A/N: Here we go, Chapter Number Three! We continue the downwards spiral, reaching the bottom. I am fully aware that some of you may not like the chapter, and just so ya know, it's been one of the hardest to write. But, please continue along with it anyway! I swear upon my life, name, honor, money, and cello that it gets better! (oh, bye-the-bye, I'm an avid cellist). So, read it, and tell me how much you liked it, or how much you hated it, whichever the case may be!
Disclaimer: Thank you Mrs. Rowling for the use of your brilliant characters. I will do my best not to mar them in any way, shape, or form . . . wait, scratch that, too late. Ah well, I do promise to return them in one piece . . . well, okay, I'll at least return all the pieces . . . eventually. Enough of my rambling! On with the show!
Broken
One week later found a very miserable and entirely unrecognizable Harry Potter finishing the last of his daily chores and about to start pulling up the old tree in the back yard. So far he had only managed to replace the edging and the fence, and still had to repave the front drive. He had been given hardly any food, and ate whatever he could scrounge up. And, if it was possible, he received even less water. Fortunately he could drink from the hose outside on occasion, but it was hardly enough. He was deathly gaunt and pale; his skin was taught and stretched over his small frame. His hair, normally wild and sticking out at odd angles, was greasy, grimy, and matted to his head. He hadn't been able to properly bathe the entire week he had been back, and was certain he would be forever covered in a small, thin layer of filth. `Perhaps it was just as well,' Harry thought sadly, `this way people won't see the scars and burns.'
Over the past week, Harry had done his best to follow Vernon's directions, but he never quite seemed to get it right. Vernon always found something dissatisfactory, and used it as an excuse to beat Harry. Sometimes it was a couple of jabs to the head, others it was his back or sides. On the rare occasion Harry managed to mess things up really bad, Vernon would whip Harry with his belt. Standing up and stretching was enough to remind Harry of his most recent punishment. Harry had been working on replacing the fence all day two days before, but had only managed to complete up to half of the side fence. As he was putting his tools and supplies away for the night, Vernon came over.
"Mutt, once you are done, come inside, up to Dudley's second room. I've got a few choice words I'd like to have with you." Vernon then walked away, glaring at Harry occasionally from over his shoulder. When Harry walked into his old room, Vernon was waiting, and it became quite clear what his "words" were going to be. He stood before Harry with his belt in one hand, the other gesturing for Harry to come and stand in front of him. Wanting to get it over as fast as possible, Harry complied. This time, however, things were to be drastically different.
Instead of assaulting him verbally like he always did, Vernon remained silent as he grabbed a length of rope off the desk and began to bind Harry's hands together. Then, he shoved Harry over to the bed, and tied the other end of the rope to the foot of the bed, leaving Harry trapped with no possible means of escape or defense.
"What did I tell you, mutt, about getting your work done?" Vernon half shouted, half grunted. "Thanks to your slow-assed-ness, we have a gaping hole in our fence, fit for anyone to see! If you weren't such a lazy, good for nothing, vile son-of-a-bitch freak, you could have finished hours ago! I'll learn you to sloth about and waste our valuable time, money and resources!"
With that, Vernon struck at Harry with his belt. Now, normally Vernon would use the leather end, which would sting terribly and leave great, red, angry welts wherever the belt landed. As soon as the first blow landed, barley being able to contain his moan of anguish, Harry realized that Vernon was now using the hard metal buckle. In a mere manner of seconds, Harry was on his knees, doing his best not to scream out in pain, his back gashed open in several places, blood seeping out wounds both old and new. Harry felt as though his skin was being ripped and torn off in strips, piece by piece, by some foul beast with rather blunt claws. After about half an hour, it appeared Vernon was too tired to continue, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief, which caught abruptly in his throat as he heard his uncle say, "Alright, your turn Dudley."
Harry heard the belt whip through the air again, and felt the blow land on the back of his head. As he began to slip into the coming darkness, Harry heard his uncle reprimanding Dudley, "No, no, son. You're supposed to be aiming for its back. Hitting it in the head will only make it loose consciousness. See? You've knocked it out cold, so now it won't feel the pain. Don't worry, you'll do better next time." At that, Harry slipped under, mercifully unaware of the blows that rained down for ten minutes straight.
When he awoke he had found himself bound and gagged in his cupboard, as was now normal. After three nights in a row of being woken halfway through the night by Harry's screams, Vernon had decided to do something about it. While the gag did keep Harry's screams confined to the cupboard, his would strain against his bindings as he thrashed, and would wake up with burns around his wrists from where the rope bit him. Harry found he was thrashing more and more as the nightmares became worse and worse. His mind had begun to replay not only the night at the Ministry, but also scenes from two years ago in the graveyard as well. Now Cedric Diggory's face loomed out of the dark recesses of his mind as well as those of Sirius, Hermione, and his other friends. After several hours of terrible visions, Voldemort usually made an appearance and turned Harry's dreams towards that of the capture, torture, and murder of his closest friends. However, last night Voldemort had remained fairly quite, content to merely watch as Harry's own imagination created scenes more gruesome and horrible than even Voldemort would have thought up, including Ron being eaten alive by hundreds of rats that looked identical to Scabbers, and one scene of Hermione being skinned alive.
As a result of his night terrors, Harry got very little actual rest, and the results, along with physical fatigue, were starting to have drastic effects on him. So far he had botched three meals and burned his left arm badly. As punishment, Vernon had broken out the trunk and burned (in front of Harry, of course) five of his books and had broken his Sneakoscope with a bat, then taken a good swing at Harry for good measure.
Each morning, Vernon made quite a show of gathering all of Harry's letters from his friends and destroying them in whatever way suited his fancy. Some mornings it would be the flames that took them, other times they were merely shredded. Sometimes Vernon would read through them first, glaring at Harry and daring him to object. At first he received letters from many people, but as the days wore on and Harry never "responded", fewer people began writing. At one point only Ron, Lupin and Hermione sent letters. In the end Ron and Lupin stopped writing, and only Hermione continued to write letters, which seemed to have doubled over the week.
Harry had, of course, been forced to write the obligatory letters to the Order, and Vernon's means of censoring Harry were extremely effective. Vernon would stand next to Harry, reading over his shoulder at what he wrote, while at the same time he had a revolver aimed right at Hedwig, which he would cock every time Harry wrote or got close to writing something unsatisfactory.
Sparring with Dudley had improved, if only slightly. Complaining that Harry was too easy to hit, Dudley got Vernon to let Harry dodge blows instead of just trying to defend. As a result, Harry's face was hit much less often, although it was still a prime target. During one particularly brutal day, Harry had made the mistake of trying to fighting back. He managed to get off one shot, which his Uncle unfortunately happened to see. This made Vernon as angry as he'd ever been, and as punishment Vernon held Harry down while Dudley wailed away, and then vice versa.
Looking back, Harry wasn't quite sure how he managed to make it as far as he did. All he remembered is that there was a voice in the back of his mind that helped to keep him calm, and give him strength. It was a calm, soothing, and familiar voice full of care and concern. Strong at first, the voice served to comfort and protect, often times catching Harry just in time to prevent making a costly mistake. But as the days wore on, the voice became quieter and spoke less frequently, and Harry was beginning to feel alone and isolated again; shut off from his friends. This summer was definitely worse than the last one in terms of communication. Last year he didn't receive any information and was kept in the dark. This year it appeared that he was being given information, but had no means of receiving it.
Sighing, Harry set to work on the old dead tree. Somehow, he had to chop it down, break it apart, and then dig up the trunk and roots, and all in less than three hours. Harry found that the more work he had to do, the easier it became if he shut off his mind and merely did what had to be done; let things come naturally. Harry therefore was too focused on his work that he did not notice that during the next three hours four owls arrived for him, all bearing letters from Hermione, nor was he witness to his Uncles growing fury at receiving multiple owls.
After working for four hours straight, the sun began to set and Harry could no longer see what he was doing. So far he had managed to cut down the tree and hack it into smaller pieces. However, he had just begun to dig at the roots and trunk when he was forced to quit, no longer able to see where he was swinging the pickax. It was not without trepidation that Harry entered his uncles home to tell him he hadn't finished with the tree yet. Standing before the kitchen doors, Harry took deep soothing breaths and tried to gather whatever courage remained from deep within him. Realizing he had been standing in front of the door for probably too long, he took one final relaxing breath and took the plunge into the kitchen.
Inside, the Dursleys were all gathered around the table, waiting for Harry to serve up dinner, as was customary. Sensing no immediate danger, Harry went to work on the dinner, once again submerging himself completely in his work and almost completely ignoring everything around him. This probably saved Harry, for if he had but once glanced at his gathered "family", he would have begun shaking too terribly to continue cooking, and would have been liable to break something or burn himself.
However, his luck soon ran out. As soon as he set the plates down on the table Harry sensed something was wrong, he could almost feel the tension in the room choking him; one quick glance at Vernon and Harry could practically see waves of anger and stress radiating from him. "Mutt, get over here!"
"Yes, sir? I mean, Master" Harry quickly added, almost forgetting. The rule of calling Vernon "Master" was quickly growing tiring and cumbersome for Harry, and if it hadn't been for the friendly voice inside Harry's head, he would have long since stopped remembering to say it.
"Explain to me why the bloody hell this bitch keeps writing to you! How could you be so bloody important to her, let alone anyone? Tell me!"
"I-I don't know. Master" Harry was struggling hard to contain the rage he felt when Vernon insulted Hermione. Once again it was the calming voice in the back of his head that saved him.
`Relax, Harry. He's trying to get a rise out of you as an excuse to hurt you even more. Don't give him the satisfaction.'
"Don't give me that bullshit! Who is she? How do you know each other? She isn't another freak like you, is she?"
`Careful, Harry. Just relax. His words mean nothing.'
"Yes, master, she and I go to the same school. We're close friends."
"Humph, likely. Along with that infernal letter you write tonight, you'll be sending a message informing this Hermi-whore of yours to butt out. Got it?
`Harry, don't. He's not worth it, he's not worth it. It's what he wants.'
"Yes, s-master."
****
Writing that letter to Hermione was one of the hardest things Harry had ever done. Originally, it read something like this:
"Dear Hermione,
Sorry I haven't responded, but I've been terribly busy. I'm doing quite fine now, but thanks for your concern. It meant a lot. However, I am becoming a little concerned that all those owls you send might give away my location to Voldemort. So, could you please not send any more? I really am doing fine. See you in Diagon Alley? If not then I'll see you on the Express.
Yours truly,
Harry"
However, Vernon would not accept this, and tore it to pieces. In the end, Harry was forced to re-write his letter five times, each re-write containing less and less, and each rewrite costing Harry a sharp blow to the head. Harry's final letter simply read,
"Hermione, stop sending letters.
Harry"
As Harry watched Hedwig fly off, each beat of her wings seemed to sink Harry's heart lower into his stomach.
`Please don't let her hate me for it. I couldn't stand to loose her. Oh, please, let this be all right.'
`I'm sure it will work out fine Harry. Don't worry, what's done is done. Focus on the present, not the past . . .'
Harry was just starting to feel at ease when fate decided to give him a sharp, swift kick in the balls, via Vernon Dursley.
"MUTT! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!!" Heavy footsteps accompanied the thundering voice of his uncle, until a very red-faced Vernon was standing right in front of Harry, breathing hard in his face.
"O-O-of w-w-hat, m-m-m-master?"
"Don't give me that! You know perfectly well what I mean! I thought I told you to get those jobs done! What's wrong with your lazy ass! I've given you plenty of time and opportunity to finish the jobs, and yet, there's the tree stump still in the ground, and our front drive still has cracks in it! EXPLAIN!!"
"I-I tried. Honestly, I did. I worked my har- " But Harry was cut off when Vernon's fist impacted his mouth.
"I don't want to hear your bloody excuses. There are NO excuses for this kind of sloth and waste, mutt. Since you've wasted so much of our valuable resources, I think it's only appropriate to waste some of yours, don't you think?" Harry just stood there, half in fear of his life, half sick to his stomach at what was to come.
"I asked you a question, mutt. ANSWER ME WHEN I SPEAK TO YOU!!"
"Y-Y-Yes, m-m-master."
WHAM! Vernon sent Harry collapsing to his knees with a hard punch to the gut. When Harry next looked up, Vernon was leafing through a thick leather-bound book that was all-too familiar. `No . . .'
"Hmm, what have we here? Looks to be a very personal item, here. I think this will do nicely . . ." Vernon brought out his lighter and began to turn the pages randomly, stopping here or there, obviously looking for the perfect starting point. "Ah, here we go. I think here is a good place to start!" Harry's breath caught in his throat; it was the picture of his parents wedding. As Vernon swooped in to pick up the picture, his parents and Sirius, as if sensing the impending danger, began to run for the edges. As Vernon picked up the photo and looked at it, his face seemed to fall a little. "Hmm, where did those two go? Oh well, still got that one, and that's good enough to begin with." And so Vernon lit a bottom corner on fire.
As Harry stared in horror, the picture began to burn, and trapped within it was Sirius. Slowly, the flames crept closer and closer, all the while Sirius was trying to put as much distance between him and the flames as possible. Finally, the flames caught up with the image of Sirius, who began to flail his arms in an attempt to put them out. On his face were mingled looks of horror and pain. His mouth was wide open in what was obviously a scream, but no sound issued forth. Harry watched, unable to look away, as his godfather once again died before his eyes, burned alive.
As soon as the picture was done burning, Vernon once again opened the scrapbook. "What the hell? Where did they all go?" He began leafing through the pages madly, until, "Aha! There they are! Fools! They should know there's nowhere they can escape to!" With that Vernon tore out the picture that all of the members of the scrapbook had tried to hide in. Not expecting such a sudden action, almost all the portraits were trapped. With great flourish, Vernon lit his lighter and held it just out of reach of the photo. "Now watch, this is what they deserve, and it's what you'll get, sooner or later! Look at your future, mutt!" Then, he brought the picture into contact with the flames, and very soon all the images of Harry's family, his final link to his lineage and his past, were aflame. While the images may have been screaming in silence, Harry's mind easily and readily supplied the screams.
Once the flames had reduced the photograph to cinders, Vernon turned and lit the rest of the scrapbook on fire, while Harry sat on the floor, stunned and dismayed. He had already lost his family once, and now he had just lost them again. Already the images were burned in his memory and beginning to surface again.
"Get up mutt. I'm tired of looking at your vile freakish form! I want you out of my sights now! Into your cupboard!" With that, Vernon dragged Harry up by his hair and tossed him towards the hallway, Harry just barely able to keep from falling down again. Soon, he was bound and gagged in his cupboard, trying his best to fight off the darkness and the nightmares, but failing terribly.
Harry was walking along a secluded path surrounded by trees. Ahead was a clearing; visible just inside the clearing was a small-looking cottage. Stopping outside the fence surrounding the house, he saw a mailbox with the word "Potters" on it in gold letters. Godric's Hollow . . . his parents' home, his home. He opened the gate and began to sprint towards the front door, but he had hardly taken three steps when the entire cottage burst into flames. He could hear screams coming from inside, but the flames prevented him from attempting to rescue whoever was inside. Suddenly, the house collapsed and the screams stopped.
A voice spoke from behind Harry, hoarse and deep, "You could have saved them, but you didn't. You let them die, Harry. Why? How could you? They were your parents!" It was Sirius, or at least it looked like him. "How could you do that to them, to me? How could you let me die, Harry? It's your fault! If you hadn't been so stupid, I would still be here. How could you . . ."
With that, the vision faded into darkness, but the heat from the fire seemed to remain. Suddenly, there was a bright flash, and Harry found himself standing in the middle of a burning street. People were running around, screaming, panicking. Advancing down the street were several figures wrapped in long, black robes, each wearing a mask over their face. As one, they all raised their wands to shoulder level, and then, as if in one voice, they all shouted out "Avada kedavra!" A bright green flash followed, and dozens of people lay dead in the street, expressions of shock and surprise on their faces. A voice sounded in Harry's ear, "It has begun, Potter. Muggles and Mudbloods will die! How long till you see your friends' faces? You will die, Potter. Soon, you will face my wrath!"
With that, Harry woke with a start, a scream of pain still passing his gagged mouth. He realized that he was shaking terribly, and while the pain in his scar had died down considerably, his head was still throbbing. He tried to sit up, only to find his left wrist shoot in pain, almost causing him to shout out again. It would appear he had finally broken it, as his had was pointed at a rather sickening angle. Harry noticed that his bindings had also broke during the night's struggle. Biting down on the gag, Harry tried to straighten out his wrist to set it and help it heal better. The pain was incredible, and almost made him pass out.
Cooking breakfast was very awkward with just his right had to work with. Already his left wrist was swollen and looked a very angry shade of red, and would twinge painfully whenever Harry would brush something against it. Somehow, he managed to avoid burning or dropping anything, and felt proud of himself for doing so. However, that feeling of jubilation wasn't to last past breakfast.
Harry had just finished clearing off the table when Hedwig soared in, returning from a night of delivering letters. However, she had not returned empty-handed. Tied to her leg was a letter, apparently addressed from Hermione. This was not a normal letter; the red quivering envelope with steam pouring out the corners clearly indicated it was a Howler. Vernon grinned evilly at Harry before saying, "Go ahead then, open it up, mutt." But before Harry could reach it, it exploded (rather violently) into flames, and Hermione's magically magnified voice boomed out, each syllable wavering with cold fury,
"HARRY JAMES POTTER! HOW DARE YOU! I WORY ABOUT YOU, FRET OVER YOU, WONDER ANXIOUSLY HOW YOU ARE DOING! I PUT MY HEART AND SOUL INTO MY LETTERS, ONLY TO HAVE YOU TELL ME TO STOP! DO I REALY MEAN THAT LITTLE TO YOU? ARE THE PAST FIVE YEARS OF FRIENDSHIP WORTH NOTHING TO YOU? WELL, DON'T WORRY ABOUT ME SENDING YOU LETTERS ANYMORE, POTTER, BECAUSE I NEVER WANT TO SEE OR SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN!! I HATE YOU!!!"
Harry stood, blinking furiously, trying to stop the tears. It was worse than he had feared. Hermione appeared beyond furious with him. Heck, she hadn't even said those things to Ron, and he was more of an annoyance than Harry had ever been.
`No, how could I have let this happen. I can't loose her. I won't loose her! I will fix this. I don't care what happens, I will not let this happen!'
Vernon's voice broke Harry from his reverie. "Good. That should take care of the bitch. Now, get to work mutt!"
Harry quickly dashed out of the kitchen and set to work, but not on Vernon's chores. No, Harry was going to make things right with Hermione, to try and explain and beg forgiveness. He was going to write her a letter, tell her everything. Ten minutes later, Harry watched as Hedwig took flight. Considering all he had put down in the letter, ten minutes was good time. He was just about to relax and start to work when he heard Dudley's booming voice shout out, "DAD! HE'S SENT AN OWL! HURRY!!"
Harry turned to look at Hedwig, who was now a full block away. A small smile appeared; he knew Vernon couldn't possibly stop the letter. He had finally fought back, something he had been wanting to do for so long. And damned be the consequences. Soon the Order would know what had been really going on, and would put a stop to it, if Hermione didn't kill the Dursleys herself. Hearing the stomping approach of his uncle, Harry turned to meet whatever punishment he would be served, only to be struck on the side if the head by something hard. Looking up, Harry's heart froze and he couldn't breathe. Standing in front of the window, Vernon was taking careful aim with a rifle. Harry sprang to his feet to try and stop him, but Vernon fired before Harry could reach the muzzle. Fearing the worst, Harry quickly turned to look outside the window.
Hedwig, almost an invisible dot on the horizon, appeared to be tumbling in midair, as if she had been hit head-on by a bus. Then, she began to fall, slowly at first, then faster and faster. As Harry watched her fall, his mind was raging, swirling; he was barely breathing, and couldn't hear any noises. With each second, every foot she fell, Harry felt more of himself break away; break down; shut off. Tears were streaming down his face. He shuddered once, feeling as if some force or presence was leaving his body. For a brief moment, it appeared as though Hedwig froze in midair, then, she was gone . . .
`No, please no . . . I failed. She's gone. They're both gone. Hedwig . . . Cedric . . . Sirius. All gone. My parents, gone. My family, gone. Hermione, gone. Ron, Lupin, Dumbledore, gone. All gone. My fault. All my fault. Alone. All alone. Nobody left. Everyone dies. Nothing left . . . . all alone . . . . . . . no . . one . . . . here . . . . . '
Vaguely, Vernon's voice came through, saying, "Get up, mutt. Get to work. If you finish everything today I might be lenient."
Slowly, the boy before Vernon stood. Hunched over, head and eyes cast down, a low, weak, monotone voice spoke. "Yes, master. Right away, sir." As Harry passed by him, Vernon saw the look in his eyes, the look of a person who had been completely broken.
****
Miles away, Lord Voldemort shuddered. He had felt a burst of, something, from Potter, then, nothing. Absolute silence. He was very troubled. What could it possibly mean?
A/N: Whew! Another long one! Have I managed to offend anyone? I certainly hope not! Review if you can!
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