Flourishing in Darkness
Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own the rights to the Harry Potter I'm not J.K Rowling and have no rights to these characters.
Extended summary: Previously "Music Love Child" The Golden Boy? More like Bronze, he was just a pawn and quite frankly he was sick of being beaten within inches of his life by the Dursley's and ignored by his so called friends. Matters change drastically when a new power overcomes Harry, flourishing out of the darkness of his despair and uncovering truths about his past that Dumbledore has kept secret..
EXPLICIT/TRIGGER WARNING: This particular chapter contains content that may be triggering for some individuals. This chapter contains a rape scene which may be traumatizing for readers and it is advised that people use their own discretion when deciding whether to read this chapter or not. I previously thought I had this warning displayed on this chapter but it was brought to my attention that I did not and I apologize to anyone that may have been upset, hurt, or offended by that.
Warnings: This is a homoerotic love tale if you don't like it then don't read it, it's as simple as that. Foul language, AU, Graphic detail of abuse, Ron, Hermione and Dumbledore bashing.
Author's Notes: So, I finally decided to change the name of this story, since the original plot has changed so much since I very first began writing this many years ago. I really hope to finish this story this time. I'll be making a few adjustments here and there but I hope you still find the story enjoyable. I can't believe that all these years later, I'm jumping back into this to story. I'm gonna try really hard to finish guys. I swear. Now that my girlfriend and I broke up it should be a cakewalk to be honest. The true reason why I have been so MIA on this story is that I wound up in an abusive relationship and fell into a depressive episode because of it. My motivation and energy levels were constantly up and down and with my relationship and struggling in college, I just didn't have the time to dedicate to this like I really, really wanted to. I hope you guys can understand and sympathize with why I have been away and had to abandon this story for a while. I am really determined to finish it this time and I hope you guys enjoy it now just as much as you did when I started. I know I'm not the strongest grammarian but I hope my imagery makes up for it.
Chapter One: The Cupboard Under the Stairs
No one ever noticed. All the signs of abuse where there, if you cared to noticed. The microscopic flinches that he tried desperately to suppress, the ungodly obedience toward authority figures, the withdrawn nature, the inability to make direct eye contact; all the signs of abuse where there but no one seemed to care. For the only thing that mattered about this particular boy was the scar on his forehead- shaped liked a like a lightening bolt- that had been placed there by a dark wizard. It did not matter that the most angelic touches made fear course through his veins fearing what that hand may do to him. It did not matter that staring into someone's eyes made him feel close to vomiting. No, the only thing that seemed to matter about the boy who had lived under the stairs, who knew very little about the world he was being pressured to save: was a scar. Pensive emerald eyes stared out the window of the gleaming Hogwarts Express, the scarlet train zooming forward on its tracks sending verdant scenery pass the window in the blink of an eye. On this third week of June, Harry Potter was dreading the thought of returning "home." This was mostly because Harry did not have a home, not truly, home is where happiness was. Home was were you ate home cooked meals, where laughter could be heard, where parents and maybe siblings loved each other and loved you: Harry had no home. He had, however, a slice of Hell on Earth.
"I don't want to go back there," the young raven haired boy whispered, more to himself than to his friends. His voice was barely above a whisper. He had said it so many times, in this very cabin where the trio had met six years ago that his friends remembered the phrase rather than heard him.
"It'll be alright Harry. It's only for the summer, then you'll be back to Hogwarts in no time." His eyes were glossed over, tears struggling to fall that he refused to release in his present company. His female friend, a bushy haired, buck-toothed, pale faced girl pet him sympathetically on the knee. Her reassurance was hollow and did little to make him feel better. He recoiled covertly at her touch and merely continued his staring out the window.
"Ya mate! No worries," his male friend: a tall, lanky, dirt covered ginger with freckles and a goofy grin chirped, sending his girlfriend a half smile.
"Right, no worries," Harry replied, empty. Hermione and Ron simply didn't understand and he wouldn't burden them with trying to make them understand. They didn't need or deserve the full force of his gloom and depression. He would try to believe them that he had nothing to worry about even though, somewhere, he knew it was all lies.
"No worries," he repeated, turning from the window to give them both a half hearted smile. Such lies, he thought to himself. Every time he chirped out something like train parrot he knew that he was lying through his teeth. What hurt most was that as he began to slowly, not only grow but mature; he realized that his friends simply didn't care. He was struggling, drowning on the inside, and they simply didn't care. It hurt, deeply. But what surprised Harry Potter in this moment was that he was beginning to not care. With each passing day, he felt his heart hardening just a bit more to not only Ron and Hermione, but everyone. He was the Saviour, that was it, no one gave a damn about him outside of that. The three would get off the train together as the magnificent Golden Trio, but Ron and Hermione would leave him behind and go to the Burrow -Ron's home- for the summer. The two would barely write, they would forget, along with the rest of the Wizarding World.
The only time Harry Potter would be thought about or missed is when there was a Death Eater attack. If those stayed to a minimum, or neglected to happen at all; no one would care about their Golden Boy being "at home" at Privet Drive, being subjected to untold cruelties. He would live in pain and torture, and as angry as he was for them not realizing it, he knew they were all he had and wanted desperately to cling to them. He didn't know any other way to survive than to cling to the hope of making it through to see another year at Hogwarts, to be surrounded by Ron and Hermione once more: he needed them.
"See ya mate! Hopefully Dumbledore lets you come to The Burrow early, yeah?" Ron waved enthusiastically as he and Hermione gathered their baggage. Harry nodded and smiled at his best friend, giving him a small wave before he hurried off to his uncle. Vernon Dursley was a whale of a man. Despite leaning against solid stone, the stone still looked to be sighing under the burden of Vernon's weight. His uncle sneered openly at him the moment he came into view.
"Hurry up, filthy freak," were the first words his uncle grumbled to him. His uncle used to loom over him, though his uncle still had a good nine stone on him 1 at least Harry was finally taller than his uncle. He still remained scrawny and defenseless against the hulking behemoth of fat and surly, untold strength and girth. When his uncle decided that he wasn't moving fast enough he grabbed him roughly by the arm. Harry winced, feeling nails puncture his flesh, he quickened his steps and tried to ignore the small droplets of blood beginning to cling to the thin fabric of his shirt.
The ride back home to Privet Drive was tense, to say the absolute least. The silence between uncle and nephew was unsettling. Normally, Vernon would complain the entire way home: about the heat, about having to come pick up "the boy" or "the freak", or something ignorant on the radio. However, this time: silence. When they pulled into the garage instead of the driveway, Harry felt his heart hammer in his chest in an instant panic. Vernon never parked his car in the garage, if Harry had not spent so many years cleaning the structure, he surely would have forgotten that they had one. His breathing quickened as he cast a fearful glance toward his uncle.
"Get inside," Vernon ordered, sneering. Harry practically flew out of the car, Hedwig squawking loudly, feeding off her master's fear. He whimpered for her to hush, not wanting to anger his uncle further but he already heard the car door slamming shut. It was too late to try and soothe his uncle's rage.
"Hedwig, please," he pleaded, clutching her cage to his chest. She bristled, feathers standing on edge, but quieted down as Harry quickly scanned the livingroom. The house was dirty. There were dishes in the sink that he could see from the living room, small bits of this and that in the carpet, and there was a layer of dust over almost everything. Aunt Petunia never let the house get a single speck of visible dirt.
"Petunia left me, she did," was the growl that met his ear. He whirled around to be face to face with his uncle whose face had turned a disturbing shade of red.
"She left me because she was blood tired of fighting with me about getting rid of you. I should have drowned you the moment you showed up on our doorstep. But no! Petunia took mercy on you for some strange reason. She pitied you and we got saddled with an abomination that has completely ruined our lives. She left because of you and took my son with her," Harry noticed that all the drapes were drawn, only the kitchen light at the back of the house was turned on. Vernon didn't want anyone knowing he was home: Vernon wanted to hide.
Foolishly he tried to run.
"Oh no you don't!" a blunt object hit Harry in the head. He saw stars and felt himself falling to the floor with a hard crack; his ribs erupted in pain. Vernon was on top of him before the broken rib even fully registered in his mind. His large, meaty, claws coming down and wailing on him. His face, side, and back seared with the heat of his blows. His bones were being broken, his glasses shattered, tiny bits of glass puncturing his face, blood oozed over his pale skin. He wasn't sure how long the abuse lasted for: he couldn't see, could barely breathe, and he most certainly couldn't move. Every blow started to fade into a mangled dance of abuse, he didn't know what was being hit anymore; he only knew pain.
"I should have killed you!" Vernon snarled as he landed a particularly deafening blow to the small of Harry's back. Harry groaned, feeling the vomit and bile lurching upward from his stomach but was helpless to stop it from spewing upward. He coughed violently, choking on his own vomit, his position on the floor making it impossible to escape the acidic mess. He felt bits of food on his face and cringed in disgust, the warm fluid making him feel humiliated and filthy.
Hedwig had long since forgotten about her master's wishes to remain quiet and had been screeching like mad for the past twenty minutes. As if hearing her for the first time, Vernon angrily climbed off Harry and grabbed her cage. "Ruddy bird," he barked at her before tossing her cage up the steps, giving a satisfied smirk when he cleared the edge of the steps and the bird was out of view. Hedwig gave a pitiful, high pitched cry, wings outstretched as her master's crumbled body was blocked from view.
"She left because you're a freak like that bitch sister of hers," he shouted to Harry. The battered boy on the floor took the moment of Vernon being out of the room to try and move. His body screamed in protest but he managed to make it on his side and away from his puddle of vomit on the floor. He couldn't see where the massive man was standing and that send fear through his veins. He whimpered, holding onto his stomach as he tried to inch worm his way across the floor toward the cupboard under the stairs -the safety of his home for most of his life- but it was then that he felt a vice grip on his hair. He screamed, feeling his neck being stretched far more than he thought was humanly possible: not that his uncle thought him human in the first place.
"Please stop..." Harry croaked, barely able to speak.
"No," was the simple reply that he got before he was thrown into the floor onto his back.
"You're nothing but a freak, Boy. Freaks don't get mercy from God unless God decides so, is that understood?" he gave him a cruel, dark smile and it was then that he noticed that there was a knife from the kitchen in his uncle's hands.
"I said is that understood, Boy?" his uncle's face contorted into something awful. He grabbed his nephew's arm and ran the blade in a half inch slice down his arm. Harry squirmed and cried out, trying to scoot away despite the pain it caused, feeling the blood run down his arm. He whimpered, struggling to see past the blood, bile and tears in his eyes, his legs beginning to shake violently. He shook his head fiercely, trying to scoot away as he felt warm liquid running down his legs, the front of his pants becoming soaked with his own soil.
"Oh you filthy little bilge rat!" the urine almost hit Vernon's shoes but he quickly side stepped it, cocking his hand back and bringing the full force of it down onto Harry's face. He cried out in pain, feeling left over glass from his lenses pierce his cheek, right below his eye, making it difficult for him to see.
"I'm going to show you what you're really worth," Vernon growled in his ear.
Harry heard the clink of his Uncle's belt and his eyes widened. His heart beat stilled for just a moment before fluttering and erupting with a quickness in his chest. He crawled away from his uncle, making it about a foot or more from his uncle before he felt a thick hand around his ankle. He fought against it, his pain momentarily forgot as adrenaline pumped through him. He made it close to the fireplace before his uncle had him pinned down to the ground, tugging his pants down roughly. The cool air in the house made him feel painfully exposed and the heat of his uncle's body pressed against his made him feel close to vomiting again. He squirmed, hitting his uncle where ever his fists landed. But it was no use, he let out a mortified scream as his Uncle thrust his manhood into his tiny, virgin body. He let out a chocked sob and thrashed wildly against the pain which earned him a sharp slap to the face. He still fought though his body lost strength quickly from the beating he had endured.
It hurt so much. So much pain, why, why was no one helping him?
Why did Dumbledore let him come back to this year after year? Dumbledore had always told him that living with the Dursley's was for his own safety. This was not safety. This was pain. Gods be good, it hurt!
He had never felt so small in all his life. His consciousness began to slip away as his uncle pumped in and out of him furiously, screaming about how much of a freak and an abomination her was. Harry laid there, motionless, feeling half dead. His mind wandered to the moment before his eleventh birthday when he had freed the snake from the enclosure at the zoo. He thought about how the glass had faded away into nothingness in order for the snake to escape. He wanted that nothingness now, more than anything. He wanted to escape. He whimpered when his uncle came inside of him, feeling the hot liquid violate him. His eyes drifted shut, he had lost so much blood and there was more of it dripping from the ripped skin of his anus.
He couldn't do it anymore. Exhaustion over took him and he let the world fall away from him behind a sheet of darkness. Sleep claimed him with welcoming arms, taking him away from the pain. From the third week of June to the first of July, hours of beatings, rape, verbal abuse, and manual labor would become a constant in Harry Potter's life. Each day that it happened filled Harry with more rage, sorrow, and profound thought. He'd given up all hope on Dumbledore; a man he'd once thought of as family, a grandfather of sorts and the greatest wizard alive. He knew that this was no longer true, that it may have never been true. He was being used like a little puppet, he didn't know what his old mentor's hidden agenda was but he decided that come September 1st he wouldn't be a part of it; he would be a pawn no more.
"It is time I put this title of the 'Boy Who Lived' nonsense to good use. I will survive this," Harry muttered to himself one evening on July 7th as he lay broken on his cot-like bed. The house was hot and stuffy and consciousness had come back to him for but a short moment. He wished it hadn't because his body immediately began convulsing in pain but that small bit of consciousness was the only affirmation that he needed to remember that he was still alive and that he needed to remain that way.
The first two weeks of summer had been Hell. Aunt Petunia and Dudley had come back home two days after Vernon first raped Harry after having stayed with her sister for three weeks. It was obvious that her and Vernon's relationship was strained. She spent a lot of time out of sight or out of the house all together. She would barge into Harry's room each morning, grabbing onto his arms and dragging him out of bed, deciding since the first day she'd gotten back to ignore whatever it was that Vernon was doing to her nephew and tossed him on the kitchen floor. Once there she would hand him a large list of chores that he was supposed to have done by her standards by the time she returned. Wash the dishes, clean the floors by hand, wipe down the walls, clean the fridge, polish the table, chairs and counters, clean the windows, vacuum and shampoo the living room floor, dust the furniture; the list went on and on through every room of the house in very specific detail and since it was the same exact list every day Harry had it locked into his memory bank. His body was becoming a power house of endurance because Aunt Petunia made sure to push him past his limits every day. He had to work past the pain or else she would beat him with the iron spike from the fireplace. Oh how he remembered that first day she'd returned.
He had fallen out of his bed while trying to crawl out and make it to the bathroom. The fall had injured him pretty badly but still the need to pee was overwhelming his bladder and he could feel it all welling up. That's when Petunia waked in to see him 'lazing about' when he should have been downstairs starting on his chores an hour ago. She grimaced at the smell of sex, blood and urine, she yanked him up by his arm and tossed him down the stairs watching him clunk and clatter all the way down with pained yelps and cries. She walked calmly down the stairs and kicked him into the living room, going over to the fireplace and picking up the iron spike. She weighed it in her hand for a moment before she began beating Harry with it. He learned then and there that to avoid more pain he had to push through the existing pain.
His aunt and uncle had gone completely mental, filled with animosity towards him like he'd never seen before. It seemed like despite their separation they were doing everything in their combined power to literally kill him. He didn't know why but he was damn determined to figure out why, he would stop at nothing; he had to know. The only plus sides to all of it were that Harry was pretty much on his own; he got to eat on occasion to keep as much of his strength up as he possibly could.
Vernon spent his mornings out at work; somehow still managing to pull of being a functioning member of society despite the fact that he'd gone completely mental on the home front. When he wasn't at work most of his time was spent out drinking and Dudley took care of his dad when he was too drunk to do it himself. If he wasn't at work or drunk of his arse then he was in Harry's room, beating him and torturing him like a cat batting a roach between its paws before killing it, then raping him. Dudley would watch sometimes, unsure of whether to laugh or feel sorry for Harry and to help his father out of the room when he was finally done and too drunk to carry on by himself. To escape it all Dudley spent almost every night sneaking out of the house to be with his boyfriend.
It was a sad, pitiful existence, but he had to survive. And surviving meant changing. It pained him to admit it but despite all that he had been through throughout his life; he was weak. Just thinking about it brought a frown to his bruised and puffy face but since his return to Privet Drive he had become increasingly hard on himself and facing facts now was a must.
"I have to figure out what the hell is going on," he whispered to himself, struggling to breathe properly despite his broken ribs.
"Sticky situation...there has to be a way out of this hellhole. Think Harry, Think," mumbling to himself about things had become quite a common thing for Harry as of late. He would lie in his bed, hands over his face, racking his brain and training to think outside of the box. He needed to become more of an interactive thinker, a critical thinker, someone who could think under pressure, pain and not be thrown off guard or stumped so quickly. He sprang up from the bed wincing and holding his ribs as pain shot through the front of his body. He covered his mouth and let out a forceful cough, his head swarming, he shook it lightly as if doing so would make it feel any better.
"The letter..."the light bulb went off in his head and he'd be damned if he didn't follow his gut. He got out of his room as quickly as he could; staggering here and there for it was still difficult for him to move about. He was a man on a mission, a mission to get out of the Dursley's no matter how much he hurt himself in the process, as long as he managed not to get himself killed; he was in pretty good shape. He shuffled over to the closet and stuffed all his belongings into his school trunk and made sure to move it more closely to the door. He paused, standing by the door, still as a stone; his chest barely rising, air barely getting into his lungs, his eyes bulging out of their sockets ever so slightly. The house was still silent; he nodded to himself in confirmation, opened the door as quietly as humanly possible and sneaked out of the room. He tip-toed over to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's room and slipped inside, closing and locking the door behind him.
He had never been inside of his aunt and uncle's room and though he was pressed for time he couldn't help but look around for a brief moment and inspect it. The walls were the same color as they were in every other room in the house; white, plain, uneventful. They had a brass bed frame for their king size bed that was of course perfectly polished to an Aunt Petunia grade of perfection. The sheets were plain as well; white with tiny rose bundles printed all over it, matching white pillow cases were on the bed, a lamp on each bedside table. It was all quite eerie to Harry but he ignored it and went over to the closet. He had no clue if what he was looking for would even be in here but the second that he thought of it he couldn't think of any odder place to find it than this. He slid the door open and crouched down, looking for a box that would be shoved away in the back of the closet.
"Here you are," he whispered pulling it close to him. The box was plain, black, worn. There was no label, but it was apparent that it was a shoe box, an old shoe box to boot. With shaky hands, he popped the lid off, coughing as a bit of dust flew into his mouth. Oh yes, it had to be here, this box hadn't been touched in years, because this box held a secret. Inside was a pair of plain, black, flat, women's dress shoes that hadn't been touched in years. There was a thin layer of dust on them now when they had once been church shoes – Aunt Petunia's church shoes to be exact- but now they serves as a weight, as a cover-up. With mild satisfaction Harry pulled them out of the box and looked down at the parchment beneath it. His heart slowly began to beat harder in his chest, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip in quiet anticipation, he reach down and grabbed it, stuffing the shoes in the box and putting it back exactly where he'd found it. He stuffed the envelope into his pocket and crawled over to the door, pausing, listening. The house was quiet, he unlocked the door and scampered back in his own room, though the house was quiet he had an unsettled feeling in his stomach.
Perhaps someone was on their way home?
Perhaps he was anxious, paranoid, and afraid?
He took a slow steady breath and looked down at the front of the envelope, recognizing Albus Dumbledore's handwriting the second that he saw:
To the sister of Lily Potter:
Mrs. Petunia Dursley
#4 Privet Drive
Little Whining, Surrey
This letter was crucial. It was the letter from so long ago, the night that Dumbledore had Hagrid place Harry down on the Dursley's doorstep and condemned him to Hell on Earth. He flipped it over and sure enough Dumbledore's broken seal was on the back, he ran his fingers over it gently before taking out the letter and began to read.
To Petunia Dursley,
I am pleased to inform you that the sister you have come to hate so violently has passed on. She and her husband have been killed at the hands of Lord Voldemort at their home in Godric's Hollow. I'm sure this information brings you great joy, however, there is more that I must inform you of your sister died protecting her son, your nephew. Due to her sacrifice the little brat has become a formidable force. Your sister's act of love encompassed him in a strong, near impenetrable magical protection. Voldemort turned his wand onto the boy yet it reflected back and killed him instead, leaving the boy with nothing more than a scar on his forehead. Harry Potter will go down in history as The Boy who Lived. He will be the most powerful wizard in history if his magic is allowed to flourish. We must not allow this to happen.
So long as this boy lives with you and is able to call your house his home he will be protected up until his seventeenth birthday from Voldemort's forces, your job in this time is to take this boy into your home, raise him and stifle his magic until he is nothing more than a normal human whelp. Take his will for life and kill it. I want to mold him into the perfect Wizard myself and I must completely start by scratch if I am able to ensure that he is capable of doing my biding and fulfill the destiny I shall create for him. I am most certain that you and I are the only ones to know that the disgusting brat isn't even entirely human. Oh yes, I know of Lily's little secret with the demon lord. Make this boy a weak, gullible fool. Do this for me and I can assure you that your beloved husband will be none the wiser about the magic that is already beginning to arise in your son.
Rage boiled in Harry's heart as he crumpled the letter up and tossed it -accidentally- at Hedwig's cage. She let out a loud shriek both because of the sudden incoming with the projectile and because of her master's sudden spike in emotion. Tears poured down a scarred, pale face as shaky hands grabbed onto fistfuls of raven hair. How could he have been so stupid all these years? His body tingled from head to toe, his body feeling like a volcano of emotion ready to blow, spilling over and killing anything and everything in its path. His body shook with the sheer force and power of it.
"Boy!" Vernon kicked in the door to the room on wobbly legs. He reeked of liquor, sweat and urine and he looked like a spoiled sausage the way that his face was slowly turning purple. His eyes drifted over towards Harry but it took a while for his eyes to actually register the teen. When he did, the smile that crept across his face was something cruel and malevolent. He started undoing his belt with clumsy fingers, walking menacingly towards Harry. The young teen felt courage and strength washing over him like a chaotic storm. His eyes darkened, his entire mood changed in a not so subtle shift.
"I won't let you hurt me anymore!" Harry shouted, trying to make a dash for the door, only to get clothes-lined. He grunted as he hit the floor. It felt like Vernon had tried to dislodge his Adam's apple it hurt to swallow and his back colliding with the hard floor jarred his ribs. He let out a moan of pain but tried to get up as quickly as he possibly could.
"Stay where you are you filthy whore," Vernon growled as he yanked down his pants while also trying to get Harry's off.
"No!" this time Harry wasn't blind sighted and weak, he was going to fight as best as he could, he was fueled by anger and determination, he would break free!
Hedwig was going insane inside her cage. Harry being so full of emotions was sending her into a tizzy. As she watched him fight with Vernon, tumbling around on the floor, she simply shrieked and squawked her little heart out. She wanted Harry to win, to be safe, yet all she could do was watch.
"That ruddy bird!" Vernon struggled to get his fat carcass off the hard wooden floor and stumbled over to the cage. He quickly opened it and before the gorgeous snow owl could react two tight, meaty claws were wrapped around her, cutting off her air supply. She made a pained noise, doing her best to attack and claw at him, but it was no use. She could feel her life slowly slipping away as more and more air was able to get into her system.
"Hedwig!" Harry reached out for her from his position on the floor. His ribs hurt so badly but he refused to give up. He made it to his feet, reaching forward to try and stop Vernon, but it was too late. Hedwig was gone and the ruthless bastard that Vernon was he did nothing but toss her limp body into the closet door. There was a sickening crunch and then nothing but silence.
"You monster!" Harry lunged at his uncle and the fight was on. He got knocked around every inch of the room, all the while landing his hardest blows onto any expanse of flesh he could come into contact with, he couldn't see, his eyes puffy and swollen but this was a fight that he would not easily lose.
Something akin to a growl left Harry's lips as he felt his rage topple over at an alarming rate. He grit his teeth and as a fierce, threatening wind whipped around his body his wounds that he'd acquired over the first two weeks of summer healed themselves and the hard, laborious work that he'd endured all his life filled out his body and muscles until he was a strapping, healthy looking young man. His eyes flashed darkly as raw power surged through the room making the windows quake in fear before finally bursting into pieces; glass flying into the air and circling around the current of wind, slashing around Vernon's body.
"I am no one's whore," Harry hissed menacingly punching Vernon square in his stomach watching the man double over in pain.
"I am no freak," he seethed, back handing the drunken man with the full force of his hand and he continued to step forward.
"I am not weak!" Harry held Vernon's face between his hands and forcefully brought his knee up to collide with his uncle's face.
"I am not weak and this...is not...my home!" the walls began to shake and Harry's magic, sensing a threat hurriedly cast a strong protective charm around the house as the blood magic that had been placed upon the house was violently ripped to shreds. Harry could feel it all around him; crumbling, falling, getting destroyed piece by piece by his own uncontrollable magic. He relished in the feeling. He felt strong, powerful, in control and he would be lying through his teeth if he said that he didn't enjoy it. He turned his attention to Vernon again and with no problem at all, despite his uncle's girth picked him up by the throat and lifted him so that they were face to face.
"I despise you. Every inch of your fat, fleshy skin, from your sausage face to your meaty claws to your black, putrid, crumpled excuse of a heart I hate you," he seethed quietly, glaring daggers at the man that had abused him for so long.
"I hope ever night that you sleep, that you think of me, of all the things you've done, of all the ways you've abused me and I hope you remember who the freak really is in this family," the moment that he said the word freak a squeal of a scream ripped through Vernon's body and his flailing caused Harry to let him drop to the floor. A vindictive, malicious smile on his face Harry knelt down and ripped open Vernon's shirt to reveal his pale, round belly where the letters f-r-e-a-k were being carved into his body by some invisible force. Blood pooled onto the floor and Harry stood up straight, staring down at the mess of a man.
"You're a rapist, Vernon," the makings of an 'R' began to appear on Vernon's thigh, right next to his groin. Harry could tell as the blood pattern began to soak into his trousers.
"You're cruel," the letter 'C' began to form on his forehead and Vernon's screams of pain were so loud that Harry had to shout over him just to be heard.
"You're a monster," and with that, as the word 'monster' began to form repeatedly on Vernon's back in deep, jagged lettering Harry had only one thing left to say.
"You're a freak, Vernon," smoke curled from the man's body and the scent of burning flesh filled the room as -again by an imaginary force- the word 'freak' branded permanently on the flesh of his stomach, right on top of the bloody wound.
"All your wounds will heal but the brand and the one on your thigh so that you never forget what you are," there was a dark, coldness to Harry's words as he walked out of the room leaving his drunk uncle in a weeping, bloody pile on the floor.
"Petunia!" Harry thundered when he heard the keys in the door alerting him to his aunt's return. He stormed down the stairs and quickly snatched her up by her throat before she could even comprehend what was going on.
"So your little Dudders is magic," he whispered softly into her ear. The tone of his voice sent a hard shiver down her spine and she felt fear pulsate through her entire body.
"How do you know about that!" she was barely able to choke it out but he could sense the desperation in her voice.
"I went hunting for a little letter," he mused.
"Oh god..." she whispered making Harry snort.
"God can't help you now," he told her as he marched over to the cupboard under the stairs which had once been his bedroom. It was dank and dusty, filled with much more spiders now than when he was occupying the space. He shoved her inside and glared down at her.
"Let's see how you like it," he slammed the door shut and locked it both with the lock and with his magic.
"I'll leave you with enough provisions to keep you alive," he waved his hangs and some bottles of water appeared.
"You can come out when I say so," he patted the door before walking off and heading back upstairs to his room were his uncle was still on the floor, sobbing his fat little heart out.
Harry climbed the steps two at a time and stared at himself before the full length mirror in the bathroom. He hardly recognized himself. Body still surging with power he felt stronger than he ever had in his entire life. He felt powerful and in control. His body no longer looked lanky and malnourished from years of starvation and binge eating at Hogwarts. He was cut, not overly muscular, but lean and well defined.
"What's happened to me?" He touched his face, eyes roaming over his reflected body. His hair had a sheen to it, no longer looking like a mangled, unruly heap atop his head. There was a thickness and vibrancy to it that he had never experienced before. Gingerly, he combed his fingers throughout without tangles. He looked down at this hands, turning them over multiple times. His fingertips felt electrified, the burst of magical energy still buzzing about his body like an angry hive. Had the magic that bound him to this house been keeping him weak all these years? Keeping him small and defenseless? He felt more like himself than he had ever known yet he felt like a completely different human being.
"Bloody hell," he whispered, breathing deeply for the first time all summer. The injuries he had endured were as if they had never happened. His ribs which had been broken and fractured, healing improperly for the past two weeks were strong and healthy. He took off his shirt and pants and twirled around in the mirror. The only scar that remained on his body was that left by Voldemort, though Harry could have sworn that it looked faded.
The "protective charm" over the house had to be the answer. If Dumbledore wanted him to be weak and mold-able, couldn't it stand to reason that the powerful, aged wizard knew of some way to magically keep him in bounds, to keep him weak, meek, and codependent? It couldn't be as far-fetched as it sounded. He looked at himself in the mirror, the adrenaline of the evening dwindling and realized for the first time that his vision was incredibly blurry. Reaching up, he slid his glasses off his face and saw the image staring back at him with razor sharp clarity. Looking bewildered from his glasses to his reflection, Harry realized that his vision was close to perfect without his spectacles. He looked around the bathroom, feeling a difference in the aura of the house now that he had denounced Privet Drive as his home. He looked at his reflection again, chucking his glasses in the garbage bin.
"Who am I?" He didn't care how long it took him, he was going to figure that out before summer's end.
One part of Dumbledore's letter was ringing in his mind as he continued to look at himself in the mirror, mystified by his new appearance. What had Dumbledore meant by saying he wasn't human. He certainly looked human. He opened his mouth to find no fangs. He looked at his forehead to find no fangs. He looked at his stubby finger nails to find no claws. He looked at his buttocks and saw no tail growing forth. He looked at his back and saw no wings. So what was it?
Why would Dumbledore say he wasn't human?
Who was "the demon lord?"
"Who am I?" Harry whispered to his reflection, touching his face with tentative hands.
A/N: Well, here is the end of chapter one. I wanted to get a little more detailed about Harry's transition into becoming his true self. I didn't want it to seem to sudden and have him be so accepting of it without question. Also, hey guys! It's 20 freaking 16 and I'm just now attempting to really finish this story. I'm going to revise. Clean it up, go into sharper detail and hopefully all my beautiful followers and reviewers will be happy with the end outcome. I'm also going to try to make the timeline of Harry's summer a little easier to understand. Please feel free to review with any questions, comments, or concerns.