Harry was currently in his cupboard again, after his most recent beating. The cupboard was still dingy and cold, just how it had been only three years ago. The light-bulb was smashed and didn't work anymore, and his mattress was gone. Harry was currently feeling defeated and he was definitely in a lot of pain. He felt his head throb and he moaned audibly. Suddenly aware that he had made noise, he clamped his hands over his mouth and cowered in the corner, waiting for his Uncle Vernon to storm into the cupboard and smash him to pulp. Sure enough, Dursley almost teared the door off its hinges and picked up Harry by the collar before throwing the boy into the wall, making Harry whimper as his head began to throb harder. He kicked Harry in the ribs multiple times, winding the boy, before tearing his shirt off and undoing his belt. Harry cowered and tried to crawl away, despite how sore his legs were. But before he had moved two inches, Vernon kicked his ribs again, making Harry collapse onto his stomach. The belt suddenly crashed down onto Harry's back, allowing fresh screams to escape his mouth. Vernon took the cries of pain as a cue to go on. Fresh bleeding welts appeared on Harry's back, the crimson liquid slowly dribbling over his back. After about an hour of kicking, punching and whipping, Vernon got bored and threw Harry into his cupboard with full force, knocking him unconscious.
Hedwig was sleeping in the corner of Harry's cupboard, when her dear master was thrown into the small confined space and hit his head violently on the wall, before passing out from a mixture of pain and the will to fall into a dreamless sleep. Hedwig flittered over to her master and lightly pecked his hand. He didn't stir. She knew something was wrong. Hedwig picked the side of the door as far as it would go and did everything she could to squeeze through the tight gap. She escaped through the open window of the kitchen and began to fly off to the Weasley's.
Harry awoke early the next morning, his head pounding dangerously and his body aching all over. He whimpered silently, suppressing the urge to cry out. Aunt Petunia rapped on his door and screeched at him to get his lazy arse out of bed. It was the same every morning. Harry moaned slightly as his stiff body made an attempt to get out of bed. Harry opened the door to his cupboard and made his way to the kitchen. Dudley and Vernon were waiting impatiently at the table, waiting for breakfast. Harry lightly flinched at Vernon's cold gaze. He began to sizzle the bacon on the frying pan, trying to ignore the awful gaze from his uncle. He finally finished the mountain of bacon and eggs, then was given the chores list by aunt Petunia. He was to paint the garage door, paint the fence, weed the garden, make lunch, clean the bedrooms, dust the house, clean the bathroom, mow the lawns, do the dishes, and so on. Even worse, the forecast said it was supposed to rain. Vernon left for work and Dudley went straight to his room to play his computer games. Harry inwardly sighed and absent-mindedly lightly rubbed his ribs, trying to ease the aching pain. Harry began his chores, hoping for it not to rain, but sure enough, it did. It began to pour down, washing all the paint off the fence and garage. It went through all of the grass and all over the concrete. Uncle Vernon would be absolutely pissed. Harry quickly went and began cleaning up the paint, as fast as possible: Vernon would be home in five minutes. Harry continued to wash up the paint with his old towel, but it was no use, Uncle Vernon's car had just pulled up the drive. Harry saw his face go purple in a record of two seconds, and went for a mad sprint into the house, bolted to his cupboard and huddled in the corner. Vernon (for the second time in the last 48 hours) almost ripped the door off its hinges and swooped down on Harry, this time with a large, glistening metal object in his hand. Harry whimpered as he tied Harry down to the floor. Then, without warning, the knife came swooping down on Harry, before being stabbed into his soft, bruised skin, ripping a loud scream from the poor boy beneath him. Vernon continued to tear screams from Harry's throat by stabbing and slicing him deeply, for about twenty minutes, before getting bored. He locked and bolted the cupboard, before closing the small shutter on the door. Harry moaned weakly, exhaustion ripping through him. Unconsciousness engulfed him, taking away the pain and all the worries Harry had with him.
Hedwig hooted and scratched at Fred and George's bedroom window, hoping to get an answer. After a few minutes of scratching, a tired looking George (or Fred), opened the window and let in the large, snowy owl. "You're Harry's owl, aren't you?" George slowly petted the feathers, only receiving an annoyed peck. "What's wrong, silly bird. Oi! Don't peck me! It hurts! Is something wrong?" George looked at the small owl and sighed. The owl, to his luck, made a nodding motion and nodded. "Is it Harry?" Hedwig made the same motion again, except this time looking a bit more exasperated. "Fred! Wake up! There's something wrong with Harry!" "Keep your voice down!" Fred was up in a flash and pulling on an extra sweater. "Quick! Let's get the old Ford Anglia out!" (A/N: Okay, let's just say the car is still at the Weasley's.) Fred and George lightly but quickly raced down the stairs and crept outside. They sprinted across the yard and to the old Forg Anglia. "Rescue mission: Save Harry."
Harry awoke, startled, but he couldn't move and he felt extremely tired. He listened carefully outside his small confinement, then heard familiar voices. The cupboard door opened and two redheads looked inside, to stare down at him. One of them gasped and the other just said "Harry?". The one on the left scooped up his body, a cry of pain, emitting from his mouth. They carried him lightly through the house and outside, then into an aqua blue car. They lay his body down in the backseat and used a blanket to stem the blood flow. Harry moaned slightly as the car lifted into the air. "It's going to be okay, Harry, we're taking you home." Fred continued to coax Harry and stem the blood flow while George took the wheel. Harry continued to whimper and groan through the whole trip, the pain almost blinding him. His glasses were crushed and were sitting broken in the corner of the cupboard. Harry's eyes were opened and completely unaware of what was going on around him.
The trip from Surrey to the Burrow took two hours and a half, but by the time that they arrived at the Burrow, Harry was barely moving, let alone breathing. The car landed half way up the drive and sped up towards the house. Fred and George lifted Harry up from the backseat and carried him out of the car and into the house. George closed the door behind him and checked Harry's pulse. There was an extremely uneven and light pulse, but he was still there. Harry moaned again when he was put down on the couch and his broken ribs were jolted. "MUM! WAKE UP! WE NEED YOUR HELP!" George looked upstairs, waiting for his mother's reply. "George, don't you dare prank me! If this is another joke, I swear I'll- Oh! Harry!" Molly gasped and backed into the table. In front of her was Harry, slowly bleeding to death on their family couch. "Oh, no. George, call madam Pomfrey and I'll do everything I can with Fred. Quickly, now!" Molly immediately went to Harry's side and tended his wounds. Gauze flew out of her wand like a ribbon and wound itself carefully around Harry. The small boy gasped and coughed up more blood. Molly continued to clean his wounds and wrap them up in the soft bandages. It was chaos. Madam Pomfrey came and helped Molly. She gave Harry all sorts of potions and forced them down his throat. The chaos went on for a full three hours until it was morning and Harry was asleep. Ron walked downstairs and almost screamed at the sight of his best friend asleep on the couch. "H-Harry? Are you okay?" Ron kneeled beside his friend and tried to rouse him. Harry moaned and opened his eyes. "Ron? What am I doing here?" "That's what I'm trying to ask you!" Harry racked his brains for some memory, searching for an efficient answer. Then it all clicked. Yesterday's events all flooded back into his mind and he teared off the blanket he was under and looked at himself. There was gauze over the deep wounds on his chest and all the other open wounds that weren't bleeding as much weren't infected anymore and they looked a lot cleaner. "I-I…. Uncle Vernon gave me a particularly bad beating and I woke up here…." Harry continued to look at the wounds on his torso and was suddenly aware that he could of died. Ron called upstairs for Molly to make breakfast for Harry. "Ron, what time is it?" Harry looked at his wrist, suddenly remembering that his watch was destroyed early that week for not finishing his chores before Dursley got home. His watch was smashed as well as his index finger, which was now properly healed. Harry looked around the room, only to spot his third worst fear, Professor Severus Snape.