The Meaning of Being Saved

Chp 2. Painful Existance

Harry lay curled up on the blanket in the cupboard, his face swollen and bloody. He recalled he was being hit because he had accidentally burnt the breakfast sausage. Wincing slightly in pain he managed to roll over onto her back, a throbbing pain in his left knee. Oh yes, Uncle Vernon had gotten him good this time, he had deserved it. He just couldn’t help watching Dudley open his presents. Not because he was jealous or anything. Harry was used to not receiving any gifts and to be honest, with the way Dudley’s fancy gadgets always managed to break before the first week of summer was over, he did like to look and see them. They were visually intriguing to the six year old.

Harry remained quiet. Talking wasn’t allowed unless he was spoken too. Slowly, pushing himself up with the arm that pained him less, the young child propped himself up against the wall and waited. Since it was Dudley, the fat pig in the wig’s birthday and Aunt Marge was coming they would have to bring him out for appearances sake. To be honest, despite the fact his Aunt Marge hated him about as much as his uncle Vernon did, Harry was glad she was coming. He was given a plate of food when she came. Of course no one talked to him, and he always had to clean the dishes after but that didn’t matter. Harry could count on both hands, how often he got a full meal.

The cupboard door jerked open, the sight of a bony hand reaching in and grabbing him by the shoulder. She was gentle for a split second before jerking him out and too his feet, marching the boy outside to the tin tub. He didn’t get to use the shower inside, and they disdainfully allowed him the use of their toilet.

Stripping the boy, she shoved him into the ice water. A minute later a bar of hard lye soap was applied to his hair and she scrubbed gently. It was a secret between him and his Auntie Tunia (Something he only called her privately, of course) but she was much nicer when it was just him and her.

“You will keep your mouth shut tonight Harry. Please, Vernon is already seething with anger. It will… not be pleasant… if you make him any angrier.” She urged in a hushed voice.

“Yes, Auntie Tunia.” The boy held obediently still for his aunt as she scrubbed him down.

“Petunia, isn’t The Boy ready yet!?” Vernon’s voice boomed, making them both jump.

“Yes Darling! Get up Boy.” She filled her voice with sound of disgusted as Harry quickly stood. Without bothering to hand him a towel she shoved him back in his clothes swiftly and bustled him inside, where Vernon straightened his Tie.

“Marge will be here soon. She can’t wait to see you, Dudley my boy!” His father spoke proudly, not even tossing Harry a second glance.

“Yes Father.” Dudley didn’t even look away from the TV, slowly stuffing more and more of his first birthday cake into his mouth. Another cake waiting in the fridge for after supper.

Vernon turned and glared down at Harry. Ominously he leaned forward and got right into the little boys face, hissing angrily.

“If you so much as look at my sister funny you’re going to wish you were never born. What I have done beforehand will seem like a pleasant dream compared to this. Got it, boy!?”

Harry gulped, nodding quickly in response to his uncle.

 

 

Later that evening Harry stood, back pressed up against the tree. Tied down by the wrists with some rope, he was unable to move.  The little boy was terrified beyond belief and his uncle hadn’t even come out to exact the punishment Harry new he deserved.

A moment later, the back porch light flicked on. Walking outside, his uncle carried an old wooden paddle in his hand. Harry Potter began to sweat bullets in fear.

“Think you can get away with it, calling my dear sister whatever you like FREAK? Well I will not tolerate that in my household!” The paddle swung forward and slammed into his side. Unable to suppress the shout of pain, Harry cried out. Sneering in approval his uncle swung the paddle again, much harder this time.

“You’re a freak just like your freak-of-a-father!” WHAM! Harry tilted his head back and cried out. Dropping the paddle his uncle Vernon shoved something foul into The Boys mouth to shut him up. Moments later the paddle collided with his ribcage. He could feel something crack.

“And your mother, she was just a freak and a whore! Wouldn’t even accept my superior advances over your freak of a father!” BAM!!

Swinging the paddle in a raged frenzy, it collided over and over into Harry’s torso, causing more and more damage. Occasionally the paddle would slam into his arms and legs, a sickening crack being heard. Harry hung from the ropes, spitting up blood. Eventually his uncle dropped the paddle, energy spent and returned inside. Thinking it was over he was about to find out that he was very wrong. Walking out with an old belt, his uncle began beat him again. The metal buckle of the belt continued to slam into his body. He cried out in pain every time the metal piece that went through the hold of the belt bit into his skin, which was often. Soon, young Harry Potter was covered in cuts and bruises, bleeding profusely.

The only comfort he received was the fact that it was a cold evening, and this soothed his aches marginally. Around two a.m. his uncle seemed to finally calm down and tire of him. Picking up the paddle and his belt, Vernon left the boy there as he went inside to sleep. Petunia closed the curtain and felt like crying.