Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter
Warnings: semi-graphic rape, child abuse, and mean things happen to little Harry. If you don't like the thought of torturing Harry, then I won't advise you to read this story.
Whatever Happened to Love?
At the moment, everything hurt. He couldn't even remember what the last beating was like, or what it was for, just that he was in pain. Then he heard the door open. He opened one eye slowly to see who it was.
It was his cousin, Dudley. He almost jumped for joy. Whenever he came in, it was usually a light beating and vocal jabs. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he flinched, not liking to be touched.
Then he felt the hands go down his back. His mind was racing. He was desperately confused. When he felt a pull at his pants, his breath became ragged. Only one thought ran through his head. What's he doing!? He shut his eyes and tried to get away, but it was all in vein. His cousin took him. He screamed and thrashed, reflexes tensing up, but just making the pain worse. He was being ripped apart from the inside out.
After about ten minutes, the cruel cousin left. He sobbed quietly on the floor, wearing only the large shirt that reached his knees, but was now bunched at his waist. He was scared, oh god, was he scared.
He heard the door opened and his uncle come in; none of this ran through his frozen thoughts. "You turned me wonderful son into a queer! You'll pay! He could have had any girl in England, but you ruined that!" He yelled. Whiskey on his breath telling Harry this would be a bad beating.
He began to kick, punch, and throw the boy on the floor. Then he took off his belt and began to use the buckle side to beat the boy beneath him. He fell into the unconscious realm, but the uncle was too caught up in the beating to really notice or care.
When the boy awoke, he felt like he cold scream out in pain. He didn't know or care, what time of day it was. The window was bricked up. There was total darkness in the empty room. He knew both arms were useless, as they and one of his legs were obviously broken. He was covered in cuts, bruises, sores, welts, and a few burns from a lighter that his uncle keeps with him for his fags. Many of his ribs were broken, cracked, or bruised and it was hard to breathe. He wished he could jus die, for then he torment would end. He'd been beaten before, but nothing like this, he could live through it with the other beatings.
This boy's name was Harry Potter.
AN: I know that this isn't the best ever and that's alright, just felt like posting it.