Hey guys, this is a story that I may, or may not-hehe left on hiatus for a year and I decided to re-write and add a bit more to this and every chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

"Get your bloody arse to the kitchen, freak!"

The word was spat out with disgust: freak. And such a powerful word it was. It wiped away the humanity and self-esteem of the boy it was directed at-almost as if they didn't consider him human.

Harry looked up fearfully, quickly running through what he had done earlier that day that might have warranted such a reaction. What had he done this time? he wondered, and hurried to the kitchen, knowing what was in store for him if he had taken his time.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked, eyes lowered to the floor as he was taught to, emerald eyes widening with fear in anticipation of what would come. Uncle Vernon's face was blotchy with anger, and he pointed at the muddied kitchen.

"You ungrateful brat! I told you to finish all your chores! I take you in, feed, and clothe you out of the kindness of my heart, and what do I get?!"

"I did, Uncle Vernon," Harry said quietly, looking down at the muddy foot prints covering the kitchen.

CRACK.

The sound echoed off the walls, and Vernon pulled his hand back, wiping it on the fabric of his pants with a sneer. Harry's face went numb and he slowly raised his hand to cradle his cheek.

"Don't talk back to me, you ungrateful freak!"

"I did," Harry replied with conviction in his voice, raising his head defiantly.

CRACK.

Uncle Vernon backhanded him again. Harry tasted copper. Absent-mindedly, he wondered if he had bitten his tongue.

"Dudley must have done it. I was inside all day completing the chores you had given me this morning," Harry pointed out. Out of instinct, he flinched away from Uncle Vernon, closing his eyes, waiting, waiting for his uncle to backhand him again.

"Don't you dare- don't you dare blame Dudders for what you did!" Uncle Vernon roared, swelling up with anger at the sheer audacity of the ungrateful wretch- to blame something on his pride and joy! How dare he!

"Sorry, sir," Harry said, pushing down the defiance bubbling up in him at the injustice of it all and returning his stare to the floor, defeated.

Vernon smirked smugly.

"And no food tonight," he added, sneering at the boy. That ought to do it. That should teach the boy to blame his Dudley. Harry nodded submissively, dipping his head to his so called Uncle before hurrying off. He could always try to sneak out of the cupboard tonight when all the Dursleys were asleep to sneak a forgotten semi-rotten loaf of bread.

Harry shifted on the worn cot, trying to get comfortable with the bedframe digging into his back, no matter how much he fidgeted. His stomach rumbled from hunger-and the delicious smells drifting from the kitchen and wafting into his cramped cupboard didn't exactly help.

Harry heard the sound of his relatives eating, forksclinking and bowls banging on the table. His stomach rumbled again, practically salivating at the thought of biting into perfectly baked, golden, buttery roll; he could just feel the said roll melting in his mouth.

He heard his aunt croon to Dudley, encouraging him to eat more- "Growing boys need their food, isn't that right, Diddy-duddy-kins?" Aunt Petunia simpered.

"Another helping of turkey, dear?"

"That's my Dudders," he heard Vernon say boisterously. And somewhere deep inside, Harry wondered. He wondered what made him so different from Dudley. Sure, he was supposedly a 'freak,' but unlike Dudley, he actually helped with chores and whatnot-even when he was done with his assigned chores. Harry sighed, and hoped there was going to be some left-over food he could sneak into his cupboard as soon as the Dursleys were asleep.

The door opened, and light spilled into the dark cupboard Harry reluctantly called home. He blinked several times, waiting for his vision to adjust before his aunt yanked him out of the cupboard, her nails digging into his arms. Harry looked up at her hopefully. Maybe she felt generous today. Even a scrap would be nice, he thought wistfully.

"Go wash the dishes, freak! And if I find you sneaking anything..." She trailed off, leaving the rest to his (unfortunately vivid) imagination as Harry scrambled to wash the dishes. He wasn't willing to risk his uncle's wrath again. Being slapped twice in one day was more than enough for Harry.

Harry diligently washed the dishes, dried them, put them away, and wiped all surfaces under the piercing, hawk-like gaze of his aunt.

"Go to your cupboard!" Aunt Petunia snapped, and as he was herded into his cupboard, the door slammed shut behind him- leaving Harry in the darkness. Again.

Harry sat still on his worn cot, listening to the sounds of his relatives bustling around. Soon enough the TV was turned off and the house was quiet, except for the loud sound of Uncle Vernon's snoring.

Harry stopped and listened intently for a few more minutes before sliding off of the cot and tiptoeing his way across the small cramped space. Quietly, Harry opened the door-mindful of the squeak it made- and paddedsoundlessly to the kitchen, the ceramic tiles cold under his feet. Moonlight flooding the room through a small window was enough for Harry to navigate his way to the pantry.

Harry eased open the door, grabbing a piece of bread at the back-surely it won't be missed, he reasoned- and he slipped out of the pantry, already celebrating his success. But before he could sneak his way back into the cupboard, the lights switched on, and Harry froze like a deer in the headlights.

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