A/N 1. Hi everyone! This is an edit done after it was brought to my attention that the events weren't as clear as I thought. For those who are new, enjoy.
A/N 2. CW: Abuse, Trauma and Violence

June 15th, 1988

Harry Potter was grateful that his home life was perfectly normal, thank you very much. Or at least he thought so until his relatives started whispering behind his back. This was highly unusual as their typical treatment was constantly screaming at him. They had even told Dudley to back off. Not that he minded, of course. Nothing good ever came from paying attention to Dudley.

Sneaking past the kitchen, Harry went into his cupboard, feeling safe there despite all the pain he had felt while inside previously. At least it was familiar.

It was a day before the summer holiday, according to the calendar he had stolen from his school the week prior. Every day, he had painstakingly marked off another square, looking forward to when he could return to school. Harry noted that his 8th birthday would come before that and quickly circled it. Although it was never celebrated, the small boy pretended to be a prince for a day, even if it was in his head.

The whispers had started before he had come home that day, and for a wild moment, Harry wondered if it was because of what he had done in class during the goodbye party.

Earlier that day:

All the children were in a circle with the snacks and pizza his teacher had bought for all of them. Harry was thrilled because, at the Dursleys, he usually got burnt toast and spoiled food, so the idea of a hot tasty meal made him salivate. Dudley noticed Harry's excitement and got jealous despite always getting everything he ever wanted. After all, it was his job to ensure Harry suffered in school. No one befriended Harry because of Dudley, so this was just one more thing Dudley enjoyed doing.

So, deciding that Pizza was just too much goodness for Harry, the older boy took it into his own hands to prevent his younger cousin from the treat. The moment their teacher turned her back, Dudley walloped him, side-kicking him directly into the bookcase. All the kids laughed. Harry, however, saw stars as his tiny body slammed against the hardwood.

Even through his spinning vision, he noticed no kid lifted a finger to help him. It made him question his sanity as to why he looked forward to returning to an atmosphere like that daily. With a pounding headache forming behind his eyes and a trickle of blood dripping down his face, Harry slid down the bookcase, allowing himself a moment to breathe. A bunch of books had tumbled all around him, and the sudden chaos made him hope that at least Dudley would get punished for what he did.

He ignored the panicky voices in his ears, feeling the pressure surrounding his mind increase to what felt like a balloon blowing up. It wasn't fair! Dudley never had to pay for anything he did, not at home or school, as Harry never had proof before. But certainly now? Blearily he opened his eyes to see Dudley hanging in the air, twirling as if by an invisible wire. Shocked, Harry gasped, and suddenly the feeling of the balloon in his head burst, and Dudley crashed to the floor with such power the entire room shook.

The screams rose, and the laughter and chatter amongst the class were no longer there. Amidst the yells of the adults, Harry could hear the sounds of "Call the Ambulance! Call the police!" Though Harry thought that Dudley screamed the loudest.

Keeping a look of surprise on his face helped him pretend he had no idea what happened, but secretly, he was smug. Dudley deserved what he got even if he had no idea how the events had come to pass. Though what occurred after that, he never found out as darkness had come purring, and Harry greeted it with a wary acceptance.

Harry had woken up in a hospital. For a moment, he had no idea where he was, as he had never seen the inside of one before. Nearby, he could hear the school headmistress speaking with his Aunt and Uncle. They surrounded a different bed, which Harry figured had Dudley sprawled in.

"I'm pretty sure it was magic." the Headmistress explained patiently.

"There's no such thing as MAGIC." His Uncle snarled. It was apparent Vernon wasn't happy; his fists were clenched and shaking.

"Right, because Dudley knows how to levitate himself in the air by himself," Headmistress said back, annoyed by Vernon's lack of common sense.

"Your other son,"

"It's my nephew," Petunia interjected sharply.

The headmistress looked at her like she was stupid. "Does it matter? Are they not both important? They both got hurt."

"Eh, it's just a scratch Potter got," Vernon muttered, waving his arm casually.

"He got a concussion!"

"Yeah, sure, it's terrible." Petunia sniffed.

"Regardless," the taller woman growled. "I'm pretty sure Harry was the one who did the magic. His face was scrunched as Dudley twirled around the ceiling."

"Yes, thank you, Headmistress," Vernon said, finally losing it; his breathing increased, his face purpling dangerously.

Harry watched the entire interaction nervously. Had he done magic? Magic was for story books as his Uncle loved to remind him. Suddenly the man in question turned towards him, and quick as a flash, Harry closed his eyes, forcing his breaths to even out, though his terrified heart palpitated heavily in his chest.

Vernon grabbed his shoulder, shaking him. Harry kept his eyes closed but couldn't hold back the shudder when he felt his Uncle's hot breath against his face.

"When we go home, you're dead."

"Get away from the patient, sir." Another voice, probably a doctor, rang out.

"Yes, yes, just checking on him."

Back to the present:

Harry dreaded going home, but someone must have heard his silent plea, as when they got home, the Headmistress had returned.

Uncle Vernon sent him to the garden and Dudley to his room so they could speak privately. It was the first time he hadn't been sent to his cupboard, nor did he get the beating Vernon had promised him, which gave Harry pause as to what was going on. He must have done something wrong; the Headmistress was there again, was she not? And yet his Uncle was acting kind! As a small boy, he never liked to encourage the pain, and yet the lack of it scared him. Why was he being ignored? Why was he being treated like a son? His Aunt Petunia had explicitly told her he was "a nephew", which was less in their eyes.

Vernon had acted normally the entire night until he and Dudley had been shooed off to bed, though, unlike Dudley, he tucked himself in and strained his ears to hear the story his Aunt cooed to Dudley.

Harry wondered if someone was watching the house. There could be no other explanation. Was he finally safe? With that small blimp of hope, Harry pulled his covers closer to his chin and fell into a troubled sleep.

It was much later that Harry's fuzzy thoughts sharpened again, hearing his common nickname within 4 Privet Drive.

"It was the freak! I'm telling you, Petunia," his Uncle's voice had heightened in pitch, causing Harry to immediately back up against the walls of his cupboard like a petrified kitten.

"You can't know that for sure, Vernon," his Aunt's quiet voice trailed through the closed kitchen doors.

"Even the school Headmistress knows now." Vernon countered. "You know damn well what his parents were, what your sister was!"

A smack was heard, but rather than a scuffle commencing, Harry listened to a bellow of "He's a WIZARD, Petunia!"

The woman in question hissed angrily at Vernon before a crash was heard from the kitchen, so loud that even Dudley, whom Harry had heard hiding on the stairs, sneaking up and down, ignored all pretences and ran to the kitchen, his attempt at stealth gone. Having a shred of self-preservation, Harry stayed where he was, which was good because his Aunt shrieked at Dudley to get back to bed and, when he refused, hit him across the face.

"Pet!" Vernon said, his voice scandalised despite the situation.

"You shut UP!" She roared at him.

"Best listen to your mummy, Dudley," Vernon interjected through Dudley's bawling. "We'll get you a nice new toy tomorrow, alright?"

Dudley immediately stopped crying and returned to bed after enjoying the sound of presents. Dudley always got gifts.

Gingerly, Harry crawled to the small bars on his cupboard door and leaned against it to listen for anything else. He had been called a freak before, so he was confident they were talking about him.

"I'm not going to keep one of THEM in my house Petunia," Vernon whispered once they were sure that Dudley had returned to his room.

"But Dumbledore said-"

"I don't care what some crackpot of a fool said, Petunia. This is MY house, and I will not have it!"

Suddenly feeling tired, Harry leaned back against his pillow, feeling his eyes drift. This was a tomorrow problem.

However, it felt like only moments later when Petunia was dragging him out of the cupboard by his legs. An anguished yelp left Harry's lips as the small gash on his head roared to life as he was moved. He supposed neither of them cared for the doctor's instructions to avoid anything touching his head too roughly.

"Shut up, boy, make us some breakfast."

Harry limped to the stove, but the hair all over his body stood on edge as if knowing something would happen. His relatives were too calm and poised after last night's argument, and when the doorbell rang, a slip of fear ran through him, telling him to run. As if living a nightmare, Harry felt his legs stuck to the ground.

"Thank you very much!" Uncle's unusually calm voice drifted to him from the front door. Ah, Harry thought, feeling relieved, it was just a delivery. Returning to making breakfast felt more manageable, though it got increasingly difficult to ignore his intuition shouting at him to get out.

"Look, Dudders; Daddy bought a microwave for us!" Petunia gushed, her voice an octave higher than strictly typical.

"Where's the breakfast, boy!" Vernon bellowed, sitting down at the table. "Dudley, I have arranged for you to visit Piers today, and the Polkiss' already agreed."

"Sweet!" Dudley muttered, clearly more interested in the soft, warm buns Harry had just put on the table as he grabbed one before his father could.

Although Dudley going to Piers was normal, Harry could see his Aunt and Uncle constantly exchanging glances over the top of their mugs of coffee.

Sometime later, the doorbell rang again, and Harry had to take deep breaths to calm his anxiety, but it was only Piers, and within moments, the house was unnaturally still. Shaking slightly, Harry quickly cleaned the table, then stood on a stool to reach the sink and wash the dishes. The young boy silently cursed that he was still short of reaching the top on his own. Harry could feel the hush behind him, so thick his hand trembled as he grabbed the next dish. Any second now, he thought, the hairs raising against his neck.

"Freak!" Vernon muttered from right behind him.

Despite his constant vigilance, Harry gasped, dropping the pretty ceramic plate onto the floor, cowering as the loud crash echoed into the silent room.

"That," Vernon hissed, grabbing Harry's neck so tightly he choked, "was Pet's favourite plate."

He threw Harry on the floor and kicked him in his stomach.

Just endure it, Harry thought miserably, clenching his eyes shut. It will be over soon…

"You know," Vernon murmured again, ignoring the hitches of breath coming from Petunia. "I was just going to take you away, but I think…." He leaned over Harry, pressing his whole body against him, resting a hand over his neck again and squeezing tight enough to suffocate him. "I think I'm going to have some fun first."

"P-please!" Harry whimpered, struggling to escape from his Uncle's clutches and failing. He could already see stars at the forefront of his mind in what felt like just a day later than the first time. But the big, beefy man ignored the kicking and scratching as if it weren't happening.

"Petunia, dear. I need a knife."

"Vernon, are you ins-"

Vernon turned coldly to face his wife. "Did it sound like I was asking?"

"N-no, but…" Petunia stammered, wincing at the look Vernon gave her.

"Then," Vernon said very slowly, "I suggest you get what I asked for unless you want to join your freak nephew on the floor."

Petunia hesitated but then ran to get a kitchen knife, handing it to her husband before leaving the room.

"Everyone loves your scar, Potter. So you know what? I'm going to destroy it."

The next few minutes of Harry's life were ones he never wanted to experience again. He could feel the pain in his forehead climax into such unbearable agony; his yell was soundless. Bleary-eyed and half unconscious, Harry could feel himself be lifted before he was forced into something incredibly minuscule. Fighting was useless, as he seemed to have lost the ability to use his arms and legs. The light disappeared, along with the possibility of breathing.

Pulling in a gulp of air, Harry attempted to kick at whatever was restraining him but couldn't.

"Ah, gotta give back the new microwave we just bought!" Vernon announced loudly as Harry suddenly felt himself moving within his small jail. Vernon must have taken him outside, especially considering he spoke to someone other than Petunia.

"No!" Harry tried shouting, but Vernon started singing loudly, likely to cover his pathetic attempts at being heard. Harry might have laughed if the situation wasn't so dire; he had never heard his Uncle singing before. Not wanting to take this as final, Harry struggled in the box, hearing his Uncle grunt. "Nothing, nothing!" Vernon shouted, "Just lost my balance."

"If you move again, boy, I will kill you." He heard his Uncle threaten so quietly he wasn't even sure he heard correctly.

If Harry could speak, he would have snarked back that Vernon had already threatened to kill him yesterday. Considering his situation, Harry figured it was now his time to die.

The neighbour must have still been watching because rather than throwing the box, it was set down very gently. "What are you going to do, Vernon?" Harry heard his Aunt say in a shaky voice.

"Don't worry about it, Pet. Why don't you go and cook something nice? I'll have a nice appetite once I'm done."

Harry heard an intake of breath but no other words from his Aunt, and for the second time that day, he felt betrayed. He listened to the boot close and the last bit of air that Harry had, disappeared.

As Vernon sped away from 4 Privet Drive, the box Harry was in tumbled back and forth, but his Uncle gave no sign of caring.

What felt like hours later, the box moved again, but this time his Uncle threw him down without a word or care for his safety. His head hit the ground, and he felt the split on his head reopen. Blood soon began slipping down his face, which forced Harry to shut his eyes, as he couldn't move his arms to wipe them clear again.

The familiar sound of his Uncle's car sped away, and with a gurgle of a cry, Harry felt the fight leave him. They left him; he was sure of it.

The last thing to cross his mind was the strangled thought of the blood sifting out through the cracks in the box and who would be the unfortunate person to find a freak like him.