The scene faded and then Harry was there, a little bit older, cradling his left wrist tenderly in the gloom. He was blowing futilely at an angry burn in the shape of a cooker hob grate, which was welting on his hand, and trying desperately to keep his crying silent, as his puffy eyes stared in abject terror towards the locked cupboard door; then Harry was cowering away from the hand of a doctor, as his Uncle talked conversationally about him stupidly hurting himself with a drill bit that he’d carelessly left out following a DIY project, and glaring into Harry’s terrified eyes to remind him threateningly not to tell the truth about the "accident’; and finally, Hermione saw a young Harry balled up in the foetal position, clutching at his stomach where cruel starvation was making him double up in excruciating agony.