Howdy readers :)

Heres the next chapter, and may I warn you now, it does have a fair bit of physical abuse. But worry not! All shall be resolved!...once I've had some fun with angsty Harry, that is...mwahahahahaha!!!!!!!! :P

I OWN HARRY POTTER! WORLD BOW DOWN TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!! *cough cough* oh sorry, seems my delusional alter-ego took over for a while there

Harry sighed quietly as he gazed out the window, his eyes hungry for a sight other than the interior of the dreary house in which he was trapped. He watched the trees gently sway in a warm summer breeze that he couldn't feel, saw the garden blooming with flowers that he wasn't allowed to smell. He pressed his hand subconsciously against the glass, wishing that he could somehow recreate the magic that he had used on Dudley all those years ago at the zoo and make the panes disappear.

He ruefully turned away from the window, and gazed dejectedly around his tiny room. His belongings were scattered around the small space, but anything that could even be remotely traced to his time in the Hogwarts had been locked away. Hedwig was the only thing in his room with any connections to the wizarding world, along with a box of cheap bird feed purchased at the local supermarket on the way back from the station at the very start of the holidays. It wasn't suited to her diet, and Harry could tell it wasn't healthy for her, but he hoped that by giving her half of whatever he was given for dinner that she could live out the rest of their time here well enough.

His eyes dropped to the desk where Hedwig's cage sat, and a moving wizard photo caught his eye. It was of him with his two closest friends, his arm slung around Hermione's shoulders while Ron danced around in the background pulling faces. A weak smile tugged at his lips as he remembered the day it was taken, after an impromptu picnic lunch by the Lake in the last week before the summer holidays. He remembered his remorseful farewell at the station, and sighed as the realisation hit home that he hadn't been in contact with them since.

He hadn't been allowed to read the letters from his friends, and only knew of their existance after seeing his uncle throwing them into their fireplace the night before. At the sight of his uncle before the fire, memories had flooded back of the time before he knew he was a wizard, of watching his uncle burn the mysterious letters with his name penned across the front in curling green ink. Back then, he was much to timid to do anything more than glare, but many years had passed since that time, and at the sight of a hand-made birthday card curling in the flames he had launched himself across the room at his uncle's crouching figure with an angry roar.

For a fleeting moment during the fray, he had allowed hope to fill his heart, that maybe he would be able to overpower his uncle, force him to return his belongings, and allow him to leave without a second glance. But their encounter hadn't ended well. Harry shuddered at the thought of what exactly had transpired down in that lounge room the night before. He could remember every vicious detail, all of which filled him with an all-encompassing and cold fear of the people who inflicted such brutality upon him.

In an attempt to clear his mind, he picked up the photo of his friends from his desk. Looking down at the image, he was filled with fondness tainted by intense sadness. What he wouldn't give just to be let go, to stay at the Burrow and never have to return to the cruel house that he currently resided in. He was snapped out of his disheartened reverie, however, when a booming voice yelled menacingly up the stairs.

'Boy! Get down here!' Harry was shocked when he felt genuine fear flood his body at the sound of his uncle's voice, and to see his hands had begun to slightly tremble.

He slowly got to his feet, and moved out of his darkening room into the hall. He descended the stairs haltingly, and he couldn't help but stay on edge and constantly on the lookout for some type of trap. He cautiously made his way to the kitchen, and sighed inwardly with relief when he saw all three Dursleys were sitting around the kitchen table. Perfectly within sight, and no longer able to surprise him. He warily moved into the light of the room, and had to force himself to not recoil when he saw the dark expressions on the faces of all three of his relations. His eyes fell upon an empty chair between his uncle and his cousin, and with a curt jerk of his head his uncle signalled that he was to sit there.

Harry slowly sat down, every instinct in his body begging for him to get away. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, about how drastically one incident could change his perspective on life, but the mild observation was quickly pushed aside to make more room for the intensifying and icy fear that was filling his mind. The silence was tense, but despite the creeping dread he felt by making eye contact with his uncle, he looked into his face inquisitorially. The huge man looked affronted by his nephew's boldness, but soon recovered and tossed a crumpled piece of paper onto the table in front of Harry.

'Read.' He hissed viciously, pointing a thick finger at the sad-looking sheet on the pristine tabletop.

Harry reached out a quivering hand, and scooped the sheet off the table. He flicked it open, and his heart soared as he recognised Hermione's tidy cursive curling across the paper in neat lines. He could hardly believe what the Dursleys were allowing. Maybe, just maybe they were feeling remorse for what they had done to him the night before, and this was their way of apologising. Suddenly filled with optimism, he turned his eyes eagerly to read what was written on the tattered piece of parchment before him.

Dear Harry,

Ron and I are very concerned about you. Why haven't you written to us, or returned any of our other letters? We understand that your relatives aren't very tolerant towards the magical community, but normally they have allowed some form of contact by now. Even though Mr and Mrs Weasley assure us that you are safe, they have admitted to each other that the Ministry has forbidden the Order from taking any actions to protect you from anything other than a magical attack. If we don't hear from you soon, we don't think we have any choice other than coming to visit you ourselves.

Please respond as quickly as you can, and we'll try to organise for you to come to stay at the Burrow as soon as we get a reply.

Lots of love, Hermione and Ron

The same anger that had possessed Harry to attack Mr Dursley the night before began to burn in his chest again. Who knew how many letters his friends had written to him? He was sure there must have been a lot, for Ron and Hermione to resort to writing something as frank as the letter before him. But, with a lot of effort, he forced the flaring anger away. The Dursleys had been lenient enough to show him this letter, he figured, so the least he could do would be to contain his anger. He took a moment to centre himself, to remove any negative emotion from his face, before looking up once more to meet his uncle's eye with what he hoped was a thankful expression on his face.

For a moment he was confused, at the expression he saw on the faces of not just his uncle, but his aunt and cousin as well. He had expected that they would be looking resigned but martyred, as though they had allowed him some great privilege by showing him the letter. What he wasn't expecting was what he was met with: murderous glowers that made any pleasant feeling towards them shrink away with fright. The confusion soon sparked fear, and fleeting flashes of the previous night's events flittered through his mind. He sprung to his feet, desperate to get away, but quick as lightning Dudley was standing between him and the door, cracking his knuckles menacingly.

Harry stood frozen, like a deer in headlights, his eyes wide and flicking between the three other occupants of the room. With speed to rival his son's, Mr Dursley was suddenly on his feet, his surprisingly strong hand grasping painfully at the top of Harry's arm. The meaty fingers of his uncle dug into the already broken and bruised skin across his shoulder, and Harry let out an involuntary cry at the unwelcome pressure. His uncle's face was inches from his own, and as much as Harry writhed he couldn't escape his cruel grasp.

'You dare tell your friends about your life here?' Mr Dursley snarled, his face bulging with anger.

'Do you realise how much danger you have put my family in? We've had experiences with your kind before, and we know how hazardous you lot can be. Now we've put up with huge amounts of rubbish from you in the past, and have been more tolerant than any person could be expected to be, but this time you have gone too far!' With strength that no one would have guessed he possessed Mr Dursley tossed Harry back towards his chair as if he was nothing more than a rag doll.

Stumbling from the force of his uncle's shove, Harry tripped back towards his seat. He lost his balance, and with a yell crashed face-first into the unforgiving kitchen table beside his chair. His glasses shattered; spiky shards scratched against his cheek and splintered into his skin. By some miracle the slivers of glass avoided his eyes, but as the fragments pierced the sensitive skin of his face he couldn't help but cry out once more. He gritted his teeth against the pain, and stifled a moan as he felt rough hands shove him into his chair.

Moments later a pen was thrust into his shaking hand, and paper placed before him. A voice, he could no longer tell whose, haughtily sneered in his ear.

'You are going to reply to those…diseased acquaintances of yours, and tell them that you are fine. You will tell them to never come anywhere near this house, and that you will see them again the next time we can dispose of you at that…institution that you call a school.' Harry's hand quivered above the paper, his mind reeling, and not absorbing the instructions. His moment of incomprehension was taken as hesitant disobedience, and his bewildered mind was overridden with agonising pain as something heavy slammed across his back. His chest flew forward and his forehead smashed into the table once more as he collapsed under the pressure, and only by sheer willpower did he not allow a sound to escape his lips.

Forcing himself to sit up, Harry pulled the paper towards him, and placed a shaking pen upon it. In lettering warped by his trembling fingers, he began to write what he was instructed to. He was hardly able to read his own words without the lenses of his glasses in tact. Because of his impaired vision, he didn't even notice the silent tears slowly trailing down his cheek until one splattered onto the paper before him. His hand came to a quivering halt once more, as his eyes tried to focus on the droplet, and his mind tried to comprehend its presence. But once more, his hesitation was seen as defiance, and a voice hissed in his ear.

'Finish the letter, boy.' Its tone was menacing, and when he didn't move a hand came sharply against his cheek with a slapping sound that rang around the silent room.

'Sign it!' Harry was pulled from his stunned reverie with the menacing instruction, and hastily scrawled his name across the bottom of the sheet. He tossed the pen from his hand as thought it burned him, and leant forward with his head in his hands with anguish. He could tell that, with that one letter, he had signed off his fate for the rest of the holidays. With a triumphant cry, Mr Dursley leapt to his feet.

'Petunia, go collect an envelope from my study upstairs. Dudley, go up to your second bedroom and bring that blasted owl to the door. And you,' he snarled at Harry, 'if you move one inch…' a crooked smile twisted his face, a malicious glint sparking in his eye, and leaving his sentence hanging in a threateningly suggestive manner, he strode out the back door. Dudley and Aunt Petunia quickly followed, departing to complete their own assigned tasks. Harry sat frozen, his head still in his hands, waiting to be sure he was completely alone, before letting out a shuddering breath that he had hardly realised he was holding.

His body ached, his shoulders throbbing from the repeated assaults of the last few days. His face stung, both from where he was slapped and where the tiny shards of glass were breaking the skin. All he wanted to do was let the pain take over, surrender to it completely, but with huge amounts of effort he forced himself to sit up. He would wait, he assured himself, until he was back in his room. When he was there he would be free, at least for a while, of the oppression of his relatives, and able to let down his brave facade. Until then, however, he would have to make himself look strong, play the role of the stubbornly unyielding prisoner.

He forced his eyes open, and cringed as they stung when exposed to even the dim light that hardly lit the room. He took a moment to collect himself, before looking around the deserted kitchen. No one had bothered to turn on the lights, and in the dimming light the kitchen had fallen into ominous shadows. Harry's eyes fell upon the letter before him, and his heart shrank as he realised the ramifications of when the letter would be sent. His eyes trailed to the pen, where he had tossed it after signing the letter. An idea floated to the top of his mind, and he quickly glanced around the room.

He couldn't hear anyone coming back, and despite the risk of his uncle's wrath if he was caught, he scooped up the pen and pulled the letter back towards him. He scrawled in the bottom corner the phrase 'HELP ME', not bothering to prevent a stray droplet of blood dripping from his forehead from smudging across the paper. To hide his message he folded the letter in half, desperately hoping that it would go unnoticed by his uncle. He slid the paper back into place, and put the pen back where he had dropped it before, but his heart sank as he realised just how different the letter looked in its folded state. But before he could rearrange it, he heard his aunt coming back down the hallway, and his cousin thumping down the stairs. He quickly leant back into his hands, just in case his uncle was being serious with his threat on movement.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his aunt come back to the table, and with a wave of relief so strong he felt as if his stomach had collapsed, she snatched the letter off the table without noticing how it was folded. She shoved it roughly into the envelope, and as she sealed it Dudley reappeared in the kitchen carrying Hedwig in her cage. Harry immediately bristled, becoming on edge when he saw his first real friend being roughly swung around in her cage. He forced himself to stay still as Dudley and his aunt moved out to the backyard, but when he heard his owl screech loudly he jumped to his feet and shot out the back door.

He saw his uncle clenching Hedwig tightly in his hands, as Dudley tied the letter to her leg, obviously much too tightly. She writhed in his grasp, screeching loudly all the while.

'Hedwig!' Harry cried, disregarding the consequences and running to her side. With adrenaline-fuelled strength he prised his bird from his uncle's grasp, and dashed across the yard with her. Her feathers were ruffled, and her eyes wide, but she appeared to be unharmed. He gently stroked her until she stopped screeching, but when she was almost calm Harry sent her into a flurry again when he almost jumped out of his skin when his uncle growled his name.

He saw the robust man speedily crossing the yard, a murderous glint in his eye, and Harry quickly tossed Hedwig into the air. With a single flap of her wings she was out of reach, hastily flying away into the night sky. Harry caught a glimpse of a smaller, rounder bird joining his owl in the sky, but before he could do anything more than feel relief at seeing his letter escaping from the Dursley's grasp he felt an arm roughly seize him around his waist, overbalancing him and making him tumble to the ground. Harry crashed to the dry grass below, an uncontrollable yelp breaking through his lips as he felt a rib shatter beneath the immense weight of his uncle's body crushing down on him.

Paralysed with the new pain in his chest and gasping for breath, Harry could hardly fight back against the unforgiving hands of his uncle as he was dragged back inside. Barely able to support himself, he was almost carried back upstairs, where he was thrown unceremoniously thrown into his room, and the door slammed behind him. He stumbled to his bed where he, no longer able to hold himself upright, collapsed onto the old mattress that had been his for longer than he could remember.

He forced himself to roll onto his back, remembering something he had heard from Madame Pomfrey after one of his numerous Quidditch injuries, about needing to keep the bones in the correct alignment. A whimper slipped through his lips as he moved; every part of his body seemed to be burning with agonising pain. Panting with the effort he finally flipped over, cringing and curling his fingers in pain.

'Bloody hell!' he gasped between breaths, tears stinging at his eyes. He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, trying to force the tears to stop. Moments later he gave that idea up as a lost cause, his hands rubbing up through his hair before dropping to his sides.

'Bloody hell…' he whispered once more, feeling the barriers he had been holding up slipping away.

Left only with raw emotion, Harry lay still, his mind reeling with an overwhelmingly complex mixture of feelings. He was confused, hurting, alone, and dismayed as he realised all his hopes were riding upon his friends. Despite trusting Ron and Hermione explicitly, all-compassing despair flooded his mind. If he couldn't get out of the situation himself, how could he possibly expect his friends to be more successful than he was? Without their magic, they had no advantage over the Dursleys, and as much as he desperately wanted to believe that they could somehow help him, in his heart he knew that all the good his letter would do would be to confuse them.

With a hollow ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his injuries, Harry glanced over at the photo on his desk. The three in the picture were all now embracing, carefree laughter filling their faces with joy. Harry scooped a stray pillow off the bed and pulled it to his chest, trying to hinder the pain. He could feel a cloud of fear and anguish overcoming him, making his pain not just physical but psychological too. He looked longingly out the window, his vision blurred by the broken glasses and gentle tears slowly trickling down his cheeks.

He had never felt so alone in his life. All he wanted was for this to end, for him to somehow escape the pain. But for now, he glumly concluded, he could only take solace from being able to escape from this lonely house into the solitude of sleep, and allowed his mind to slip into a desolate state of unconsciousness, with a silent wish that he could somehow escape from this place for good.

awww poor baby :)

that was a looooooooooooooonnnnnnngggg chapter. whew. I hope you enjoyed!

I'd love some more reviews...lets say 16-20 before I post the next chapter??

Thanks for reading, and have a nice day!