22 June 1988

Harry woke up blearily to the incessant rapping at his door and his aunt's shrill voice.

"Wake up, wake up you stupid boy!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry called.

Waiting to hear his Aunt's receding footsteps, Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before sitting up. He winced as his head throbbed and sharp pains laced down his back. The world was spinning, and he clutched his head in agony; the concussion obviously hadn't gone yet. Falling back on his bed, he closed his eyes and began breathing deeply. He could feel the pulsating ache in his head starting to recede and he felt relief. Biting the inside of his cheek, he silenced a groan as he forced himself into a standing position.

Reaching into the groove beside his bed, he grabbed his glasses and put them on bringing the shadows in his boot cupboard into focus and he sneered in disdain. He didn't have a lot of room for himself in the cupboard, because even though this was dubbed Harry's room, the Durley's refused to make it comfortable for him. Thus, it was stacked with the Dursley's clutter. There was only a small place for his cot, that he could only just fit onto. Shaking his head, he pushed open his door and began blinking rapidly attempting to adjust his eyes to the onslaught of light.

Limping towards the kitchen, Harry was immediately pushed towards the fridge to start the family's breakfast. Catching himself on the kitchen counter, he schooled his face into an indifferent mask pulling out the ingredients of a typical Dursley breakfast: eggs, bacon and sausages. He pulled out a pan big enough to cook them all breakfast and set it atop the stove. Lighting the stove, he made sure not to singe his fringe; he wasn't able to see much over the stove yet. Rolling up his sleeves Harry began cooking, making sure he didn't burn any of the food. The smells of breakfast made Harry's empty stomach ache and he had to keep himself from flinching as he heard the scrapings of the chairs behind him.

Vernon glared at Harry as he reached blindly for his newspaper, thinking that if he took his eyes off the freak for even a moment then some sort of unnaturalness would occur. Petunia pursed her lips in disdain at the sight of her nephew, his clothing hanging off him like filthy, matted rags. Finally, Dudley blundered in, smirking he strolled over and punched Harry in his back. Biting the inside of his cheek, Harry refused to make a sound despite the absolute agony he was in, knowing it would only make it worse. Petunia tutted at Dudley half-heartedly, while Vernon gave a nod of approval, causing Dudley to swell with pride.

Grimacing, Harry began serving breakfast on three plates and then brought them over to the table. After he served his family, Harry sat down in his seat looking on with hunger as his family consumed their breakfast. Apparently, Petunia was feeling generous because she put her plate in front of Harry with a small bit of sausage on it. Before Harry could pick it up, Dudley snatched it up from the plate and stuffed it into his already full mouth. Harry glared at his lap, fisting his hands. Hearing an angry exclamation from the table and the scraping of the chairs, Harry looked up to see that Dudley's juice has spilled all over his lap even though no one had touched it. It seemed to have fallen over all by itself.

As Petunia begun fussing over 'Dudders', Vernon fixed Harry with an expression that screamed impending violence. Harry was still staring transfixed at the liquid, as instead of spreading across the table, it seemed to look like it was being pushed away from Harry and onto the floor. His part of the table was clear of anything except Petunia's greasy plate. Vernon abruptly got to his feet and stomped over to Harry, watching as he got increasingly tense the closer Vernon got. Good. Picking up Harry by the front of his shirt, Vernon brought him close to his face until they were practically nose-to-nose.

"If you try any of this- this freakishness tomorrow, you'll wish you'd never been born. Got that boy?" Vernon spat, his face increasingly going red until it was almost puce.

"Yes, sir." Harry replied, shakily.

Throwing Harry to the floor, Vernon sneered at him "good, because it's bad enough we have to bring you to the circus, because Mrs Figg got her bloody leg broken but if there's any unnaturalness tomorrow, we'll bloody well leave you there."

Vernon stalked out of the kitchen towards the living room, Dudley following him looking awestruck. He shot Harry a victorious smile before disappearing through the doorway to change his clothes. Grunting in effort Harry managed to get to his feet just as Petunia slapped him across the face. Petunia didn't hit him often, but when she did, she was malicious. Along with the stinging on his cheek from the slap, he could feel thin scratches on his face where Petunia's nails had gouged the skin. Touching his cheek silently his hands came away bloody, as he could feel the blood beading from the wound.

She had a thunderous expression on her face, "Don't touch my son with your – freakishness again!" she whispered harshly.

Pointing to the door her implication was clear, get out of her sight before worse happens. Harry flew out of the kitchen door to set to work on the garden. He wouldn't be allowed back into the house until it was time to make supper.

Harry used the back of his sleeve to wipe the sweat away from his forehead. It was a warm summers' day and he had spent hours in the garden weeding and fixing up Petunia's flowerbeds, making sure they were immaculte. Hearing a car come up the driveway he deduced that Vernon was home from work and scrambled up from where he was on his hands and knees. He winced as he stretched his back, it was still bruised from the beating he had gotten the other day but was a lot better than the paralysing pain he had to begin with.

Walking inside, Petunia scrutinised his state with disgust and sent him to 'clean-up'. What that meant Harry had no idea as he was forbidden from using the shower more than once a week and had already had his one. Making a brief sound of disgust, Petunia pointed to the bucket and cloth in the laundry. When Harry reached the bucket, his lip curled, it had obviously been used for something and recently as it had mysterious clumps floating in it with only the occasional sudd. Shuddering, Harry dipped the cloth in and then rung it out, almost gagging at the dark grey colour of it. Turning around he noticed Petunia eyeing him, making sure he washed himself with the filthy water. Sighing, he began to strip down and wash his naked form. He felt more filthy washing himself with the water than before, with the only relief that it was cooling him down in the process. Finishing he gave himself a surreptitious sniff and discovered that he didn't smell like sweat anymore, instead he smelt musty.

Changing into a fresh pair of hand-me-downs he began preparing dinner. The movements were automatic, almost therapeutic and he began to lose sight of the kitchen as he got lost in his thoughts. While he was washing himself it was impossible not to notice the various marks upon his body; bruises in various stages of healing, scars littering his body and scabs from times he had picked at his wounds. Running his hands over his chest he acknowledged how he could count each one, when it came to his face he felt the overly sharp cheekbones, his sunken cheeks and finally his lightning bolt scar, which seemed to buzz with warmth every time his fingers ran over it.

Yelping he was brought back to reality as he felt a sharp pain. Looking down he noticed he'd cut quite deeply into his index finger while chopping potatoes. He quickly went to the sink to wash out the wound, standing on his toes to reach the tap. The water automatically began soothing it and Harry closed his eyes at the small reprieve. Opening his eyes, he noticed that the water was no longer tinged red but once again clear. Withdrawing his finger Harry looked to where the cut had been but was now only a thin pink line. Shrugging it off as one of those odd things that seemed to happen to him Harry continued with the dinner preparation, not lingering on the now fading line.

Dudley was whining to Petunia about the lack of food and making exaggerations of his starving and fading state. Petunia began fussing over her 'Dudders' cooing that it won't be long till dinner was ready, Harry rolled his eyes overhearing her coddling. The timer on the counter went off and Harry took that as his cue to begin setting the table for the family. After arranging each place-setting just as they each liked, Harry made his way over to the oven to take out the roast. It smelled divine and Harry could just keep himself from giving into temptation to eat the whole thing himself. Setting it down carefully he began to divvy up the portions, cutting down Dudley's slightly after Petunia gave him a lecture on how 'Dudders' needs to cut down his portion size if he's going to be playing sports. Harry scoffed at the thought, the day Dudley voluntarily plays sports will be the day Vernon serves him dinner.

Setting the remaining food in the middle of the table, Harry peered into the living room to see the Dursley's engrossed on whatever was on the telly. Nodding to himself, Harry scurried to one of the lower drawers and withdrew a small sheet of foil. Harry quickly placed a small amount of everything into the foil and then slipped it under his shirt, for once being grateful of his cousin's enormous clothing. Calling out to the Dursley's that dinner was ready, Harry sat obediently in his chair hands on his lap, eyes downcast. Harry heard the scrapings of chairs around him and the clink of cutlery as the Dursley's began eating dinner.

Hearing the crossing of cutlery, Harry looked up curiously 'surely, they can't be done yet' only to catch Vernon's eye. Harry froze, wondering what he did wrong. Vernon regarded Harry in a calm that immediately set Harry on edge.

"The chicken seemed a bit dry, didn't it Dudley?" Vernon asked, keeping his eyes on Harry all the while.

Dudley nodded his head emphatically, smirking at Harry. Petunia watched warily but did nothing to intervene on the escalating tension.

Vernon's look was almost bloodthirsty as he looked at Harry, "eat it."

"Excuse me, sir?" Harry asked bewildered.

"I said eat it," Vernon pushed the plate of chicken in front of Harry to make his point.

Dudley wore an expression on his face between eagerness to see Harry punished and miserable at the now lack of available seconds. Harry eyeing Vernon cautiously speared the nearest piece of chicken on his fork before placing it in his mouth. Harry chewed slowly, never taking his eyes off Vernon. When he had finally swallowed, Vernon was showing too much teeth.

"How did it taste, boy?"

Honestly, Harry thought there was nothing wrong with it. If anything, it was quite moist but knowing that's not what Vernon wanted to hear replied, "it's a bit dry, sir."

"I'm glad you agree, now finish it."

"What?"

"I said finish it!" Vernon bellowed.

Harry began to spear more chicken onto his fork, a slight tremor in his movements. Every swallow, Vernon's smile seemed to grow leaving Harry tense waiting for the other shoe to drop. Finally, when it felt like Harry couldn't possibly eat anymore without bursting Vernon gestured for Harry to come to him. Vernon stood up, looming over Harry, setting one hand on Harry's shoulder, fisting the other. Harry could feel his knees buckling beneath him, suddenly he found himself on his hands and knees retching the dinner he had just eaten. Vernon then put his foot on Harry's back and pushed down until he was lying in his own vomit. His parcel of food that he had hidden slipped out when he fell and it was now lying on the floor, partially opened.

"You little thief!" Vernon exclaimed, "

Vernon ground the heel of his shoe into Harry's spine, relishing in the choked sobs below him. Harry could hear Petunia reminding Vernon of their trip tomorrow. It wouldn't do for Harry to look to hurt, they didn't want questions. Giving Harry one last disgusted look, Vernon gave Harry a swift kick to the stomach and left to watch his shows in the living room – uncaring of the sound of retching from his nephew.

Petunia and Dudley sat frozen at the dinner table, looking at Harry almost transfixed as he lay in a pool of his own vomit. Petunia was the first to move, instructing Dudley to join his father in the living room before rolling Harry onto his back almost gently. Harry shuddered at the feeling of his own waste wetting his shirt but said nothing as Petunia looked him over clinically. She pushed the hair from his face, mindful to not let the vomit drenched strands touch her more than necessary. Getting a cloth from the cupboard, she wet it slightly then started to wipe away the vomit caking to his face. Once she was done she went and got several towels wrapping them around his body before picking him up and taking him to the downstairs bathroom. Vernon looking on at his wife's actions impassively as it was routine whenever he lost his temper.

Petunia placed him down on the bathroom floor as she started running the bath. Shivers were racking Harry's body as his vomit continued to seep through his shirt and the cold from the tiles under him. When the bath was filled, Petunia unwrapped Harry from the towels and placed him in the bath unconcerned about the vomit stained clothes stuck to him. She slowly peeled off his clothes, wrinkling her nose at the smell. After throwing them in the bin, she wet a flannel and started to roughly wipe away the filth and grime that had caked to the boy after days without a shower. Petunia's lips set into a thin line looking at the boy sitting dazedly in the bath, he was dangerously malnourished with his ribs sticking out of his body alarmingly and his head and joints seemed abnormally large. His small body was littered with bruises and scars. As she was lathering up his hair with shampoo, she could feel the build-up of grime in his thick tresses as he had been denied bathroom visits for over a week. His hair was thick but knotted and dry, she'll have to cut it again soon.

Towards the end of the bath, Harry's eyes fluttered briefly, and Petunia caught a glimpse of bright green eyes that reminded her so much of her sister. Before she could dwell on thoughts about Lily, she quickly went about finishing her task. Now that he was clean, Petunia lifted Harry out of the bath and onto the seat of the toilet. Roughly drying him, uncaring of the various flinches the boy gave if she pressed a bit too hard on the recently afflicted wounds. Finally done, she bade him to stay there as she fetched an old pair of Dudley's clothes. She'll have to throw the old ones out now that they were caked in blood and vomit. Finally finding an appropriately threadbare outfit, she redressed Harry and bundled him back in his cupboard. She didn't want to see him again till tomorrow, he had already taken enough of her time up tonight. Humming herself a tune, she went back to the living room to sit next to Dudley as they watched tv. All was normal again.