The Troubled Wizard (A Harry Potter Fan Fiction)

Chapter 2

Harry was awoken to the sound of the front door slamming closed. It didn't feel like he had been asleep for that long but judging by the direction of the shadows being cast under the door, it must have been nearing five o'clock. Uncle Vernon should be getting home around now.

"Welcome home dear."

Harry's heart sank as he heard the conversation happening right outside his door. If his uncle was home, that meant that he soon would be getting that 'talk' that had been promised to him earlier that morning.

"He still in there?" Harry could perfectly picture the look of rage his uncle was surely sporting.

"Yes, dear." His aunt replied. "He hasn't made a peep all day. I'm sure he's probably plotting something."

"You're probably right." His uncle agreed. "Well, after dinner I'll make sure to set him right. We're going to have some words about him making a mess of my new loafers."

"That sounds good dear. Now come into the dining room, Dudley wants to tell you about the movie he and his friends went to see this afternoon." Their voices started to fade as they walked further away from the cupboard. All Harry could do now was wait for the punishment that would soon befall him.

After dinner, Uncle Vernon wasted no time in getting straight to work. With a swift pound against the door and a simple "Out!" he had drawn Harry out of his cupboard. The room was far too small for Harry, so there was no way that someone of Uncle Vernon's size could ever dream of fitting inside.

Harry stepped out and followed his uncle silently down the hall into his study. This had become a routine engrained deem into the recesses of his mind. Uncle Vernon unlocked the door, and Harry walked into the center of the room. He shrugged off his loose-fitting hand-me-down t-shirt and put his hands on his uncle's desk. Vernon undid his belt from its loop and started flogging Harry with it repeatedly. Harry shed a tear after the first several strikes, but after the eighth or ninth, he just became indifferent. This was nothing new to him after all.

Uncle Vernon quickly grew tired of the belt and frustrated at Harry's lack of a response. Therefore, he picked up the nearest object, in this case, a half-drunk bottle of brandy, and smashed it over Harry's right shoulder. He let out a scream of pain as he collapsed to his knees. Pieces of glass had embedded themselves into his skin, and the alcohol burned against the open wounds. He was crying profusely as his uncle went back to hitting him with the belt, satisfied at his reaction. After about a half-hour more of this, he finally let Harry return to his cupboard to lick his wounds.

The tears dripping from his eyes made it even harder to see as he tried to pull the glass shards out of his shoulder. Without a good pair of tweezers, there was no way that he would be able to get all the pieces out. This meant that he would have to wait until the morning when he would hopefully be able to sneak off to the bathroom and borrow a pair from Aunt Petunia's makeup kit.

Uncle Vernon was normally very careful about making sure not to touch Harry's face. When he had been younger, he had been afraid that one of Harry's teachers would catch on to what was going on, so he always made sure to inflict his punishments in places that wouldn't be seen by prying eyes.

He checked his wrist one more time and saw that it still seemed to be in the correct position. Harry pulled out the first aid kit he had hidden under his cot at the beginning of the summer. What he wouldn't give for one of Madam Pomfrey's healing sessions. As it stood, he would have to manage with the shoddily made healing potions he had brewed last semester. He would kill for some of the potions that Snape provided the hospital wing with. He may be a creep, but even Harry had to admit, he brewed a damn good potion. Harry took out one of the vials and took a small sip before placing it back in the box. He couldn't risk using up all of his supply before the summer was over.

Once the potion had taken a bit of the edge off, he was able to shrug his shirt back on and lay down. He made sure to stay turned on his side to avoid aggravating any of the welts littering his back.

Before he drifted off to sleep, he stared up at the ceiling of his small dwelling and sent up his prayer to the heavens. "Please let tomorrow be a better day..." 

(A/N - Hey guys! Thanks for reading! I hope you like it so far.)