast asleep in their beds, collective snoring reaching his ears as Harry finds sleep eluding his grasp. His spiralling thoughts coursing through his mind like a carousel, their focus, one a conversation he had had with his potions professor in the days leading up to the end of term.

A simple conversation about his Mother. How she had been a kind, brave, and caring witch who has instantly disregarded the rivalry between the houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin as simple child's immaturity as she took to befriending many Snakes during her years at Hogwarts.

Shifting carefully into a more comfortable position, Harry slowly sits up trying to ignore the burning pain running through his back at the slight movement. Sighing loudly, he decides to occupy his sleepless night with something he found himself doing a lot recently. Reaching down beside his blankets, Harry pulls some loose floorboards up, wincing when they creak, lifting a small burgundy photo album out before resting back against the wall, legs drawn up to his chest. Stroking the book lovingly, the small boys allows a small genuine smile to shape his features as he stares down at one of the many pictures he had seen of his parents.

Harry had received the album as an early birthday present from Hagrid and although he wasn't pleased with how sycophantic the giant was to Dumbledore, he did appreciate having something to make him feel a little closer to his biological parents. Opening up the book, Harry looks at a few moving images, thinking back on something Professor Snape had told him during their daily conversations about James and Lily Potter.

Professor Snape had confessed that Lily had hated James during her first couple of years attending Hogwarts due to his rather loud prejudicial and bullying means, not to mention that fact that he had thought himself privileged just because of who his parents were and how much he had been spoilt. Harry often found himself questioning the man as to how come his Mother's opinion had changed so quickly and drastically but Severus was unsure himself.

Flicking to the front of the album, Harry stares down enchanted at one of the unmoving pictures, a muggle photograph. His green eyes shine as they shift between the two people seemingly studying in the Hogwarts library and by the looks of it, they were engrossed.

A young girl, looking to be around Harry's own age, with long, wavy red hair and bright green eyes was sitting at the table adorned in Gryffindor robes. A girl he instantly recognised as his mother, a girl who was seated next to a tall, skinny boy with shoulder length ebony hair dressed in the Green Slytherin robes. The two preteens were smiling happily at the camera, though the boy seemed to be looking more towards Lily than the device.

Turning the page reverently Harry feels his eyes widen at the next image, ones he hadn't been able to look at previously. This image is moving as the people in the picture look slightly older that the ones in the previous one. However, like the image before, Lily is sitting next to Severus Snape in the Hogwarts library, books and parchment strewn across the table between them. This time though, a second boy, one who Harry had not seen before, who seemed to be older than both Severus and Lily is seated across from them, his Slytherin robes perfectly flattering on his figure. The new figure seemed to be carrying himself with an air of regality and superiority though he is smiling softly at the two younger students. He is sitting back in his chair seemingly watching the interaction between the other occupants with amusement.

His mother had been close friends with Lucius Malfoy.

Staring down at the picture with awe and surprise, Harry strokes it fondly happy to have learnt something new about his mother. He strokes the image once more before carefully removing it and the previous one out of the album. Hiding the pictures under his pillows, he places the rest absently on the surface of his desk, watching sleepily at the book sways precariously on the edge before going still.

Looking across the room at the alarm clock sitting on the other side of Dudley's old desk, Harrys lies down after catching sight of the flickering red digits, 04:48. Just a few more hours before he would be woken up by his Aunt's shrill voice and persistent banging on his door demanding he go and make Vernon's breakfast. Becoming wary at the continuous cat and mouse game he is playing with sleep, Harry decides to try and clear his mind, halting all thoughts of pain, his Mother, Severus, and his soon-to-be-Father. Thoughts begin to slow down as his eyelids grow heavy as Hypnos finally welcomes Harry into his embrace.

"Wake up you lazy, good for nothing freak!"

A shrill voice shouts through the bolted door what felt like a mere minute later and Harry wonders how his Uncle never wakes up when his banshee of a wife is screeching just down from his room but can hear every little noise he makes.

Blinking the grogginess from his hazy, sleep ridden mind, Harry quickly jumps up from his bed, shoving his broken glasses over his ears and blinking rapidly as the room quickly comes into focus. He runs across the room pulling out whatever clothes his hands manage to grab hold of first before he pulls them on, trying not to catch and pull at the still healing welts covering his back and chest.

"I said get up! Don't make me wake your Uncle, you know what he will do to you if you don't obey."

The small eleven-year-old startles at the loud shout, wincing as the threat registers in his mind, his back flaring in remembrance of his Uncles newest form of torture. Pulling on the rest of his clothes as fast as he is capable, Harry slips his over-sized trainers on, which he had been generously been 'gifted' last year.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia. I will be down in just a moment."

The sound of Aunt Petunia's footsteps moving away from the door, after unlocking the multiple locks trapping him in his room, Harry allows some of the tension to bleed out of his muscles. Taking a deep breath Harry returns to tying his shoes up ensuring that they are as secures as they are going to be before he stands back up. Stretching his cramped muscles carefully, feeling the bruises and scabs pulling in silent protect at the small movements he vacates the room.

Stepping into the pristine kitchen, which he had spent hours scrubbing down the previous day, Harry walks towards the cabinets, glad that his cousin wasn't present to knock him around, the fat lump was probably still asleep. Proceeding to grab various pots and pans from the racks, he begins the menial chore of cooking breakfast for the Dursley family; consisting of bacon, eggs, toast, beans, tomatoes, and black pudding.

It didn't take much time to prepare and cook the meal and soon Harry was placing the last steaming plate onto the table just in time as Uncle Vernon waddles his way into the room, practically collapsing into his seat at the head of the table. Reaching mutely for the cup of coffee Harry places by his hand, the large man takes no time digging into the food, shoving anything and everything into his mouth that he can get his meaty hands on.

Turning away from the disgusting sight, Harry begins on the washing up, knowing that it was going to be one of the many jobs on his chore list for the day. Quickly, yet efficiently scrubbing all the pots and pans he had used, followed by the utensils Harry finishes in record time.

A shirt grunt catches Harry's attention as he places the final utensil down on the drain board, turning around to face his Uncle he raises an inquisitive eyebrow behind the man's back. The eleven-year-old watches with barely disguised disgust as Vernon pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket with grease-covered fingers, throwing it to the floor with a pleasant grin towards his nephew.

Sighing inwardly, Harry dries his hands off on the towel draped over his shoulder before he bends down to pick up the small paper fragment, stuffing it straight into the pocket of his oversized jeans. Not even needing to spare a second glance to know that he now had his list of chores to do for the remainder of the day.

Quickly putting the dishes away in their rightful places, Harry gingerly takes the piece of paper out of his pocket, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger in hopes of escaping the grease almost dripping from the list. Grabbing a tea towel, Harry attempts to flatten the list while cleaning it as best of he can without smudging any of the writing. He sighs as his eyes rapidly scan through his list of chores, it being significantly longer than usual.

Making his way into the back garden, Harry walks towards the shed housing all sorts of outdated gardening tools; grabbing whatever he needs, Harry goes to kneel down under the window, dropping the metal instruments with a clatter by his knees. Leaning forward, grabbing the closest weeds and tugging harshly, letting his mind wonder as he begins the monotonous task of de-weeding his Aunts', or rather his, flower beds.

I wonder how much longer Father is going to take. I know he said up to a couple of weeks, but it has already been three! I wonder if he has forgotten all about me; my own blood relatives have never wanted me around and the esteemed Headmaster who was supposed to care about my well-fare forced me back here even after I pleaded with him. Maybe Voldemort is having second thoughts about taking me in…

Harry gasps as a sharp stabbing pain shoots through his heart as he pulls a handful of dirt up with the weeds he is gripping.

What if he said all of that, promised to adopt me just to get the stone from me? What if he is never going to rescue me?

Shaking his doubting thoughts away, Harry reaches for another cluster of weeds, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling welling up in the back of his mind.

But… he did promise and even Professor Snape has been extremely kind to me… Why would Voldemort tell Snape everything if he never intended to go through with it all? All I have ever wanted is a family who will love me, is that too much to ask? Or am I just an unlovable freak like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always says?

Gathering up the mounting pile of weeds pulled from the soil, Harry throws them into the bin dusting his hands off on his trouser before collecting the tools and placing them back into the shed before retrieving the lawn mower.

Checking that the coast is clear, Harry quickly trails the cord through the house, releasing a breath of relief when he doesn't run into Aunt Petunia, who had been, for some reason, watching his far more than usual these passing days. Honestly, her behaviour is starting to creep him out, her staring constantly through the window when he is working in the back garden, the heavy scrutiny in her narrow eyes. As if she were hiding something big from him, planning something or suspected that he was plotting something.

Harry noticed how his Ant and Uncle had taken to sneaking around the house, both sneering at him whenever they would lay eyes on him as he pottered about trying to finish his chores and, despite everything, the fear they were feeling at the potential of they being watched to the small chance of Harry, himself, cursing them if they did something against him. Harry knew they are planning something, something that he isn't going to like one bit and as the days pass, he is becoming more afraid for his life, wishing that Voldemort would hurry up and get him before it is too late.

As he attempts to drag the ancient mower up and down the lawn, Harry allows his mind to wonder once more, his thoughts circulating as he moves.

I really hope Voldemort gets her soon though; I am terrified that Uncle Vernon is planning to do something horrible soon. His punishments are getting harsher, and it is a miracle that I can even remain conscious throughout most of them now. I have even woken up tied to the bars of my windows before and have had no idea what he had done to me while I had been unconscious…

I am so scared. I know that they hate me and now I know the reason why, but I have never done anything wrong! I don't deserve to be treated this way… do I? No… I am sure I don't deserve to be treated like a slave by despicable Muggles. But if I didn't then why have no one tried to help me before? If I didn't deserve this treatment, why am I forced to stay here even though Draco told me how all Purebloods are related to some degree. Why am I forced to stay here even thought I have told people about the punishments, the starvation? Am I just a useless, ungrateful freak like Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia always tell me?

Harry can feel a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he pictures the looks on his relative's faces when they catch sight of Voldemort and hopefully Severus; a mix between horror, shock, and fear as they shiver violently, trying to escape the angry men advancing on them with wands in their hands. Sneers on their faces, impeccable robes, and dark threatening auras. His Uncle would probably try to yell at first, to intimidate them but, of course, he would soon realise that these wizards were not to be trifled with, they would not be cowed by his red/purple face and loud bellows.

"Good morning, Little Hatchling."

A small hissing voice pulls Harry from his musing, his wide eyes sweeping the garden until they land on a large green snake slithering through the grass towards his feet. Stopping the mower, in case he harms the creature, Harry turns the blades away from the large reptile before watching in morbid fascination as the snake stops mere centimetres from him, seemingly to study him with big brown eyes.

"Hello there Beautiful, what is your name?"

Harry crouches down in front of the serpent gazing down its length in wonder, wishing for some reason that he could run his fingers gently along the glistening scales. He watches as the snake stares up at him for a long moment, its eyes seemingly widening even without eyelids, making him feel slightly unnerved; even as he refuses to look away, to show any weakness in case the reptile decides he is a threat and attacks.

"You speak? How are you able to speak, Little Hatchling? My master never told me of this!"

The young wizard is enraptured with the hissing words as the snake seems to cock its head to the side in contemplation, staring at him as if he were a difficult puzzle it needed to solve, her tongue flicking out in a weird sort of way. Harry stays silent for a moment, wondering what she is referring to.

"Sorry to disappoint you but what do you mean 'How can I speak?' Of course, I can speak to you, can't all wizards?"

Harry queries quietly, not wanting to break the Snake's train of thought despite his desire for answers. His mind whirling at the implication that there is something else he could do that few people, if any, in the Wizarding or Muggle world could do. The snake turns to face the boy, her eyes blinking slowly as she watches him for a second.

"A Speaker or Snake Charmer is someone who can speak the Ancient Language of the Serpent, I believe, in your tongue, it is called Parseltongue."

"Parseltongue? Wow, I didn't know I could speak a different language."

The snake tilts her head slowly to the side, her eyes staring at the child incredulously as if to say he is completely mad and maybe just a little slow. How did the child not know that he could speak Parseltongue when he could speak it so well? Then again, how was this child able to speak the tongue when no one but the Heir of Slytherin or descendants of the Slytherin family were able to acquire such a gift. She slithers closer to the child, gliding over his lap wrapping herself comfortably around his small shoulders as he merely watches her.

"But you are speaking it now, Little Hatchling."

It is Harry's turn to slowly blink his eye, staring down at the reptile in disbelief, his eyes widening. The large reptile rests her head against his cheek, her tail curling around his waist in an almost snake-like hug. Harry tilts his head to the side, a thoughtful expression shaping his features, absentmindedly stroking the snake's head earning a hiss of pleasure.

"Really? I can't tell, I thought I was still speaking English."

A small hissing sound has Harry snapping his full attention back to the snake, his hand dropping to his side in shock, it sounds almost like her version of a laugh or at least a chuckle. Silly hatchling thought a snake could speak English.

"It is a rare gift, only my master can speak it."

Curiosity burns in the young child's green eyes as he contemplates whether to ask his next question or not.

"Who is your Master? Who are you?"

"I am called Nagini and my master sent me with a message."

Nagini answers with a slight bow of her head as if introducing herself to someone of nobility or Pureblood status, which, if what Draco had explained were true, he is going to be as soon as his Father adopts him properly. Though he does narrow his eyes when he notices her skirting around one of his questions, answering with information which catches his attention, so he doesn't question.

"A message? For me?"

Excitement runs rampant through the eleven-year-old, he had never received a letter before, let alone a message sent by a snake. Didn't the wizarding world use owls for deliveries?

"Yes, my Master says he is coming tonight and to make sure that Little Hatchling is packed and ready to go."

Nodding her head as she speaks, Nagini looks towards the house, her eyes narrowing at the sight of a thin, horse-faced lady flittering around the kitchen in an ugly fashion, and by what her Master had said this was one of the Muggles who hurt the child.

"Really? I thought he had forgotten all about me."

Turning her attention back to the child in front of her who is rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. She shakes her head before uncurling herself swiftly; she had a sinking feeling that the woman would be coming out soon and she did not want to be caught by the Muggles. She gestures to her neck and, for the first time, Harry notices a small piece of parchment tied to her. Quickly untying the note, Harry slips it into his pocket to read later.

"No, my master has been talking about nothing but Little Hatchling, he is very excited to come and take you home."

Nagini begins to slither away, hissing over her shoulder as she moves quickly through the grass, Harry watches her go in confusion. Where is she going? Did she have to go back so soon? Just before Harry has a chance to call out to the snake, a small, bone thin hand slaps down hard on his shoulder making the young boy flinch involuntarily away. Turning his head so he is looking over his shoulder, his stomach drops when he meets the sour face of his Aunt who is staring down at him lividly.

"Do I have to remind you that you have other chores to be getting on with today." She spits. "get back to work you, ungrateful little freak!"

Cuffing Harry round the back of the head, he sniggers quietly as he watches her retreat into the house slamming the door behind herself. Sighing inwardly, Harry slowly stands up from where he had been sitting on the ground before turning the mower back on and carrying on with his chores under the blazing, merciless sun; before his Aunt comes back to berate him more.

Five hours later, Harry finally finds himself almost at the end of his long list of chores. He is on his way up the stairs to finish tidying his cousin, Dudley's room when a loud slam of a car door resounds through the hallway of number four. Harry freezes on the steps, taking a deep shaky breath, knowing that at some point during the day Aunt Petunia must have told his Uncle about his bout of 'laziness' that morning. That and something must have gone wrong at work for the man which Harry is going to be blamed for. The young wizard can tell that his Uncle is not the slightest bit happy when he steps through the door; his face is bright red with anger and his fists, clenching tightly around the briefcase he carries, knuckles white from the strength, breathing ragged, his eyes narrowed and sweat dripping from his forehead.

The door had been flung open with such force that is slams against the adjacent wall creating a hole where the handle chips away the plaster, more work for Harry to do later. Cautiously continuing his ascent up the stairs, trying to prolong the inevitable, Harry calls his usual greeting.

"Welcome home, Uncle Vernon."

Harry instantly regrets his decision when the older man rounds on him as soon as his voice carries across the room, moving faster than anyone his size should physically be able to; his face set in a deep frown as he watches his nephew stiffen and back away slowly, sneering down his large nose at the small raven-haired boy.

"Where do you think you are going, boy?"

Harry stiffens in the middle of his ascent, his face paling at the strange serpentine hiss to his Uncle's words, the underlying threat evident in his tone. A tone which makes terror run like ice through his veins, more than anything else could. He knew he was in for one hell of a night and wished that his Father was coming sooner. Taking a deep breath, Harry turns back around slowly, facing the purple faced man standing just a few steps below himself.

"I was just on my way to finish tidying Dudley's bedroom, Uncle Vernon."

The man glares darkly at the small child before motioning him down the stairs with a single crook of his large finger, gesturing for Harry to stand in front of himself.

The young wizard swallows audibly but obeys, he walks down slowly towards his uncle wary of the unnatural glint shining in his Uncle's eyes as he follows the boy's actions in hungry anticipation. Standing directly in front of the burly man; trying to keep his quaking limbs to a minimum as best as he is able, shutting the terror from his eyes as he looks up at his Uncle.

"So, you think you can slack off, do you? Too good to do a few simple chores around the house, eh?"

The snarl on his Uncle's face had Harry shaking like a leaf, his face paling further, his small fingers knotting themselves in his oversized t-shirt as he shifts his gaze to the floor, hoping his easy submission will lessen his punishment.

"No… No, I… I was just…"

Harry knows the second he opens his mouth to speak that he made a mistake, but he couldn't stop the stuttering words from falling from his lips, trying to defend himself, to get his Uncle to see that he was doing his chores to the best of his ability. That he hadn't slacked off. His voice shakes, tears building up in the back of his eyes as his gaze fixates on the carpeted floor in the long hallway. Involuntarily flinching as his Uncle's briefcase hits the floor with an ominous thud.

"Don't you dare talk back to me you, ungrateful freak! We didn't want you in the first place, but we gave you a roof over your head, food and clothes and you think that you don't need to do anything to earn your keep?"

Harry stands still for a few seconds, too afraid to make any movements least he unleashes his Uncle's wrath, but it is all for nought as he feels his head connecting violently with the wall. His Uncle had backhanded him across the face so har that Harry is flung into the wall with brutal force. Biting his lip to prevent any shouts of pain from being heard, Harry stands gingerly on his unsteady feet, swaying a little as his head throbs and his vision blurs as he tries to focus on the approaching figure.

Another sharp slap sends Harry back to the floor, wrist bending behind his back at an uncomfortable angle as he tries to prevent his collapse causing the small boy to bite his lip harder drawing blood. Small black spots enter his vision as his glasses are flung from his face, the shattered lenses cutting his cheek and nose as they break under the pressure.

Once again, Harry grits his teeth against the pain as he pushes himself to his feet, unsteadily as his legs shake with the effort it takes to hold his frame up; knowing that he is in more danger if her were to remain on the floor for any longer.

"We went through a severe budget cut today boy! I know it was you and your freakishness that caused it and I will not stand for it! The market has crashed over night!"

Vernon stands over Harry's swaying form, grabbing his thin, stick-like arms in his own meaty hands, shaking the boy violently before dragging him back down the few stairs he had been thrown up. Unlocking the cupboard under the stairs, Vernon throws the small, shaking boy into it and locks the door.

The space feels incredibly smaller than what Harry remembers, his school trunk digging painfully into his already tender and bruising sides as his Uncle slams the door, shutting the grate and bolting him in, blocking out any light available for the small child. Alone in the Darkness, Harry hugs his knees to his chest, his head hurting with the force it had slammed against the wall, his cheek and nose still bleeding from the glass, his wrist throbbing, feeling as if it had fractured from the fall and his shoulder aching as it shifts uncomfortable and Harry knows that it is dislocated after being thrown in the much too small cupboard.

Harry isn't sure how much times passes when he hears the dreaded sound of the latch on the outside of the door unlocking and the door being thrown open letting a large amount of blinding light filter into the space where he is still crouching. He didn't try to resist as his Uncle manhandles him out of the cupboard; doesn't make a sound as he is slammed into the wall next to the door before he is being dragged up the stairs towards Dudley's second bedroom.

He bites the inside of his cheek preventing a cry of pain from escaping as he is thrown unceremoniously to the floor, landing on his dislocated shoulder. Looking up at the blurry figure of his Uncle, Harry tries to subtly move away from the towering figure, breathing coming in short gasps. Due to his injuries, Harry doesn't move fast enough to prevent a boot-clad foot from connecting with his ribs. Pain explodes through his abdomen as the foot repeatedly hits the same area, surely leaving bruises if not internal bleeding and broken bones in its wake.

It isn't long until Harry is sure he can feel his ribs giving under the pressure, snapping and breaking though luckily enough none of them puncture his lungs. His Uncle's foot applying pressure to his already fractures wrist stops any and all attempts Harry makes to protect himself or move away from the looming figure. The pain increases rapidly and the young child fights to stay conscious as he hears the distinct sounds of a voice in the back of his mind.

The young child tries to assure himself that he is going to okay; that he was fine but the pain which sears through his small frame makes it so he can no longer form any real coherent thoughts. Kicks rain down upon his battered body again and again until he feels as if he is going to pass out. The they stop. Confusion is the only thing stopping Harry from letting the darkness overtake his senses; his Uncle never stopped his punishments so suddenly. Cautiously moving his head, he glances up at Uncle Vernon watching with swollen and blurry eyes as he realises what the man plans to do to him.

Whimpering softly in denial, Harry watches paralyzed with fear as his Uncle lifts a brown leather belt high above his head, smiling darkly down at his nephew before bringing it down upon the boy's back without restraint. His mad cackles and derogatory words fill the otherwise silent room. Trying to protect himself from the hard material as it slashes and whips at his thinly covered body, Harry throws his arms over his head, screwing his eyes shut as he finally lets out a cry of pain, much to the sadistic delight of his Uncle.

"Stupid bloody freak thinks he can do whatever he pleases, does he? Almost destroys my career and then what? I come home to find that you still haven't finished a few simple chores! Do you think you are too good to work for the food we give you? Pathetic, worthless, good for nothing, waste of space. We should have killed you when we had the chance."

Each new insult is accompanied by another slash of the makeshift whip.

Harry, now curling in on himself as much as he is able on the floor of Dudley's second bedroom feels steady streams of blood trailing down his battered back as tears run freely down his face. As soon as the assault starts however, it stops. Chancing a quick glance up, Harry freezes in terror and dread as he spies what has caught his Uncle's attention. Vernon is stilled, almost as if he is petrified, one hand still clutching the bloodied belt while his other hold a familiar book, his face pale with newly formed anger.

"What the hell is this trash? You think you can bring more of your freakishness into MY house boy! I will not stand for this!"

Watching in frozen horror, Harry cries with renewed force as his Uncle begins to violently tear image after image up, scattering the shreds over the floor, laughing gleefully as he does so. Seconds go by and he continues to rip, tear and shred every single picture contained within the photo album up much to Harry's despair. The only images he has of his biological parents, one of the only presents he has received. Destroy before his very eyes.

After making sure that each picture had been destroyed, Vernon advances once more on his semi-unconscious nephew; a terrifying sneer shaping his features as he towers over the young boy. Pulling Harry roughly up by the collar of his shirt, he leers at the child, eyes glaring with unadulterated rage.

"You listen to me boy, you will never be leaving this room again for the remainder of the holidays. I will have no more of your freakish behaviour ruining my perfectly normal family, do you hear?"

With one final slash from his belt, Uncle Vernon drops his Nephew alongside the weapon on the floor, leaving the boy bleeding, broken and alone. Locking each lock on his door before stomping his way back down the stairs.

Harry finally lets the darkness overcome his senses.