In Finem Dolor
The Limit of Pain
Itami no Genkai
By Yubi . Inc
Humans. Humo superior. The pinnacle of evolution. A being that can think, remember, plan for the future and recognise what might happen from past experiences.
The human mind is an amazing thing. It can adapt and learn. It can plan. But like all living things it has a limit, a threshold wherein anything beyond it leads to self induced death. The ability to give up and will themself to die is a survival trait, a way to end unbearable suffering. Maybe it is nature's way of preventing rabid humans from destroying the balance that is life. Or maybe after so much torment when even madness isn't an escape, the soul just dies.
A living hell is where a person is subjected to continuous pain and suffering that seems to have no end in sight.
One man in his delusions of grandeur subjected a baby to such a life.
Little Harry Potter grew up surrounded be love and happiness. The people around him had everything they could want. Love was shared and affection passed around without question. Which is what makes his misery and circumstances to unspeakably horrible and heart breaking. The fact that it was his own flesh and blood that was so terribly cruel and uncaring towards him shattered the baby wizard. After all, Wizards however much they seem human are just that tiny it different. Nothing more than a single gene placed in a different order gave them the ability to change reality. Magical bonds, those between a baby Wizard and his blood family, designed to protect the child in question, were twisted. The pain of total rejection of his base existence cursed him to a half life.
He broke, piece by piece as the people responsible for raising him, caring for him used him. They abused his trust, battered his body, ensured that he knew what they thought of him. Freak, abomination, demon. His heart was broken by the time he was old enough to form coherent memories and thoughts, his will never had a chance to exist except in rare flickers that were never shown to the outside world. But his soul, his soul died just a little every day until something extraordinary happened.
Life is a forge for the instruments of fate. Every time you break, you are put back together, better and stronger. Had Harry been treated slightly better, he would have followed the old man's predictions perfectly. He would have been overjoyed by learning of the Wizarding World and so affection starved that he would have sacrificed himself for an ungrateful and scornful people, a Martyr.
Had he been treated well, he would have created marvels, an Artist of Beauty.
Had he never set foot in the house of his kin, he would have been a force of nature, unequalled for generations, the Second Coming of Merlin, Defeater of Darkness
But the instrument that came out of this forge was a blade, dark and covered with the blood of his enemies. A living weapon capable of untold destruction.
And the only reason that the Wizarding Race didn't die by an evil worse than their Darkest Wizard?
Was one little accident that occurred at exactly the right time.