Oblivion
Prologue
It was a warm morning in Surrey, and the residents of Privet Drive were out in their throngs making the most of the glorious sunshine. Hundreds of identical semi-detached houses were silent as their owners held picnics in the nearby fields or cycled along the river path.
To the outside eye, the suburb appeared idyllic. The people who lived there knew better. Appearances meant everything to the population of Little Whinging. Certainly they would enjoy the sunshine and lay out their tartan picnic blankets while people were watching.
They would smile at each other and give an amicable greeting along with a little "Isn't the weather just wonderful?". But as soon as they were out of earshot they would turn to their husbands, wives or friends and continue "I heard she and Jeremy are having awful arguments again – no wonder with how frumpy she's looking these days, I don't know how he can stand her" and their companions would laugh and agree, probing for further details.
Yes, although Little Whinging seemed every bit the lovely English suburb, it was a place in which people would only really look out for themselves.
For this reason, no-one had ever thought much about the skinny 15 year old boy often seen pulling weeds in the Dursley's front garden. He was there now, while the Dursleys were at a BBQ with one of the neighbours.
Although Harry Potter was glad to be able to experience the sunshine, the excitement had worn off several hours ago as his muscles had begun to ache with the effort of repetitive weeding. He was on his hands and knees, dirt all over his large hand-me-down shirt and jeans and a jagged cut on his arm where a thorn had viciously spiked him half an hour earlier.
Today was the 31st August and Harry would be going back to Hogwarts tomorrow.
His eyes were void of any emotion, and had large bags beneath them as though he hadn't been sleeping well. His body was slightly emaciated, and his cheek bones sharp, giving him a slightly crazed appearance.
He had been back at number 4 Privet Drive for over a month and in the time had clung desperately to letters from his friends as a refuge from the wrath of his Uncle Vernon.
He had realised this summer would be particularly bad when he had woken up one night screaming Cedric Diggory's name, still seeing the Graveyard for minutes after he was awake. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who had awoken and his Uncle Vernon had slammed his bedroom door open, a murderous gleam in his tired eyes.
"WHAT THE DEVIL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, BOY?" Vernon had shouted, purple in the face as he'd stormed over raising his fist.
"THINK THAT YOU CAN DISTURB US AT NIGHT TOO, DO YOU? IT'S BAD ENOUGH HAVING TO LOOK AT YOUR FREAKY FACE DURING THE DAY!"
Harry had cowered back, terrified, and Vernon had brought his fist crashing into Harry's stomach. The force of it caused all the wind to leave Harry, and he suddenly felt incapable of movement, unable to defend himself.
Vernon beat Harry again and again, careful to avoid the boy's face so that none of the neighbours would see. In the end he had leaned close to Harry, his breath rustling Harry's hair and whispered
"If you EVER wake me up again I'll show you how terrifying night time can really be". Spitting in the boy's face, Uncle Vernon had stormed out, bolting the bedroom door behind him.
Unfortunately for Harry, he had not been able to stop the nightmares and dreamed of the graveyard almost every night. Again and again he woke screaming, sweat covering his body and tears streaming down his face. Again and again, Uncle Vernon would storm into his room in a fit of rage and beat him.
But that wasn't all. Uncle Vernon had truly meant what he had whispered on that first night. The next time Harry had woken him, he had unhooked his belt and whipped the boy with it.
He then proceeded to pull his trousers down and had violated Harry in the most awful way. Harry had been absolutely frozen, in shock at what was happening as Vernon gyrated again his behind, grunting with effort and finally ejaculating inside Harry.
After that, it happened almost every night. Not once did Harry utter a sound or defend himself. He felt helplessly broken, disgusted with himself and ashamed of what was happening. He had briefly considered sending a letter to Sirius begging for help but he couldn't face the disappointment that he knew his godfather would show him. No, this was something he would never confide in with anyone. It was too embarrassing, too exposing.
As the sun began its journey down towards the horizon, Harry stood and looked around the garden. Satisfied that he had managed to pull up all of the weeds he turned to head indoors.
"Harry dear, how are you?"
Harry spun around at lightning speed upon hearing his name, but it was only Mrs Figg, the Dursley's elderly neighbour who had a penchant for cats and knitwear.
She was gazing at him with a shrewd expression.
Harry quickly replied "Oh, hello Mrs Figg. I'm well thank you, just heading inside now"
He hoped this would be enough so that she would continue on home, but she was still gazing at him with that same odd expression
"Are you quite well dear? You're looking awfully thin" she asked enquiringly.
"Erm- yeah, I've just been a bit ill…" Harry trailed off as she nodded her head understandingly
"Well make sure you eat a healthy dinner boy, you look like a gust of wind might blow you over. You are always welcome at my house if you'd like some tea and cake" she gave him a small smile and hobbled on towards Wisteria Walk.
Harry watched her go, then spun around and hurried inside. Truthfully he had hardly eaten since being back for the summer. He had found he didn't have much appetite – something he suspected may correlate with the number of bruises and cuts on his back.
'I just have to make it through one more night, then I can go back to Hogwarts' Harry thought to himself, as he went into the kitchen to prepare dinner for the Dursleys.