Disclaimer: Once again, I own absolutely nothing of Harry Potter, though the plot does happen to be mine.
Chapter 2: And So It Begins (Again)
Harry awoke slowly, his mind groggy. For a long moment, he couldn't remember anything… and then the memories came. A flood of thoughts and images that encompassed his seventeen years of life on Earth. He kept his eyes closed and waited for the tide to slow.
Random memories bombarded him. Being locked in the cupboard at three years old. Dudley beating the snot out of him when he was five. Aunt Marge's bull dog chasing him up a tree at age seven. The trip to the zoo just before his first year. Hagrid taking him away from the Dursley's. Meeting Ron and Hermione on the Hogwarts Express. The troll in the girl's bathroom on Halloween. The whispered voices and Chamber of Secrets and Gilderoy Lockheart of second year. The incredible escape of Sirius and Buckbeak with help from Hermione and her time turner. The impossibly difficult Triwizard tournament, Cedric's death and the rebirth of Voldemort. That wretched prophesy and the infuriating Delores Umbridge. Voldemort's horcruxes and Dumbledore's murder.
As images of the final battle careened in his head, Harry heard himself crying, felt the sobs wracking his body. His mind flashed on Ron, his corpse lying sprawled on the ground. And then superimposed over that image was one of Ron being carried off the quidditch pitch on the shoulders of adoring Gryffindor fans after winning the quidditch cup.
Harry managed to smile at the image despite the tears running down his face. Next up was Hermione. So vibrantly alive one moment, and so very dead the next. He could still feel her in his arms and see the vacant look in her eyes.
He felt as if someone had thrust their fist into his chest, grabbed his heart and ripped it out. And with each new memory, the hole grew bigger, the wound bloodier.
A new image settled in his mind. One that, for a moment, brought him a measure of peace. It was from several months ago, after Harry and Hermione had had the most serious discussion of their young lives.
The two of them had been standing by the edge of the lake just before the sun started to set. He vaguely remembered saying something incredibly stupid and mildly funny to her. And she had laughed.
She'd thrown her head back in abandon, her dark chestnut curls spilling over her shoulders, and let out a pure delighted sound. When the laughter had finally subsided, she'd thrown her arms around him. Harry distinctly remembered seeing the sheer joy twinkle in her honey colored eyes. Eyes that were now cold and empty.
Harry felt the pain anew and wished for oblivion. I must be dead, he thought. And this is my life flashing before my eyes. The memories continued to flow until he finally remembered the three spells intersecting, the explosion, and the blast of light.
He frowned now, realizing there were no sounds of battle. No screaming or crying or maniacal laughter. Harry opened his eyes and had no idea where he was. The first thing that came to his mind was the infirmary. I should be in the infirmary he thought blankly. But that's not where he was.
It took Harry several seconds to place his location and then his mind reeled with the horror of it. No, he thought. No, I can't possibly be back here. This is a nightmare. There's no way this is possible, it just isn't happening. I'll close my eyes and count to ten and when I open them I'll be somewhere else, anywhere else.
Harry closed his eyes and counted to ten, but when he opened them he was still in the cupboard under the stairs of Number 4 Privet Drive.
"No," he moaned and that was when he realized there was something wrong with his voice. It wasn't the usual deep rumble he was used to. It was higher pitched, younger somehow.
Harry looked down at his body and almost screamed. It was smaller, like when he had been four or five. He looked at the arms and legs that still had the awkwardness of toddlers. He searched his face with stubby fingers and discovered the lightening bolt shaped scar. For the first time in his life he was glad it was there.
He continued feeling his face. His right ear was back and the scar that Naigini had given him early in his seventh year was gone. Another thing Harry didn't find was the stubble on his face. He searched frantically for a mirror before he remembered that he'd never had one as a child. Alright then, he thought. I'll just use the one in the bathroom.
But that thought too was impossible. He had forgotten that the Dursley's locked him in every night and he was stuck there until Aunt Petunia woke up and let him out. He settled in to wait.
While he waited, fears plagued him. What if it had all been a dream? What if he never had actually gone to Hogwarts? What if Ron and Hermione were just figments of his imagination? What if he was doomed to spend the rest of his life at the Dursleys and never know the joys of the wizarding world?
What if none of it had been real?
Eventually, Harry managed to calm his thoughts enough to think logically. He would just have to do a few tests, but for that he needed to get out of his cupboard. He began planning.
An hour later, Harry heard light footsteps coming down the stairs. He immediately sat up on his cot and waited for the still familiar sound of Petunia unlocking his cupboard door. There was a clink of metal on metal, two sharp raps on the door, and then his aunt's voice saying, "Potter, get up right now. You have to go to school and Dudders wants a big breakfast this morning."
"When doesn't he?" Harry asked snidely. He had too many things to think about without making Dudley's breakfast and school being thrown into the mix.
"What was that Potter?" He heard the incredulous note in his aunt's voice and decided not to bother censoring any of his retorts. He had done this once before and ended up a lonely and neglected little boy. Things were going to be different this time around.
"I said your son's a bloody pig!" Harry shot back. There was dead silence on the other end of the door and then it was flung open. A long bony arm reached in and yanked him out by the collar of his pajama shirt. Petunia's long face was twisted in rage.
"What did you say?" She was clearly outraged and Harry was seriously enjoying pissing her off.
"Are you going deaf or something?" Harry asked, his voice rude and sneering. "I said, for the third time (It was actually the second, but she didn't know that), that your son is a bloody pig! And just incase you haven't noticed, he's also a spoiled brat and a serious bully." He thought the words sounded slightly odd coming from the mouth of a four or five year old, but ignored it.
Harry grinned at her, completely satisfied with his performance. Petunia smacked him hard, right across the face. His head snapped to the side and Harry held it there for a moment realizing that it hadn't hurt nearly as much as he expected it to. He turned back to her, grinning, and watched the triumphant expression slide off her face.
"What's the matter," he asked, "don't like hearing the truth about your whale of a son?"
"Shut your trap boy!" Petunia screeched.
"And if I don't?" Harry asked calmly.
"Then you'll wish you'd never been born!" She had tried to make her voice sound menacing and failed horribly. He laughed in her face.
"Why does that threat fail to frighten me?" he pondered mockingly. He even went as far as to prop his chin in one hand and tap his fingers against his lips as if in profound thought. Petunia was fuming now.
"VERNON!" she yelled. "Come hear what this brat is saying about our wonderful son!"
He was laughing outright now and didn't even bother to stop as Vernon came thundering down the stairs. Harry was holding his sides and snorting as his uncle entered the kitchen in a robe and his wife's fuzzy pink bath slippers.
"What the bloody devil is going on?" roared Vernon Dursley.
"This vicious child has been maligning Dudley since he got up this morning," said Petunia the minute Vernon had quieted.
"Maligning? That's an awfully big word Aunt Petunia. I didn't realize your vocabulary was so extensive. But maybe it's because you always have to dummy everything down so your moron of a son can understand? Yes, I'll bet that's it."
Harry was smirking again, waiting for Vernon's reaction. His uncle looked completely dumbstruck. He finally managed to put a few words together and form a question.
"Wha—what did you say?"
"Oh dear," Harry said, looking at Vernon sorrowfully. "Another one who's going deaf huh? Well, let me see if I can help with that okay?" He cleared his throat theatrically, grinned broadly, and yelled: "YOUR. SON. IS. A. BLOODY. SODDING. PRAT!" Harry was silent for a moment, contemplating, and then added as an after thought, "And so are you."
He watched in amusement as Petunia's face paled and Vernon's face went from pink to red to purple before finally settling on burgundy. When Vernon finally spoke it was just short of a bellow.
"BOY! You get upstairs right now and you wait until I come up. It's time someone took you in hand! You're going to get the beating of your life! Upstairs! NOW!"
Harry snorted. "Yeah, right," he said sarcastically. "That's really going to happen. It's like asking a chicken to stretch its neck out real long so you can chop its head off." He waited for a moment and then asked, "Do I look that stupid to you?"
Vernon's face reached a color Harry had never seen before and he sputtered like a car out of gas. Harry found the whole thing very amusing.
"Tell you what Vernon, I'll be a good sport about this okay. Let me change my clothes and then I'll go pick out a belt for you. How does that sound?"
Vernon was still sputtering, though his face had returned to a burgundy color. Harry thought he would crack a rib if he kept from laughing any longer.
"No? Alright then, you tell me which belt you want and I'll get it for you."
Nothing but more sputtering.
"Oh for Merlin's sake!" Harry said, exasperated. "I'll just bring the whole bloody drawer of belts down and you can pick out your own."
He quickly made his way back to the cupboard where he changed into the set of Dudley's clothes that fit him the best. Within minutes, Harry was up the stairs and in his Aunt and Uncle's room. He made his way over to Petunia's purse and removed all her cash, stuffing it into a back pocket. Next, he did the same to Vernon's wallet. Now he was set.
In the hour before Petunia had come to wake him, Harry had figured out the most likely course of events that had brought him to where he currently was. Namely, in the past. He reasoned that when the three spells had collided, he had been thrown back in time (although to when he wasn't quite sure).
He'd used the other forty five minutes to come up with a plan of escape. Unfortunately, that meant he was going to have to take a few blows from Vernon's belt. Thus the willingness to retrieve the object for his uncle. Phase two of the plan was complete.
Phase one had been to piss his relatives off and make them want to kill him, or at least beat him to within an inch of his life. Check. Phase two was to grab all the available money he could. Check. Phase three involved getting his ass kicked and "accidentally" apparating away. Pending.
By the time Harry returned downstairs with the drawer of belts, Vernon had managed to stop sputtering and his face had returned to a (somewhat) normal color. He dropped the box of belts on the kitchen counter with a loud crash. Everyone's head, including a recently awakened Dudley's, snapped in the direction of Harry and the drawer. This was going to be tricky.
"So boy, are you ready to receive your punishment?" Vernon asked, his eyes lit with a maniacal light as he glanced over his tools of choice. Harry looked right at his uncle and nodded as insolently as possible.
On second thought, maybe this won't be tricky at all, he thought with a wry grin.
"Well then, come here boy." Vernon nearly giggled in delight as he selected a wide leather belt with a large metal clasp in the front. It was about time that scrawny little piece of trash learned what he really was, Vernon thought; the no-good son of a freaky drunkard and a freaky little slut.
Harry removed the sweater he had put on over his shirt. He didn't want Vernon to think he was trying to protect himself, and he didn't want to have to let Vernon beat on him any longer than was absolutely necessary. Just long enough to cause some visible damage that would take about a week or so to go away.
Vernon folded the belt in half and snapped the leather together experimentally. It made a sharp slap and Harry winced involuntarily.
"Not so brave now are you, you little prick?"
He clenched the sweater in his small fist and glared at Vernon. There was no way he was going to risk losing it when he apparated. With his jaw tightly clenched against making any sound, Harry turned his back towards his uncle.
"Have at it Uncle Vernon," Harry said snidely. He could imagine Vernon's face turning puce, his large arm raising, the belt buckle clenched in a meaty fist. Then there was the sound of something whistling through the air followed a second later by the sound of leather hitting flesh.
Harry's breath exploded from his lungs in a startled reflex. For a moment, all his mind registered was the shock of the attack. Then came the pain. A band of fire across his shoulder blades that sliced clear to the front of his chest. He nearly stumbled head first into the kitchen door with the force of the blow. Before Harry could right himself, the next strike came, knocking him to his knees.
"What are you going to do you little freak? Where's your big man attitude now huh?"
It's right here, Harry thought. You're simply providing the means to an end. Just keep swinging you sick bastard. A few more well placed hits and I'm out of here.
Harry grinned painfully to himself and tasted blood in his mouth. He'd bitten his tongue in an effort to keep quiet. The next blow came and Harry felt a new slash of pain across his back, but this one was different, more painful on the right side than it was on the left.
He didn't understand what had caused the flare of pain on the right side until Vernon hit him again. Then it was suddenly clear.
Fucking bastard! He's using the buckle end. That sodding bloo—
His thoughts were interrupted by another blow from the belt. He managed to swallow the groan that welled in his throat—barely. The blows were coming harder and faster now. Vernon was becoming enraged that he hadn't yet managed to elicit some sound of pain from the puling scrap of humanity in front of him.
Harry clenched his jaw tighter and wondered idly if the bone would snap under the strain. After two more hits, he decided he'd had enough to suit his purposes. With a new surge of strength, he stood up straight and turned to face his last remaining relatives.
"I think that's enough," he said calmly, surprised his voice wasn't shaking.
"Enough? You think you've had enough? No boy, I'll tell you when you've had enough," Vernon roared, raising the belt again.
Harry figured what the hell, he was leaving in two seconds anyway. The ministry wouldn't be able to distinguish two different spells cast that closely together in terms of time.
He waved his hand at the belt in Vernon's hand. The leather was quickly transfigured into a snake. Vernon dropped it and screamed in horror. Harry laughed as all three Dursleys tried to jump up onto the kitchen counter. He locked eyes with Vernon.
"I know what I am," he said softy. "And I know what you were trying to do, but it won't work. You can't beat or squash the magic out of a Potter." He narrowed his eyes now, glaring.
"My dad was ten times the man you'll ever be, and that doesn't even take into account the fact that he was a wizard."
He turned his angry eyes on Petunia now. "And Mum," he said softly. "She loved you, did you know that? She believed that somewhere deep inside you there was some good, that you were still a decent person. Boy was she wrong. If she'd known how you would turn out, she would have never left me in your care. She was the most brilliant witch Hogwarts had seen in many years, but she couldn't see the depravity of her own sister. You're a disgrace to her name."
He glared at all three a little longer before finally sighing in disappointment. "You may be my last remaining relatives,… but you are not my family. Good bye and may we never see each other again."
Unfortunately, Harry knew that wish was too good to be true. He knew that Dumbledore would make him come back here over the summers for the blood protection only his aunt could offer. He gave a heavy sigh.
CRACK! And he was gone.
Somewhere deep in the forests of Albania, a roar of rage barreled through the trees. A dark presence floated listlessly around furious at the turn of events.
I'll get you Potter! You can't hide from me!
Voldemort possessed the little rabbit sitting on the edge of the clearing, simply so he could feel it die. The rabbit twitched and Voldemort smiled evilly.
Author's note: Have you guys figured out the prophesy yet? No? Well, here's another clue for you. Clue # 2: "raven" does not mean she has black hair, nor does it necessarily mean that she's a Ravenclaw.