A/N: I haven't written or updated anything in a long time. Hopefully writing this will help me get back to the things I've left behind.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is property of JK Rowling, Scholastic, and Warner Bros. I make no profit from playing in their sandbox.
Parts of this are taken verbatim from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.
Nobody's Tool
The door shut, the lights dimmed, and I was left alone shivering in the chilled air. I was not provided any clothing, and by now I knew better than to ask for them.
"There is no need to get dressed", they'd laughed between Crucios the first time I'd requested clothing, "when anything you wore would only be removed later."
Each subsequent inquiry was worse, much worse. I stopped asking after I'd temporarily lost feeling in my arms, afraid that the next time I asked they wouldn't heal me after.
I never wanted this.
I never wanted a lot of things actually, but that never mattered before and I doubt it will matter now. All my life I've only been a pawn – to the Dursleys, to Dumbledore, to the Order. Even my friends only see me as stepping stool to their own greatness.
Rolling over on the thrice-damned bed, I stuck my hand inside a pillow case and pulled out the single quill and bit of parchment I'd been able to salvage from what had once been a very elegant set of stationary. Like the desk upon which they once lay, the pages were singed around the edges, most of them too damaged to be of use. Snape had set the entire desk on fire when he had discovered that I'd written to Sirius, pleading for him to rescue me.
I'm told that Ron and Hermione had caught Hedwig and murdered her, so that she could no longer "assist me in my madness". And I had thought they were my friends.
If I ever get away from this, I'll kill them.
I suppose I should've started at the beginning, but my mind is so jumped-up on potions right now that I'm finding hard to think at all, let alone clearly. But we'll come back to that in a moment. I have to write this now while I'm still lucid.
My name is Harry Potter. I was born under Prophecy to Lily and James Potter during the first war against Voldemort. My family went into hiding under the Fidelius Charm out of fear for my life, but the Secret Keeper betrayed them, they were murdered, Voldemort was defeated, and I was sent to live with the Dursleys.
The Dementors of Azkaban have nothing on Vernon and Petunia Dursley. My aunt and uncle hated magic and anything even remotely unnatural – especially if the thing in question was an orphaned infant wizard that had been dropped on their doorstep alongside the morning paper.
I never found out what happened to make them feel that way, but considering how vicious they are in their hatred, I'd wager it was something noteworthy indeed.
No matter the reason, the Dursleys hated me, and they taught their son, Dudley, to hate me too. By the time I was allowed out of my cupboard to cook and clean, their hatred of me had spread to the other inhabitants of Little Whinging. I learned early that no matter how badly the Dursleys abused me, help would never come from the neighbors – they thought I was a lying, attention-seeking troublemaker, and nothing I said ever managed to convince them otherwise. If they'd known the truth about my home life, I doubt it would have made any difference. The residents of Little Whinging covet normalcy like dragons covet treasure – and child abuse was not normal. They likely would have told themselves that I deserved it – the beatings, starvation, and psychological trauma. They would think to themselves that if I were normal I wouldn't have abusive relatives, because no one ever abuses normal children.
That they could have been wrong would have never crossed their minds.
When I was eleven I found out that I was a wizard. Don't laugh, it's true. I hardly believed it myself until Hagrid gave Dudley a pig tail as a parting gift– and not the cutesy kind that little girls wear, an actual pig's tail. It was the funniest thing I'd ever seen, and now, when I'm too drugged up to fight back, I think of that while he rapes me.
Hey, I have to hold on to my sanity somehow.
After the "You're a wizard, Harry" revelation, I thought my life would get better, and for a while it looked like it would. I was famous, people loved me, and I had friends – real, live friends that I could see and touch, and not just the imaginary ones I'd made up to keep me company in my cupboard at night. I even had money, and I'd never had that before -- not even the kind that you find between the couch cushions.
I have more money in my Gringotts vault than I've ever seen in one place before or since. I will never have to work – and I will likely not be allowed to, either. Pity, I've always wanted to play professional Quidditch.
My first year as a wizard was not what I'd expected it to be. While I will admit to begging the Sorting Hat to put me in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, I wasn't expecting all of the hype that came with it. My sorting into Gryffindor was confirmation that I was brave – the little hero that everyone had imagined me to be. I just wanted to be Harry, and they all forced me to be something different entirely.
During my first year several attacks were made on my life, and countless more on my character. Professor Snape hated me for being the progeny of a man I've never known, and he went out of his way to shove my face in it every chance he could.
Professor Quirrell was much more straightforward – he simply tried to kill me.
In the end, I accidentally killed my Defense professor – who had been harboring Voldemort's disembodied soul for who knows how long – becoming a murderer at the tender age of eleven. Most people would have gone to prison for such a thing – or be expelled at the very least – but not me. I was awarded for breaking school rules and committing a felony.
I know -- it doesn't make any sense to me either.
Once school let out I was shipped back to the Dursleys'. Suffice to say that I spent the first half of summer imprisoned in my bedroom (complete with bars on the windows and a cat flap on the door) until I was rescued by my now ex-best friend and his two older brothers.
That I needed to be rescued from Privet Drive at all should have been cause for concern.
My second year at Hogwarts was every bit as life threatening as my first. Yet another person was possessed by Voldemort – this time a girl named Ginny Weasley who was suckered into writing in an enchanted diary – and she proceeded to let a basilisk loose on the student population. The Defense teacher – one Gilderoy Lockheart – was an absolute failure at life and coward to boot and actually tried to Obliviate me and Ron when we dragged him along to rescue the stupid girl.
I nearly died again, and with a pat on the head was sent to the hospital wing, where nothing was explained to me.
Do you remember what I said about the end of the previous year? Yes? Good – rinse and repeat.
Third year I met my first Dementor, finally learned the truth about my parents' deaths, and helped a man who had been framed for the murder of thirteen people escape from the aforementioned wraiths by travelling back in time. Despite the fact that the escaped ex-con, Sirius Black, was my godfather I was not allowed to live with him. Instead, I was sent back to the Dursleys'. Again.
Insert highly unpleasant summer full of isolation and abuse here.
Fourth year was a cock-up from start to finish. In October I was entered – without my knowledge and quite against my will – into the Triwizard Tournament. No one believed me when I said that I hadn't entered myself, and I became a pariah among even my instructors. I miraculously managed to survive the tasks with all my limbs intact, just to be transported to a graveyard and have a classmate murdered in front of me. Cedric had been a fair chap – even though he'd been suspicious of me – and he hadn't deserved to die.
That hadn't mattered in the end of course. Despite what they say in fairytales, the good guy rarely ever wins.
After Cedric was – for lack of a better word – disposed of, I was tied to a headstone and forced to watch a horrific ritual during which I was bled so that Voldemort could become corporeal once more. We dueled, and somehow I managed to live to tell the tale.
Of course, no one that mattered in the grand scheme of things believed a word I said. Sometimes, life at Hogwarts and life at the Dursleys' can be depressingly similar.
After a summer in which the monotony was broken by soul-sucking Dementors out for my hide, fifth year set in full of mystery and intrigue. And torture – let's not forget that. I will have the words 'I must not tell lies' on the back of my hand for the rest of my life – courtesy of one Delores Umbridge.
Umbridge, like the other members of the Ministry for Magic, was unwavering in her goal to destroy my reputation. A smear campaign was launched against me, and every issue of the Daily Prophet had featured at least one front page article misaligning me. They turned practically the entire Wizarding world against me before school started back last September, and I was made a pariah once again. Add to that Occlumency lessons that only made me more susceptible to the visions that Voldemort was sending through my cursed scar and Dumbledore avoiding me like the Plague, and my year fifth year was probably one of the most traumatic I'd had yet. The only good things that came of last year are that no one had died during the battle in the Department of Mysteries, and I'd managed to off Voldemort once and for all.
Of course, my saving the world didn't gain me any favors – I got shipped right back to the Dursleys' like I had been every year, with the knowledge of the Prophecy my only consolation prize.
Because I was isolated again this summer, I received little to no news about the Wizarding world. This caused me to miss out on a colossal chunk of information that, had I known about it earlier, could have prevented the sorry mess that I'm in now.
Not long after school let out for the summer hols, Draco Malfoy came into his Veela heritage, which -- although it was several generations diluted -- was prominent enough to cause his magic to acknowledge the need for a mate. That would not have been much of a concern to anyone, except that apparently without their mate to complete them a Veela's magic will turn against them and, eventually, kill them.
This, of course, is only concerning if you are part Veela, and only then if your mate either cannot or will not accept your overtures. Instances in which the non-Veela 'mate' refuses to acknowledge that they have been chosen are rare – in the Wizarding world being the chosen match to any non-human species is considered an honor. Rejecting this so-called 'honor' is heavily frowned upon -- especially where Veela are concerned, since they truly cannot survive without a mate. However, if Fate likes you, you'll likely never have to worry about such things.
Fate does not like me. In fact, Fate hates me and delights in pissing on me at every available opportunity, and this stream of karmic excrete was abundant enough to shower in.
To say that I don't like Draco Malfoy would be akin to saying that the Sun might be hot. I loathe Draco Malfoy and everything he stands for with all the burning intensity of a thousand Suns. I do not even hate Voldemort as much as I hate him, and Voldemort murdered my parents and inadvertently condemned me to a life of abuse, subservience, and malnutrition.
For all the woe the Dark Bastard has wrought upon me, at least he hasn't stalked me in an effort to make me come unhinged nearly every day for the last five years.
He might be evil, but unlike Draco Malfoy, Voldemort is actually rather courteous. After all, he would never stoop so low as to bribe or blackmail my friends into force-feeding me Amorentia just so that he could get his way. After all, it's not really a victory if it was won underhandedly. Only sniveling cowards resort to drugging their adversaries and that is only because they are not skilled enough to win without cheating.
Unfortunately, Malfoy and Snape are sniveling cowards, and they will take a win any way that they know how.
Which brings us to where I am now – that is, locked in a heavily warded room without a wand, clothing, or any means of communication, fighting the combined effects of Amorentia, a Befuddlement Draught, and the Imperious curse.
How it is that no one has come looking for me yet I have no idea. One would think –
I hurriedly stuffed the parchment back into its hiding place. They can't take this from me, not this; these few bits of charred parchment are all the freedom I have left.
I swear when I get out of here I'll –
"Open up Potter."
I turned my head away from the vial and hid my face in the pillows. It was futile, I know, but I felt as though if I didn't show defiance somehow then when I finally managed to escape (and I would, have no doubt about that) they would be able to say that I had given consent, which is so far from the truth that it is laughable. I would never consent to sex with Malfoy – or any other entity carrying a pair of XY chromosomes for that matter. I am neither homosexual nor bisexual, and I am not in the least bit curious about homogenous sexual relationships.
A hand grabbed my hair, rough nails digging into my scalp as I clamped my mouth shut in an effort to stave off the inevitable. I was probably bleeding, but neither of them would care.
There are only three individuals in the world who care if I am hurt or bleeding. I am one of them. The others are my godfather, Sirius, who must be going mad with worry trying to find m, and a house-elf named Dobby.
If only those treacherous bastards hadn't killed Hedwig, I would be rescued by now.
Yes, I will definitely kill them after I escape from here.
"Imperio!"
It was only for a brief moment that my will was not my own, but that moment was all they needed. I felt myself swallowing the horrid potion, and then my mind was cloaked with a potion-induced obsession that ruthlessly suppressed my conscience and free-will, making me a prisoner in my own body.
A door opened and closed, and I knew the worst was upon me.
In my innermost mind, where I was still aware enough to know the truth of what was happening, I replayed the memory of my eleventh birthday.
"Who's there? I warn you – I'm armed!"
The door was hit with such a force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.
A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair…
"Yeah… Yeah… That's right Potter, take it. Take it."
"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…" He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen fear.
"Budge up, yeh great lump."
Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon…
"…like it? Do you? Tell me you like it."
"Ah, shut up Dursley, yeh great prune." He reached over the back of the sofa , jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot just as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.
"Anyway – Harry, a very Happy Birthday to yeh."
"Good… so good."
"Harry – yer a wizard."
"Potter… Potter…"
"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!"
Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head. "NEVER INSULT ALBUS DUMBLEDORE IN FRONT OF ME!"
He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley – there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom , howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, there was a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers...
And Malfoy came – I knew this because I could feel his filth invading me.
It is times like these that make me deliriously happy that I live in an age where bathing and indoor plumbing are the norm.
"I'm going to send an elf in with some food for you. You need to eat more, Potter. You're far too thin."
And then he was gone, and I was alone once more.
Thank god for small miracles.
"Iggy be's bringing young Master's mate some food. Is yous wanting anything else?"
I looked at the elf. Jackpot.
"I'd like a razor -- and some shaving cream if you have it. If not I'll make do with what I have."
"Iggy be's bringing it right away!"
After my bath – which I took in scalding hot water – I disassembled the razor and hid the blade in my pillowcase.
You never know when you'll need a sharp object.
After several failed attempts at chronicling my story, I gave writing up as a bad job and decided to sleep. I would need my strength for whatever was to come next, of that I was sure.
The next time that Malfoy made an appearance, the potion had just begun to wear off. He raped me again, and just like last time I replayed the memory of my birthday.
"Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of key and Grounds at Hogwarts..."
"A wizard o' course – an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit…"
"Potter…"
"A Muggle, it's what we call nonmagic folk like them…"
"Potter…"
... curly pig tail poking through Dudley's trousers…
"Bloody hell! Bloody fucking--"
"Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left to do…"
And again with the filth.
It'll be all over soon. Breathe, don't forget to breathe. Curiously, I was more aware this time than I had been the last time. Either the potion he'd fed me wasn't quite perfect, or I had begun to develop a tolerance to it.
Either way, once he was finished I whipped out my razor slit his throat. Or at least, I tried to slit his throat. The ferret was fast, and I only managed to wound him enough to slow him down. While Malfoy clutched at his throat, I flew into action – breaking his nose and stealing his wand while he was still disoriented.
"Stupefy! Incarcerous!"
One can never be too careful, after all.
Mindful that Snape might be lurking around somewhere, I threw on Malfoy's clothes, grabbed my pillowcase, and threw open the window. The wards were weakest here and I easily gained passage by saturating a corner of the pillowcase with Malfoy's blood. Once cushioning charm later and I was out of the window, across the lawn, and free.
I swear I've never been so happy to see grass in my life.
I ran as fast as my legs could carry me to the nearest road, stuck out my wand arm, and was aboard the Knight Bus before Stan could get a greeting out.
"Diagon Alley," I wheezed, shoving the entire contents of Malfoy's pockets into his hand, "and make it quick!"
"Sure thing Harry," Stan said, eyes widening at the amount I'd given him. "You hear that Ern? Harry Potter needs to get to Diagon now!"
"Aye I heard ya! Next stop, Diagon Alley!"
The bus was off with a bang, and for the first time in my life I was glad to be famous.
I don't care that Malfoy wants me for his 'mate'. I don't want it, and I never did. He can die for all I care. Just roll over and croak.
After having Dobby retrieve my belongings and contacting Sirius, I made a large withdraw from my trust account and met Sirius at Number Twelve.
"You really want to do this?" he asked. "You really want to leave everything behind?"
"Snape helped Malfoy rape me, Ron and Hermione betrayed me, and Dumbledore no longer has a use for me. I won't subject myself to this – this farce of a life any longer. I can't – I feel like maiming something just thinking about staying."
Sirius was quiet for a long moment, then, with a decisive nod came to a decision.
"If you're going, I'm coming too. After all, you are still a minor. Besides, I might find myself a nice bird to settle down with."
I smiled.
Same old Sirius.