To Walk Through Fire
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and the characters associated with him. I am not making any money off of this so please don't sue me.
Chapter 1: Rescue and a Felony
A Day before the Prologue
Number Four Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey, was one of the neatest houses that could be seen for miles. The garden surrounding the small house was one of the best-kept gardens that could be seen. It was surely the most normal house that there ever was. Anyone, muggle or wizard, who looked upon it, would think that there was nothing not normal about the occupants of the house. However they were wrong.
The occupants of the house had a secret. One they had tried to keep to themselves ever since an accident that had happened nearly fifteen years ago. No one, but a select few knew that within the walls of the house there lived a young boy named Harry Potter. Now the Dursleys would not have minded the fact that they had the boy living with them – well they probably would have minded, but not so much – however, Harry was not a normal boy, he was a wizard. The Dursleys hated anything that was not normal (for a muggle that is). Up until he went to Hogwarts, the Dursleys had tried to stomp out Harry's magic. They had failed in their mission and now they had a wizard to deal with every summer.
This summer was no different. The boy, famous for stopping Voldemort, was forced to stay with his relatives once again . . .
Privet Drive was dark. The streetlights were dull and dimly lit the street below. Not a noise could be heard anywhere. The darkness seemed to lie upon the street like a blanket, stopping all sound and noise from existing. Even the small shout from a closet could not penetrate the darkness. The cupboard from which the shout had come from was tiny and full of dust, a space that hadn't seen a mop in years. Spider webs clung to every corner and the floor was splintering. But despite all that, the boy who lay inside the cupboard was content to sit in there, at least it meant that he didn't have to see his uncle, or his aunt, or his cousin. He shifted slightly from his position, careful so as not to jar his latest injury, a broken rib, or at least he thought it was broken. He didn't dare to go to sleep. No that would only bring nightmares and pain. Staying awake wasn't much better. His thoughts always roamed to that fateful day, when Cedric Diggory died. It was his fault. No matter what anyone else said. Sure no one had blamed Harry outright, but he could see it in their eyes, they knew him for a murderer. He had convinced Cedric to take the cup, if he hadn't, then the Hufflepuff would still be alive and happy today.
He had led Cedric to his death, just as he had caused his parents' death. He always caused bad things to happen to people. Sirius had been imprisoned because his parents had been killed. Hermione and Ron were always in constant danger because of him, he was always dragging them off on some dangerous mission that they would never have become involved in on their own. He just caused trouble and pain. Even his relatives agreed with him. He was just a burden. An affliction that hurt or caused pain to everyone he went near.
If only he had disappeared with Voldemort all those years ago, then no one would have to suffer. Or maybe if he had never been born then things would have turned out differently. But he knew better than to do anything drastic like killing himself. Even though he had killed Cedric Diggory, most of the wizarding world still saw him as their savior and if he died then they would loose hope, meaning that Voldemort would win. Harry didn't want that. That would cause even more pain. Either way he was doomed to cause pain!
He deserved to go to the Dursleys every summer. Dumbledore knew that, that was why he was sent here every summer. He deserved all the beatings he had received this summer and to be locked in a tiny cupboard during the night. He didn't deserve to be comforted by Mrs. Weasley, or play with Ron. That was why Dumbledore would not let him stay with the Weasleys. If he did stay then he would end up killing them. He didn't wish that on anyone. No it was safer if he was hidden away at the Dursleys, where he would receive the proper punishment for his actions.
No he had to stop thinking of those things, he should think of other things, like Hogwarts and Qudditch. No they didn't help. It was just another reminder of Cedric, which sent his thoughts spinning back to the beginning again. Weeks ago, the thought of Hogwarts was enough to bring a ghost of a smile onto his face and he would think longingly of it and would anxiously wait for September when he could go back. Harry had even started a calendar again. But now, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to go back, he had even stopped counting down the days till he could go back to school. He did not deserve to go back to Hogwarts, that was a place for children to learn and play, not for murderers to lurk . . .
A part of him wished that someone would come and tell him that his thoughts were wrong. That he didn't do anything wrong. That it was Voldemort's fault his parents were dead, and Cedric was dead. Maybe Sirius would come and curse his relatives into oblivion and rescue Harry from their clutches. Then he would tell Harry that it was not his fault, that it was Voldemort's fault. But no, that couldn't happen, Sirius could then be caught by the Ministry and then put in Azkaban again because of him.
His wishes would never come true. No one would want to rescue a murderer, and someone who would burden them. After a week into his summer 'vacation' he would even have accepted Snape as his rescuer. He would have bent down and worshipped the Potions Professor if he had come and rescued him. But that hadn't happened. Harry was still living, if just barely, with his relatives.
No one wanted him. No one loved him.
Harry had not heard from his friends since they had departed from the Hogwarts Express. He had asked Hermione to look after Hedwig for him, since he didn't think that the owl would survive one more summer being malnourished. As much as he didn't want to loose her company, he knew that she would be safer with Hermione. His friend would probably have more use for her than he would anyway, she didn't have an owl and Hedwig could deliver the letters for her. He had also give his trunk to Ron for safekeeping. He didn't think that it would be a good idea for the Dursleys to get a hold of his trunk; it held everything that he considered valuable within it. Also if he was caught, he didn't want the ministry to find some of the items in there, such as the letters from Sirius. The only thing that he brought the Dursleys with him was his wand, which even now remained miraculously hidden within a transfigured pocket. He had thought that he might need it if the Death Eaters came after him; he wanted protection, even if he would be kicked out of Hogwarts.
It hurt that his friends had not tried to contact him. He had not even seen so much as a white piece of paper addressed to him. Not even his godfather had written him to tell him that all was well. Harry could understand why his godfather did not send him any letters, but he did not understand why his friends did not. Was it because they did not want him as a friend any more? Of course it was. He knew that that had to be the reason. Who in their right mind would want to be friends with a murderer?
He wrapped his arms around him as if to ward off the thoughts. He whimpered softly as he jarred his left arm. He was sure that it was broken. He could not move his fingers and it hurt every time he shifted it into a new position. Aunt Petunia had not let him bandage it in a sling, saying that he deserved it for teasing Dudley. Harry had accepted her punishment, but not for that reason, but because he did deserve it. It had been his fault that Dudley had to put up with him. It was his fault that his parents were dead.
The cycle had started all over again. He sighed. And regretted it. His broken rib dug sharply in his lungs. Maybe it was better to sleep. He had several hours left until Petunia would unlock the cupboard and expect him to make breakfast for the family.
He had gotten precious few hours of sleep over the past week.
He sighed and closed his eyes, laying his feverish skin against the wall. He had not slept all night ever since he had returned to the Dursleys. The first few nights had been terrible, with Vernon attacking him every time he woke his uncle up. He had learned since then to not make a sound even as Voldemort mercilessly held one of his followers, and Harry, under the Crutiatus curse for what seemed hours.
He was tired. So very tired.
And sore.
His scar had started to become a constant ache, along with his ribs. At first he had thought it was due to the number of times his head was banged against the wall, but the burning feeling in his head wasn't from Vernon's attacks, it was from his connection with Voldemort. He turned his head, trying to find a cooler spot on the wall that would help cool down his burning face.
He was sure though that his stomach hurt worse than his head. The constant hunger that had plagued him since coming to Privet Drive had been driven away by a different sort of pain, as if his stomach was churning around. He had tried to eat what little his aunt gave him, but he could barely keep it down. He had hardly kept any food down since last week. He knew that he was loosing weight that he could not afford to loose, and very rapidly.
Harry knew that he would not last much longer. He would not be able to live to see Hogwarts again unless someone came and rescued him.
Harry would rather have faced Voldemort than stay with the Dursleys for much longer. He knew that he deserved it, but he could not stand being there for much longer. No he physically could not last there much longer. A human being could not live on moldy cheese, stale bread and sour milk. A human being could not mentally stand the snide remarks that he heard day in and day out.
Soon Aunt Marge was coming for a visit. Harry knew that he would perish when she came. He was already at his limits. And he wished for release, no matter how it came. Even if that meant that his friends had to know what had happened to him this summer.
He closed his eyes. Maybe it was better sleeping after all.
***************
The room was dark. Only glowing coals in a small fireplace sent any light over the room. It seemed deserted at first. Or would have had the coals not been glowing red sending shadows of a figure onto a crumbling white wall. It was a room that looked as if it had lived long past its days of glory. The room was decaying. Walls no longer had any covering on them. The little that was left was yellowed with age. The carpet was the only colourful object that took away from the dreariness and the gloom of the room. It looked as if one time it had been bright pink. But now it was only a shade of its old colour, though it was the only thing that was an actually colour in the room. The only furniture, lay in the center facing the fireplace. A tall cushioned chair, covered in some sort of black material, stood directly in front of the coals. It looked about as old as the rest of the room. Little white patches showed through the black material, which could have actually been a dark blue, in the sunlight.
It was not the chair itself that would draw attention, but the occupant. Sitting on the dark cushions was a dark clad figure. He was tall. There was no doubt about that. Standing he would have stood taller than most men. But it was not his height that drew the fear of his men. It was the anger, the hate, that encircled him, that radiated off of him. The blood red eyes that glared through the hood of the cloak sent chills down their backs. A power that seemed to glow around him, sent them scurrying around him, hoping not to disturb him.
Currently though, no one was around the man, but his attendant. A short balding man, no older than forty, who looked as if he should have been more plump than he was, stood in front of his master. Sweat dripped down the man's head and neck. He was quivering with fear in front of the man he had given his soul to almost fifteen years ago. He did not look into the eyes of his master, but keep his once kind brown eyes on the floor in front.
"Wormtail." The black figure hissed softly, but dangerously. "Is everything set up as planned?" His red eyes pierced into Wormtail.
"Y-y-yes M-m-mas-ster." The man stuttered.
"Are you sure of that?" A dangerous glint entered the red eyes, as if he knew that Wormtail, as he was called, had lied to him.
"N-n-no M-ma-aster." The man cringed even as he spoke.
"What are you not telling me Wormtail?" The red-eyed figure hissed angrily.
"The w-w-wards M-master a-are causing s-s-some trouble." He managed to stutter out. "M-Malfoy h-had trouble p-putting the c-charm u-u-up. W-we don't k-know if it w-will work. He h-h-had some m-muggle p-place it inside."
"But everything still worked out. The explosion will still take place when Potter leaves the house?" Voldemort hissed.
"Y-y-yes M-master." Wormtail replied meekly.
"The Ministry is alerted that Potter may try to attack his relatives?" The man asked again.
"Y-yes M-m-master."
"Good." Lord Voldemort muttered under his breath, a strange glint appeared in his eyes. One that promised death and pain. One that would have sent his followers running to obey his orders. "Wormtail, I would have expected better reporting from you."
"M-m-master?" Wormtail asked cautiously, one could never be too careful around this man.
"Next time you report, you will report everything before I have to drag it out of you. Dismissed." The dark figure hissed sounding bored. The balding man turned to leave. "Wormtail. Crucio."
The balding man fell to the floor screaming.
***************
Harry Potter woke up with a sudden start. Fire ran through his veins, searing his body. He bit down hard on his lip to avoid calling out. If he did, then the Dursleys would not be very happy. The last time that had happened, Vernon had come and beaten him nearly senseless. He did not want it to happen again. The pain slowly started to fade away.
Then the second wave of pain came. His jarred ribs screamed in agony, as he gasped for breath. His forehead was on fire. His stomach was a mass of burning pain. Harry clenched his teeth together tightly waiting for the pain to pass, trying to calm his rasping breath.
Slowly the pain started to dull. This always happened after he felt the Crutiatus curse. All his other injuries would burn with the rest of his nerves. After a few minutes, Harry was able to think rationally once again, despite the fact that his body was still throbbing in pain. He was use to that. It was the pain that he lived with everyday since he came back from Hogwarts.
He thought back to his vision. So the Dark Lord had finally decided to create a plan to attack him, one that would remove him from the Dursleys. He did not know if he should be happy that someone finally wanted to take him away from the Dursleys, or cry because of the hopelessness of his situation.
But what was it?
What did Voldemort have planned? Something about an explosion. He couldn't remember anymore than that. There was also something about the Ministry and them being alerted to something. He had no idea what it was. He gently fingered his wand through the thin material of his clothes. He hoped that he would not have to use it, he did not want any more blood on his hands. But if it would help the world then he would do it.
It was almost time to get up. He was sure of that. He could hear the floorboard above his head creak softly as Petunia move around in her room. He had a precious few minutes to himself before he would be forced to see his relatives. Harry tried to savor those last few minutes, but it was impossible. His thoughts returned to his dreams. He wondered what Voldemort was planning for him. He did not like surprises. Especially ones that put lives on the line, even if they were his relatives.
Clunk! Clunk! Clunk! His aunt was slowly descending down the stairs. He closed his eyes. The nightmare had started again. It had happened everyday. His aunt would slowly descend down the stairs, giving him time to figure out what was coming. Then she would open the cupboard and kick him until he crawled out. He would then have to go cook breakfast for the family. And then he would be given a list of chores that he was expected to do without question . . .
Harry quickly stopped his line of thoughts before they reached the point that
he dreaded the most. His punishments . .
. He quickly stopped thinking. He was
not brave enough to think about that.
He did not think he could face one more day of punishments, as much as
he deserved them. His Gryffindor
courage failed him during those times, and despite his resolution not to cry
out, he always did. Maybe he didn't
deserve to be a Gryffindor either.
He heard the door unlocking. It opened with a creak and his aunt's horse like face appeared.
"UP!" She screeched silently as she possibly could so that she would not wake her Duddykins.
Harry groaned softly to himself and forced himself to crawl out of the cupboard before she started to kick him, bruising his ribs even more. It was a miracle that he could actually stand up. He closed his eyes as the world twisted and tilted in strange angles. He waited a few seconds and opened his eyes to find that the world had once more righted itself up.
He strode – well actually he limped painfully – into the kitchen. Petunia had taken her usual seat at the table and was reading one of the many Martha Stewart magazines. Harry winced. Most of the decorating ideas at the Dursleys were from those magazines. Harry couldn't imagine who would actually want to use the horrible ideas in them. (A/N: No offense meant to anyone who likes Martha Stewart)
He quickly brought out a pan from the cupboard, trying to not allow it to hit any of the other metal objects. The last time he had pulled out the pan carelessly, it had banged on a pot, which had supposedly caused his cousin to 'wake up' from his 'precious beauty sleep', he had been punished that time before he had even started his chores.
Moving as quietly as possible, he opened the fridge door, which happened to creak if it was not opened properly. He pulled out the bacon and eggs. It was what Dudley had requested for this mornings breakfast, well that was what he had requested last night, knowing Dudley, he would probably change his mind this morning, so that Harry had to do more work. He was sure that was the reason why Dudley changed his mind everyday. He quickly opened the package of bacon and laid them out on the frying pan.
The bacon sizzled as it hit the hot pan. Harry was glad there was no oil in there, or he would have been splashed. Not that he didn't deserve it, quite the opposite, but Harry would rather not be burnt by large globules of bacon, it made it especially difficult to concentrate with burning hands.
With the bacon frying, Harry went to scramble the eggs. He kept a careful watch over breakfast, despite the constant ache in his right ankle from standing on it. He thought that the limb had been sprained when his uncle had thrown him down the stairs last week. His burning ribs did not help either.
Just as the bacon and eggs were almost done, Dudley came in the kitchen, his Smeltings stick clutched tightly in his grasp. He avoided Harry as much as he possibly could. When Harry had first come back from Hogwarts, Dudley had stayed in his room all day, just so that he could avoid his cousin. Harry thought it was because of the trick Fred and George had played on him last year.
What Harry had been most surprised at when he had first seen his cousin, on the second day he had been at the Dursleys, was that he was no longer an enormous pig. He was thinner than, Harry was sure, he had ever been his entire life. Aunt Petunia had complained that her Dudley was starving because of the diet he was forced to live with. Harry, however, suspected that it had something more to do with Fred and George's trick. As a matter of fact, he was positive. He had not seen Dudley sneak one candy into his room since he first arrived on Privet Drive almost a month ago. Dudley also must have stopped eating so much, for now he did not eat as much during meals. He actually ate less than Petunia did, which was saying a lot. Harry suspected that Dudley liked being thinner, since he seemed to have so much more energy now. He had actually started to invite his friends over so that they could play their favorite sport: Harry hunting, actually now it was more like Harry Teasing, since Dudley did not want to loose his slave. They would sit there and insult his parents, trying to see how far they could go before he blew up. At first that had bothered Harry, but he was too tired and sore to care anymore. His parents did not deserve him defending their memory either, he was unworthy of it.
Harry set the dishes on the table. He did not begrudge his relatives the meal. He did not think he could swallow one bite. Just the smell of it was making his stomach churn uncomfortable, almost sending him to the bathroom, to heave out anything that he had managed to eat – yesterday? Or was it the day before? He wasn't sure.
"Boy, get my Duddykins some chocolate milk." Petunia demanded bringing Harry out of his reverie.
He quickly poured Dudley the chocolate milk and handed it to him before a hand could come and smack his already sore face. He had to place it in front of Dudley, for his cousin would not take it out of Harry's hand.
Just then a squeak announced that Vernon was coming down the stairs. Harry quickly poured the coffee into a cup and set it at his uncle's place before the man could punish him for being tardy.
"Good morning." He said brightly to his wife and child, scowling in Harry's direction to tell him that comment was not for him.
The large man, who seemed to have grown larger since Harry last saw him, sat across from his son. Harry went and retrieved the mail for his uncle before he was asked. If he could please his relatives maybe then they would let him have one day of peace. One day without 'punishments'. He picked up the mail and looked through it. Ever since the accident when he was eleven, Harry had always looked through the mail first before he brought it near his uncle, just in case he received a note.
There was nothing for him. A couple of bills, Vernon would not be happy about that, the newspaper, and a notice that announced some important event or another, Harry really wasn't interested in reading it. He quickly walked into the kitchen, so as not to make Vernon think he was looking through the mail.
His uncle did not speak to him. Actually nobody really spoke to him, if they did it was a brief command of what they expected, or when his uncle yelled at him. If they could avoid it, the Dursleys did not speak to him. Vernon just raised his arm out towards Harry, expecting him to put it in his hand.
Harry did not bother with breakfast, he had no stomach for it, and anyway stale bread and water had no appeal to him, he was sure that the beggars on the street ate better. Harry waited until his relatives were done breakfast and then cleared off the table, just like a servant, or more a slave in this case.
Drying his hands off with a tea towel, Harry could hear his uncle get ready to leave the house to go pick up Aunt Marge. He really did not want to be around to hear his relatives say goodbye to one another. He quickly picked up the chore list that his relatives had written, they did not think he was capable of thinking of chores himself, and looked through it:
Clean the windows inside and out
Weed the Garden
Water the Garden – twice once in the morning and once at night
Vacuum the house and tidy it up
Clean Dudley's bathroom (gross)
Sweep the driveway
Clean out the fridge
Clean the garage
Clean out the shed
Clean out the eaves troughs
Mow the lawn
Paint the fence
Repaint the garage – it was messy the last time. DO IT PROPERLY!
All chores must be done before Aunt Marge comes home at 6:00 pm, or more punishments will ensue.
Harry groaned. He knew that he could not finish this by six. It was already ten. A really healthy person, who was full of energy, would be hard pressed to complete these chores. For Harry to finish them, it would be impossible.
NO! He couldn't think that way. He deserved to do all this, to be a slave to the Dursleys, that was why Professor Dumbledore had sent him here. He could not complain. Vernon was right. He was ungrateful and did not deserve to stay there. He had to finish all this for the Dursleys, for all they had done for him.
Harry sighed and left out the back door to do the gardening. Just as he was about to take a spade out of the shed, he saw the house explode. Wooden boards and bricks flew everywhere. There was a loud noise that echoed throughout the neighborhood.
Harry stood there in absolute shock.
What was left of the house shifted in an unnatural angle. Sending more debris flying. Flames licked at the ruin, happily consuming everything in its path.
A brick flew towards Harry. He could see the flying object head straight towards him. Maybe, had he not been in shock and fully capable of movement he would have dodged it. But shock held him still.
The brick rammed into his head. The last thing he saw before he fell unconscious was the dark mark flying above the roof of the Dursley's now burning house.
Then blackness came over him, dragging him into the depths of its sea.
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A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. Eleven reviews in one day and this is my first fic. Thank you. *Bows her head to you all* You guys are the greatest. Of course I will continue the story, so don't worry. However it may not be updated until a little later, since school is starting again and I don't know how much time I will have to write. I will try to update as often as possible. The reason this chapter was out is because I had already written it before I started to post the story. The reason why I decided to post this was because of all your reviews. Thank you. I always liked the idea and decided to break down and write this.
Please keep reviewing, the more you review, the more encouraged I am to continue writing this story. Also suggestions would be wonderful, I have an idea where I am going, but any other ideas would be wonderful.
Thank you sooooooo much to all those who reviewed.