Whose eyes am I behind?

I don't recognize anything that I see

Whose skin is this design?

I don't want this to be the way that you see me

I don't understand anything anymore

And this world that I'm tired of is taking me right up these walls

That I climb up

To get to your story

It's anything but ordinary

And when the world is on its knees with me it's fine

And when I come to the rescue I get nothing but left behind

Everybody seems to be getting what they need, where's mine?

'Cause you're what I need so very but I'm anything but ordinary

Ordinary—Train

Chapter Two Coming to Grips

Harry woke next morning when a deafening roar from Uncle Vernon penetrated the thick stupor that often accompanied Harry's late nights. He dressed quickly and silently crept into the living room where he found Aunt Petunia sobbing and his uncle shaking with anger.

"What's happened?" Harry asked daringly, as it was forbidden to ask questions in this household.

"It's YOUR fault!" Vernon roared, eyes flashing menacingly. "I've been fired and it's entirely your fault!" he bellowed, advancing on his nephew.

"What did I do?" asked Harry meekly, shrinking away from his uncle.

"I don't know what you did, but its got something to do with your... your... abnormality," he screamed, pushing Harry so that he tripped over the coffee table. Harry stumbled but remained upright. He wished he hadn't.

"Oh, you'll pay for this one, boy." Uncle Vernon raised one meaty fist and drove it sharply into Harry's stomach. Aunt Petunia gasped. He doubled over in pain before falling to the floor. His uncle then drew back his foot and kicked Harry hard in the ribs. Harry felt something crack and breathing became a lot more difficult.

"Get up, boy!" Vernon shouted, trying to pull Harry to his feet again.

Aunt Petunia rushed forward and wrapped her bony arms around her husband, tearing him away from Harry. "Vernon, no!" she shouted, much to Harry's surprise.

Clutching his stomach in one hand and using the other to push himself into a standing position before his uncle could vent anymore, he turned to face Uncle Vernon defiantly. "I HAVEN'T GOT A CLUE AS TO WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!" Harry screamed, waves of pain coursing through his tired body. Then, turning on his heel he strode to the front door, still holding his stomach. He hesitated with his hand on the handle and said, "I'll be back later," before leaving the house.

At the end of the front walk, Harry turned to look back at the house. It appeared so peaceful in the early morning light. The sunlight glinted on the brass number outside the door and the perfectly manicured lawn was covered in sparkling morning dew. It was ironic how life inside Number 4 Privet Drive was a living nightmare for Harry.

Harry felt himself walking, but he paid no attention to where his feet were carrying him. It wasn't until he found walking difficult that he realized where he was. Just like when he'd been a little boy and the Dursleys had made him mad, he'd searched for his refuge in the park. Usually, Dudley came to find him and attempted to beat him up, but now the huge boy was positively terrified of any and all things magic.

He took up his seat on the only unbroken swing (Dudley's gang had broken them all years ago and they still hadn't been fixed). Instead of swinging though, Harry gazed at his reflection in the puddle underneath the swing.

A skinny boy of seventeen stared back. Harry had expected that, it was how the boy looked that scared him. His hair was still jet black and shaggy and his eyes were the same disconcerting green. Harry's face though, was covered in so many bruises and scratches from various beatings that it was impossible to tell where one injury ended and another began.

His lightening bolt scar seemed to stand out more against his pale and discolored skin, too. He thought back to before his first year at Hogwarts, before he'd really known the full effect that tiny mark would have on his life. That scar had been the only thing about Harry's appearance that he'd liked. Now he'd give anything to get rid of it.

That scar had marked Harry for life. He was the only one who could vanquish Lord Voldemort, and, in turn, the Dark Lord would stop at nothing until Harry was dead. Harry hated his life and it was all because someone had given him a scar when he was to young to even remember it.

"Harry! Help!"

Harry jumped to his feet, ready to fight. He looked around wildly, searching for Voldemort or his Death Eaters, but all he found was little Mark Evans, running toward him.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked as the boy drew nearer.

He stopped, panting in front of Harry. "It's Dudley… again… he's… after… me…"

Just then, Dudley and his gang jogged into view. "You!" Dudley gasped.

"Yes, me," said Harry, gripping Mark's shoulder tightly. He knew there would be no outrunning Dudley today, if it came to that. His best bet was to frighten him off. How he would do that, he didn't quite know yet. "What do you want?" he asked, hoping to stall him.

"Nothing from you," Dudley said, coming closer, a sneer playing across his piggy features. "That kid though, he insulted us, and we want to make sure he doesn't do it again."

"Really," said Harry. He looked down at Mark. "Did you insult them?"

Mark shook his head. "I only told him that if he kept on smoking like that, he wouldn't just look like a pig, he'd smell like one too."

Harry grinned. "That's not an insult, Dudley, that's the truth. I'm surprised you're dear mummy hasn't told you that."

"You leave my mum out of this."

"Oh, does that mean she doesn't know? Well, then, I'd better go tell her."

"You wouldn't dare. Besides, she'd never believe you."

"Maybe not, but what if she just happened to find that secret stash of yours." In truth Harry didn't know of any secret stash. He was grasping at straws. It was getting harder for him to breath from all the talking.

"You haven't got any proof of that!" Dudley shouted.

"Oh, I've got all the proof I need," said Harry as he lead Mark past Dudley towards his house.

Dudley grabbed Harry's arm and wheeled him around to face him. He shook one sausage like finger in Harry's face. "Don't you dare tell, Potter."

"I won't if you leave Mark alone."

Dudley peeked past Harry and peered into Mark's face. "Alright," he sighed.

"Good. Well, I'll see you at home" he added cheerfully, seeking to infuriate Dudley more thoroughly.

"Thanks," Mark said as they rounded a corner.

"No problem."

Mark looked up at Harry and smiled. His smile faltered and turned into a frown. "Harry, what happened to your face?"

"Nothing."

"Right, and I can fly. Who did that?"

"No one."

"Harry, you never used keep secrets from me."

Harry stooped and looked the boy in the eyes. "Mark, I only wish I could tell you, but this is something I have to handle on my own."

"Alright, but you should still tell me."

"So are you ready for school," said Harry, changing the subject.

"Yeah, I guess. How come you never tell me about your school?" Harry shrugged. "Oh, speaking of school, I got this strange letter this morning. Something about a Hogwarts or something. My mum threw it away. Said it was a load of rubbish."

Harry stopped walking. "Hogwarts? As in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Written on parchment…purple wax seal…?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"Never mind that. What did it say?"

"It told me that I had been accepted there. It told me that normally people get accepted there when they're 11, but I got overlooked because no one knew that I was a wizard."

"And you said that you're mum threw it away?"

"Yes…why?"

"Mark, that's not a joke! That's where I go every year! Tell your mum! You'll love it there."

"In case you haven't noticed, your word doesn't mean that much around here, Harry," said Mark disdainfully as he continued walking.

"Maybe not. But I can prove it. I got accepted as Head Boy there last night! Look," he said, drawing out his letter.

Mark snatched it out of his hand and read. "It really is true. I'd been wondering how I could make some things happen. I accidentally broke a wine glass one time 'cause my mum was yelling at me for something really dumb. I was staring at it and all the sudden it shattered!"

As they talked, they reached Mark's house. "Thanks again, Harry. I'll try and convince my mom to let me go."

Harry continued his solitary walk home. He felt happier than he'd felt in weeks. He was not the only wizard for miles now. He finally had someone to share his thoughts with in the summer, someone who would finally understand what Voldemort was putting him through.

As he drew near Number 4, Harry braced himself for the tide of anger that was sure to be directed at him when he came creeping back through the door. "I'm back," he shouted, making a beeline for the safety of his bedroom.

"Not so fast, boy," came Uncle Vernon's reply from the kitchen. "Get in here now."

Harry tentatively walked into the kitchen. "Sit," Vernon said shortly, pointing to a chair. Harry sat. He noticed an empty bottle of whisky on the table where Uncle Vernon had been sitting.

"I do not like your tone of voice these days. Your aunt and I don't appreciate being yelled at when we try to discipline you properly," he began, slurring his words horribly and shoving his beefy purple face right in front of Harry. He smelled stale alcohol on his breath.

Harry gaped open-mouthed at the man. Coming to his senses, he snapped his mouth shut and jumped to his feet. "YOU don't appreciate MY tone?" Harry asked disbelievingly as an insuppressible rage boiled within his chest. "What if I told you that I hate being treated like this!" he continued through gritted teeth. "All my life you lied to me, beat me, starved me... all because you were afraid of something you couldn't understand! Well, I'm sick of it!"

Out of nowhere, a large hand slapped Harry across the face so hard that he was sent flying headfirst into the kitchen counter before crumpling in a heap on the floor.

Harry raised his head to look at his uncle with pleading eyes. His lip was bleeding and so was his eyebrow where he'd smacked it against the corner of the counter. "Why?" he whispered.

Vernon bent down and grabbed the boy's shoulders roughly and hissed through his teeth, "Because you're an ungrateful little bastard, just like your father," before shoving him back against the cabinets.

Harry's head smacked sharply against the wood beneath the sink and he lay motionless on the kitchen floor. Vernon Dursley stood and left the room, grabbing the newspaper off the table and sat down in the living room to read.


"Harry... Come on, Harry, wake up."

Then came someone else's voice asking, "Did you feel how light he was? And look at his face."

Something cool was pressed against Harry's forehead while a rag wiped at his eye and lip.

"Harry, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand," came Ginny's worried voice. He focused all his energy on squeezing her hand tight. The sudden movement had caused Harry's mind to recall every detail of the fight with Uncle Vernon. Harry grimaced and tentatively opened his eyes.

Ginny's worried face peered down at him. He looked around and saw that he was lying on a couch in the Burrow with his head in her lap. She smiled at him and ran a hand through his hair. If Harry hadn't been so confused, he might have appreciated all this a bit more.

"Nice of you to join us," Ginny said.

"Yeah, well, I thought I'd had enough beauty sleep for one day," he whispered back.

"No, you still need it." She reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a rag soaked in some potion. "Put this on your lip," she said, handing him the cloth.

He put it to his lip and felt the cut start to sting. He let out a hiss of pain and hurriedly took the cloth away.

"Oh, you big baby! You've had worse injuries than that and you never made a sound," Ginny said, turning his face this way and that and frowning. "Well, it's healed anyway so you can stop whining."

"Phoenix tears?" Harry asked.

"Phoenix tears and disinfectant, yeah... Boy your uncle sure did a number on you."

"Yeah," said Harry in what he hoped was an off-hand voice. Then in an attempt to change the subject, he asked. "When did you become so skilled with medicine?"

"I used to want to be a healer, but that was before Quidditch. I just decided to keeplearning it. I'm kind of gladI did now. Now sit up and face me."

Harry attempted it but halfway there, the blood began to rush from his head, threatening his hold on consciousness. Ginny put an arm around him and helped him into a sitting position. Then she cupped his face in her hand.

"Look at me."

Harry looked at her and tried to get his eyes to focus, but he still felt dizzy.

"Now," she said, "I'm going to get rid of these bruises." She did a complicated wave of her wand and Harry felt a rush of warm air on his face like a summer breeze. Then the pain vanished and the room stopped spinning. Ginny, however, did not let go of his face.

"How did that happen?" she whispered, searching for answers in Harry's eyes.

"I don't wanna talk about it," Harry mumbled, trying to pull away from her. Instead of letting him go though, she pulled him into a tight hug. Harry winced and grabbed at his chest.

"What?" Ginny asked, jumping back.

Harry waved her away dismissively. "It's nothing."

"Oh no, you don't. You're hurt. Lie back down."

He lay down as Ginny slid to his knees by the couch. Suddenly she let out a small gasp.

Despite the muscles he'd acquired from his extensive Quidditch training, Harry was horribly thin. All of his ribs stuck out against his skin but one spot in particular held Ginny's gaze. It was an ugly bluish black color and anyone could tell that a broken rib lay beneath it.

"This'll probably hurt," she said, placing one hand on Harry's shoulder and the other over the bruise, preparing to work difficult magic. She'd only just learned how to heal broken bones. "Exhale when I tell you to."

Harry braced himself. He didn't want to show too much agony, not after the baby remark.

"Now," Ginny said suddenly.

Harry blew out a long breath as Ginny pushed the heel of her hand into his ribs. He felt them painfully come back together, but just as quickly as it started, the pain stopped.

"Done," Ginny said with a smile, apparently pleased with her work. "Now before I put everything away, there will be no more surprises, right?"

Harry shook his head and caught Ginny's hand in his. "Thank you. It's good to be back."

"What are you two doing?" said Ron from across the room.

"I was just thanking her," Harry said, hastily dropping Ginny's hand. She'd gone scarlet and quickly began to pack all of her medicines back into their boxes.

"Right...Welcome back, mate," Ron said with a grin as he helped his friend up from the couch and pulled him into a bear hug.

"How'd I get here?" he asked, gazing at the Burrow. Nothing had changed except for the old clock against the wall. Three hands were missing and Harry knew all to well which three.

"Well," said Ron sitting down on the couch, "I sent Pig telling you we'd be there soon. When Bill and I arrived in your living room, your uncle told us you were in the kitchen. We didn't expect to find you like that though." He looked at Harry as if expecting an answer to a question. When none came, he asked, "What happened in there?"

Harry was not looking forward to reliving the events of the past few hours but he knew they'd get it out of him one way or another so he began to tell Ron everything. Well, almost everything.

"My uncle got fired and blamed it on me. He hit me and I left. When I got back he yelled at me for my tone and I yelled at him for treating me like dirt and he got mad again." Harry hoped he'd toned his story down a lot.

Ron gaped at him, then, realizing how dumb he looked, brought himself back to earth. "You don't have to go back you know. You're of age! You can leave home."

"Yeah, but Dumbledore said I have to be able to call that place 'home' in order for some spell to work. Otherwise, I'd leave for good."

"Stay here, mate. Bill's said it's ok and you've already been with the Muggles this year. You can 'stay' here and 'live' with them a few days every summer," he babbled quickly.

"You sure?"

"Well, it's only the three of us now that Mum, Dad, and Charlie are gone, and Percy doesn't want anything to do with us. Fred and George live near the joke shop, so we've got plenty of room." Ron looked up expectantly.

"I don't know," Harry said skeptically. In truth, he was dying to stay here but he wanted to run things by Dumbledore first.

"C'mon," Ron begged.

Harry laughed. "I'll run it by Dumbledore when we get back to school and if it's alright by him I'll do it."

Just then, Hedwig flew in through an open window and landed on the arm of the couch. "I guess we forgot her," Ron said as Harry stroked her.

Harry shook his head. "No. She left to deliver a letter to Hagrid this morning." He took the letter from her beak and stared at it. It was plain to see from the regular envelope and stationary that a Muggle had sent the note. Harry hastily unfolded it and began to read.

Harry,

I went to your house today and tried to talk to you but your uncle said that you'd been called off to school. When I headed for home, I saw your owl fly in my window. I think she wanted me to write you. She's very smart. Anyway, all I wanted to tell you was that I get to come to Hogwarts. Some man came to my house while I was gone and convinced my mum to let me go. I think she said his name was Dumbledore or something like that. She's not very good with remembering names.

I hope this letter gets to you okay.

Mark