Disclaimer: In case you didn't already know this, it all belongs to JKR (hence fan-fiction)

I walk down the dismal street of Privet Drive, my feet dragging along the floor as if attempting to halt me like cut breaks on a train, their effects having no impact on my continuous pace. I notice the gardens are all perfect along the street, each lawn cut to perfection, each piece of grass perhaps 1-2mm long. You can tell each one has taken a lot of effort and has a strict upkeep.

However number 4 stands out from them all. The hedges trimmed to excellence, the gardens faultless. This is one thing I feel immensely proud of, for it is me that looks after number four, each day I water the flowers, sometimes re-paint the white fences and cut the lawn. Even Uncle Vernon can't find fault.

As I near the door I slow down, almost halting as I suddenly think about what will happen when I arrive. I pause. I can hear shouting, the loud thunderous tones of my uncle against the piercing shrieks of my aunt. Something has gone horribly wrong today and I somehow know it will be my fault. As I get nearer to the house I can see Uncle Vernon at the window, striding up and down the sitting room and Aunt Petunia attempting to calm him down, a glass of whiskey is shoved into his hand, one last stab, the only thing that stops his rant once he begins.

Dudley looks out of an upstairs bedroom window, as he spots me I see his face split into a cheerful grin. Quite energetically for somebody his size, he darts down the stairs swiftly. I know he will have gone to tell his parents of my arrival - for Dudley there is only one thing he enjoys more that taunting me himself, Uncle Vernon taunting me. I get to the door.

After pushing the front door open, I stand in the hallway waiting for the assured shriek from either my Aunt or Uncle, them having been forewarned of my influx.

"BOY!" I shut the door quickly. It wouldn't do for Aunt Petunia to accuse me of attempting to let the neighbours hear of my abnormality. "What time is this? You did it on purpose didn't you boy! Get in here!" I abandon my slow saunter, an effort to delay the inevitable and instantly enter the sitting room.

As I enter the room I brave a quick glance around. The normally spotless sitting room looks almost, lived in. Normally, Aunt Petunia cleans and tidies the room constantly. Nobody but guests sit on the leather settee in the corner, so the cushions are arranged neatly, each at a precise angle and in a certain order.

However, Uncle Vernon's work bag has been casually dropped onto it which itself is not rare. However Aunt Petunia has not moved it, further proving my original idea that something is not right. I see I was correct in my guess; Dudley is lounging on the settee, a smug grin on his face having obviously told Uncle Vernon I was here.

I wait for my uncle to begin with his snide comments, what useless drunks my parents were, how they did the world a favour when they died, if only they could have take me with them. I've heard it all before, yet as I wait for him to start I suddenly realise he hasn't spoken a word yet, other than to bellow for me to come to him.

I brave a glance upwards, and for a split second he meets my eye. His face is quite an impressive shade of purple, more so than the standard colour he normally bears. Unexpectedly a hand swipes across my face, knocking my glasses of my face. Shocked, I scamper across the room, one hand going to my face, but as I feel my head I feel a sharp pain and my hand connects with some sticky viscous substance, I draw my hand away and see the blood I had already guessed was there.

Uncle Vernon grabs me and yanks me upstairs. I feel my body bumping on each step as we go upstairs yet I am too anxious to feel the pain. The door is wrenched open and Uncle Vernon heaves me inside. The door slams behind me. Now I am scared. My top is ripped from my body and all I can do is watch, horrified, as Uncle Vernon removes his belt. For a moment I wonder what horrific crime he is going to commit and I almost feel a sense of relief as he informs me of what he plans to do.

"You BOY need that freakiness beating out of you!" He drags me across the floor and orders me to put my hands on the wall. I collapse to the floor the moment he lets me go, angering him further. My legs are unable to hold me and I begin to shake even more. He gives up and starts to strike down on to my back.

Each whip motion pierces the air and this warns me of when he is going to strike again. Eventually I stop attempting to move, too exhausted to do anything but lie there and take the punishment. Each breath is laboured, my chest burning as I fight to inhale. Eventually, whether of blood loss, shock or lack of oxygen I lose consciousness.

When I wake, I am alone in my room, the blood on the floor and the pains on my back serving as a reminder of the night before. I try to stand but instantly feel dizzy, thinking back I remember hitting my head. Thinking only serves to aggravate my headache so I lie back down and try to calm down. My last coherent thought before I lapse into unconsciousness again is that I need help, desperately.