Death Child [ON HIATUS]

Quick Peak on Number 4 Privet Drive

:Parseltongue:

:Language of the Dead:

:Thoughts/letters/the usual really:

:Gobblygook:

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-The next morning-

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and slept on, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs' Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley.

~~~~~~~~~

-1983-

A small child whipped silently in the small cupboard under the stairs. His uncle Vernon had just given him a beating and pushed him in the small dark space filled with spider webs, yelling he was to remained in said space from now on, only to come out when to earn his keep, after the child had tripped over his baggy rags, once belonging to his overweight cousin Dudley, and broken his aunt Petunia's favorite vase.

That had been the first time his uncle had beat him. Yes, he had received the occasional slap every so often, but nothing as bad as what he had just lived through. Unfortunately, not the last for many more were to come. And after every single one of them, he would feel as confused as he was. Nothing was reason to be hurt this much, he thought.

This was also the first time the boy had retreated to his mind, finding it less painful to bear the pain he was in.

A small hum of a song filled the dark cupboard. The boy hummed the tone never heard in the living world, finding comfort in the tune escaping his throat. A shudder and gasp escaped him as he felt something surround him, it was comforting. Like someone was bracing his small malnourished body, enticing him to hum the tune until he finally fell asleep.

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-1984-

Harry knelt by the weeds in the back garden, the sun was high, burning his exposed skin. He hummed a tune along with the tiny shy creatures hiding in the flowers in the garden. Harry liked gardening, even if he had to be exposed to the sun for so many hours, he like it. The garden welcomed him and comforted him like an agreement as he took great care of the flowers in it.

After pulling the last weed, he disposed of the trash in the black bag, making sure not to be seen before placing the bag next to the trash can in the front and running to the back to water the plants. He had learned his lesson. The last he had been seen disposing of the trash after gardening, his aunt had screamed at him and once his uncle came home he had been whipped several times with a belt and tossed into his cupboard without food.

Once the boy was done, he cleaned up his clothes as best he could, he knew his aunt hated when he left dirt inside the house. It's not like she's the one who cleans it, he thought as he went inside.

-1985-

"BOY! WHAT'S THAT SMELL?!" uncle Vernon yelled as Harry removed the bacon as fast as he could without burning himself. He was done for, he knew it. The bacon he was cooking far breakfast had burned and now he was going to be beaten for it.

He had no time to react has the frying pan was removed from his small hands and a fat hand grabbed his wrist before it was placed directly on the stove's fire. The boy screamed, tears running down his face as his hand burned, the smell of burned flesh reaching his nose, making him want to puke. His uncle released him with a scoff and the boy fell backwards, holding his burned hand.