Learning to Live

This is a pilot chapter to see if there is any interest for me to contiue it. If you as the reader would like more, please review and let me know. Thanks. And I promise, this isn\'t the regular hurt Harry/comforting Draco story.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, it is all from the brilliant mind of J. K. Rolwing, and as such belongs to her.

Chapter 1: Gross Intrusion

It was July, the day of his birth in fact, and Harry sat in his cramped bedroom, on his small bed, looking out into the freedom of the night. He sat there, contemplating his existence. ‘That’s what I do. I don’t live, I exist. I exist to die, to die fighting Voldemort. But don’t worry everybody. Your precious saviour will do his job and take the scaly bastard down to hell with him.’ Harry stared out the window at the wide open night sky and wept for the death of his godfather, his eyes turned to the heavens and the constant reminder of his failure, the constellation named Sirius.

***

Vernon was not a happy man. He had been so close to closing a deal with that little street whore, but Petunia had called his cell phone right in the middle of it. ‘Damn that woman! Does she not have a bloody idea how damn bad she is? Like an old fish, slimy, cold and disgusting is what she is.’

He sat in his living room, in his favourite chair, drinking a rather large glass of whiskey. His stared at his boarded up fireplace, cursing Petunia in his head. His darling wife was out at a dinner party, and not scheduled to be home for hours, so he couldn’t even have her. Dudley was out with friends creating chaos and mayhem, and he was stuck at home making sure that brat of his sister-by-law didn’t do anything naughty.

At the thought of Harry, a disgusting, disturbing smile spread across his fat face. ‘He wouldn’t dare say a thing. He hasn’t spoken a word since he got off that blasted train. Perfect. I guess I’ll get to have fun too tonight.’ With perverted thoughts running through his drink sodden mind, Vernon Dursley put his empty glass down and began walking up stairs to his ward’s bedroom, loosening his belt as he went.

***

When Vernon came through the door, Harry glanced at him before looking back out the window. ‘I expect he wants me to make supper for him or some such nonsense.’ If he had known what Vernon really wanted, he would have probably cursed him to within an inch of his life. But he never saw it coming.

“Boy. Get up and come here.” Vernon looked at the boy hungrily. He was starved for a good piece of ass, and though bony and skinny, he would settle for what his nephew could offer. His eyes licked up and down the slim boy’s body, taking in the plain grey boxers and too big t-shirt. He heard Harry sigh and then the ruffling of the bed sheets as he stood.

Before Harry could do a thing, he found himself thrown back onto his bed, and then the great weight of his uncle on top of him, pinning him down. ‘What the hell? What did I do this time? I haven’t even left this room. How could I screw anything up from here?’ For all his frantic thinking, Harry could not find a single reason for the behaviour of his uncle, unknowing that he was just unlucky enough to be the handiest person available.

Vernon’s sour breath hissed against his cheek as his thick fingers removed the belt from his waist, using it to tie Harry’s hands above his head, attached to the headboard. He unzipped his pants and let them fall to his ankles. His greedy fingers sank beneath the waistband of Harry’s boxers to squeeze and manhandle the virgin flesh to be found. His nephew’s body was wriggling and fighting madly to get away, but not a sound escaped his lips.

The drab grey cloth of his underwear fell to the floor and his shirt was pushed up to his neck, allowing Vernon to see all that lightly tanned, unmarked flesh. His gross and intruding fingers pried apart Harry’s thighs and bum, before roughly sticking his finger in the previously untouched opening in the young boy’s body.

Though Harry could not break his self-imposed silence, in his mind he was screaming, screaming to be saved, for someone to find him, help him, make all the bad things go away. As pain burst through him from his uncle’s rough treatment, as his blood eased the way for his uncle’s sick pleasure, Harry’s mind retreated to a tiny corner of his being. In that small part of him, there was no pain, there was no pleasure, there was no death, there was no life. There was only a soft grey static,
numbing and soothing.

His mind was still in that grey place as his body bucked and fought his uncle, earning his smacks and blows to the head, the ribs, anywhere Vernon could reach. After the fat man had shot his load inside him, Vernon retrieved his belt and let Harry lie where he was on the bed. He had so wanted to make the boy scream, but not even a pained moan had escaped him.

Without thought, Vernon’s hand flew backwards and then forwards, slamming his belt buckle onto Harry’s back, drawing blood. His arm flew until he was too tired to do it again. And all Harry had done was try to get away. Not a sound, not a word had passed his lips. Vernon left.

Harry clawed himself back onto the bed, unable to stand from the pain. His back from shoulders to ass was bleeding and bruised, his bruised and blackened ribs stabbed pain into his chest, his arms where cut up and purple from trying to block the blows, his legs were scratched all to hell, but miraculously it seemed, his face was untouched. No mark for the casual observer to see. With a thick trail of blood smeared on the floor, his underwear torn up and lying somewhere, his shirt glued to him with blood, The-Boy-Who-Lived-But-Wanted-To-Die fell asleep with a soft smile on his face.

‘I wonder if anyone will care if I die, except that they have no one to face Voldemort? I wonder if anyone will notice if I’m gone?’