Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from this story.

A/N: Hey! I'm sorry that it's been so long, but I'm back. Complete with new laptop! Yay! So happy.I love my 'puter! So, here's the next chapter of New Beginnings, I hope it was worth the wait!

Warning: Some people may find some of this chapter content upsetting.

Ch. 7.

"You're nothing but a whore, Freak!" the purple-faced beefy man yelled, towering over his prone body.

Harry lay naked on the floor, bleeding from the wounds to his stomach.

"Look at you, you're pathetic!" Vernon continued, giving him a few harsh kicks to the back. "And you're bleeding on the carpet!"

"I-I'm s-sorry, U-Uncle," Harry stuttered through chattering teeth. The pain was overwhelming, and he felt faint. He'd lost a lot of blood, that vital red liquid that was pupmed around his body by the broken heart in his chest.

"Sorry?!" Vernon scoffed. "Not yet, but you will be."

He dropped the large knife on the floor with a clatter, his hands moving to his fly.

"Such a pretty little whore," he muttered, his trousers dropping around his ankles.

Reaching down, he turned his nephew onto his stomach, ignoring the whimper of pain as his stomach wound pressed into the blood soaked carpet.

Shuddering, Harry felt his uncle lower himself down to lie between his spread legs. A hand ran mockingly down his back, and Harry knew instinctively that the man was admiring the whip lines he'd left there with his belt over the years.

Finally, agonisingly, Vernon pushed in, resting his entire weight on Harry as he moaned at the sensation of being sheathed in Harry's arse. After a few minutes, Harry whimpered, and tried to shift in order to relieve some of the weight on his newest wound. Vernon was angered at having his moment interrupted. He plached a hand square between his nephew's shoulder blades and pushed him into the carpet. At the same time, he lifted himself up to allow himself room to move.

Harry turned his head in order to breathe, and found himself face to face with the knife that had been weilded against him so callously not that much time earlier. He studied it, taking in the sharp edge, stained with the same bright red fluid still steadily escaping his stomach. The black handle was sticky from a few drips that had landed on it, and the blunt edge of the blade gleamed silver where it showed through the blood.

Harry's eyes devoured every detail of the blade as he tried to ignore the grunting coming from his monsterous uncle, the searing pain caused by the organ pumping in and out of him, and the feel of the carpet fibres grinding into his cuts as he was jerked forwards and back by the force of his uncle's thrusts.

After an eternity, Vernon shuddered, thrust in deeper than before, and came, groaning loudly. Once again, he rested his full weight on Harry for a few minutes, before pulling out with a groan and standing up. There was a rustling sound as he fixed his clothing, then Harry felt his beady eyes glaring steadily at his back.

"Clean up this mess," the man growled. "I want every speck of blood gone before your aunt gets back from the shop."

He thundered out of the small room, and slammed the door with brutal force.

Harry jerked upright, gasping. The dorm was pitch black and filled with the snoring of the other boys. Panting heavily, Harry clutched his stomach. The nightmare wasn't just a dream. It was a memory.

Rubbing across the t-shirt covered scar, Harry pushed back the covers and headed for the bathroom to shower away the sweat.


Far away, in Surrey, Vernon Dursley was also dreaming about that day.

// DREAM //

Running a caressing hand down the lines of varying shades of pink on the boy's back, Vernon admored the beauty of the destruction of purity.

Positioning himself. he pushed into the uprepared hole, resting his considerable mass on the frail frame beneath him as he basked in the feeling of supreme power over the weak and innocent boy. Beneath him, Harry made a soft sound, and shifted slightly, obviously wanting Vernon to move. Unhappy that his moment of perfection had passed, the walrus like man levered himself up, pressing on the boy's back to keep him in place, and began a series of short, fast thrusts.

It was delicious, the heat and tightness of the passage. Vernon grunted in pleasure and exertion, ignoring the laboured breathing beneath his hand. The Freak was clearly enjoying himself.

As he began to build to his climax, Vernon sped up, finally thrusting deep into the willing body below him, riding waves of pleasure.

Resting himself on the Freak's back to catch his breath, Vernon marvelled once again at how he came to be in this situation. He'd first fucked the Freak because he'd been trying to get rid of the boy's Unnaturalness by giving it what it wanted. For years it had been calling out to him, whispering in his mind all the lovely things he could do to the Freak, telling him of the pleasures the young, innocent body could bring.

At first, Vernon had been strong. He'd ignored it, remained loyal to his wife, holding himself to the vow he had made her on the day she'd stood in front of him in that frilly white dress. But as time passed, the whispers became calls, the calls became shouts, and the day the boy received his acceptance letter to That School, the shouts had risen to a crescendo that could not be drowned out by anything.

So he'd given in. He'd at least had the decency to wait until his wife and son had gone out, then he'd taken the boy brutally in the hallway. He'd thought that if he could cause the boy pain, he'd show the Unnaturalness that he wanted nothing to do with it. If he could break it, there would be nothing to hold him, no voices in his mind, tempting him away from the woman he loved.

His plan had not succeeded.

It seemed as if the boy liked pain, and once it had gotten a taste of him, the Unnaturalness had tightened it's hold. Vernon found himself craving the Freak more and more. His thoughts were constantly centered around him. He even found himself thinking of the Freak while he was away at That School and while Vernon was in bed with Petunia. So he'd stopped making love to her, feeling that he was betraying their bond as he was under the Freak's hold.

He was never sure if his wife knew something was going on between him and the boy, but she did turn nastier towards the Freak after that.

Finally feeling strong enough to move after such a powerful orgasm, Vernon pulled himself out of the Freak's heaving body and tidied himself up. Glaring down at the disgusting Freak who'd turned him into a vile, cheating, man-lover, Vernon ordered the boy to clean up the mess before Petunia came home, and slammed the door behind him on the way out.

He felt horrified at himself for once again folding to tempation, but he knew he'd be back later. He'd beat the Freak again, revenge for this enchantment, but then, in a day or two, he'd crumble again, and allow the Unnaturalness to take control of him once more.


Waking slowly with a throbbing erection, Vernon took in his dimly lit prison cell. The dream was a memory from a few years ago, but it was still as vivid in his mind as the day it occurred.

Shifting to a more comfortable position on the hard, narrow bed, Vernon slipped a hand down into his trousers. Although the Freak had gone to the authorities with lies about rape, his Unnaturalness had not let up it's hold on Vernon. He craved the familiar warm body, and the pleasure it gave. It was a horrible situation, but Vernon knew that once the Freak gave up on this little power game, he would forgive him, The Unnaturalness would see to that.

Closing his eyes once more, the fat man indulged himself in thoughts of his past encounters with the Freak.


Harry was the first student to arrive at breakfast. The nightmare had shaken him up, and after his shower, he'd been unable to face the prospect of going back to bed. It was four in the morning, but he'd gone to the library, Dumbledore's note tucked safely in his pocket.

He'd quickly settled into a chair in the Potions section and had started to reseach his coursework. He wanted to prove to Snape that he could do well at the subject, so he threw himself into finding ideas for improving the Braxen Solution, and also noting down previous attempts at alterations.

By the time the sun came up, he had a whole parchment of notes, and his stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself. Arriving at the Great Hall, he seated himself at the end of the Gryffindor table, nodding cordially at Dumbledore and Snape as they chatted together at the top table, being the first two teachers to arrive.

After a long, hearty breakfast, the raven haired boy made his way to class early since Ron and Hermione were still eating. It felt nice to be free of them. Not in a nasty way, but he felt akward around them after the fight the other day. They didn't really understand him, and what he'd been through. In their own way, they were coddling him, trying to ease their own guilt for not noticing by being over protective and supportive.

Sitting at the bench he shared with Malfoy, Harry pulled out his Potions text and notes before setting up the cauldron and ingredients for the next stage of the Braxen Solution.

He was just preparing to read over his notes a second time when a barn owl swept into the room. It landed in front of him, and Harry realised that he'd left the Great Hall before the post had arrived. Untying the letter from the bird's leg, Harry thanked the creature and unfolded the paper as it flew off.

Dear Harry, read Joanya's neat script.

We hope that you're ok, and forgive you for opening the present on the train. We figured that you'd do that anyway.

We're sorry to hear about your teachers, but I'm sure that things will die down soon. It was a shock for them, remember, they need time to adjust. They'll soon feel better about it.

Mike says that you should hex them if they don't stop whinging soon, but personally, I don't think that's a good idea.

We miss you loads, and can't wait to see you again. NB just isn't the same without you. I don't know how we survived before you came!

Also, we're so pleased that you finished 'Swim'. You've been working on it for days. I can't wait to hear it, you really are talented. Have you started on any other songs yet? Please say that you have, it's always exciting to hear new songs you've written.

How are you're lessons going? We're so interested to hear about what you're learning.

Brad wants to know what happened with that Snape fellow. He says he'll beat him up if needs be. And also, how's it going with Malfoy? Is he as bad as you thought he'd be?

Best of luck, be safe and well!


Brad, Mike and Jo.


There was a post script that was written in a different hand, but Harry recognised it well. It was from Simon, the New Beginnings solicitor.

P.S. Harry, the date for Dudley's trial has come through for the 1st of November. You'll need to come down for it, as you'll be needed on the Stand. Get in touch to arrange the details, please. I'd like it if you could come down the day before so that we can discuss what's going to happen. Thanks.

Take care,


"You look tired," Harry jumped at the voice sounding next to him. He'd been so absorbed in the letter he hadn't noticed the other students entering the room.

Looking up, he saw Draco'sraised eyebrow.

"Just didn't sleep well," he mumbled in answer, hurriedly folding the letter and slipping it into his jeans pocket. He wasn't sure how he felt about the news of the trial date. He knew that the case was being pushed through quickly because of how serious a crime it was, and the fact that Dudley was staying in a home with other young kids. Partly, he felt relief that it was soon, but he also felt terror because he wasn't sure he was ready to stand face to face with his cousin and tell of the things that had happened between them.

"What's the matter?" the blond asked, seeing his distress.

"Just a nightmare, then some big news," the raven boy was relieved when Snape began the class, it meant that Draco would stop asking questions.

The Slytherin wasn't put off though, and brought up the subject again while they were brewing.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"Could you pass the Valerian roots, please?" Harry asked, avoiding the question.

"Is it something to do with those?" Draco pushed, nodding at Harry's bare forearms, having rolled up his sleeves again, and the Gryffindor knew he wasn't talking about the tattoo.

"Look, not here, ok?" the younger boy hissed. "Later. The usual room."

Again, he wasn't sure why he felt the urge to confide in Draco Malfoy, but something deep inside, some gut instinct that had never failed him before said that he could trust the taller boy.

"Time?" Draco asked, clearly not wanting to let go without some sort of promise that he would get the answers he sought.

"Nine o'clock," Harry answered, wondering why the other was so interested. "But now, while the potion simmers, can we please look at some ideas I've got for adapting it. I'd like your opinion, since you're better than me at this."

The blond gave the potion a final stir, then bent his head over the Gryffindor Seeker's messy notes.


Nine o'clock came around, and Draco found himself standing outside the door to the abandoned classroom. Tonight he was going to get some answers. All last night thoughts of Harry had been going round in his head, whirling at the speed of light. He found himself wondering what kind of pain could drive him to self harm. Surely not Voldemort? Harry always seemed so sure of himself when it came to that particular problem.

Well, he was determined not to leave, or let Harry escape without at least the answer to that question. It was obvious something huge was happening to the Boy-Who-Lived, and though he didn't know why he cared, Draco knew that he did, and he wanted to help the other boy get through it.

Taking a deep breath, he reached for the handle. Turning it, he pushed the door open.

A/N: Well, I hope that was ok for the first chapter in a while. Please review and let me know if it was worth the wait!