DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE HARRY POTTER CHARACTERS, WORLD OR ANYTHING ELSE. IT IS ALL THE PROPERTY OF J K ROWLING
Harry Potter was an unusual child. Left on the doorstep of his Muggle aunt and Uncle as a tiny one year old. He was left there by the famous wizard, Albus Dumbledore, with a note explaining the situation. Many pure blood families would have been disgusted, had word gotten out about the whereabouts of Harry Potter. But, to the wizarding world, Harry was left in very capable hands of a loving family. Minerva Mcgonagall believed that it wasn't the right place to leave him, but Albus reassured her that he knew exactly what was in store for young Harry as he grew up. So, Minerva had no choice but to leave him there with the muggles that she deemed untrustworthy.
***
"Boy! Get up now!" Vernon Dursley roared.
Harry scrambled to find his glasses and get out of his bed. Although, the term bed was a bit of an understatement. The 'bed' that Harry slept on, was a thin piece of foam, no more than an inch thick. On top of that was a sheet with many holes and an old, flat pillow. As Harry left the cupboard under the stairs, he glanced at the clock to see that it was only six o'clock in the morning. As he raced into the kitchen, his Uncle Vernon was already standing there.
"I thought I told you to wash the dishes last night before you went to bed." He said, his voice dangerously low.
Harry's mind flashed back to last night. He could clearly remember washing the dishes as soon as he was told.
"I did, sir." Harry's voice came out in a near whisper.
The vein above his uncles temple began to protrude, his skin quickly turning scarlet with anger. He grabbed a dish from the cupboard and thrust it in front of Harry's face, so close to him that he could see his warm breath fogging up the plate.
"Does this look clean to you?!" Now it was Vernon's turn to whisper. Though, his whisper was not in fright, but rage instead.
Harry's eyes scanned the plate, not picking up on any marks.
"Yes?" His reply came out more as a question than an answer.
His uncles left eye began to twitch, making it look even smaller than his already beady eyes were.
"Oh, you've done it this time, boy."
The colour drained from Harry's face as his eyes darted to the front door. That was the only way out of this house. The only way he could possibly escape his Uncle's wrath. Harry sprinted for the door, but his short legs weren't fast enough to outrun his Uncles.
Vernon grabbed Harry by his uncared for hair and dragged him to his cupboard. He wrenched open the door and threw Harry onto the bed. Harry scrambled to the corner, his skin white as a ghost. The poor boy was shaking uncontrollably while cowering in the corner, his face covered by his arms and his back to his Uncle.
His uncle yanked him back to the middle of the cupboard and ripped of the boys oversized shirt. He reached down and unbuckled his belt, pulling it through the belt loops. His uncles mouth turned up into a twisted smirk as he whipped the belt through the air, while terror overtook Harry's face. The belt cracked down onto Harry's bareback. The skin automatically turned crimson while a whimper of pain escaped Harry's lips.
The whipping went on for an hour, by the end of it, Harry's back was covered in cuts. The blood spilling from the cuts soaked the carpet below him. Sweat was dripping down his Uncle's face, his body obviously unused to the strain of an hour of physical activity. The longest amount of time that Harry has been physically abused for is half an hour, so no wonder his uncle was so physically exhausted. Although, his uncles twisted smirk never left his large face as he whipped Harry. His smirk only got bigger as he looked at the result of the session. The crimson blood, the torn skin, the bruised body, and to top it all off; the unconscious four year old boy.
***
When Harry awoke, he awoke to his back burning from the pain. He hesitated before reaching around to touch his back, wanting to know just how bad it was. As his hands made contact with his back, the feeling of his skin under his fingertips never came. Instead, his fingers came in contact with a rough, hard surface. He felt around a bit more before coming to the conclusion that he was touching scabs. His hands immediately retracted as he glanced at the clock. The clocks small digits shone in the dark cupboard.
"11:55" Harry muttered to himself.
He pushed himself off the sticky floor and headed to the bathroom. He skipped the step that creaks as he made his way up the stairs. Upon entering the bathroom, he grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the water before gently sponging the blood off his back. He squinted at the mirror in the dark room, the moonlight shining through the window. He wouldn't turn the light on, otherwise it would awaken his relatives and he would be punished. So, he continued to wash the blood off his skin in the moonlit room before putting the washcloth in the laundry basket and heading back to his cupboard, missing the creaky step on the way down.
As he quietly shut his door and sat back down on the sticky, blood covered floor, his eyes focused on the small digits of the clock. The clocks digits flicked to 12:00.
"Happy Birthday me."
***
Harry woke up the next morning and made his way to the kitchen. His relatives weren't awake yet, so he began to prepare their breakfast. He hadn't ever cooked before, but it was drummed into him from the moment he understood words that as soon as he turned five, he would be required to cook his relatives breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert.
"That's what you should be doing. We are so good to you. We gave you a home when your parents got themselves killed. You should be paying us back."
The words were replaying in his mind as he smelled smoke. His mind refocused on reality and his eyes darted down to the bacon he was cooking. The pieces were in the pan, pure black. Smoke filled the air and his Uncle ran down the stairs to find a smoke filled kitchen.
"Boy! What have you done?! You never stop amazing me at how pathetic and useless you really are!" His voice shook with hatred.
Harry's bottom lip quivered. His eyes began to tear up, but harry was unsure if they were tearing up from the smoke or from his uncles words. His uncle stomped over and grabbed Harry's hair, beginning to drag him in the direction of his cupboard. Harry's heart was thumping. He didn't know if his back could possibly take anymore whipping.
The front door swung open and there appeared two strange men. Harry looked at them in confusion. They were both wearing some weird looking dresses. One of the men had shoulder length brown hair and grey eyes. His eyes almost metallic. The other man had shaggy light brown hair, his eyes a light blue. But Harry could hardly drag his eyes away from the scar across his cheek.
"What are you doing to Harry?!" The grey eyed man shouted.
