There was a loud snap as it broke, and Uncle Vernon, deciding that he was finished, hauled Harry to his feet and threw him into the cupboard.
Harry laid there, pain shooting through every inch of his body without him even having to move. He could feel himself losing consciousness and allowed the brief respite gratefully.
For three days, Harry remained inside his cupboard, slipping in and out of consciousness. His licked his dry lips, wishing for water but also repulsed by the thought of it. His stomach rumbled; he had barely eaten in the last two weeks.
His relatives were going on with their lives as if there wasn't a damaged child under their roof. Harry was glad that it was the summer. They didn't have to invent excuses for his absences in school, and he didn't have any friends, so they didn't have to worry about that, either.
Petunia rapped on the door impatiently. Her precious Dudleykins was starving for breakfast, and Harry still hadn't woken up. "Get up! Now!" she shouted.
Nothing.
Vernon came over and wrenched the door open. "Boy, if you don't get moving—" He gasped suddenly.
"What is it, Vernon?" Petunia demanded.
Vernon slowly reached inside the cupboard and dragged out Harry's limp body. Petunia frantically checked his pulse; there was none.
"What did you do?" she whispered. Of course, she wasn't worried about Harry being dead. She was scared that the authorities would find out and arrest her husband.
"Nothing different from normal. It's not my fault the freak couldn't handle a little punishment."
"I know," Petunia assured him. "What are we going to do?"
Vernon's mind whirled. "Just bury him. We can say he ran away, the ungrateful freak. They'll believe us, they always have."
"Right. Well, get on with it." Petunia jumped up as Dudley wailed and rushed over.
Meanwhile, Vernon went to grab a shovel and drove to a park several miles away. He walked into the forest, diverted from one of the trails, and began digging some way away from the main paths. With any luck, this would be the end of the boy's freakish nature.
Harry groggily opened his eyes. The first thing he registered was that he was no longer in pain. The second thing was that he was in a park, but it wasn't the one by Privet Rrive. It was also empty and looked to be faded, as if he wasn't really there.
He turned, sensing someone approaching. A tall figure stood there— well, hovered might be a better word— a large cloak hiding its face, if it even had one.
"Master," a voice spoke, and the being bowed down.
"Master?" Harry echoed.
The being straightened up. "Of Death."
"Oh." Harry looked around. "So I'm dead?"
"Only temporarily. Now—" its voice became brisk— "to business."
Harry blinked as Death waved a hand, causing a couple of chairs to appear. "Sit down, Master."
"You don't have to call me Master," Harry said as he took a seat. "I'm just Harry."
"Very well, then, just Harry." A note of amusement crept into Death's voice. "First things first: Do you know what you are?"
"A freak?" Harry said uncertainly.
Death tutted. "You are most certainly not. You're a wizard."
"A what? That can't be right. I'm just Harry."
Bored to Death
Start from the beginning
