"When I was three my Aunt started to have me help her in the kitchen, and by four I was made to make breakfast everyday, it built up until I was cooking every meal and only given the scraps, which weren’t many with an obese Uncle and Cousin. I’d be allowed water and bread every evening for dinner, sometimes it would be just the end piece or a moldy piece. I learned early on how to best make water last, to drink from the sink since I wasn’t allowed to serve myself. The first time I was hit I was five and over cooked Vernon's egg, so Petunia slapped me for being ungrateful. Uncle Vernon started to hit me regularly after that, and my Aunt only laid a hand on me when I messed up meals. Eventually hour long spanking punishments morphed into slaps and punches, dragged by my hair, days in the cupboard with no food. When I started school I did better than Dudley, I could read at an 8th grade level, I was above most everyone three years my senior, but when the Dursleys got the report card-" his throat closed off, it still hurt, it hurt so much. "I thought that if I proved I was good, did all my chores, mowed the lawn, and got good grades they’d accept me... love me." Hermione's arms tightened. "But Petunia was cooking dinner, heard Vernon express his anger at me doing better, and turned around and hit me with the hot skillet. The hamburger in it spilled on my bare feet, shoulder, hair, grease dripped down my arm and face..." and he broke off into a sob, he tried so hard for so long, and it was all so fucking pointless, Hermione pulled back and was shocked to see Harry looked different. He had scars on his neck, bruising as well, his face was sullen and beyond pale, and scars just like he explained, rivets like sweat marks down his face, over one eyelid. His eyes were closed as he shook with his sobs.