Harry Dies a Miserable Death
"Freak!" the obese moustached man bellowed. He brought his foot down again, and with an awful crunching sound, crushed some new part of the seven-year-old boy on the floor in front of him - it was impossible to tell which one, really, as Harry was a mess of broken bones and blood.
It was not an unusual occurrance in the Dursley household, Harry being beaten like this; he was, after all, a freak, and therefore deserved each and every blow, and he knew it. Still, he couldn't keep from crying out and sobbing each time Vernon hit him and kicked him and threw him against the wall.
"Your parents, the worthless drunks - they died because they couldn't stand you!" roared Vernon, and he kicked Harry as hard as he could in the head. "No one wants you, boy! Your parents were as worthless as you are, and you deserve to die like they did! You should be grateful I don't kill you! You deserve it -"
In truth, Harry didn't believe that, about his parents being worthless. Not really. He thought his parents seemed like good people if the Dursleys hated them so much. Harry himself may have been a terrible person, but he was sure his parents were the best people ever if they had put up with him for a year and not complained in the slightest. He didn't even think they were really drunks. Something just told him they weren't.
As Vernon smashed his liquor bottle over Harry's head, Harry wondered, in the haze that was slowly filling his mind, what his parents would say if they ever met him. If he died and went to heaven instead of hell where he belonged. He imagined maybe they might put up with him anyway because they were so loving - surely there had to be something better than living with the Dursleys. Maybe if he died and went to heaven (if he went to heaven) his parents would love him.
Yes, that would be so very nice...
He was starting to get very tired, but he wasn't really possessed of enough awareness to fully comprehend the significance of it anymore - not that, at seven years, he could truly have understood what was happening to his body. All Harry knew was that he ached and he wanted to go be with his parents - he wanted to die. Yes, that was it.
He wanted to die.
Somewhere outside the shrinking sphere of thought, Vernon stomped on his face, breaking his nose. Harry didn't feel it. Not really. He was too far gone.
'I'm going to meet my parents someday,' he thought to himself, and inside he smiled hopefully.
But, when Harry let his very heavy eyelids fall shut a moment later, and when he let his thoughts stop forming a moment after that, and when his heart finally stopped beating - he did not get to see his parents. They were not standing there, smiling at him, when he passed over; there was no comforting embrace when the pain ended. Harry Potter never saw his parents again.
He died broken and bloody on the floor, murdered by his drunken uncle, who had spent the last six years beating and raping him, and that was the end of it - because there was nothing on the other side of the veil.
Nothing at all.