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Re-Awakening by mysticdueler
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Re-Awakening

mysticdueler

A/N: Okay, here comes Chapter the Second . . . I've gotten some good reviews, and I hope you continue to enjoy. The next couple of chapters get a little dicey for Harry, so please stick with me!

Disclaimer: A new chapter and yet still nothing is mine! *Sighs* Sometimes life is so depressing . . . ah well. Like I said, I'm just borrowing and trying not to damage. On with the show!

Bending

"Well done Ha-" Hermione began, but was silenced as a purple flame struck her, cast by Dolohov. With a look of shock and surprise, she crumpled to the floor and moved no more.

****

"Colloooaaaaarhg . . ." Luna Lovegood was flying across the room. SMACK! Slamming into a desk, sliding across, and coming to rest on the floor behind it, motionless like Hermione.

****

Ron's form, sprawled on the floor, wrapped tightly by the constricting tendrils of the brain, being slowly crushed, a look of pure terror and pain in his eyes.

****

Ginny was shouting, then was hit in the face by a stunner and yelled no more.

****

"Crucio!"

Neville's screams filled the room. Neville was curled up tightly into a ball as if trying to shield himself.

****

"Come on, you can do better than that!" Sirius yelled, laughing and taunting Bellatrix. Then came the second curse. The shocked look on his face. He flew back, arching in the air. As he passed through the veil, Harry saw his face, a look of fear and surprise and shock. Then, he was gone . . .

****

Pain. Pain beyond pain. Pain such as he had never felt before flooded him, took hold of him, bound him. Harry was powerless. Then, he spoke, but he was not the one who said the words, "Kill me now Dumbledore . . . If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy . . ."

****

Hermione's face flashed before his eyes again, shock and pain etched in as she fell. Then, Sirius, falling into the veil. Hermione, Sirius, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Sirius, Hermione, Neville, Ron, Sirius; each memory flashed before him, each time more unbearable than the last, and then, pain. The unbearable pain of being possessed by Voldemort. With that, Harry woke up screaming. Shaking from head to foot, he felt violently ill, and was already starting to retch.

After he was finished vomiting, Harry realized that the horrible visions and pain of his nightmares was not what had originally awaken him. Well, the pain had woken him, but it wasn't from his dream. The reason for his sudden (and rather welcome) departure from dreamland was standing before him, readying to strike again.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you mutt?!" Vernon shouted as he brought his fist down onto the top of Harry's head. An unfortunate move for Vernon, for jarring Harry like that induced another wave of dizziness and sickness, the results of which nearly landed on his feet.

"You vile, disgusting beast! How dare you!" Vernon roared. "When I'm finished with you, you'll wish you looked as good as that mess, which you'll be cleaning up right after I'm finished with you."

Then, Vernon grabbed Harry by the neck and slammed him against the back of the cupboard, rattling boards and sending dust floating down. Abruptly, Vernon smashed his other fist straight into Harry's face, breaking Harry's nose. As blood began to trickle down, Vernon released his hold on Harry's throat, then caught him on the side of his head with a right hook.

Harry fell onto his side and began to curl up, which only seemed to infuriate his uncle even more. "Oh no you don't! Out of there, now!" And grabbing Harry's arm, Vernon gave an almighty wrench. Harry almost screamed in pain as he felt his shoulder begin to dislocate, and would have in fact if his throat had allowed. Harry felt shard blows on his side and vaguely registered the fact that he was now lying on the floor, being kicked by Vernon.

After a few well-placed kicks, Vernon stepped back and said, "Now get up and clean up this mess, mutt!" then walked away and back up the stairs.

Harry managed to drag his way back to his bed, and found his glasses. Putting them on gently, he looked at his broken alarm clock and found it to be just after four in the morning. Groaning, he stood up and made his way to the downstairs bathroom to clean off. Splashing water on his face served to remind Harry of just how much damage had been done. Looking in the mirror, Harry could see that there was a cut above his left eye, his nose was almost as crooked as Dumbledore's now, and the bruising and swelling was becoming more and more noticeable. It looked as if he would have at least one black eye, if not worse.

Feeling slightly more awake from the cold water, Harry set about thinking of what he was going to do. He knew he was in trouble, big time. He had to do something, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't tell anyone because Vernon would be watching him, and even if he did try anything then Vernon would kill Hedwig. Harry was absolutely sure of that, especially the way his uncle had been acting. Even the act of refusing to write in order do draw out the Members, would surely be met with the death of Hedwig. And Harry absolutely refused to allow himself to be the cause of more death. As soon as he thought that, he began to shake uncontrollably. No, no, he couldn't start thinking that way. He had to stay focused. His only hope, then, would be if Hedwig did not arrive for another day or two. Until then he would have to do as he was told.

`Let's just hope I can last this long.' Harry thought dejectedly.

`Of course you will. You're an amazing wizard, Harry,' the voice echoed inside his head.

`Thanks, whoever you are . . .'

And with that, Harry grabbed a mop set to work cleaning up the mess "he" had made. It was very slow going, seeing as how his back, stomach, and now his sides all bristled with pain. He had to pause every few minutes to prevent himself from collapsing in agony.

He had just finished and put away the mop and laid down to try and relax is tired muscles and aching body when the shrill voice of his aunt snapped him back to the present. "Get up! Get up now! I swear, such a lazy and ungrateful boy! In the kitchen now! Vernon and Dinky Diddydums will be down shortly, and breakfast better be ready, or you'll have hell to pay!"

Groaning from pain and exhaustion, Harry managed to lift himself up off the bed and onto his feet. Stumbling slightly, he made his way into the kitchen. Glancing as he passed the sink to start getting breakfast prepared, he did a double take that left a painful crick in his neck and made his head spin, even more than the sight before him was making him. Sitting there in the sink he had worked so tediously at the night before lay what appeared to be the Dursleys' entire stock of dishes, bowls, cups, glasses, silverware, pots, pans . . . almost if not everything in the kitchen was piled in there.

"W-Wha-What's all this?" Harry stammered.

"The dishes. They were filthy! You didn't do your job properly yesterday, so now you must do them again. Now hurry! You can't make breakfast until you clean them, so get started!"

Speechless, Harry just stood and stared for a moment. How could they be so cruel. He had lived with the Dursleys for so long, and they had both been able to tolerate each other, and yes they had been mean before, but this, this was downright evil! Harry's revere was cut short when he noticed her raising her whistle to her lips again. This put Harry into motion immediately. He moved the dishes to the side and into some semblance of order, filled the sink, and began to scrub. Despite the aches in his arms and shoulders, he moved furiously and quickly, trying not to give the Dursleys any more reason to beat him, or give him more work.

*****

Harry collapsed onto his cot, thankful for the end of the day, wanting to put everything behind him. He hadn't had anything to eat except a small crumb or two from when he was making dinner that night, and his stomach was letting him know just how hungry he was. But worse than the emptiness in his stomach was the emptiness he felt in his heart.

It appeared that everything would be fine after breakfast, but then no less than three owls had swooped into the kitchen and dropped letters for Harry onto the table. Harry had only gotten a quick glimpse at the various scrawls and handwritings letting him know that Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Hagrid, and Lupin each had sent him a letter before Vernon snatched them up, tore them apart viciously, and threw away the remains.

"You'll be receiving no mail, not while you're here! I'll see to it personally!"

And so Harry was sent outside to work, with the images of his friends' shredded letters fresh in his mind. He knew it was no good complaining, and wondered briefly at what would befall him if he dared to voice is concerns before turning away, shuddering. Fortunately for Harry, he was able to find the old-fashioned push mower stowed in the back of the shed, ending the threat of trimming the entire lawn with shears. However, the work was still slow and frustrating, so he might as well have used the shears. The blades of the mower had hardly (if ever) been sharpened, so the grass required several runs to cut to the right height, and Harry had to stop on several occasions to untangle grass from the jammed blades.

Just as he was about to retreat to his "room," his uncle's loud shouts stopped him abruptly. "Mutt, MUTT! Get in here now!"

Wondering what else could possibly go wrong, Harry got up with a grunt and walked cautiously into the parlor. Waiting for him was Vernon, a grumpy, irritated look set on his face. "Get in here!" He barked out. "Now then, it's time you start pulling your weight around here. We've been soft far too long! For the past five years you've lived like royalty! It ends here and today. Every day you will water the lawn, pull any and all weeds from the garden, wash dishes, dust, vacuum, do laundry, and spar with Dudley."

"What?!" Harry yelped.

WHAP! Vernon's hand hit Harry's head before he continued, "Do not speak unless spoken to, mutt! You'll be sparring with Dudders, helping him keep up in form. Plus this should help keep you in line. If you've got a problem with it, then you'll have to deal with Dudley and me as well! Got it?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Harry merely nodded.

"Good. On top of the standard chores, you will have special projects to ensure you don't cause trouble. Once every three days you will mow the lawn, you will do the laundry when need arises, you will do the shopping, wash the cars, clean the gutters, and that's just the standard stuff. You also need to replace the lawn edging, repave the front drive, replace the fence, and remove that old tree in the back."

Harry sat, utterly dismayed and bewildered. He knew how to do most of the chores, but some of those things he had no idea about. Lawn edging? Repaving the drive? How would he do those? From the sounds of it, they all seemed to involve large amounts of physical labor. Then his uncle spoke up again,

"And I want all of these projects done in one week! For every day that you fall behind, for every task that is not done, I'll destroy a personal item of yours from your trunk here." At the mention of Harry's trunk, Vernon had walked over to the table and pulled out from under it . . . Harry's trunk. Sometime during the morning he had taken it from the cupboard and brought it in here. He opened it and pulled out one of his Defense Against the Dark Arts books and looked at it warily. "I daresay you have too many of these, these abnormal, freakish things anyway."

Thinking about what Vernon had locked away in his trunk at the moment made Harry shudder involuntarily. Among all his school supplies, it held his broomstick servicing kit, his Sneakoscope, and his family photo album. Knowing Vernon's temperament, Harry couldn't even begin to imagine the tortures that could be derived from those objects.

Sparring with Dudley had been just about exactly what Harry had expected; Harry was all but threatened into standing still providing little or no defense while his bulky cousin swung away mercilessly. Harry hadn't noticed before on the ride back, but Dudley wasn't nearly as fat as he had been. He had almost slimmed down to his girth of three years ago, and in the process gained a fair amount of muscles. His aim and precision were dead on, so that Harry's head was throbbing dully after the first ten minutes. After an hour of being Dudley's personal punching bag, Harry could hardly stand, and couldn't feel anything on his face. `Well, at least he was wearing gloves,' Harry thought.

How much more could he possibly take before breaking down, he pondered to himself. Lying on his side, Harry set his glasses down next to his clock, which read eleven. Groaning, he tried to get comfortable, knowing that tomorrow was hardly going to be even better than that day. Too tired to think, his exhaustion carried him off to sleep almost instantly.

****

"Come on, you can do better than that!" Sirius yelled, laughing and taunting Bellatrix. The curse hit his chest, sending him flying backward toward the veil.

****

Hermione, crumpled to the ground, Dolohov standing behind here with a sick look of triumph and pleasure in his eyes.

****

Neville's shrieks and cries echoed off the walls as his prone form twitched and convulsed on the stone floor.

****

Sirius falling again, this time meeting Harry's eyes, as if to ask him `Why did you let this happen? How could you?' The vision of Hermione was next, in her eyes a look of hurt and accusation. Suddenly, his visions changed, and he was no longer in the Department of Mysteries, or even in the Ministry itself. A voice, cold, high and cruel, spoke up from the back of his mind, "Pleasant dreams, Potter? Well, then, allow me to assist you in weaving a world of nightmares." Darkness fell, only to be replaced by the image of Ron sitting in a chair, bound and gagged. Shadows began moving in the background, occasionally drawing close. Suddenly, one swept across Ron, blocking him from view temporarily. When it withdrew, a long, deep gash had appeared across Ron's chest, and blood began flowing freely. Ron cried out in pain, and muffled pleas of help could be heard, but laughter was the only response. Then, as if agitated by the laughter, the shadows swarmed Ron, each time they swooped by a new gash was cut, spilling blood, and Ron would cry out anew. After sever seconds, the shadows merged into one huge form, and then swept once more over Ron, severing his head, which landed by Harry's feet, staring up garishly.

Instantly, the scene changed and Hermione was now in front of him, limp and hanging from the wall from manacles clapped to her wrists. This time, instead of shadows, a wand appeared, floating in midair, and out of it, the Cruciatus began flying. Hermione's anguished screams filled the air. But this version of the Crucio was different, it left bruises and welts where it hit, and within minutes, Hermione had blood pouring out her mouth and nose. She began to shake violently, convulsions almost rippling through her. Suddenly, she gave out a cry louder than the last, and her heart exploded.

At this moment, the pain in Harry's scar leapt to a crescendo unlike any before it. Harry woke with a start and was momentarily blind from pain, yelling out as loudly as he could, thrashing his arms and legs wildly. Then, just as suddenly as it came, the images and pain vanished, leaving behind only the memory. Voldemort's voice once again filled his head, `They will die, and you will be witness! Then it will be your turn . . . Prepare yourself for death, Potter!'

Shaking terribly, Harry picked himself off the floor and sat down heavily on the cot. The images, they had been so real, so gruesome . . . suddenly Harry wretched, and, not wanting a repeat of the earlier morning, ran to the bathroom. Crawling his way back to his room, Harry was met halfway by Vernon.

Vernon's fist impacted Harry's skull, and, had it not been for the intense pain, Harry would have blacked out then and there. Vernon pulled Harry up then slammed him against the wall. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you, you vile piece of crap! Waking us all up at ungodly hours of the night, screaming your head off!" With that, Vernon jabbed his fist into Harry's gut then threw him bodily into his room. "You stop this nonsense now, or I'll make it so you can't make any noise at all!"

Then his uncle clambered back up the stairs, stomping particularly forcefully on the steps above Harry's head for added emphasis. Harry checked his clock for the time, and saw it was only three thirty. It would appear, Harry thought, that I was saved from a savage beating by Vernon still being half asleep. Harry went to feel the back of his head for any damage, and realized he was still shaking terribly. He walked back to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, which helped a little.

For the next two hours, Harry tried his best to keep the nightmares out of his waking mind, with little avail. It took little thought to bring the image of Sirius falling through the veil into mind, and even less for the ghastly images of his friends' torture and deaths that Voldemort had planted. Harry tried to calm his mind using what he knew of Occlumency, but seeing as how that expertise was limited, the exercises weren't very effective.

And so it was that at five thirty, a pale, shaky Harry Potter was to be found trying to make breakfast. "Be careful, boy," his aunt quipped. "Otherwise you'll drop the eggs and ruin breakfast, not that you wouldn't anyway."

Sure enough, just as Harry had gathered the dirty plates to wash them, a sudden loud screech made him jump, and in his panic and fright, he dropped the plates. With the tinkling of broken porcelain on the floor came complete and utter silence. Staring down at the broken shards, Harry remembered one time, long ago, when he was maybe seven or eight and he had broken some dishes. His punishment then had been no food for a week as well as being locked in his cupboard. Thinking of the possible punishments he could incur made him physically shake all over.

"Mutt," Vernon said in a strained and barely-controlled voice, stressing each syllable, "get over here. Now."

Suppressing his shudders the best he could, Harry made his way over to stand to the right of his fuming uncle, gulping as he came to a stop. To say Harry was frightened was an understatement; he was lividly terrified.

It would appear that Vernon's anger was to be double-fold this morning, for sitting in the middle of the table next to a tired-looking Hedwig was Harry's Firebolt. Tied to it was a note. Picking up the note and thrusting it at Harry, Vernon managed to grunt out a "Read it," before he started mumbling incoherently under his breath. With shaking hands, Harry untied the scroll and read,

"Dear Harry,

Suffice it to say that with the removal of Dolores Umbridge from Hogwarts, all Educational Decrees have been rescinded and all bans have been lifted, including your life-long Quidditch ban. Let me be the first to welcome you back to the Gryffindor team. I hope you don't mind me borrowing Hedwig; I thought you might like your Firebolt back as soon as possible. Be sure to take good care of this most valuable of prizes. Watching you fly, I can all too easily see your natural Quidditch talent, and I must say your father would be quite proud.

Don't worry about sending your letter to the Order right away, we know Hedwig will be a trifle tired after such a long flight, so you can give her a little rest and send her out again tomorrow. If the need should arise, you may always summon an owl from the Wizarding Post to send your letters; do so by simply waving your wand (or wand arm) in the air in an `O' shape. An owl will then appear shortly.

Take care this summer, Mr. Potter. I dare say I'll be looking forward to receiving your course selections for N.E.W.T. classes later this year!

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress"

After Harry finished reading the note, which was shaking in his hands, he looked up at the oddly still form of his uncle. Seeing this only made Harry start shaking even harder. Normally, a calm Vernon would be a welcome thing, and most people would have been gladdened and relieved by what they saw. Harry knew better, though. He had seen this version of Uncle Vernon before, and it never indicated anything good. The last time he had seen his uncle in this relaxed of a state was back when he received his first Hogwarts letters. Vernon had acted nothing short of mad then, trying to find a place to hide. Now, here, under very different circumstances, what would he do?

"So, mutt, this thing is valuable, is it." Vernon said as he picked up the Firebolt. "How much is it worth, then?" asked Vernon in a casual voice that normally Harry would have thought nothing of. However, in his eyes there was a vicious, triumphant glean that was shaking Harry to his core.

"I, I d-d-don't k-kn-know," Harry managed to stutter out.

"What. I don't believe you, you dirty filthy lying sack of crap!" snapped Vernon "Now tell me how much money it's worth! And it would do well to show some respect, mutt."

"I d-don't know, s-sir. I-I-it was a g-g-gift." Harry said, his eyes looking down at his feet, his hands trembling at his sides.

"Hmph, a gift indeed! You probably stole it! Well, vermin like you don't deserve such nice things!" And with that, Vernon brought the Firebolt down hard over his knee, cleanly snapping it in two. To Harry, the sound of the snapping wood seemed to echo on forever. His brain ground to a screeching halt, and his heart seemed to both freeze up and start beating out of control at the same time.

`No, no, no. My Firebolt, how could he? I can't believe it. It's gone. My Firebolt is gone. What will I do now? It was my last connection to Sirius.' With this sudden realization, Harry sank to his knees hard, a tear or two managing to leak out the corners of his eyes.

Vernon, seeing the blow he had already dealt Harry, decided to go for the kill. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. Holding it up to the twigs at the base, he said, "This is what you get for being a freak, for going to that damnable place, and for then daring to show your filthy, vile face around here," and lit the remains of the Firebolt on fire. Once there was a nice fire going, Vernon turned and said, "And now your punishment for the dishes you broke!"

Vernon rushed at Harry, caught him by surprise, and pushed him to the floor. Then, he began to beat Harry furiously with the burning end of the Firebolt, striking Harry wherever he could, with as much force as he could muster. Each time the burning twigs made contact, Harry's pain was two-fold; the first pain came from the mere force of the blow, the second and worse of the pain came from the minor burns inflicted. When it appeared that Vernon was tiring, he switched strategies, and merely held the now dimly glowing broom up to Harry's skin, burning him in several places. Sometimes it would be a simple tap; other times he would hold it in place until Harry screamed out in pain. The smell of burned flesh soon filled the room. This continued for five, ten, fifteen minutes, until,

"Vernon, stop!" Petunia yelled over Harry's anguished screams. For a moment, Vernon stared at Petunia with a look of incredulousness on his face. Harry couldn't believe it. Had his Aunt Petunia actually stepped in to defend him? Then she added, "The neighbors will hear him! Either stop burning him or gag him. We don't need any more disruptions!"

"Right, hadn't thought of that. All right, you, worthless mutt, I want you up and working in five minutes! You hear me?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry managed to squeeze out through the pain.

"What was that? I thought I told you to show some respect! You're nothing but a worthless mangy dog, and I am your master! You understand me, mutt?" At the word `mutt' Vernon delivered a sharp kick to Harry's side.

Harry let out a moan of pain, then, drawing deep breaths, said, "Yes *gasp* M-Master."


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