Darkly Dreaming
Summary
Upon receiving his Hogwarts letter, Harry is enchanted with both the dark grace of the Slytherins, and the enduring bravery of the Gryffindors. Which will he choose? Abused!Dark!Harry. AU.
Chapter One
Harry reached out to the gleaming silver tray for a cookie, and missed, knocking his tall glass of milk over the edge of the table. The glass exploded when it hit the kitchen floor, spraying glass shards and frothy white milk everywhere. Harry jumped back in his seat and threw his hands over his face, knowing he was going to get hit, and knowing there was nowhere he could hide.
"I'm sorry," Harry cried, but it was too late.
The damage was done. Uncle Vernon hated spills, and he especially hated it when the cups smashed. Harry heard the crunch of glass beneath Uncle Vernon's feet as he stood up and dragged Harry up to a standing position by his elbow. Harry let his quivering arms down and reluctantly opened his face up for his uncle, his eyes closed and his head tilted up as if he were basking in warm sunlight.
Uncle Vernon's hand shot out like a snake descending on its prey and slapped Harry hard, the loud crack of a large man's hand on a child's cheek echoing through the kitchen. Harry gasped and turned his face to his uncle again, waiting for the next. He wasn't disappointed. Uncle Vernon pulled his arm back and delivered a stinging roundhouse punch, making Harry stagger back a few steps.
And then it was over. Uncle Vernon returned to his seat without a sound and sat down, calming sipping his afternoon tea with his wife and son. A thick silent hung in the air as Harry trembled and fell to his knees to sweep the glass shards away with a small broom. His fingers shook as they picked at the pieces. Harry's face throbbed, but something else hurt too. There was something deeply humiliating about getting beat in front of your family, only to have to bend down and pick up the broken pieces while they sat around in a circle drinking tea and eating scones.
Harry returned to his seat after sweeping and sullenly stared down at the grainy table, willing himself not to touch his fresh bruises. After a minute of tracing the grooves in the breakfast table, Harry looked up at the faces of his family.
Uncle Vernon reached out and clasped a beefy hand around Dudley's throat, and slammed him into the table. Scones and small sandwiches flew through the air and crumbled on the kitchen tiles as Dudley's terrible keening noises reached an inhuman volume. Aunt Petunia shrieked in the background, her freshly manicured nails raking bloody trails down her cheeks as she witnessed her son go blue in the face. Dudley went limp on the table, and Aunt Petunia reached out with a trembling hand to his still warm skin, before shrieking again and shaking his body back and forth, back and forth. He flopped like a dead fish, his glassy eyes staring mutely up at the ceiling.
Harry quickly blinked and cocked his head to the side. Aunt Petunia was listening attentively to Uncle Vernon's story as Dudley piled more butter cookies onto his small plate.
No blood. No dead fishes.
Back in his cupboard, Harry shivered at the images he saw. Whenever that happened, the events felt real. Not real as in, I had a dream. But real as in it actually happened. It used to disturb him, but not anymore. This wasn't the first time. They started two years back after Harry suffered through a particularly severe beating, convulsing on the floor as his body ached in places Uncle Vernon didn't even touch. Now, Harry stood to attention and received every blow in defeat, before retreating to a dark crevice of his mind where he saw the Dursleys die in various ways.
Harry thought that he probably needed to see a therapist. He knew all the beatings and the mistreatment was getting inside his brain, like a virus that refused to leave. He wasn't stupid. He realized normal ten-year-olds got bikes for Christmas and received pats on the back for good work.
Not Harry, though. Never Harry.
---
Next Up: Harry gets his Hogwarts letter.
