Chapter Text
[===== Abuse =====]
In a normal neighborhood in a normal house, lived a normal family. Nothing was out of the ordinary, thank you very much. They were perfectly perfect with a husband who had a good, upstanding job, a wife who ran the house with an iron fist, and a son who was the apple of their eyes.
The only stain on their lives was their nephew, a freak who had been living with them for almost fifteen years. They were perfectly within their rights to treat the freak the way he deserved, which was not very nice at all.
Petunia Dursley liked to start her mornings early. She needed to make sure that breakfast was ready and hot for her son and husband before they left for the day. Not that she would be making it, heavens no! It was summer, so the boy would make it.
As much as she hated to admit it, Freak was much better at cooking than she was. Most likely due to years of threats, punishment, and proper handling. But she tolerated it because her husband and son deserved the best.
She finished her morning ablutions and walked downstairs. Honestly, this was her favorite time of day…
[===== Abuse =====]
Freak’s sleep was light and restless, so he woke immediately as someone walked down the stairs over his head. He braced for impact, knowing intimately what would come next. He sat up on the nest of blankets and bare floorboards, and carefully tracked the progress of his Aunt to the hallway outside his cupboard.
He knew, from bitter, painful experience, that the light footsteps and lack of light outside his door meant it was his Aunt Petunia coming to start the day. Once at his door, she yanked it open and grabbed Freak by whatever was closest. This morning, it was his arm - as he had intended - since he knew that she would grab him by whatever was most ‘convenient’.
Freak didn’t appreciate being dragged by his hair, so he tried to make other targets easier to reach. Docile and meek, he was dragged out of his cupboard and shoved into the kitchen as she listed off his morning chores.
He glanced down at his broken and bloody body hidden under too-large clothes, trying to appear attentive, malleable, and as broken as possible. That was what his aunt preferred him to look like, especially after abandoning him to spend time with his “lovely” uncle. Aunt Petunia and Dudley - Freak’s cousin - had gone out for the weekend, leaving Freak at the “mercy” of Uncle Vernon.
The man had none. Last night, his uncle had dragged Freak from his cupboard under the stairs. Freak had desperately tried to get free, to run , but he was too weak. Starved and powerless in this house, he had no way to get away from his Uncle or fight back.
Uncle Vernon had used a new whip on Freak. Some monstrosity with several braided strips of leather that ended with pieces of metal. Layers of scars, years old and freshly healed, had split open with little effort under heavy-handed blows.
Freak’s chest was hardly any better than his back, but it was a canvas of degradation as well as pain. Uncle Vernon preferred to use a large, sharp hunting knife to carve words into his skin.
The bruising was almost worse than the cuts. His stomach was black and blue, making him nauseous and stiff with every movement. Uncle Vernon had thrown him on the ground and kicked him over and over, hissing obscenities and death threats. Freak wasn’t sure what this punishment had been about, but he was not eager to anger his relatives again any time soon.
Hours spent screaming until his throat tore and bled had passed in a blur of pain and terror. His back was a bloody mess of barely there skin even hours later, and he was doing his best to drown the pain out by focusing on his duties for the morning.
[==== Noncon ====]
As if all of that were not enough, his wrists and ankles had deep cuts and dark bruises where they had been tightly tied to the corners of a bed frame. His cock and balls were also ringed with bruises. Vernon had taken rough twine and wrapped it tightly around his ballsack and all the way to the head of his cock. It had hurt so badly that he could almost forget what had happened next.
‘No, don't think about it.’
[===== Emote =====]
Here it was Monday morning, and he would have to deal with Dudley on top of Vernon. Freak jumped slightly as he was treated to a sharp slap on the back of his head. With a scowl and imperious sniff, Aunt Petunia started her tirade for the morning.
“Pay attention, boy . I want a full English breakfast with extra bacon, and make sure it is extra crisp. Then you need to wash all of the sheets and towels in the house. I want the living room cleaned from top to bottom, as I have guests coming over today. I don’t want to hear a single sound out of you while the book club is here, but I do expect a full tea service ready and hot for when they arrive,” Aunt Petunia glared at him while she listed his chores.
Freak didn’t say a word; he knew better by now. Better to be barely seen and never heard than risk the wrath of anyone in this house. Her shrill voice was already enough punishment; he didn’t need to add anything to his total by being ‘cheeky’ or ‘talking back’.
He simply nodded quickly and slipped past her, hurrying further into the kitchen to start breakfast. He wouldn’t be able to start any of his other chores until Uncle Vernon and Dudley were awake. He would need to be quick at breakfast but not too quick.
If the food was cold for his uncle and cousin, then Freak would hurt. On the other hand, if he took too long and they showed up before it was ready, then Freak would hurt anyway. Freak hurt a lot.
‘I try to be good! I just want to be good enough for them, but… it's so hard. Something is always wrong, and I never manage to get everything perfect. Why do I even try anymore?’ He thought despondently.
The familiar motions of making breakfast allowed his mind to drift somewhat. Not too much, as that might lead to the bacon burning, which would be an unforgivable mistake in this house. But his mind did wander just a tad.
If he was honest with himself, Freak knew he was not normal . Not at all. He lived in the middle of two worlds. One mystical. One mundane. Neither truly his most days.
It made sense that his family had a hard time living with him. They were overwhelmingly normal , from what they often proclaimed. But Freak was a wizard. A very powerful wizard, and when he was not at his relative's house, he went by a very powerful name: Harrison Jameson Potter-Black. Or Harry James Potter, for those who were not in the know.
There were very few people in the know.
“Harry, my name is Harry,” he muttered under his breath.
Sometimes he forgot, when he was in this house, what his name was in other places. Here, he was Freak. He had been Freak for most of his life. Harry was new, and Harrison was completely unfamiliar. Maybe he would be allowed to go by the name his parents wanted for him everywhere in his life someday…
Today, he carefully plaited the last of the food as Uncle Vernon - large, intimidating, and already red in the face - waddled into the room. Freak was quick to put the plates on the table and go stand with his nose in the corner. He settled, almost feeling reassured by the wall being so close and solid.
It made him uncomfortable to put his back to the room, but Uncle Vernon didn’t like seeing his face this early in the morning, so he pushed his anxiety down and leaned into his other senses. Freak’s face had started to upset Uncle Vernon when Freak was very young, so it was a familiar routine to track the rest of the room with his magic and hearing. It was almost better than using his eyes anyway.
Moments later, Dudley stomped his way into the room. Freak could tell because of the slimy feel in the air and the instant whining that occurred.
“Mother, I want pancakes, not eggs! Make the freak make me pancakes!” Dudley demanded.
Freak could almost picture how Dudley must be standing in the doorway and alternately glaring at the food and Freak.
“Now, darling, you don’t have time this morning for pancakes. Eat this for this morning, and tomorrow I will make sure there are plenty of pancakes. Freak! How dare you make a breakfast Dudley does not want! No food for you today!” Aunt Petunia said, words going from sickeningly sweet to harsh and ugly in one breath.
Freak would never know how she did that.
“Yes, Aunt Petunia. I’m sorry,” Freak whispered.
He knew she could hear him, and he didn’t want to disturb Uncle Vernon. Freak stood in his corner and listened miserably to his relatives eating breakfast. He thought longingly of the fluffy eggs and crispy bacon and buttered toast. It must be good, but… he had never actually tasted his own cooking.
That kind of food wasn’t made for Freak. Aunt Petunia had made that very clear as she taught him how to cook. Even now, years later, she was watchful and free with corrective punishments in the morning. There was also never any food left behind for him to try on the sly, either.
Between his uncle and his cousin, every last bite was always eaten. Freak was so hungry. He hadn't had anything to eat for several days, and the last thing he had eaten had been a badly burned piece of toast. Maybe if he was good today…
Once the food was gone, his aunt and uncle quickly left the room. Dudley stayed behind for his ritual, “torture the freak” morning routine. Dudley came up from behind Freak, where he was still huddled in the corner, and shoved him into the wall face-first. A large, rough hand pulled Freak away from his corner to turn him around and slam his torn back into the wall. Freak bit into his lip, trying desperately not to scream.
[==== Noncon ====]
Dudley's meaty hand slid from Freak’s shoulder to his neck and clenched tightly around his throat. The larger teen used that hold to drag Freak up the wall until his toes could barely brush the kitchen tile. Freak grabbed desperately at the arm that was squeezing the life out of him as he tried to drag any bit of air into his lungs that he could get. Dudley grinned maliciously and leaned forward to press his groin against Freak and rub.
"Daddy said he fucked you good last night, Freak. He said he had you gagging for it, but didn't let you cum. He said you were a proper bitch and even took him into your throat like a pro. Maybe I should take advantage of that. What do you think, Freak? Think you would like that?" Dudley asked, sickly sweet and leering. He was too close, breath hot and humid against Freak’s face, and Freak felt a rush of terror that this time would be the time-
Dudely suddenly leaned away and dropped Freak with a sneer. Freak fell to the floor, coughing and gasping for air, trying not to vomit bile all over the floor and Dudley’s toes. Dudley looked down at him - writhing pathetically on the floor - with nothing but disgust and disdain.
"No, I don’t want to touch trash like you. You are such a disgusting fag. You liked it, didn't you? You whore. You're filthy and unworthy to touch normal people. Who would want you?” Dudley snarled before rolling his eyes.
“At least you can be used to earn some money with your...skills. Daddy said he has more clients for you tonight, Freak," Dudley said with a mean, taunting tone.
[===== Emote =====]
Freak squeezed his eyes shut as he used the wall to pull himself upright. Honestly, Freak was both surprised and not surprised that Dudely was smart enough to act this way.
‘He does know what all of those words mean, right? Or is he just a parrot of Uncle Vernon?’ Freak thought snidely, keeping any expression off his face.
Where Freak was desperate for recognition from his aunt and uncle, his relationship with Dudely was very different. Dudley was the golden child. He was loved just because he existed, and he was normal . They had never gotten along since they both realized what that meant in this house.
Freak tried to ignore this morning's cruel words, but he couldn't. They piled on and echoed with taunts and jibes that had been made for years. Years and years where Dudely had been proven right over and over.
‘Dirty! Unwanted! Used! Unlovable! Unworthy! You are nothing but a Freak!’ The words reverberated through his mind, and he begged, pleaded, ‘Why? Why doesn’t anyone love me? What is wrong with me? Why does everyone just… hurt and use me over and over? Just tell me how to change! Tell me what you want! Please!’
It wasn’t just his Muggle family that he failed to please; the wizarding world hated him just as much for his failures and deficiencies.
Freak took a deep breath, face turned down towards the floor while he pushed his thoughts into a mental box and locked it. Emotions numb, head buzzing with the empty space and lingering pain, Freak edged his way around Dudley. He had chores to continue with if he wanted a chance of eating tomorrow.
He walked across the kitchen and robotically began the water. The dishes needed washing, the surfaces in the kitchen needed cleaning, and then maybe he would move on to the living room. Or maybe the laundry? Timing would be important with Aunt Petunia having visitors.
Distantly, Freak heard his aunt and uncle walk down the hallway and into the kitchen, clearly on their way to the living room. Uncle Vernon liked to watch the morning news, and Aunt Petunia liked to be close to keep an eye on Freak until he finished his cooking chores.
His aunt paused, and the hair on the back of Freak’s neck stood up. It felt a bit like he was about to be struck by lightning, and he wondered if his magic was crackling in his hair again.
"You disgusting Freak! You're getting your filthy blood all over my floor! Clean it up! Clean it up right now!" Aunt Petunia demanded shrilly.
Freak whirled around to see splatters of blood and a small pool on the floor where he had been standing in the corner, with smears and drops marking his path to the sink. He hadn't even felt it dripping from his wounds...
His aunt approached him and grabbed the still-hot frying pan off the stove top. Freak cringed away, arms coming up to protect his face and chest from the hot metal.
[===== Abuse =====]
Petunia paused for a second to take in the sight of Lily’s son. He was tiny for a sixteen-year-old, standing at barely over five feet. The thin, bony hands and arms that were raised showed how little the freak weighed. He practically drowned in her Dudley's old clothes; the shirt hung off one shoulder, and he had to use a length of twine to keep the pants up. His black-as-night hair was long and greasy. His skin was pale from all the time he spent in his dark cupboard.
She had to admit that his eyes were stunning. They were large and a beautiful emerald color. Currently, they were full of fear and pain, just like she liked it. Petunia raised the pan even higher and brought it down on the small teen, once, twice, three times. After the third hit, the freak hit the floor, so she threw the pan at his head.
"Get up, you worthless trash! Clean my floor! I expect the dishes to be done in ten minutes! Answer me, Freak!" Petunia screamed, disgusted with the boy’s existence and eager to punish him again for it.
"Y-ye-es a-aun-" The freak stuttered, barely audible or understandable, and Petunia decided to remind him of the rules just to see his fear intensify.
"I told you not to call me that, you disgusting boy! What did I tell you to call me?" She snarled.
"M-m-mis-str-e-ess," Freak replied meekly.
"Stop your stuttering, Freak, and do what I told you to do!" Petunia demanded with a sneer.
Ah, there was the look she wanted. Terrified and beaten down. Not even the slightest thought of magic or unnaturalness in his empty little head. Perfect.