Chapter Text
Harry Potter hated his life. It was sad, but it was the truth. Anyone could guess at any number of reasons for his hate of his existence. Maybe it was the fact that his parents had died when he was a baby, maybe it was the fact that he lived with his aunt, uncle, and cousin who all hated him, or maybe it was the fact that he was regularly beaten and treated like a servant.
While all of these were very good reasons for him to hate his life, none of them was the cause of his sorrow. It was the soreness in his hips, the aches in his lips, and the bile that wanted to force itself up his throat that contributed to his self-hatred.
Harry stared blankly at the cupboard door, his hand-me-down clothes were ripped, and his skin beneath was bruised with purple welts. A terrified haze hung in the back of his eight-year-old mind, trying to shield him from the grim reality of what had happened just an hour ago.
October 20th, 1988
7:30 a.m.
Harry stood in front of the stove, bleary-eyed and tired. He hadn’t been preparing breakfast for the Dursleys for very long; he had only started last year. But he felt he was getting better at it. The bacon sizzled tantalizingly in the pan, beckoning him to help himself to a bite. But he quickly squashed the desire, knowing what would happen if he gave in. Another beating.
Harry rubbed at the bruise on his stomach, not wanting another. This one had happened nearly two weeks ago, and it was still healing; so, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to give in to his hunger again.
Turning from the stove, Harry walked over to the fridge, retrieving four eggs, knowing full well he would need far more than that for himself and his uncle and cousin. He would never say it out loud, but the pair disgusted him with how rotund they had grown recently. Sure, Uncle Vernon had always been large, but he was nearly as wide as the couch in the sitting room, and Dudley wasn’t far behind. Harry often likened Dudley to a baby whale.
Chuckling under his breath, Harry turned back to the stove, carrying the eggs carefully so as not to drop them. That wouldn't end well for Harry either; it would probably end with his hands being shut in the kitchen's sliding doors.
A thick, acrid smell assaulted Harry’s nose, making him panic. He ran over to the frying pan and saw a piece of bacon slightly blackened on one side. Harry quickly removed the piece with a fork, setting it to the side away from the unburned pieces.
"BOY!!!" Uncle Vernon's angry voice cut through the silence in the kitchen, making Harry cringe, knowing what it meant. He had somehow picked up that Harry had burned something, probably because he had the nose of a truffle sniffing pig.
Enraged stomping made Harry tremble in fear as the towering silhouette of Uncle Vernon fell upon him,“Do you think it’s funny to waste my money, Freak?”
“N-No, U-Uncle Vernon,” Harry stuttered, very scared,” I-It was an accident. I was g-grabbing the eggs and I d-didn’t notice how long that piece had b-been on.”
This answer seemed to make Uncle Vernon even more enraged,” Did you forget what happened last time you wasted my food, boy?”
Harry thought back to when he had eaten a bit of the food he was preparing. Apparently, Harry eating it meant he was wasting food, and the punishment for wasting food was several hard kicks to the ribs. And Harry had been thrown into his cupboard, without being allowed outside or having any food for nearly a week.
“N-No, Uncle Vernon, I didn’t forget.”
A swift fist to the top of Harry’s head sent him to his hands and knees; stars danced across his eyes as he fought not to lose consciousness.
“If you didn’t forget, then you wouldn’t have wasted the damn food!” Uncle Vernon roared, sending a kick into Harry’s already bruised stomach.
Harry fought the urge to vomit, he knew if he did his uncle would just hit him again, and probably twice as hard.
“Finish making breakfast, boy,” Uncle Vernon said, fixing the cuffs of his work shirt,” I don’t have the time to properly discipline you, so I’ll talk to your aunt and leave it to her.”
Harry gasped, desperate to regain his breath. Long minutes passed before Harry managed to crawl his way back to his feet and finish making breakfast. Luckily, the rest of the bacon was salvageable, and the eggs were cooked without a problem.
While it wasn’t better than not being punished, at least Aunt Petunia would make Harry clean or work in her garden, rather than Uncle Vernon’s beatings. Harry was in the middle of washing the pans he’d used for breakfast when Aunt Petunia and Dudley came to sit down and eat.
"Petunia, the boy burnt some of the bacon, and I don't have enough time to properly discipline him. So I'm leaving it up to you." Uncle Vernon sighed, releasing a great breath of air as he rose, finishing his sizable breakfast.
"Of course," Aunt Petunia nodded tersely, looking Harry up and down like a predator.
”And then send him to his cupboard, where he won’t be having any meals for the next... three days.”
This was a far more generous punishment than Harry had been expecting, and the thought of just doing a bit of labor and losing only three days worth of meals was far preferable to the beatings.
"Go to your cupboard now, boy," the look she was giving him made Harry shudder violently, but he nodded and made his way to the cupboard under the stairs.
8:30 p.m.
Harry shot awake, not having realized he was dozing off, as a sharp bang on his cupboard door violently scared him.
“Come out here, boy,” Aunt Petunia yelled, sounding very annoyed.
Harry rubbed at his eyes, stepped out from his cupboard, and stood in front of his aunt keeping his eyes locked on the ground.
"Look at me, Freak," Aunt Petunia shouted, slapping Harry across the face. He pressed his small hand into his pulsing cheek, looking up fearfully, "Good. Now, your uncle has left your punishment to me, and I have a good punishment to let your uncle's point about not wasting food sink in. Normally I would just have you finish all the chores, but since you've wasted food not once but twice, I suppose I need to get the point across."
Aunt Petunia grabbed Harry by the hand, pulling him roughly to the stairs leading to the upstairs bedrooms. She pulled him along, passing Dudley’s room, his extra room, and they finally entered the master bedroom.
Harry was forcefully picked up and thrown onto the bed, causing the injury on his stomach to crescendo in pain, making him cry out.
“Oh, shut up you worthless excuse for a boy,” Aunt Petunia sneered, slapping Harry across the face again.
Harry held back tears as his cheek throbbed in protest, and then he gasped in horror as his aunt roughly grabbed him and smashed her lips into his. He squirmed, trying hard to scrabble away from her, not knowing why she was doing what she was doing. Harry’s frantic movements seemed to enrage his aunt, who pushed him down roughly.
"You know I had a bit of a thing for your father when your bitch of a mother started bringing him around. I was always mad that she was able to find a handsome man like him while I was stuck with Vernon, but luckily, I got a chance to rectify never having a little fun with your father. You do look just like him," Aunt Petunia paused, gazing into Harry's wide, fearful eyes, her own filling with anger," except your disgusting eyes. They look just like your bitch mother's."
Harry crawled backward, his head colliding with the bed's headboard, Aunt Petunia followed him onto the bed stalking slowly toward him. The smooth cotton of the bedsheets were a completely foreign feeling to him since he had slept with thin woolen blankets, and threadbare fitted sheets his whole life.
Harry didn’t know what was going on, but he knew he didn’t like it, not one bit.
“P-Please, Aunt Petunia just s-stop,” Harry begged, tears spilling from his eyes.
She disregarded Harry’s pleas for mercy, grabbing a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back painfully so she could forcefully kiss him, and let her tongue explore his mouth.
Harry closed his eyes tightly, trying to imagine being annywhere else but in this horrible situation. Bile rose in his throat but was quickly forced down; he didn't want to know what would happen if he forcefully vomited into his aunt's mouth.
She pulled away, a faraway look on her face as she scanned Harry’s features hungrily, no doubt imagining Harry was his father. A dangerous gleam rose in her eyes as she reached down to unbutton his pants. An evil grin rose on her face as Harry now fully burst into tears.
9:30 p.m.
Now Harry sat in his cupboard, his body aching from the multiple blows he had taken earlier, and his hips aching from his aunt forcing herself on him. Harry was violently shaking as his vacant stare was replaced with a horrific clarity.
‘I wish I died with them,’ Harry sobbed thinking about his parents. Involuntarily Harry knew his thoughts of his father would forever be painted by the horrible things that had happened today. He even began hating his own face.
“Someone, please help me,” he sobbed, falling into his motheaten pillow.