**AUTHOR'S NOTE**
Sorry for no chapters last week. I was sick and was unable to write.
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Arthur blinked, confused. The parents looked at each other blankly.
It felt like they had just gone through their worst nightmare, but they could not remember what exactly. As quickly as it came, the feeling vanished, and everything around him was as it had always been.
His mother still wore a playful smile, her arms reaching for him. His father remained on the couch, stretching his arms with a tired yawn. It was as if nothing had changed.
He was playing, wasn't he?
His mother was still the tickling monster. He had to escape!
With a giggle, Arthur continued his run and tried to get away, but his mother was faster. She caught him, her arms wrapping around him.
"Got you!" she declared triumphantly and began her giggling attack. His mother's fingers played across his sides, pressing into his ribs, making him wriggle uncontrollably.
"Stop, Mum!" he gasped between giggles. He wiggled and curled in her embrace, his small legs kicking in the air, but it was no use.
Then...
CRASH!
The sound broke the moment. Arthur's laughter froze in his throat.
The television had lifted off the stand. It had floated, just for a second, before crashing violently on the floor.
Arthur's breath fastened. He felt his heart start to beat faster.
No… No, no, no.
His mother had frozen, her hands still gripping his waist, but her fingers no longer tickled. They dug into his skin, too tight now that it began to hurt.
Arthur knew this feeling. He knew what would come next.
He had seen this before, this curse, this wretched thing inside him. He remembered the first time it happened when a toy car had moved on its own. At first, his father was horrified by this event, but then his emotions turned into rage when he became aware that Arthur was the one behind it.
Another time, when he was crying due to an injury, the lightbulb above him exploded. His mother had screamed, backing away as if he were something foul, something unnatural.
They had beaten him that night for the first time he could remember.
After much courage, Arthur was finally able to find help. Arthur had tried to tell his teacher. He grabbed her dress with his small hands as he sobbed out the truth. He had begged for help. But the teacher's expression had darkened. She had struck him across the face.
Again and again.
"This is what happens to cursed children," she scolded him.
Arthur had learned, then. The curse, whatever it was, had to stop, or else everyone was going to make his life miserable. Since then, Arthur had prevented whatever was inside him from acting, and he was successful until this moment.
Tears pricked at his eyes as he stared at the broken television. His small hands trembled.
Please… Please, no more…
His father had risen from the couch, his fists clenched at his sides as he stormed toward the shattered screen.
"God damn it!" his father cursed, kicking at the fallen TV. Arthur saw his face. It was red and veiny. His fingers twitched as if itching to grab something, anything, to take out his frustration.
Arthur shrank back as his father turned and his dark eyes locked onto his son.
The world around Arthur seemed to shrink, the walls pressing in. His father began walking in his direction.
"What did I tell you?" The words were quiet, but Arthur remembered what happened the last time his father questioned him like this. Arthur opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
His father advanced. "What did I tell you about your freak tricks, boy?"
Arthur swallowed hard. His tiny frame trembled under his father's shadow. "I… I didn't mean..."
Arthur was about to beg his father. He did not mean to do this. It was an accident. But his father's action made him speechless. His father's hand reached his pants and pulled his belt from them. The leather dangled in his grip.
He reached forward, grabbing Arthur by the collar of his small shirt, lifting him off the ground just enough for his toes to rub against the floor. Arthur sobbed, his fingers clutching at his father's wrist, but the grip was like iron. He couldn't breathe.
"You broke the damn television." Arthur could see the fury in his father's eyes. "Do you know how much that cost me?"
Arthur tried to speak, to apologize, to plead, but no words came. His throat was too tight, his body frozen in terror.
Then...
SNAP!
The first lash of the belt tore through the air before striking across Arthur's back. A sharp, searing pain exploded through him, stealing the breath from his lungs. He let out a strangled cry, his small body convulsing in agony.
His father didn't stop. The second strike came harder, burning across his skin.
Then the third.
Then the fourth.
Arthur curled into himself, squeezing his eyes shut as hot tears streamed down his cheeks. His tiny hands clutched at his arms, his nails digging into his skin as if trying to hold himself together.
His mother stood nearby, silent. Watching. She did not move to stop it. She never did.
Arthur bit his lip, swallowing his sobs. Crying would only make it worse. He had learned that the hard way. After what felt like an eternity, the blows ceased.
"You listen to me, boy." His father's voice was quiet, but filled with something far worse than rage. "You will not ever do that again. Do you understand?"
Arthur didn't respond. He couldn't.
His father's grip tightened painfully. "Do you understand?"
Arthur gave a weak nod, his lips trembling. His father turned around and left, shortly followed by her mother, who left the broken child on the ground.
Voldemort watched, satisfied that all the false memories he implanted in them worked, and now Arthur was going to live a hellish life.
Voldemort took out the list of Muggle students and chose his next target. They were all going to get the same treatment as Arthur.
This was the beginning of his plan to make Obscurials.