Author's note- This is my first fanfiction so any advice is welcome! Thanks

Harry lay in his bed with his right arm behind his head. He was having trouble lifting the left without a searing pain shooting down his arm. He was almost positive it was broken but, he hoped it wasn't because he knew he still had two months left of the summer holidays before he would have the opportunity to get it fixed.

He had been stupid he knew it. His aunt had told him to have the shed cleaned and organized by the time she and her husband got back from wherever they were going. So Harry had started the daunting task, and after an hour he had been cover in sweat. The Dursley's had been sure to lock Harry outside so that he would not be able to steal food while they were gone. This also meant however that Harry had nothing to drink. The hose wasn't even hooked up because yet again Little Winging was in a draught. Harry had spent quite a bit of time walking to each window in turn and trying to slide it open, desperate for a drink of water. It was times like this when Harry wished that his wand wasn't locked away in the cupboard under the stairs; it almost would have been worth it to get kicked out of school if he could just get into the house for a drink.

The boy had not eaten in days, and if he had known the night before that he was going to be in the 102 degree heat all day, he would have drank some water from the faucet before going to bed. After what seemed like hours of organizing the shed Harry sat down on a broken old beach chair and grabbed one of Dudley's old tee ball bats, not that Dudley had ever played Tee ball he just had to have at least one of everything whether he would use it or not. Sitting in the shade of the shed Harry had started to bounce a baseball on the end of the bat. He counted as the ball bounced up and down, "one, two three," It would fall and Harry would have to start over. He had been so immersed in his little game that he had not heard the car pull up in front of the house, or the puffing of his uncle coming to investigate his progress.

"WHAT THE BLAZES DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING BOY," roared uncle Vernon. Vernon was a whale sized man whose face turned purple and spit flew from his mouth as he screamed at the boy. Harry's heart sank. He was in trouble and he knew it. Not only was the shed not clean, but he was playing something that was his cousin's. It did not matter that the tag was still hanging from the tee ball bat, or that it had been in the shed for the past six years since Dudley's seventh birthday.

"I'm sorry uncle Vernon! I just needed a quick break; I haven't had any water all day. Please don't.." but the rest of Harry's plea was interrupted by his uncle's snarl.

"You want a break boy? I'll give you a break." His uncle had grabbed the bat from Harry and slammed it down on Harrys forearm. Tears immediately welled up in his eyes as he heard the sickening crunch of the wood on his arm. Harry immediately fell to his knees on the floor of the shed cradling his arm. Vernon sneered at him and threw the bat at Harry as he walked away, missing his head by inches.

As Harry listened to the crickets chirping outside his window he thought of his friends. How was he going to hide the newest injury from Ron and Hermione, let alone the bruises that were covering the rest of his body? But Harry thought that his uncle would probably stop leaving visible evidence of his punishments as the school year approached, not wanting to draw suspicion.

Harry imagined the look on Ron's face if he saw Harry's twisted arm. A green color would slowly rise covering his freckled face. Harry was sure if they were at the Burrow Ron would tell him that is mom could fix it for him then quickly hasten to into the kitchen to make a pot of tea, to be anywhere he didn't have to look at the arm. Harry imagined what Hermione would say if she saw his arm, "Harry you must go to Dumbledore right away! He would want to know what they did to you!" But Harry would not be calling for Dumbledore. He was so grateful that the man had allowed him to come to Hogwarts, and Harry was afraid if he seemed like too much trouble then the headmaster would not let him come back for his second year.

Anyway Harry would never tell anyone what the Dursley's did to him when he was not at school. He knew it was his own fault that he was a "freak" like his uncle reminded him so often. And Harry knew that he was weak, what kind of wizard let a muggle beat him up on a daily basis? Not a real one. Not a strong one. Harry knew he was an embarrassment to the wizarding community for being so weak, and an embarrassment in the muggle community for having magic. He did not belong anywhere, and he knew it was just a matter of time before his friends realized what a coward he truly was and stopped all contact with him.

Harry's stomach growled angrily and Hedwig peered out of one eye, clearly not happy with being woken up. "I'm sorry girl, but I can't go out and hunt like you can," Harry apologized. The owl ruffled her feathers and went back to sleeping. She was the only one who ever saw the cuts and bruises inflicted by his relatives, and Harry was very grateful to have her to talk to, even if she just blinked at him in response. Harry gingerly lowered his uninjured arm to his stomach and felt the vibrations of hunger. He lightly brushed his fingertips over his ribs and flinched. They clearly hadn't mended yet from the last round of Dudley's boxing practice.

His uncle had tied Harry's arms behind his back and held him up by the hair while his cousin used him as a punching bag. There were still angry red marks from where the ropes had dug into his wrists.

This summer had definitely started out as one of Harry's worst. It was almost as if his uncle felt like he needed to make up for the year Harry had spent away at school. Harry closed his eyes and tried not to imagine how the rest of the summer was going to go. Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep with dreams of his uncle's angry face contorting with rage as he charged at Harry.

As the weeks wore on Harry's punishments occurred far more often with increasingly lasting injuries. One evening Harry burnt the rolls he was supposed to be serving with dinner. He began to panic as the smell of the charcoaled rolls filled the house. His heart was hammering; he knew what was coming and had no idea how to prepare himself for it.

"BOY!" roared uncle Vernon, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW?!" Petunia quickly whisked away a curious Dudley telling him that since he was a good boy she would take him out for ice cream.

"I…I…It was an accident uncle Vernon… I'm really sor.." but he was cut off as Vernon's angry fist had collided with his head. "Please don't. It won't happen again I promise," Harry begged.

"No you're right it won't" his uncle stared down at him. Then he said slowly, "Take the rolls out of the oven boy." Harry made to put on the red checkered oven mitts lying on the counter. But Vernon placed his hand on top of them. "Without the mitts."

Harry's face paled. "NOW BOY!" his uncle roared. Harry took a deep breath and opened the oven. Immediately the heat engulfed him.

"Please" Harry whispered, but he knew it was no use. A fat hand grabbed hold of Harry's untidy black hair and shoved his face closer to the oven. "Ok Ok please let go," but the hand only pulled tighter; his nose was an inch from the fiery hot shelf, and he could feel the his eyebrows burning. Harry reached out his already broken arm. His shaking fingers wrapped around the cookie sheet that the rolls were sitting on and Harry let out a scream.

His yell only made it worse; as soon as Harry dropped the cookie sheet on top of the stove his uncle threw him to the ground unfastening his belt. Harry tried not to cry but the pain from his burned and broken arm were excruciating, he tried not to look at it. His uncle gave him a kick rolling him over to his stomach. Harry felt his shirt being roughly lifted. It had been a few years since his uncle had resorted to the belt, and the scars on Harry's back had almost faded. As Harry lay on the ground bracing himself for the first lash he began to hyperventilate. Smack the belt left and angry red welt across his shoulders. Smack Smack Smack All of a sudden Harry eyes went dead and he did not feel anything, he was numb to the pain. It was almost as though he had left his body, but he watched as it crumpled flat as his uncle whipped him again and again.

When Harry came to he could not move from the pain. His hand still felt as if it was burning white hot, and his back was throbbing. He looked up at the kitchen clock; it was 2:14 in the morning. Harry slowly made himself sit up, careful not to look at his burned hand. Slowly he stood up, seeing stars as he did. Holding on to a kitchen chair with his right hand he steadied himself. Slowly he made his way through the house, clutching to furniture as he went. It must have taken him an hour but he made it to his room. He took out a piece of parchment and a quill and slowly wrote

Professor Dumbledore,

I am really sorry to bother you during the holidays,

But I am afraid if someone does not come and get me I will not make it until September,

My uncle is beating me, and he burned my hand so bad I do not think it will heal on its own.

Please send help,

Harry

Harry looked at the note once and folded it up. He had a hard time tying it to Hedwig one handed but managed in the end. His head was pounding so hard and the room was starting to spin. He knew he would not make it to the bed, so Harry curled up on the floor silent tears streaming down his face.

The next morning Harry awoke feeling rays of sun beating down on his back. He knew it was time to look at his hand but he was afraid of what he would see. Slowly and painfully he lifted the hand to his face using his right hand for support. What he saw almost make him pass out.

The skin had melted away and Harry could see layers of raw flesh and muscle. He knew he would not be allowed to wrap it, if it was covered his uncle would not be able to see his fine work. Harry carefully pulled himself off the floor, he could feel his shirt sticking to the wounds on his back, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

Harry quietly tiptoed into the bathroom and shook as he put his hand under the faucet. When the water hit his hand Harry had to shove his good hand into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. The pain was horrible. He turned off the faucet and sat on the toilet seat willing himself not to pass out.

"BOY, GET DOWN HERE," he heard his uncle call. So harry wiped away the tears that had been streaming from his eyes, and headed downstairs, anxious about what he would find.