Author's Notes: Hello! This is not the first Harry Potter fanfic I've written, no, I've written a great deal more, but this is the first one I've ever published, and it's not even the best, I think. I wrote the first chapter in about an hour, so it'll seem a little rushed. The story just jumped into my head and on a whim, I decided to post it. Please review. Thanks!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters, except the ones I create. They all belong to the wonderful JK Rolwing, and Bloomsbury and Scholastic. Even if you sue, you won't get anything--I'm dead broke!
Night, Harry felt, was the best time to reflect on all the things one has done wrong.
It hadn't been more than a week since Harry had returned to Privet Drive. He had had plenty of time to think about the recent events that had taken place; his flight to the Ministry of Magic in a vain attempt to rescue his godfather Sirius Black, he and his friends fighting of twelve Death Eaters and many of them getting wounded, his godfather falling through the Veil, chasing Bellatrix Lestrange, and being possessed by Lord Voldemort.
Just another day in the life of Harry Potter, Boy Wizard.
Harry sighed and rolled over on his bed, trying to clear his mind. Whenever he thought about all of those things, he either ended up with a massive headache or a deep feeling of despair and anger. It was almost too much to handle, even for Harry. He had gone through so much in his short, miserable life, and for what? To find out that he had to ultimately kill or be killed by Lord Voldemort, the most vile Dark Wizard of his time?
Bugger that, Harry thought.
The few instances when he was actually able to think clearly through what he seen and what he had been told (the prophecy included), Harry had come to the same conclusion every time. The source of all his misery, the reason he had to go through what he did since his parents died, the single most reason things had turned out the way they did, was because of one man.
Dumbledore.
Harry couldn't even think about the old man without bile rising in his throat. If it weren't for that old bastard, a lot of things wouldn't have happened. If he had let Sirius carry out his rights as a legal guardian, he more than likely wouldn't have gone to Azkaban for twelve years, leaving Harry at the Dursley's mercy. But no, Dumbledore had to deny Sirius, thus allowing him seek revenge on Peter Pettigrew, who in turn faked his own death and made it look as if Sirius had murdered him and twelve muggles, where he then was chucked into Azkaban without a trial.
So there was Harry, barely one year old and forced to live with relatives that hated him before he could even walk or talk. His life was made a hell just because he was different. Forced to live under the stairs in a cupboard until the age of eleven, forced to cook and clean and do whatever chores the Dursley's made him do, tormented daily by Dudley and his gang, verbally and even physically abused by his uncle, and berated by his aunt.
And why was Harry put through this torture? For the sake of blood charms that he doubted even worked anymore, seeing as how Voldemort had been resurrected with some of Harry's own blood. Year after year, Harry was forced to return to that hellhole, without even an explanation as to why.
Oh, but of course! Because jolly ol' Dumbledore said so.
Fucking prick, Harry thought.
Harry wondered if Dumbeldore even cared what happened to him when he was at Privet Drive. As long as Harry returned each year to Hogwarts alive, he seemed to have no problem sending Harry away every summer. Nevermind he always returned to Hogwarts malnourished and weak, nevermind he always seemed to dread his return to his "home", nevermind all of the bruises and scars he seemed to get over the holidays, just so long as he was alive Dumbledore didn't care. His weapon was alive, if a little battered, and still usable.
"Not anymore," Harry said to himself, swinging his feet over the bed and down on the floor. Harry had had enough of being used and manipulated. He was tired of being controlled and told that he was too young to be told what was going on with Voldemort. It was his right to know. And he was most assuredly tired of Dumbledore deciding what was best for him. Getting up from his old rickety bed (compliments of the oh so generous Dursleys'), Harry made his way to his wardrobe, pulling out all of his wearable clothes and hurriedly stuffing them into his school trunk. He also gathered all of his school things and dumped them ontop of his clothes. Slamming his trunk lid closed, Harry tugged on his beaten up and torn trainers, a hand-me-down black hoodie and baggy ripped jeans, and a black baseball cap. Carefully and quietly, Harry made his way down the stairs and out the door of Number 4 Privet Drive, with his trunk and a caged Hedwig in tow.
Harry stepped out into the cool night air and surveyed the boringly normal neighborhood for quite possibly the last time. He looked down towards Mrs. Figg's house, surrounded by cats, watching the quiet street like sentinels. Harry cast a glance at the Magnolia Crescent, where he had seen Sirius for the first time, even if it was in his Animagus form. Determination rose up in Harry as he thought about Sirius, determination like he had never experienced before. With his mind set, Harry Potter took a deep breath and stepped forward to an uncertain future.
When the sun rose over Surrey the next morning, and the Order made their daily check up, Harry Potter would be nowhere to be found.
Not the best first chapter, I admit, but I think it gets the main point across. I would like to say now I have only a slight idea as to where this story is going, so bare with me, please! Reviews are more than welcome and I take critisism pretty well. If I have made an error, please let me know. And I know, the title is kinda misleading and a little stupid, so I might change it. Any suggestions, just put it in your review.
Also, I have no beta at the present moment, if you'd like to help, just contact me at