Some things are so broken they can't be fixed, even with magic. Sometimes I think I'm one of those things, always broken, pieces missing, and every time I start to put my pieces back together something comes along and breaks me apart worse than I already was. Whether it's my uncles fists (or anything he can get his hands on to hit me really), my aunts attempts at starving me either to death or submission (not sure what the goal is really or if she just gets pleasure out of my pain), voldemorts attacks on me and the ones I care about, or my family's constant dependable emotional abuse I doubt I've ever been whole or ever will. I've given up on trying to piece myself back together there's too many parts missing.
I did my chores as told to perfection, didn't even attempt to steal food this time but still Uncle Vernon found some fault I think it was me walking in the kitchen while they were trying to eat in peace or something like that but I don't know for sure all I do know is that Dudley's smelting stick really hurts when its smacked across your face, though that's the least of my problems I relies as I see him grab out the knife. Lets back up a bit though what had happened was I walked into the kitchen while they were eating to go start on dishes when Uncle Vernon yelled "Just what do you think you're doing in here freak" but before I could reply I'm getting dragged upstairs into my room and that brings us back to the smelting stick and knife. As soon as I see the knife I panic nothing good can come of it and so I attempt to run didn't think too far ahead obviously because he's in front of my only exit so I was caught and tied down to the bed with an even more angry Vernon leering over me opps.
My clothes were cut off me not to carefully though because he'd cut into my flesh already not that he cared. Anyway I was struggling and screaming hoping one of the neighbors would hear and call the police; not that they would but I could hope. Then he punched me hard enough that it broke my jaw which shut me up effectively enough for him to start carving into me with the knife, sick son of a bitch. I knew he was carving words into my skin but I was far too lost in pain to tell what the words were; I would find out later that the words were Freak and Slut. I passed out just before he finished with Freak so to punish me he decided to rape me while I was unconscious which I had unfortunately came conscious during; he was bunching and stabbing me as well so I did stay conscious for long. When I woke again he was carving slut into my back I faded out when he started to cross the T, my last thought was 'and to think it's only my first week back'.
The rest of the summer continued like this add in him carving whore and slut into my back freak carved into my chest insuring that the words would scar a constant reminder of how useless, used, and unloved I was. This new brand of torture, the rape, was an effective way of riding me of any innocence I had managed to retain though the last 14 years of my life, by 15 I knew I wouldn't get my happily ever after and that no one really cared after all when your godfather and headmaster both reply to the letter you send them telling them about the rape by telling you to stop making things up to get attention and that there trying to concentrate on the war and your false accusations are quite childish when you very well know that there are more important things to worry about than a child's cries for attention that really doesn't leave much room for foolish innocence. When the summer came to an end I was unrecognizable as Harry Potter the-boy-who-lived, he was broken beyond repair.