-Chapter one-
-Broken-
AN:
I'm sorry the chapter isn't full length this as far as I was willing to extenrd it put of fare of the chapter intrrfaring with the remaining plot line.
Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun still rose on the same tidy front garden and lit up the same brass four on the Dursley's front door; it crept into their living-room, which was exactly the same as when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the pictures on the mantlepiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-coloured bobble hats - but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a roundabout at the fair, playing computer games with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign of another boy lived in the house, too.
Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Amongst with the lightning bolt shaped scar that had made him famous were dozens of other scars, cuts and bruises, that marked his body all over.
His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice which made the first noise of the day.
'Up! Get up! Now!'
Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again. 'UP!' She screeched. Harry heard her walking towards the kitchen.
He rolled onto his back, doing his best to avoid the painful sting that accompanied the scars from yesterday's punishment. He quickly learnt (one of the several lessons that his body afforded him) not to speak when facing his aunt and uncle, or the consequences would be dire. 'Slaves are to be seen, not heard' was his Uncle Vernon's first and foremost rule of the household.
'Are you up yet you filthy mongrel' I want you to cook breakfast. And don't you dare let any of it burn or else. I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday.'
Harry groaned internally. Dudley's birthday - how could he have forgotten?
As Harry was cooking, Dudley was counting his gifts with some difficulty, though when he had managed the difficult task his fell and his cheeks flushed in anger.
'Thirty-six' he said looking up dangerously at his mother and father
'Darling, you haven't counted aunty marge's present, see, it's under here under the big one from mummy and daddy.'
'Alright Thirty-Seven then.' It was obvious that Dudley was preparing to put on a tantrum.
Unfortunately, distracted by the events unfolding, it wasn't long before Harry managed exactly what he wished dearly not to do, burn the bacon, toast and eggs.
Seeing this, Uncle Vernon's face turned a bright scarlet purple. That's right. Not red, but purple. His breathing ragged with rage. Indifferent to the burn marks that had appeared on his nephew's arms.
It was at that moment that Harry knew, it wouldn't be just burns that would be added to the ever growing collection that was his frail little body already carried.
By the time his punishment was over, Harry was ready to pass out. He didn't have the energy to react to the pain as the whip struck at his bare stomach for the 30th and final time. As Harry fell from his hanging position on the door, his Uncle painfully took hold as he threw Harry into his broom closet, Breaking every bone in his legs against the door and its frame.
That gave way with a sudden and very loud CRACK, as the wood broke at contact with Harry's bare legs, leaving numerous splinters stuck into it.
Harry couldn't feel the pain but could see how twisted and mangled his legs where. A pointed end of a bone struck through his flesh and skin.
Vernon stood glaring at the doorway. 'You are not leaving this house until you have paid your due!' He roared.
As the days passed, Harry initially found the situation to be an improvement. However, as life wore on Harry became weaker and thinner. By the end of the month, he became dangerously malnourished, and found himself scarcely able to crawl onto his bed to sleep.
Before this punishment, Harry had least gotten a little food, some bread and water, or whatever was left of Dudley's dinner, provided there was any. Occasions where the whale left any food on his plate were few and far between
By August the first 1991, Harry was close to death and barely able to move himself. His aunt would only bring him meager scraps of food and a glass of water once a day. This was definitely insufficient for a growing eleven year old, let alone a heavily abused, malnourished one.
Thus the stern looking woman wearing an emerald green cloak and spectacles standing outside the doorway of Number Four Privet Drive was practically a godsend to little Harry.
The doorbell rung, the sound travelling across the hallway into the upstairs bedrooms. Where Mr. Dursley, clad in mere bath dark red bath robes, made his way downstairs and answered the door indignantly. Seeing the woman, he stared at august. He then looked back at the clock on the wall nearby, the time that read 7:30 am. He went completely red in the face 'Who in the blazes are you madam!? Do you have any idea what time it is!' The women standing at the door remained stoic, her lips thinning, her cheeks flushed in anger.
'The time of the day is the least of your concerns, Mr. Dursley.!' she exclaimed, her tone now very cross, leaving Petunia Dursley shifting from foot to foot nervously behind her husband.
'I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry I'm here to take legal custody of Harry James Potter, whom I know is in residence here, He won't be party to any more of your abuse!'
She continued, forcing her way into the household, closing the door behind. 'I won't be having any more dealings with your kind freak! I ask you to remove yourself from my home immediately, there is no Potter in residence here!" Vernon replied hotly.
Before the argument could continue, a faint muffled thump could be heard from the broom closet under the stairs. Followed by the rasping of fingers clawing away at wood.
Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Pushing through the Dursleys, she used a quick S shaped swish of her wand, and all the locks that were on the door, unlocked with a uniform
Click.
Opening the door, she gasped, face paling rapidly. On the floor, she found an unconscious Harry Potter, covered in bruises and burns. Tears formed in the witch's eyes as she muttered 'how could I have let this happen'
The extremely anxious elder Dursleys were sent to the living room post haste and then precious little Duddy was woken up and sent in with them.
Meanwhile Prof. McGonagall sent for help from Saint Mungo's Hospital in downtown London.
It wasn't long before the Healers came to take Harry away, along with outraged social workers and Aurors from the Ministry of Magic, who quickly made their way to the Dursleys.
'Vernon Higgs Dursley and Petunia Evans Dursley. I, Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, hereby place you under arrest for the following charges committed against one Harry James Potter.
You have been accused of Child Abuse, Assault, and Slavery.
You have the right to remain silent, Anything you say might and will be used against you.'
After a minute, Vernon had found his voice 'We do not answer to the likes of you!'
It was evident that Shacklebolt had dealt with the likes of Mr. Dursley before, if his answer was anything to go by. 'There are many other charges here. Many of which the Muggle legal system would happy to arrest you for, but unfortunately for you, you have also committed charges against the Ministry of Magic, so I would advise that you shut your mouth, lest you get into even more trouble than you already are in.
Or should I add assaulting an Auror to your charges?'
Vernon whimpered, and muttered a faint and nervous, 'Mimblewimble.'
Elsewhere in the household, the team of Healers from St. Mungo's Hospital were working furiously to keep Harry alive and stable. 'Reading severe malnutrition, multiple bone fractures and breaks. Multiple burns and mild concussion. Preparing for transportation, prepare room for surgery immediately!'
That was the last thing Harry heard before his world faded to black.
When he woke, unfamiliar faces crowded around him, and he found that he had left the house for the first time in his life. Then, he slept. Later when he woke again, he realised he was in a strange room, on something that that felt soothing against his back, surrounded by people. The world blurred before his eyes and he suddenly felt pain, so much pain. He shuddered once, and was still, not to awaken for several weeks
He was faintly aware of voices, and images being spoken in his mind
A small girl with bushy brown hair, warm chocolate brown eyes, pale skin, and buck teeth ran up to the front door of a household from her bedroom, opening it. On the other side stood a familiar woman, the one who had saved him.
She was carrying an envelope in her hands.
'Hello young one,' the women greeted with a warm smile on her lips. 'I wish to speak to your parents, I assume one of them is at home.'
The bushy haired girl nodded nervously, a warm red blush appearing on her cheeks, as a middle aged women appeared behind her daughter.
'Who is at the door honey, oh.'
'Good afternoon. Mrs. Granger, May I please come in? My name is Minerva McGonagall, There is much we need to discuss this evening concerning your daughters education.'
The mother figure nodded, her chocolate brown eyes filled with a growing nervousness as the elderly women spoke.
'Of course, please do, there is plenty of space in the living room. Is there anything I can get for you to drink.'
August 17th 1991 was the day Harry would wake up and become fully conscious. A full 17 days after he had been evacuated from the hospital.
Harry felt himself in a daze, and none of his surroundings were familiar. Was he still dreaming? Would he wake up in a few minutes and find out that it had all been some strange wonderful dream?
Sitting at his bedside is an elderly man who appeared very old, if the silver of his hair was any judge of that.
'Ah, It's very good to see you awake at last, Mr. Potter.'