Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Warnings: Rape.

Feathers and Fireballs

Chapter One

He was such an idiot! Harry knew that he should have been expecting the ambush, especially given the visions he'd had. Of course if Voldemort had been sending him false visions of Sirius, then he would know that Harry would be visiting the Department of Mysteries.

But Harry, like an idiot, had dropped his guard when he'd realized that Sirius wasn't actually being held captive, and the Death Eaters had gotten the best of him. Now he had to try and get his friends, who'd never really properly been in a battle before, out of the Department before they were killed. He didn't know if he could manage it, but he was determined to give it his best shot.

What followed was a frantic nightmare, and Harry wasn't all that surprised when things got destroyed in the ensuing battle. One of those things, a strange vial of something silvery that wasn't quite the same shade or consistency of a Pensieve memory but was close, splashed all over Harry when it shattered from a curse. It was shockingly cold, cold enough to take his breath away.

Harry jerked away from the sensation, and managed to knock into the shelf on the opposite side of the aisle. Another vial of something red shattered and splashed all over him as well, and Harry winced and hoped that there was nothing in them that was actually dangerous to him even as the red potion burned his skin. The last thing he needed was to be poisoned.

Then Sirius happened, and his attempted duel with Voldemort, and the Headmaster told him about the prophecy. By the time Harry reached Madam Pomfrey, whatever had splashed him had soaked into his robes, dried, and no longer pained him, and Harry didn't even really remember being splashed at all.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry woke on midnight of July 31st, his scar burning terribly. His eyes shot open and he lifted a shaky hand to check it, but his hand came away clean. Then the heat began to bloom from his scar to encompass first his head, and then his entire body as he writhed in agony on the thin mattress.

Harry screamed. He was burning up! He twisted on the bed, drenched in sweat, unable to cool off, caught in a miasma of pain. He was going to die, he had to. Nobody could live through pain like this. Was it a curse? Had Voldemort done something? All Harry knew was that the heat was so intense that he was certain that this was it. This was going to be the end of him.

"Stop that screaming!" The bellow came from his uncle, who had burst into the room at some point.

Harry tried to quiet himself, but he couldn't. The pain was so intense and he had no idea what was causing it. It was worse than the Cruciatus Curse, worse than the Blood Quill Umbridge had used on him last year.

A sharp, stinging slap to his face didn't help matters, nor did Uncle Vernon screaming something unintelligible into his face.

And then, as suddenly as it all started, it just stopped. Harry's body began to cool and he lay on the bed, soaked in his own sweat, panting. His uncle was on the bed on top of him, glaring down at him, his nostrils flaring out with every breath.

"Well now," his uncle breathed, his voice softening. "There's something different about you, boy." He leaned in so that Harry could smell his breath, putrid and disgusting. Harry tried to jerk back, but he couldn't actually get away. There was nowhere to go, after all. They were on the bed, and Harry wasn't strong enough to physically fight the massive man. Uncle Vernon then reached down and ran a finger over Harry's cheek in what was probably the first gentle touch Harry had ever received from a Dursley.

It made Harry's skin crawl. "Wh-what are you doing?" he choked out, his voice hoarse from his earlier screams. "D-d-don't touch me." He tried to jerk his head away, but Uncle Vernon followed the movement to lay a more firm hand on Harry's skin.

"You've done something strange to yourself with your freakish magic, haven't you?" Vernon was almost absently petting him now, his gaze gone vague and distant.

"I haven't," Harry said quickly. He wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't strong enough to physically move his uncle, he knew that. Vernon was so much bigger and heavier than him that it would be impossible. He didn't have his wand on him, and furthermore to do magic would get him thrown out of Hogwarts. He was well and truly defenseless.

"Oh yes, boy, I think you have," Vernon almost crooned. He leaned down then and kissed Harry, wet and slobbering and disgusting. "You with your filthy magic, you must have done something, because you're almost beautiful right now," he said when he pulled back.

Harry panicked and started to struggle. "Get off of me!" he shouted, shoving ineffectively at his uncle's bulk. He struggled harder when he felt something hard poking at his leg where nothing hard belonged. Oh no. This wasn't happening. It just… it wasn't happening!

"I'm going to teach you why your magic is such a terrible thing," Vernon said dreamily, like he was lost in a daze.

Harry screamed, and was relieved when he heard the door open again. He hoped that it was his Aunt, that she would do something about this. Surely she wouldn't let Vernon do… this to him.

"Dad, what are you doing to the… oh," Dudley cut off and let out a breathy moan.

Harry panicked and started to try even harder to get away, but all he did was manage to rip some of his clothes when Vernon's hand closed around his shirt and Harry tried to jerk away. "Please don't," Harry begged, but it had no effect.

He realized then that getting away wasn't going to happen, especially when he felt another set of hands on his legs. Harry gave up, closed his eyes, and went limp. He went away, someplace else, someplace where Vernon and Dudley weren't… weren't doing that to him.

When he came back to himself, the room was oddly silent and filled with the smell of something burning. The sun was high, judging by the level of light, and Harry was in a great deal of pain. He'd bled, judging by the red that stained his sheets when he slipped out of bed, and his legs gave out from under him. There was something…

Harry let out a shocked cry and scrambled back, heedless of the pain. There was a corpse on the floor by his bed, burnt down until it was just the skeleton left, the bones of which were still burning ever so slightly. That was doubtlessly what he'd smelled burning.

Harry forced himself to his feet and stumbled around the bed, only to freeze at the sight of another, smaller skeleton, still smoking. Harry shuddered at the sight. What had happened? Had someone attacked while they'd been… while they'd been on him? The amount of pain he was in made it clear that they'd succeeded in their goals, but what had happened after that? Why were Vernon and Dudley dead?

They must have been attacked by something, though Harry couldn't imagine what. No magical creature that he knew of could breathe fire other than dragons, and that wouldn't explain the black feathers that surrounded the corpses and littered the bed.

Harry staggered to the door and out into the hallway, thoughts of feathers and fire and magical creatures and hurt and blood tumbling chaotically in his head. He found Aunt Petunia staring at him from just outside. "Aunt Petunia," he started, his voice trembling.

"You killed them, you wretched freak!" she shrieked, and flung something at his head. A paperweight, maybe, Harry wasn't sure. He ducked it and staggered back into his room.

"I… I couldn't have, Aunt Petunia, please, they were-"

She didn't listen to his attempted protest. "You think I don't know what they were doing to you?" She followed him into the room and flung something else at him.

This time it hit, mostly because Harry was too shocked to dodge. It struck him in the cheek and he fell to the ground, clutching at the already-bruising spot.

He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when she started in on him again. "You freak, they were just getting some repayment for all that we've given you over the years! And you… My poor Dudders," she said, and backed out of the room.

"They hurt me!" Harry shouted after her, his voice breaking on last word. He didn't want to think about what they'd done, about how they'd… how they'd assaulted him. It hurt, and he was tired and confused and terrified and he felt like he would never be clean again. Maybe he wouldn't.

"It doesn't matter, freak! You're a murderer," Petunia shrieked back. "And I'll see you locked away in that wizarding prison for this!" She slammed the door on him and Harry heard her stalking away.

Azkaban. She was going to try and get him sent to Azkaban. "No," Harry breathed. He couldn't… the dementors… he'd go mad, it wouldn't take long at all. It wasn't like he had many happy memories, after all.

"The Headmaster won't let that happen," he told himself, his voice shaking. Even in his frightened state, he knew that the Headmaster wouldn't let Harry be locked away.

Won't he? a tiny voice in the back of his mind asked. How will he stop them? You may have killed two people this time, and it wasn't even like you were defending anyone. You almost got expelled for just casting a Patronus last year. Do you think things have changed that much? It's not like he ever protected you from Umbridge or anything.

Harry rubbed at the scar on the back of his hand. He couldn't… he couldn't count on Dumbledore to protect him, not when he still didn't know what happened. And he couldn't risk Azkaban. The thought of being stuck with dementors, all day, every day, for the foreseeable future? No, Harry couldn't handle that.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. He couldn't stay here and wait for answers while hoping for the best, that much was clear. He was out of options.

Harry opened Hedwig's cage and his owl hooted and fluttered nervously at him. "It's okay," he breathed to her, knowing what he had to do. "It's fine. Listen, girl, I need to go," he said, his voice breaking on the last word. He couldn't stop himself from crying a little as he continued with, "Go to Ron for me, okay? Stay with him. He'll take care of you." He stroked her snowy breast, then stepped away.

Hedwig flew to his shoulder and let out a reprimanding hoot. It was clear that his owl wasn't planning on going anywhere.

Harry tried to push her off, but gently since he didn't want to hurt her. "I can't take care of you," Harry tried. "I don't know where I'll be staying, it could be on the streets!"

His owl didn't respond to that, just nibbled lightly on a strand of his hair and refused to be moved from her perch.

Harry surrendered, and instead focused on cleaning up a bit, using the cleanest bits of the sheet that he could fine. Once he was a bit more presentable, he tugged on some of his best Muggle clothes, then tested the door.

The locks the Dursleys normally kept on it had clearly not withstood his uncle slamming the door open last night, or maybe Aunt Petunia had forgotten to lock him in. Either way, the door was open. Harry crept out of the room and down the stairs, only to find that Aunt Petunia had apparently left. Maybe she'd gone to Mrs. Figg's house to get in contact with the Aurors. It didn't matter, and Harry knew he didn't have much time to try and figure it out.

He opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs and grabbed his photo album, his Invisibility Cloak, and his money purse. Everything else, he left. He couldn't take it all with him, not and run away successfully.

And he'd have to be smart this time, not like the summer before his third year. He couldn't run to Diagon Alley first thing; he'd have to wait for the search for him to die down. He just hoped that he could manage in the Muggle world until it did. Harry slipped on his Cloak and left #4 Privet Drive for what would probably be the last time.

It wasn't like Petunia would ever take him back after this, and that was assuming that Harry managed to avoid Azkaban.