Disclaimer: How I wish I owned the Harry Potter series but I don't. (Wished I made money off of this too but I don't)

Bad Author Notes: This was my first Harry Potter fic and I was surprise on how well everyone took to it at . My first version of this chapter… well it sucked. But like a fine wine my skills have improved so I've revisited this story and I'm slowly improving it with the help of my Beta… my Precious, not your Precious MINE. She's my Precious. Umm yes right. Sorry about that. Like I said I'm revise most of the early chapter so please be patient.

Special thanks to my Precious… umm I mean my Beta for the wonderful edit on this revision. My Precious not your Precious. Pretty Precious!

A Broken Child

By Lady FoxFire

Dec 30, 2001

Revised July 4, 2003

Under the cover of darkness, a solitary figure crept as silently as a shadow up the pathway leading to the house at number four, Privet Drive.

The figure lone loomed over locked front door, before pausing to reach inside his clothing and pull out a long sender stick of polished wood that glinted from the streetlights. With a few simple movements of the wrist, the lock uttered a soft click and the door swung opened silently, inviting the gaunt figure inside. Looking around quickly, the man slipped across the threshold, pulling the door closed with a gentle click behind him.

The intruder swept his searching eyes across the darkened room before him, before slinking silently to the second floor.

At each door he passed, the man stopped briefly and noiselessly pressed his ear against the door, trying to listen for any sound from within that might indicate whether the residents were awake. Fortunately, the only sounds that could be heard from beyond were the loud snoring of Vernon and Dudley's pig like snouts.

At last, the man arrived at the door of the smallest bedroom in the house. His eyes flickered angrily over the five dead bolt locks that guarded the menacing steel door. Extracting his wand from within the folds of his long cloak, the man muttered a quiet word under his breath, causing the locks click open, one after another, until the door swung effortlessly open with a slight creak. The gaunt figure peered anxiously back at the closed bedroom doors of the Dursley family before stepping into the darkened room.

"Harry," the man called out carefully with false cheer in his voice. "Its me, Sirius. Your one and only godfather come to rescue you. Wake up, Harry."

Sirius waited with baited breath for a reply that never came. Nothing penetrated the deafening silence that hung heavily around him like a lurking spirit. Sirius grasped the doorknob tightly and silently pulled the door closed, throwing him into absolute darkness.

"Lumos!" he whispered.

The room was soon filled with a soft pale light that glowed from the tip of his outstretched wand.

Sirius's jaw dropped at the condition of Harry's bedroom. The window through which Harry had once escaped had been completely bricked up, leaving the air within stale and heavy. The massive piles of Dudley's broken toys and the little furniture that had, according to Harry, decorated the room in years past had vanished, leaving only scuffmarks on the dust covered wooden floor. The only thing that remained in the bedroom was a battered old rusting brass bed frame, upon which Harry laid, covered in a single dingy sheet.

"Harry?" Black called out with concern in his voice as he approached the bed. "Wake up, Harry."

Harry remained motionless on the bed as he continued to lie under a thin dirty sheet.

Sirius looked down on this godson's prone form with an audible gasp full of horror that resounded through the empty room. He stared in shock at the collection of bruises and welts that covered the child's once lively face. His eyes traced the path of the thin tickle of blood ran from Harry's mouth.

The anger that had begun to boil deep within the gaunt wizard raged upward at the sight of eyes that had once mirrored Lily's. Harry's normally bright green eyes were open, but they were now dulled to a grayish color as he stared with a vacant expression off into space.

"Harry?" Sirius prompted as he reached out and gently touched the child on the shoulder.

Harry flinched at the slight touch, his eyes never changing as they continued to gaze at nothing.

Licking his lips nervously Black reached out and slowly pulled the filthy sheet off his godson. "Oh, sweet Merlin! What did those monsters do to you, Harry?" Sirius whispered in shock and horror as he stared upon his godson's cruelly battered naked body.

Harry's unnaturally pallid and emaciated body was obscured with a myriad of countless bruises, welts, cuts, and burn marks. A heavy metal chain ran from the rusted bedpost to his limp left arm that was twisted at an unnatural angle. And in between his spread legs was an ominous trail of blood.

Sirius quickly closed his eyes filled with tears of grief and anger, before turning from the sight as he fought the bitter bile rising up the back of his throat. Taking a deep shuddering breath, he whirled slowly back to his battered godson.

"Don't worry, Harry; I'm going to get you out of here. And when you're safe, I'll come back to deal with them," he growled with disgust and hate clearly evident in his voice.

Working quickly and quietly, Sirius freed his godson from the heavy chain, exposing the bloody mess on his wrist from him fighting to escape.

Placing the dirty sheet back over Harry's nude figure, Sirius carefully lifted Harry off the bed, only to stop when Harry began to whimper quietly in pain.

"Shit!" Sirius snarled under his breath. "What else did those monsters do to you?"

Sirius ran a hand through his dark matted hair as he gazed with anguish at the broken body of his godson. "I'm going to try something, Harry," he explained quietly, "I'm going to try to float you out of this… this house." Taking a deep breath, Sirius brandished his wand in the air. "Wingardum Leivosa."

Slowly the bedding began to rise into the air, carrying Harry with it.

After making sure Harry was tucked safely inside of the sheets Sirius led Harry's pale form out of that room of torture and finally away from the last of his relatives.