Harry gingerly laid down on his bed, careful not to touch his bruises more than necessary. For a moment he lay there, gritting his teeth against the pain, his breaths coming in laboured gasps. When the pain became bearable, he let his thoughts linger to the happenings earlier in the day, anger slowly finding its way into his composure.
It had started with Dudley. It was always Dudley. Dudley got what he wanted, when he wanted it, and Harry had to do the dirty work - silently, quickly, and efficiently. Like a bloody house elf. Potter, do this. Potter, do that. Potter, take out the trash. Potter, get out of my sight. It went on and on and on until he wanted to scream in frustration and envy.
That morning at breakfast, Harry was in the kitchen cooking bacon and eggs for the Dursleys. Normally, he couldn't hear anything over the sounds of the bacon sputtering. But this morning, Dudley made sure he could be heard from the dining room as he pointed a chubby finger at the television where Sirius Black's face once again looked out of as the news announcer was explaining that he still hadn't been found even though the police force had been looking for him for two years now.
'Look! Isn't that a picture of Potter's no good mutt of a father figure?'
Harry gripped the spatula he was flipping bacon with so hard his knuckles turned white. He's only trying to rile me up. He told himself as he dragged a deep breath into his lungs.
When Dudley didn't get a reaction, he said, 'Poor Potter has to stay with us. No mummy to comfort him, no daddy to protect him from his nightmares.' He studied Harry, his little beady eyes narrowing intently. 'Poor, poor Cedric. I wonder what happened to him. Must have been something awful.' He made a pouty face that looked more like a lobster being strangled.
After a moment he gave into his laughter, his gigantic stomach bouncing up and down as the mirth overtook him. Each peal of giggles seemed to ricochet wildly around Harry's skull. He bit his lip hard and tried to ignore him.
He finished cooking the bacon and loaded it all onto a plate, forcing himself to calmly walk into the dining room and firmly place the plate on the table before locking eyes with Dudley.
'Well,' he said, 'you have a "mummy" and a "daddy" to run to and you still have pathetic little friends who get scared looking at a dumb Halloween joke and you - you can hardly wipe your own arse without calling for "mummy" to come help. So-' Something slammed into his cheek and he tasted blood. Turning, he came face to face with a purple faced Uncle Vernon.
'What do you think you're doing?' He asked, as if it weren't obvious.
Harry turned, wiping blood from his lip. 'Serving breakfast,' he answered innocently.
Uncle Vernons eyes narrowed. 'You better be.' He said, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder. 'Get in there and finish up before I flay you alive.'
Harry nodded and without another word walked away from the table.
But Dudleys voice followed him. 'At least I don't have a slut for a mother.'
Harry turned around so fast his neck popped. Then he was on Dudley, grabbing, punching, yelling obscenities. Dudley tried to wrestle Harry off of him, but Harry was too angry to care much about the flailing limbs. When a punch or kick did contect, it would just make Harry angrier and angrier until he could see only red.
Then a pair of hands dragged Harry off of Dudley, set him on his feet and shook him so his head bobbed back and forth. 'HOW DARE YOU! AFTER ALL WE'VE DONE FOR YOU??! YOU INFURIATING FREAK!!' Harry turned away, oddly glad to have another battle to fight. He picked up a dirty pan off the table, and carried it to the sink with Vernon hot on his heels.
'Is that all you've got? You'll never get a raise - not just because you clearly love food, but because of the state of your family. Dudley looks like he just inhaled three turkeys, stuffing and all, and Aunt Petunia looks like she's been- oof!' Vernon punched him so hard his ears rang.
'YOU! YOU DISRESPECTFUL, UNWANTED PAIN IN THE ASS! YOU SPEAK ONE MORE WORD ABOUT MY FAMILY LIKE THAT AND I'LL BEAT YOU WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR LIFE, THEN LOCK YOU IN YOUR ROOM FOR A WEEK!'
Harry winced. 'And not listen to you gloat about how great you think you are at your FUCKING job that makes you look like an EPIC FUCKING FAILURE??! Gladly!'
Vernon grabbed a handful of Harry's shirt and slammed him into a kitchen cabinet. 'WHAT DID I SAY??' He roared.
Harry swallowed. 'You said not to insult your family. You're fair game.'
Vernon slammed him into the cabinet again, Harry's head snapping forward and back again before thudding painfully into the cabinet. Vernon let him drop, then wiped his hand on his pant leg as if releasing a dog that had just been sprayed by a skunk. 'Go to your room,' he ordered, voice deadly. 'I'll be up shortly, after I find something to beat you with.'
Harry steadied himself on the counter for a moment, then walked towards his room, his heart in his mouth. He sat on his bed, relishing his last pain-free moments. Then he heard the footfalls on the stairs, made purposefully slow so Harry would anticipate every one. He bit his lip as the footsteps grew louder and closer. Then they stopped, and he looked up and saw Uncle Vernon glaring at him from the doorway with a rawhide belt in his hand. Harry could feel his heartbeat spike and the sweat start to roll down his collar. Uncle Vernon stepped into the room and slammed the door closed, the sound echoing around the room.
Suddenly filled with adrenalin, Harry jumped off the bed and ran toward the door, only to be stopped by a hand grabbing the back of his shirt and throwing him unceremoniously onto his bed. Harry scrambled off the bed and tried to run for it again, but Uncle Vernon had enough. He grabbed him by the arm and proceeded to beat him up and down his back with the belt. Each lick seemed to bite into his skin, finding all the soft spots while Harry tried to wriggle out of the tight grip around his upper arm. But the grip just got tighter and tighter until Harry couldn't feel his fingers anymore.
He didn't care. He aimed a kick at Uncle Vernon's knee and missed - but the message was still there. Uncle Vernon dragged him across the room and stood Harry in front of the window. Then he proceeded to wrap a hand around the back of Harry's neck and smash his head through the window. Harry's hands automatically went up to shield his face as much as they could, but he could still feel all the shards of glass piercing his skin. On the backs of his hands and fingers, on the softness of his cheeks. He could only wish for it to be over soon. Uncle Vernon pulled him back into the room, and spun him around. Harry stared at the blood running down his hands and arms, then looked at the drops falling onto his shirt.
'That,' Uncle Vernon spat, 'is how you freaks make us feel inside. Now take off your shirt.'
Harry's eyes snapped up to Uncle Vernon's face. 'No! Please!' He begged. 'Don't beat me again! I can't take any more!'
Uncle Vernon led Harry over the wall and ripped Harry's shirt off, then pushed him up to the wall. 'Hands on the wall,' he demanded. 'And don't you dare move.' Harry raised his bloody, shaky hands and placed them palm out on the wall in front of him, and the first strike landed on his back. Then another, then another until Harry was sure it would never end.
As the beating went on and on, he could see the edges of his vision begin to blacken. From the pain or from lack of blood, he couldn't tell. He leaned his forehead, damp with sweat on the wall. A few moments later, he collapsed into blessed, blessed unconsciousness.
He awoke sprawled out where he fell, at the base of the wall. After a moment, he tried to get up. A fire seemed to explode in his back, making him gasp. Stilling, he took a breath through his nose and blew it out through his mouth. repeating this few more times, he tried again. Drawing in another breath, he held it while he got his hands under himself, and blew the breath out as he hoisted himself up onto all fours. The pain was white hot and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Still, tears blurred his vision and he reached up a hand to brush away the wetness. His hand came away sticky with blood. He stared at it for a moment, then numbly wiped it on his shirt.
Ten long minutes later, he stood leaning against the wall, breathing hard. Using the wall for support, he made his way toward the door and across the hall to the bathroom where he hoped to clean himself up a little bit. He turned on the light and looked at himself in the mirror. He hardly recognized the reflection that looked back at him. His face was covered in blood. Some spots had dried, creating blackened splotches. But other deeper cuts were still oozing bright red blood. Like that deep gash under his eye, and the other one down his cheek. He looked at his hands, noticing they were in worse shape. There were open wounds on his hands and upper arms, glass still stucking haphazardly out of some of them. He opened a drawer on the cabinet below the sink and gingerly dug around until he popped back up with a pair of tweezers, peroxide and gause pads. Picking up the tweezers, he began gently prying at some of the shards in his hands, biting his lip to stifle the whimpers that were struggling to escape.
Fifteen minutes later tears slid silently down his cheeks, but one hand was free of glass. He leaned on the blood speckled counter for a few minutes, trying to regain his composure, then started on the other hand. After what seemed like a few hours later, he finished, completely glass-free. Setting down the tweezers with an air of finality he turned on the faucet and rinsed the majority of the blood off, then set to work with the peroxide and gauze pads.
When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he felt a little relieved that he had completed that part of his healing process. He crossed the hall back to his room, still wiping away tears. He stopped in the doorway, hand stopping mid-rub.
Uncle Vernon stood by his window looking through the broken pane with the belt in his hands, fingers idly brushing over its leather surface. Harry stood and stared, shellshocked as Uncle Vernon slowly turned around, making it quite clear that he had seen the boy.
'Come back for round two?' Uncle Vernon smirked.
'R-round two?' Harry wasn't sure he quite believed what his eyes and ears were telling him.
Uncle Vernon snapped the belt and Harry flinched, backing up a step, then another.
'Don't you dare run, boy,' Uncle Vernon snarled, eyes glittering.
Harry stopped, eyes wide and staring. He lowered his hand to his side, trying to make himself small.
'Get over here, boy!' Uncle Vernon roared.
Harry couldn't help but protest as his feet led him forward obediently. 'P-please, Uncle Vernon. I can't take any more!' Harry stopped just out of arms reach. Uncle Vernon's eyes glinted dangerously, and he took another step.
When Harry was within reach, Uncle Vernon grabbed him by the collar and shook him angrily. 'You know the drill, boy. Any bad talk about this family, or of - your kind - and this is what you get. Two rounds of it. Unfortunately, the window repair man will come by tomorrow. So I'll just have to improvise. With this.' He slapped Harry across the face with the belt, then let go of him, letting him drop to the floor, clutching at the bandage on his cheek. Uncle Vernon lifted him by a handful of his hair and punched. Then he did it again. And again. Harry could feel his lip split and threw up both of his hands in front of his face to ward off any more blows.
A bright light flashed like a bolt of lightning around the room. Uncle Vernon was thrown across the room, causing the wall to crack where he hit. The door was torn off its hinges and broke into three pieces when it flew into the wall behind Harry.
He uncovered his face and glanced around, expecting to see a source of the sudden energy. But all he was met with was a dazed Uncle Vernon, who shakily stood to his feet, leaning on the wall and staring wide eyed back at Harry. Harry licked his lips.
'W-what was that?' Uncle Vernon didn't respond, just continued to stare. Harry looked around the room, slowly regaining his composure.
'Who was that?' Uncle Vernon lifted a finger like a demented zombie and pointed it at Harry.
Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, bony fingers slowly combing through his ivory beard again and again. Harry Potter had cast a powerful Bombarda Maxima at Privet Drive. While that wasn't at all surprising to him, gauging on Harry's very expressive nature, the question was How? As far as he knew, Harry's things were locked away in the cupboard under the stairs along with his wand. Another question prodded at his mind almost painfully. Why had he found it necessary? Harry was very safe with Petunia and Vernon. He looked over at the perch in the corner, where Fawkes sat, squawking.
'Yes,' he said, hand stilling. 'We'll just have to wait and see.'
Harry stood in the center of his room, watching as one by one the locks on his new door clicked into place, each one seeming to dig a deeper hole in his stomach. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had completely ignored him for the past week. At first he had taken advantage of it and just disappeared, letting Aunt Petunia do all the cooking and cleaning up, until she sought him out.
'How dare you!' she had screeched. 'How dare you treat us this way! Especially poor Dudley. He had to help clean up today, because you made yourself scarce!' Then she had him scrubbing the floors until they glistened and polishing all of the furniture until he could almost see his reflection on the wooden surfaces.
Then an owl flew in the open window and dropped a letter at Harry's feet. A letter that reminded Harry that no magic must be performed outside of Hogwarts. When he looked up from the letter, he found himself staring once again into the face of a purple faced Uncle Vernon, who had demanded he go to his room.
Now, as Uncle Vernon turned his key in the last lock, Harry finally sat himself on the edge of his bed, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over him, weighing down on his scrawny shoulders.
'-and you will stay there until I say otherwise!' Uncle Vernon was growling through the closed door.
Harry wished he could just high tail it to Ron's and stay there for the rest of the summer, where he would have a loving mother, father, and many siblings. His eyes strayed to the shattered window. The repair man said he would come tomorrow.
he sat up a little straighter. There was nothing keeping him from going to Ron's.
He was halfway across the room when he remember why he couldn't. All of his school supplies was locked in the cupboard under the stairs. He stood there, leaning heavily on the windowsill, looking out over the neighborhood and let the anger envelope him. He could feel himself swell with rage, his magical core tightening, almost bursting its boundaries. Then a barage of blinding white light shot from his chest accompanied with a searing hot pain in his arms, legs, and chest. A roaring filled his ears, like wind rushing past at a high velocity. He screamed, but his voice was lost. He screamed again, feeling as though his lungs were being ripped from his body. Then the roaring started to slow down, the intense pain to dwindle.
He closed his mouth, throat raw and sore. The wall in front of him was gone. He could see chunks of it on the front lawn. He took a step back from the edge, and nearly tripped over his luggage behind him. Turning he saw the door was once again, off its hinges. He looked around, eyes slowly taking in and processing the reckage.
'What's happening to me?' He wondered aloud. A feeble hoot sounded from the corner across the room, that miraculously had remained untouched. He stepped over his luggage and crouched next to Hedwig's cage.
'Sorry, girl,' he whispered. He sat down next to her cage and wrapped both arms around himself.
'Now what do I do?'