"You bloody idiot!" Uncle Vernon shouted as he threw the plate of bacon at the wall, "you burned the breakfast! Can you do nothing right?!"

Harry looked at Uncle Vernon with a vacant expression and said nothing.

"Well boy?! Answer me!" Uncle Vernon roared.

Not about to justify the question with an answer Harry continued to look on.

"You little-" Uncle Vernon took Harry by the collar and lifted him off the ground. At this point Dudley and Petunia had left the kitchen and gone elsewhere. Uncle Vernon raised his closed fist and wham he hit Harry square across the jaw.

As blood filled Harry's mouth Uncle Vernon yelled obscenities at Harry. Harry tasted the blood in his mouth as the grip Vernon had on Harry's neck started to bruise him, and as Harry thought of blood, he thought of death, he thought of Sirius. Immediately Harry spit out the blood, which flew into Vernon's face. Uncle Vernon paused for a moment as his face started to match the color of the blood. Now he was angry.

Throwing Harry against the wall, Vernon promptly began beating Harry. Kicking him in the sides and bruising his stomach, Vernon released all his frustrations on his teenage nephew.

Panting slightly and sweating purfousely, Vernon looked derisively down at Harry, "Alright then boy, learned your lesson?" When Harry gave no response Uncle Vernon kicked him in the side. Harry gave a grunt in response. Uncle Vernon bent down to level eyes with Harry who was struggling to sit up. It felt to him as if he had broken two ribs at least. In a dangerous voice Uncle Vernon repeated, "I asked you a question boy, now have you learned your lesson."

Anger welled up in Harry, one of the few emotions he showed anymore, "Ugly git" Harry managed to spit out through clenched teeth.

Vernon's eyes blazed. He got up and unfastened his belt which he gathered into both hands and began beating Harry with it. Harry cried out in pain as tears welled up in his eyes. The previous cuts on his back from similar treatment in the past began to open and bleed.

"Enough, enough!" Harry cried, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He began to whimper repeatedly as he cried on all fours clutching his head with both hands.

Finally Vernon stopped, "Enough boy, now go to your room" Harry attempted to crawl away to his room as any movement at all caused him great pain.

"I said move damn it!" Uncle Vernon kicked Harry forward, and then, as though bored with the whole situation, stormed out of the kitchen into the living room where Petunia and Dudley sat listening to the T.V. at a rather loud volume.

Harry laid there, sprawled out on the floor for a good ten minutes before he made any move to stand. His tears were dry now but his wounds were not as fresh blood trickled down his aching back. His ribs he knew he could fix by taking a good cup full of a potion he'd just recently learned how to make, but his cuts he would have to wrap in muggle bandages.

Harry began to nurse his wounds, a practice he was quite used to now as all summer Vernon had been treating him this way. The reason: because Harry let him. Harry knew that with one letter to the Order of Phoenix he could have Vernon bound and broken, but every time Harry wrote he never mentioned any abuse. Many his letters were written:

To whom it may concern;

All is well here at number four Private Drive.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter.

It was short, it was cold, and it was a lie. In a way, Harry felt the beatings he got were punishment for killing Sirius. All through summer he blamed himself for the death of his beloved godfather, not Snape, not Dumbledore, but him. Harry Potter. He hated himself, hated himself for being so lame, for not standing up for himself, for falling for Voldemort's trap, for being so stupid. He studied magic whenever he could, wrote and even invented a few potions, a few spells. He knew every spell there was available to him. He even knew how to disguise his magic so that he could use it once in a while. He would aspirate to Diagon Alley, get a few books, search aimlessly through the streets cloaked in a spell that made others ignore him. He felt no purpose in the going on of his life, he just felt empty.

As soon as his wounds were bandaged, Harry gathered up some parchment and quill and began to study another of his books. This one was dark magic, forbidden magic, and Harry loved it. The thought of using Voldemorte's own spells against him was thrilling. Harry dreamed of the day he'd get to confront him, him and Bellatrix. They'd both taken loved one's from him, and they were going to pay, they would pay with their lives.

The next mourning Harry awoke to find that he had fallen asleep on his desk. Sometime in the night Hedwig had returned with mail for Harry, birthday presents. Harry looked at them for a moment longing to open them, longing to read the words that his two best friends in the world had wrote him, but then he remembered the dark veil, the screams of lost souls…

Harry was shaken from his thoughts by the shrieking call of Aunt Petunia, "Get down here boy and make breakfast!"

Throwing a shirt on over his head, Harry slowly made the climb down the stairs as his limbs and back screamed in pain. Slowly, making sure not to burn anything, Harry prepared the a meal of bacon, eggs, toast, and muffins. For himself he grabbed a quarter of a grapefruit, his rations 'generously' provided by his Uncle.

Today he was being ignored by the Dursleys other then the occasional order of food or drink. After an uneventful mourning Harry headed up back to his room where he noticed the unopened birthday presents his friends had given him. Before he even had a chance to decide what to do with them, the door burst open to reveal in its frame the fuming Vernon Dursley.

"Boy, I don't recall excusing you from the room," Uncle Vernon began to rant, but then his eyes fell on the brightly colored presents. "Gifts from those freaks you call friends eh, boy?" Huffing into the room Vernon made quick waste of the wrapping as he withdrew from the first box a book entitled, Aurors of the Age: unique descriptions of famous witches and wizards. "Well what have we here? I told you no magic in this house boy!" Uncle Vernon had his leather belt in his hand faster than the blink of an eye. "Turn 'round and take off your shirt."

Harry felt numb. He was unsure of what to do, of what he wanted to do. On one hand he wanted to atone for his sins and on the other he just wanted fight back as Sirius might have done.

Noticing his indecision, Uncle Vernon forcibly turned Harry around and stripped off his shirt. He reeled back his hand and brought the first lash against Harry's back causing several scarred wounds to split open. He kept whipping Harry, bruising and opening the flesh on his back. Harry cringed each time, though he would not let any pain show in his face or sadness in his eyes as he stayed blank and emotionless. In his mind though, Harry cried out in pain, 'Why?! WHY?! Not like this, I hate being like this!' He thought first of his friends. He wanted to see them, but was ashamed of what a mess he'd become. Rarely did he stand up for himself anymore. He had lost all vigor and life and thought his friends would hate him for it. Then he thought of his mom and dad, of Remus and Serious and their bonds of friendship. 'I want to see them. I want to see them NOW! I need to see them' unconsciously Harry began to form an incantation in his mind.

Uncle Vernon stopped mid-strike as he saw Harry's body began to glow in a dull red. Stumbling back into Harry's dresser, Uncle Vernon looked on in horror as the young wizard went from emitting a dull red to a brilliant gold light. All the while Harry was oblivious to all but his own thoughts, his own desires to see his family in their happy youth as he slowly disappeared from his world.