He broke himself from his racing thoughts when he felt water being splashed onto him. He was still hyperventilating, but he was out of his stupor. He shook his head to get, he assumed to be water, off of his face. He stared at him in horror, finally glancing at what was in his hand. In one was the cup he used to dump water on him, and the other still had that lighter. "Fire..’ a part of his brain told him, mockingly. He put it on the table and with an eager face, reached and tore open his wet shirt, leaving his dry, thin, chest exposed. His ribs were sticking out due to malnourishment. He hummed to himself as he turned on the lighter. A fire appeared and flickered on the top of the tempered plastic. Looking at it objectively, fire was beautiful. The brilliant orange, yellow, red, and blue colors danced together in a sort of song. His uncle was grinning widely, slowly inching the open flame towards his chest. It stopped a few inches before it, licking the skin with its heat. It was kept there for a while, and he held his breath and sucked in to get away from the slight tinge of burning pain from the affected area, like when your hand was hovering over a hot stove. With a sudden jab, he put the open flame directly on the skin. Harry shrieked. He removed it after a a few seconds, but the initial pain wasn’t the worst. His flesh was cooking, his nerves were racing signals of pain to his mind. His vision turned white and he closed his eyes, taking deep breaths of air. It felt sharp, and it scattered agony all across his chest. Looking down, he noticed that it turned an angry red. He whimpered, writhing slightly in the constraints.