A/N: If you read my last story, 'A Twist in My Story' then I'm sorry to tell you it is discontinued because I really don't like how I wrote it, so I'm starting this story. Yes, I'm sorry, I'm a perfectionist. Anyway, I've had this lot bunny running around in my head for a while, so maybe this one will work. I have no beta, so excuse my mistakes and remember the 3 R's: Read, Review, and Repeat with the next chapter.
Warning: Child abuse.
"We have to remember that no matter how much hardship we go through in our life, there is always going to be that fragile place in our heart." ~Angie Martinez
Chapter 1: A New Beginning
You never know what is good or bad when the world is so biased; you never know the truth. Truth and identifying lies is what helps us to determine what is good and bad, but you can't identify it without knowing both sides of each and every story. Now, this doesn't happen often, but when it does, the shadows of doubt, along with their rose-colored glasses, disappear. That's the most magical thing of all.
Harry Potter had always been an exception. From the moment his mother, Lily Potter, had been told her barren body was somehow pregnant, to the moment he survived a killing curse, there had always been something special about him…and that scared the Dursley's.
"Boy!" The large man with a mustache like the Lorax looked around, huffing with the strain that his anger and weight put on his heart.
"Yes, uncle Vernon?" The 'boy' in question was Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, and supposed savior of the wizarding world and he didn't look good. His eyes were drawn and dull, his hair was greasy, his clothes got baggier by the day, and there was a large knot on the side of his head.
"Didn't I say," He said dangerously. "To clean the oven after lunch?"
"I did, uncle." Sharp pain exploded in his mouth and Harry could swear he tasted blood.
"You didn't answer the bloody question!" Vernon bellowed, his foul face so close that Harry could smell his rancid breath.
"Yes." Harry whispered, eyes downcast. "You asked me to clean the oven after lunch, uncle."
"So, you thought I wouldn't notice this?" He help up an oven rack that was stained with grease and Harry swallowed hard, knowing where this was going.
"It's clean, uncle Vernon. I scrubbed it but the stain wouldn't come out!" Harry cried, uncaring of what was going to happen. Whatever it was, let it be known that he went down with a fight.
Blackness.
Whatever had happened next had either knocked him unconscious or had caused him to forget, but either way he had found himself locked in Dudley's second bedroom again with a puddle of dried blood surround his head and in his hair. Also new, his ankle felt as if it'd been shut in a door.
Holding on to the edge of the wobbly desk near him, he pulled himself up and took inventory of the damages. It seemed like a twisted ankle, possible concussion, and a few cuts and bruises on his torso were today's little present from his uncle.
'At this rate, I'll be dead before summer is over.' He thought bitterly. It had been 4 weeks since school had been out and Vernon had quickly started escalating in violence after hearing of Sirius' death, but Harry couldn't think of that now, not when there were so many important things to think of. He now knew the prophecy, the one in which he would be forced to murder Voldemort, but the thing was…he didn't want to kill the Dark Lord. Who would want to be a murderer? Well, Voldemort, of course, but Harry wished to do more with his life than be a tool in the war and to be abused by his family. He wanted to finish his education, fall in love, be a father, have his own garden, endlessly cook with new recipes instead of the repetitive foods the Dursley's ate, and maybe even open his own restaurant. 'Merlin, that would be the day.' Harry thought dreamily. But all dreams have to crash sometime.
Looking at the empty owl cage in front of him, he knew that most of his dreams wouldn't come true. Maybe none of them would, but at least he still had hope. He wasn't broken, not yet, though it was close. With every beating or scolding, Harry could feel another piece of him die. Soon, there would be nothing left thus, he surmised, he would be dead before summers end. His one reprieve from this hell he's living would be his dreams. In his dreams the Dursley's, Dumbledore, Voldemort, and his friends couldn't hurt him.
The Dursley's obviously hurt him both physically and emotionally, but so did Dumbledore by putting him with the Dursley's, making him stay there, controlling him, using him, and manipulating him. Voldemort, too, had obviously hurt him through murdering his parents and trying to kill him, though if Harry was truthful, he kind of had it coming. After all, in first year Harry had chased after him, not the other way around. Voldemort had even offered for Harry to join him! In second year, that had been a different story, though Harry had once again sought out trouble. The next time Harry had met Voldemort, the man had chased after him this time, but merely to regain a body with Harry's blood. Though he had tried to duel with Harry, he hadn't been actively trying to kill Harry or else he'd have ended up like Cedric. This past year was the same, except this time the man had wanted the Prophecy, to which he technically had a right to because it was about him and Harry. Besides that, Harry's friends hadn't made life any easier. Not sending post, provoking his temper, getting jealous of him, using him as a messenger when the two fought, and berating him constantly made him honestly ready to rip hair out.
Sometimes he just wanted silence. Was it too much to ask for? Maybe it is, but even so, Harry thought he deserved it. Silence didn't have to be just what you hear, it could be the silence of understanding; just looking at each other and having a conversation without words. Now that is magic and Harry craved it like a middle-aged woman craved youth.
"Freak!" A high-pitched screech broke his beloved silence. "If you are still alive, you had better not let this go to waste or you won't be alive long!" His aunt threatened and Harry knew she was serious. A can of soup was slid through the dull, gray cat flap on the bottom on the door.
"Thank you, aunt Petunia." He said quietly, hearing her disappointed sigh.
"Too bad." The muffled mutter almost made Harry sigh, but he would hold it in as long as his aunt might be in hearing range.
Eating the cold chicken broth, Harry longed for the delicious Hogwarts feasts and the overall warmth of the castle. Sometimes he practically begged God or whatever deity was out there for a warm, comfortable bed and clean clothes. A warm bath would be something almost worth killing for at this point, too. He had only had one shower since his arrival from Hogwarts and he hated being so disgusting, he truly did. After a life of cleaning how could he not? But for now it didn't matter. All he had to do right now was heal, he could focus on more later…if it came.
But for now he would shake those thoughts and sleep. If it was his only escape, he wanted to do it as much as possible. Crawling into the small, broken bed, Harry positioned his equally broken body into a relatively good position and, despite the pounding in his skull that told him he had a concussion, fell straight to sleep.
BOOM!
Harry startled violently as the door to the room flew off its hinges and into the wall, missing him by inches. Horrified and not a little bewildered, he looked at the unobscured door way and felt his heart stutter to a stop. Three men hovered in the door way, cloaks as black as night and silver masks covering their faces. Death Eaters, his mind supplied, but the Death Eaters must be just as surprised, because they were just standing there. Harry half wished they would actually move, if only to show him what fate had planned for him. Finally snapping out of their daze, the first Death Eater moved forward and grabbed Harry's arm harshly while the others summoned his wand, though they must have been surprised when it flew up from under the floor because the man, probably Snape if Harry guessed right, gasped.
"Get yourself under control, we're here to do a job, now let us get back." The Death Eater holding him spoke, his tone commanding. It was obviously Lucius Malfoy, Harry would've known even without hearing his voice because the platinum blond hair was a dead giveaway.
"The muggles?" The third, unidentified man asked.
"Kill them." Lucius commanded. Was it bad Harry didn't feel remorse? Well, he supposed, they had it coming.
Harry was bound and gagged after that but he made no struggle, he just kept his head down and made sure not to challenge them. Death Eaters didn't take well to challenges, he'd learned during the debacle at the Ministry. He continued not to struggle as they pushed and dragged him quickly into the street, Lucius pulled him closely as there were loud cracks echoing in the street and the last thing he saw was Dumbledore's face before being squeezed into what felt like a tube one second, and being deposited in front of what he assumed to be Malfoy Manor the next second. As soon as they landed, Harry fell to his knees, feeling sick to his stomach and tried to hold down the disgusting bile threatening to rise and expel itself, but considering his current state of being gagged he just couldn't let it out.
"Aw, poor Potter, his first apperation!" Lucius sneered with a sickening sweet voice. The other Death Eaters burst into mocking laughter and Harry refused to let the stinging tears fall.
Suddenly all the Death Eaters hissed and held their forearms tightly, picking him up and walking him into the manner. He was hurried into the throne so fast that he didn't get to enjoy or admire the décor of the illustrious home, filled with gaudy works of art and marble floors. He did, however, get to look over the throne room while the Death Eaters bowed to their master. Large, white columns of three stood on each side of the room that was shaped like a rectangle. The focal point of the room was a huge, velvet chair that was lined with gold and was a masterpiece all itself, but behind it was a large window that showed off the beautiful landscape in a not so subtle attempt to show off. The man sitting on the room was what took most of the attention in the room, though.
Lord Voldemort was pale as snow, his eyes as red as freshly spilt blood, and his face as handsome as the young man he used to be, minus the nose and hair. The Dark Lord had a powerful and strangely thrilling vibe to him that commanded the attention of all in the room, whether he was the Dark Lord or not.
"Potter." Voldemort acknowledged him with a nod, then turned to his Death Eaters. "Take him to the dungeons, it is late. Go to sleep, you have all done well and shall receive rewards for this job in the morning when you report." Dismissing them quickly.
Harry was once again lead through the halls of the manor and couldn't help but think of Voldemort's behavior. Was he tired? It seemed impossible that Voldemort was so human considering his snake-like body and personality, but Harry figured it had to happen sometime and he was tired, too.
Harry could tell when they began to ascend to the dungeons because the smooth marble changed into dark cobblestone and the candles became fewer and fewer. Eventually Harry was lead into what looked to be a prison cell and was unbound, his gag taken off.
"Be good, Potter, and you may receive a good breakfast in the morning…and a shower, too." Lucius sniffed and turned on his heel.
Looking at the small cot, Harry had nearly cried in relief at the mention of a shower, even if there was a possibility it was cold. Laying down gently, Harry really did cry this time; the cot was soft! Before he could even think about it, he fell into a deep sleep that he desperately needed.
The next time he woke up, there was a House Elf in his face, making him jump back in surprise.
"Laney's sorry to scare you's Harry Potter, master has given orders to show you the bathroom and make sure you don't run." The elf said importantly and Harry smiled.
"It's okay, Laney, show me the bathroom, please." Harry said pleasantly.
"Okay!" The elf squeaked happily, grabbing Harry's arm and popping him into the bathroom. It was a very large bathroom with a bathtub the size of a swimming pool and the signature marble floor. In the corner of the bathroom stood a shower stall that looked like absolute heaven, turning to the elf he looked at it seriously.
"Am I allowed to use hot water, Laney?" The elf looked at him in confusion.
"Master said nothing about it but Laney will ask right now." Laney said, leaving with a crack. The elf popped back in a few short minutes later, eyes wet. "Y-yes, Harry Potter, You's may use the warm water. Master also said that there would be clothes waiting when you got out." With that, the elf disappeared.
Relaxing some, Harry peeled his clothes off, noticing that the cotton was sticking to his wounds. Turning on the shower, he let his tears fall. Everything he'd kept in for all this time burst from the dam, mixing with his pure joy and relief of having a shower. He didn't know how long he cried, nor did he care, but watching the water run black and red with dirt and blood made everything seem better.
Stepping out of the shower, Harry felt something warm in his chest realized that it was hope. Hope for something as simple as another warm shower, but it made life worth it. But the clothes…oh, god, they were beautiful. Pulling the plain black robes on he noticed that they fit almost exactly and he never felt better.
"Laney." He called and the House Elf apparated in immediately. "What did your master say I'm allowed to do now?"
"Master said for you to have breakfast in the dining hall, Harry Potter. 'Tis an honor!" Laney gushed excitedly, his ears flapping.
"Then take me there, please."
"As you wish!" The elf squeaked, taking Harry's arm and apparating them to the apparent dining hall. Harry froze at the eyes on him and Laney popped out.
"Er, hi?"
