The first week of trial and error was hell for five year old Harry. It would have been hell for anyone for that matter.
Harry learned not to cry in that week. It only made things worse.
The Prewetts had Harry, along with Mackenzie and Robert, who Harry found out were nine and eight, wait on them hand and foot. Mackenzie was in charge of the two younger boys, and was usually the one to punish Harry if the Prewetts considered it to be a minor in infraction. Harry hated it when the boy would order him around, push him, shove him, step on his hands, and other things. But it was nothing compared to what Mr. Prewett would do when Harry was really in trouble. Actually, the first punishment was on the first day.
After the 'family' had gone upstairs, leaving Harry to clean the bathroom, they hadn't know (didn't care), that the boy had no idea how to clean a bathroom. He didn't even know where it was.
But Harry was afraid of what would happen if he disobeyed them, and he wanted his other clothes when he finished, so he walked around the house. He found Robert, when looking out the window. Harry could only guess that he was pulling out the grass; he didn't know why, but decided not to bother him. Harry didn't know if he wanted to find Mackenzie; the older boy scared him almost as much as the Prewetts.
Harry did eventually locate a bathroom; there was only one that he could find. Then Harry was left with the next dilemma; how did you clean a bathroom? He tried to remember what his Aunt Petunia would do. First, he thought, she would clean the mirror. That seemed easy enough, except he couldn't reach it and he didn't have a wash cloth, like she did. Harry saw a stained cloth hanging on the wall low enough that he could reach. She also had a spray-bottle; he found one under the sink. He made quick work of the mirror, after figuring out he could stand on the toilet and then climb to the sink. The tub would be next. The toilet was gross. Harry's nose and eyes were starting to sting, but he then started one the walls and floor. After what felt like hours, he heard footsteps coming down the steps. They would see that he had done a good job! He could be a good boy...
"What the hell have you done!" John's voice bellowed, as he grabbed Harry's arm, wrenching it almost out socket.
"C-cleaned the b-bathroom?" Harry hiccuped.
"Does this look clean?" Harry looked around. Everything was... Pink spots? Sure enough the blue wallpaper was soaked and peeling in some places. And red in many places it should have been blue. Also, there was water everywhere; even the carpet outside the bathroom was soaked and was now starting to change color. "What did you use, boy!"
"Spray-bottle." Harry pointed a trembling finger to where it was still on the counter.
"Idiot! That was bleach!" He twisted Harry's arm, making the boy cry out. "I'll give you something to cry about, if you want to cry." John started to drag Harry up the stairs outside the bathroom. "Damn boy hasn't stopped that stupid crying since he got here and thinks he can ruin our things. Yeah, I'll give him something to cry about, alright." John muttered to himself. Just as the man reached for the knob, Mackenzie came out. The boy only glared at him as he walked past; John ignored him and pulled Harry into the room. Mildred was watching them from the bed
"Take off your shirt and hold the post," he ordered Harry. After a moment of hesitation, he was quick to do as asked. Things were quiet for moment, then Harry heard a rustle of clothes. Suddenly, Harry felt a pain in his back so bad he screamed and fell to his knees. "Yead, now that's real crying." John grinned in a way that scarred Harry as the man wiped his tears. The man backed away and Harry hoped he was done, but John ordered him to stand back up and hold the post again. Harry was sure he couldn't and stayed on floor until a hand jerked him up. "Hold the post! I'm not going to ask again." The belt came down on Harry's back again and this time when Harry fell he tried to climb under the bed. Unfortunately, John grabbed his leg and slung the belt anyway.
This continued for a few more minutes, until John was satisfied that the tears had stopped. Harry couldn't stand, and Robert had to come and take him back to the basement. Harry passed out, shortly after being laid on the floor, while Robert managed to clean his back with his ration of water. He wouldn't be getting anymore that week, but he hated to see the younger boy so bloody.
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Harry tried to run away two weeks later. He hadn't eaten in days and he hated it there. The boy would have given anything to get away. The first problem was that he was never aloud outside, only Robert and Mackenzie. He almost asked Robert for help, but he didn't want to get the other boy in trouble.
He finally got his chance when the Prewetts left the three boys alone in the house. Robert and Mackenzie both looked at him, as he walked towards the door; Robert looked sad as usual, but Mackenzie looked just mean. Harry ignored them and turned the lock. The door opened! Instantly, Harry took off running, but he only made it to the end of the second block before he heard a car come up behind him. Harry had a moment of pure terror as he saw John glaring at him out the window. "Get in!" The man growled, while opening the car door. Harry wondered if he could outrun the car, but decided he couldn't. Pale with fear, he climbed over John. He paused for a moment, not sure where he was going. Mildred was in the other seat, looking equally furious, but Mr. Prewett had opened his door for Harry. Backseat? "Sit there." John pointed to the space between the seat; harry had to put his legs on either side of the gear shift.
The drive back lasted less than a minute, but, for Harry, it felt like forever, as he longingly stared out the windshield.
Again after they got back, John dragged Harry back into the bedroom. It was an hour before Robert was aloud to drag Harry's limp body back into the basement.
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Dumbledore's assistant, Minerva McGonnagal, came to check on Harry at the one month point. Unfortunately, the Prewetts had planned for this, and Harry found there was another large bedroom upstairs. It had three beds and the room look like three young boys lived there; there were toys tossed hear and there, clothes hanging off of bedpost, on the bed and on the floor. There was nothing that would make McGonnagal, suspect the boys really lived in the basement. The Prewetts even had given the boys decent clothes to wear; not too new, that would have looked suspicious, like the they had known the assistant would be showing up for a surprise inspection. Of course, the Prewetts had thought to threaten the boys, in case they acted up. The basement was locked, Mildred explained that the tools were kept down there and it would be too dangerous for the boys, which McGonnagal completely agreed with. And the faint bruises and scrapes were from rough play. Boys would be boys.
Over all, Minerva McGonnagal suspected nothing worse in this house, than three young rough-housing boys.