AN: Mature rating is purely for gore/language. If the summary wasn't a big enough clue, there is going to be a lot of gore and death, particularly from the perspective of the person who is being gored and/or dying. If that bothers you, stop here. For me, this fanfic is about learning the limits of a character for what they can endure before what they are enduring forces them to change. I can't say what that change will be, I can't' even say whether he will be driven to madness, vengeance, salvation, or heroism. No clue as far as pairings go, besides absolutely no harems.

Inspiration for the core mechanic, the second death, and a few ideas about how remnants of a functional army of death eaters and their children might behave comes from "the many deaths of harry potter" But things are going to diverge rather quickly from the few bits of that story I actually remember. I've read about 100x more fanfiction than original JKR harry potter novels, so at this point, I'm not even sure what is a FF trope and what actually happened in the books. For now, there's no update schedule, but right now I'm out of work due to the coronavirus indefinitely, so who knows how fast this will go. I think "slow burn" is the description I'm looking for, except it won't be slow. If there are less than 60k words by the end of year one, I will consider this a failure.

Prologue: Like Father, Like Son.

Harry's eyes went wide with horror as he saw his cousin's beady eyes fill with hatred and rage, unlike anything Harry had seen within them before. The knuckles of his right hand ached slightly and were splattered with blood. Unfortunately, the blood wasn't his. He had seen his own blood before, and being battered and broken had become a simple fact of life for him long ago. But the blood on his hand drove a terror into his heart that he had only felt a few times in his short, miserable life. The blood had come from Dudley's nose and was streaming down the large bully's face.

As a 9-year-old boy, Dudley Dursley didn't have the graying hair or the thick mustache of his father. His enormous girth, the shape of the bit of chin not burrowed in a layer of fat, and thick brows matched his father perfectly, but it was the beady eyes that filled Harry's mind with flashbacks to the time Harry had brought home a book from the library called "A Wizard of Earthsea".

It had been almost a year ago. He had escaped from Dudley and his gang by hiding in a library and saw it. Something about the book had struck his fancy. It was ratty and torn, sitting in a pile of damaged books a librarian was tossing into a bin. The young woman had noticed him staring, and when she saw the state of his ragged, oversized clothes she took him for a charity case. She handed him the book and only asked that he not tell anyone, as she wasn't supposed to be giving them away.

Shortly after midnight a week later, long after Harry had gone to bed, a TV show Uncle Vernon and Dudley loved to watch mentioned wizards, and Vernon snarled and turned it off. The nine-year-old Dudley cried and whined that he was still watching it, but Vernon made it clear that there would be no magic or wizard nonsense in his house. Something snapped in Vernon when Dudley told him that he had seen Harry reading a wizard book. He charged Harry's cupboard, yelling and screaming and nearly tore the small boot cupboard door off its hinges. The terror of being woken up to a screaming, raving Uncle Vernon made Harry try and bolt, but with the only way out straight through the bulk of a man seething with rage, he didn't get far. Uncle Vernon had grabbed Harry with a meaty hand and thrown him into the wall. Harry had felt something snap in his arm and his head hit the hard floor. He made to scream before a meaty fist slammed into his stomach and tore the air from his lungs.

Uncle Vernon got a few more good swings in before he seemed to come to his senses. He cursed and argued with Petunia, and then they both left the room. Harry was barely conscious, but all he had heard was a ringing in his ears, and soon he passed out.

He awoke sprawled on top of the dining room table. A strange, slender man was standing beside him, Harry looked over in a daze, and the man had his hands on his arm which was bent at a strange angle. The man tweaked the arm, and Harry tried to scream, only to realize he had something stuffed inside his mouth, and tape over the top of it. He soon passed out from the pain.

He next woke in his cupboard. His arm was in agony, and it felt like he had been stabbed in his side. He tried to move his arm and found it had been bound in a cast. He cried out, confused and in pain, but as he heard Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps thudding towards his cupboard the fog and confusion in his mind cleared. He immediately remembered years of painful lessons about the price of crying or complaining.

As the rage in Dudley's eyes forced Harry to relive the beating Uncle Vernon had given him, the agony of recovery, and the threats and further beatings he had been given to ensure he told everyone at the school that he had climbed on the roof and fallen off as if he hadn't already learned that lesson long ago, Harry fell to his knees. Something had snapped inside him, and he had hit Dudley back.

It wasn't as if Dudley had done anything worse than usual. Harry had simply been a bit slower today, and hadn't won today's round of "Harry Hunting". The beating he got for losing wasn't any worse than normal, he had been beaten far worse many times before, but something inside him had welled up and before he had realized it his knuckles had collided with Dudley's nose.

"Please! I'm sorry!" Harry cried as he cowered and tried to cover his head with his arms. No punches or kicks landed on him as Dudley's gang was frozen in shock, and Dudley trembled with rage, but then the moment passed and he was being kicked and beaten from all sides. He cried out, begging for it to stop, but they ignored him. Dudley raised his foot high to stomp down on him, but the fat boy was never known for his balance and grace.

One of the boys bumped into Dudley, and instead of a hard kick, he stumbled and a knee slammed into Harry's chest with all of Dudley's nearly 90 kilograms of fat behind it. Harry's body was small and his bones weak and frail from malnutrition. They couldn't bear the frightful impact. He felt a few deep snaps, and then he learned that something could hurt even more than having his arm and ribs broken. He tried to gasp for air, but all he got was unbearable agony where he thought his lungs ought to be. It felt as if he had been stabbed a dozen times. One of his hands felt over his chest, and he was terrified that his ribs had been caved in leaving a pit.

Blood poured from his lips and he tried to scream but succeeded only in making a sickening gurgling noise. He was dying. His mind was full of nothing except pain, hatred, and rage. He spluttered and heaved as his lungs filled with blood, and he barely registered screams and people running into the alley where he had been ambushed before his world went black.

Chapter 1: Let your dreams stay dreams

Harry heard the dreaded words that had haunted his dreams since last summer. Uncle Vernon was yelling them in the same voice he always did when he had this nightmare. As he woke up, he trembled in fear.

"...Ungrateful little freak! How dare you bring magic books into my house! After everything we have done for you! I'm going to wring your useless little neck…" Uncle Vernon raved as his heaving mass surged towards the cupboard.

Harry wanted to run, but his body refused to move. He was shuddering, curled up on his cramped little cot in the cupboard and this time after Uncle Vernon tore open the door, he had to reach in and drag Harry out. Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry by the leg this time when he threw him out of the cupboard. His arm didn't break, but his head hurt much more than it had last time.

He was dazed from hitting his head, and before he could get up the beating started. Even as the blows rained down, his mind could not accept the sudden shift. How had he gotten home? Why was this happening again? Despite his confusion and the pain of the beating, he felt relieved. He was alive, and the blows hurt so much less than his chest had moments before.

Harry woke up to that same, strange slender man from before looming over him, but he was on the couch this time instead of the dining room table. His arm wasn't broken. Instead, he felt dizzy and confused. Without the pain of having his arm set, he was able to stay conscious and got a much better look at the man. He had a cold, dispassionate gaze, short black hair that was combed flat, and a thin black mustache. This time, Harry heard what the man was saying to his uncle.

"...concussion, two broken ribs, and three more cracked. Unless you want to risk taking him to a hospital, just let him be. Any work or labor will aggravate his injuries, so bed rest is preferred. I assume you want me to prepare some paperwork to cover him missing the first few weeks of school but not file a report with the authorities, so this is going to be quite expensive for you," the man smiled warmly now that the conversation turned towards his compensation.

Uncle Vernon glared at Harry because this was clearly Harry's fault, but he agreed to pay the man.

Harry was in a daze, and not just from hitting his head. It felt so real, but this had to be a dream. All this had happened before, even if it was slightly different this time. But it wasn't as if he had simply gotten beaten again. The soreness where his arm had broken had never gone away, even after nine months, and the awkward lump where the bone hadn't healed quite right should have still been there, but both were missing. His arm was smooth, aside from the scars, and all he felt there was a bruise from when he fell during Vernon's latest rage.

He knew better than to ask what was happening. Any time something strange or unexplained happened, the best thing he could do was to keep quiet and hope they didn't find out. If they did, they would try to beat the "freakishness" out of him again.

Everything continued the same way it had before. He had a few weeks of rest, although it wasn't very restful with Aunt Petunia complaining about having to cook, and Dudley crying about having to do some chores. It didn't last long. Harry was put to work again much sooner than the mysterious doctor had instructed with Uncle Vernon demanding that he work off the bill for his "treatment".

Soon after that, he was back at school and received another shock. It had been May. It had been May of his year 4 class. Even if he had dreamed about Dudley accidentally crushing his chest, and even if his poorly healed broken arm had been mysteriously restored only for Uncle Vernon to attack him again, after two months of staying at home to supposedly rest and heal, it should be July now. He had heard the Dursleys talking as if it had been summer and then talking about Duddley starting school and many conversations that confused him about the date not matching, but he assumed the Dursleys were taunting him, to get him to ask about things he shouldn't, but there is no way the entire school would go along with that, right?

He remembered the lessons being taught because he had already been through them. Some of the new recruits Dudley had used to corner Harry in that… dream?... hadn't joined his gang yet. The calendars proudly declared it was September of 1989, but what did it all mean?

Time travel? He had found a few books in the library where that happened, but there was always a cause or a reason. There were machines, or spells, or great people turning back time to save the world, but there had been none of that. There were no machines, no one casting a spell, and Harry was nothing. Noone. There was just pain, an explosion, and the sound of people screaming before Uncle Vernon was charging his cupboard.

Harry's mind whirled, but he knew one thing was more important than anything else. No one could know. Ever. If his teacher's hair changing color or him suddenly appearing on top of the cafeteria were "freakish" incidents worthy of a beating, then time travel would be much, much worse in the eyes of his Aunt and Uncle. He was relieved that he hadn't asked any questions about what had happened.

Uncle Vernon had attacked him during the summer, so by the time he was seen by teachers there wasn't much sign of what had happened. He had a note from the strange doctor to get him out of physical activity, and his chest hurt awfully, but all he could tell the teacher was that he had fallen off the roof. He knew what would happen if he told the truth.

Before he started school, adults had noticed him limping or bruised and asked what happened. Twice he told them, hoping they would help. Both times, the police came, took Uncle Vernon away, and the second they left Petunia slammed a frying pan into his head. When he woke up, Vernon was back and everyone acted as if nothing had happened. Even the adults who had "helped" and called the police acted as if nothing had happened, or even as if they had never met him.

The year dragged on slowly, he knew everything that would be taught in class, but there was a silver lining. He had nine months more practice at surviving "Harry Hunting" than Dudley had at catching him. He also read more books with what little free time he had, which was more than it used to be given he had already done his homework once before but still painfully brief as he had to be back at the Dursleys in time to cook dinner. He only read at the library. He was never dumb enough to bring another book back home with him.

Life continued on. He woke up early, cooked breakfast, watched the Dursley's eat, nibbled their scraps if they weren't looking while he washed the dishes, ate his allowed breakfast of a single slice of bread without any toppings, went to school, ate the smallest lunch Petunia thought they could allow him to prepare without people asking questions, finished school, dodged Dudley's gang as best he could, hid in the library for an hour or two, ran home, prepared dinner, watched the Dursley's eat, secretly nibbled their scraps off their plates, did the dishes, and then whatever extra chores Petunia demanded of him. Weekends were even less fun.

Nothing changed day after day, and the only difference to before he started reliving this year was Harry's terror it would end just as horribly.

He made it to the start of the summer break with only minor beatings, and nothing like what had happened before he came back happened again. He was better about stuffing the rage deep down inside himself, and never even let himself think of fighting back. He had just "won" another round of Harry Hunting and was walking back towards Privet drive from the distant streets he had been forced to run to when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He was halfway across the entrance to an alley he had never been down before, and his head snapped to the right where he sensed something. There was nothing there, except for a few rubbish bins and an empty alley like any other, but he felt drawn to it. An irresistible urge to walk deeper into the alley filled his thoughts, but before he took more than a few steps he heard Dudley shouting behind him. He looked over his shoulder, and he could see Dudley smack one of his "friends" and demand how they could have lost track of Harry. Not once did a single one of them look anywhere near the alley or move towards it before they ran off in the opposite direction.

Harry was confused, they should have seen him, but the longer he stood still the greater his desire to walk down the alley grew. He continued along for about fifty feet when suddenly his body was frozen in place. He couldn't budge his arms or his legs in the slightest. He couldn't even make a sound, the only mercy he was granted was that he could blink. Hours passed as Harry was locked in frozen silence, at some point his bladder had released its contents, whether through terror or exceeding its maximum capacity Harry couldn't care enough to guess.

Long after the sun went down, the perfect silence was shattered with a crack behind him. And then a tall man walked around to face Harry from the front. He had a hard, mean face and long white-blond hair tied in a braid. He sized up Harry for a moment before he pulled out a stick and muttered a few words, and Harry's head was suddenly released from whatever was keeping him from moving, while the rest of his body remained bound.

"Sorry for the wait, but I was held up at work. Your parents aren't purebloods who by chance chose to dress you in muggle rags for a lark are they?" The man drawled in a disdainful tone.

"What?" Harry blurted out.

"Are your parents Wizards, boy?" The man's face grew harsher and his tone more impatient.

"I-I don't know?" Harry mumbled, completely bewildered.

"A dirty little mudblood then. You will do nicely. Sorry for the inconvenience, but my lord requires something you have." The man said with the first smile Harry had seen him make.

"W-what d-does h-he w-want?" Harry stuttered as the man's smile struck more fear into him than even Vernon's fury.

"Just your heart. Be grateful you filthy brat, it will be used in a ritual to sustain a being far greater than you could imagine."

"No pl-" Harry tried to scream but was cut off when the man calmly spoke.

"Cordis Metis."

At those words, a cutting pain sliced into his left side, bones snapped and opened, and then a strange hunk of pulsing flesh flew out into the man's hand. It looked nothing like the pictures of hearts he had seen on Valentine's day, but somehow he knew that was his heart. His body, held up only by the strange freezing trap lost all feeling, and he felt a fog settling over his mind.

He could hear the man muttering as his vision began to fade. "The traps in London caught so many more, but the Aurors find them and break them far too quickly. I doubt there are even any of the mudblood brats left around here with enough magic to be worth harvesting. I'll probably have to-" And then Harry woke up.