Disclaimer- The characters of Harry Potter do not and will never belong to me. They belong to J. K. Rowling.

Ebony Scales: I am currently going through the entire story to at least attempt to bring it up to a level that I can proudly post.

Barbed Roses

Chapter 1: Shades of Gray

Two weeks of Hell. That was how it could be described. He knew there was a valid excuse to be there, but at the moment he could not quite recall it. Maybe he was in Hell. Maybe, just maybe, this was punishment for the deaths he had caused; for the people he had killed. Obviously, Harry was having a bit of a depressing moment.

Harry looked at the crack under the door. There was no light coming from the opposite side, so he assumed it was still night. Yet again he looked around the cupboard his relatives pathetically called a room. Yes, Harry was once more a resident of the cupboard under the stairs with the continuous darkness that pervaded the small space. He wasn't sure why he hadn't just left and never came back if this was what he had to look forward to.

Since he was larger than he had been years ago, the cupboard was even more of a tight fit for him than it had been in the past. He was certain that someone like Ron, who had always been taller, wouldn't even be able to fit. The light bulb that lit the cupboard years ago, before the neglect caught up to it and caused the wires to fray beyond repair, brushed the top of his head if he tried to sit up. He could not stretch out his legs in the small space, and his knees kept getting knocked on the stairs above him or the walls enclosing him.

'At least, I am still alive.' He thought to himself in a parody of relief.

Thinking on it, Harry knew he should probably be worrying for his health about now. He was excessively skinny and weak, although being little but skin and bone wasn't exactly new to him. Still, his mind often wandered to what he could eat; if he could steal something from the refrigerator or the food cupboard. The hunger gnawing at his stomach, something that he had grown so used to when he was younger, was now simply driving him crazy after having lived months in relative comfort. However, before he could get through all of the planning stages of his 'great food heist', one thing demanded his attention and made him doubt that he would even be able to quietly make it to the refrigerator. He felt that one of his legs had to be broken; the pain lacing through it every time it was moved was intense. Maybe not, though; he could still limp around on it, and although that was definitely less than perfect, he doubted whether he'd be able to move anywhere otherwise. As if that injury wasn't enough to satisfy, his body was sore everywhere. Living with his relatives was quite literally torture.

It had not always been so. All those years before, his relatives had mostly ignored him, really, only paying him any mind when there was work to be done. From the earliest time he could remember, around five or so, he had been the housekeeper. As he grew older, there had been few signs of potential abuse, although he couldn't have known them for what they were. Only the sparse amount of food he received and the occasional beating, courtesy of Dudley. After starting at Hogwarts, his relatives merely started shouting at him more often. Just recently had it progressed to more than a few pushes here and there.

He recalled the end of the school year, while waiting for his uncle to arrive to pick him up. At his arrival, Harry had noticed his uncle's angry disposition. He hadn't realized what had caused Vernon Dursley's ire, but it was directed at him. It was no guess whether or not the 'normal' family had been told of his godfather's demise, and thus no longer had that scythe hanging over their heads. When they had reached the house, all of his belongings had been confiscated. That might not have been all that new either, but the anger, no, the rage in his Uncle's eyes was a little different and unnerving.

Harry couldn't help but think that this was in no way normal any longer. Not even for the Dursleys.

These last few weeks had been the worst. He knew his relatives probably didn't consider it abuse. Anything that happened was only an accident to them, most likely. Merlin knows his Aunt would never call it abuse, or any other such dirty word. Still, there would be a little 'trip' down the stairs, or there would just 'happen' to be a metal kitchen utensil flying through the air towards his head. Harry wasn't delusional enough to actually believe such incidents were truly unintentional but, on some level, right now, he believed he deserved it. That thought did not stop the occasional flare of anger at these muggles who thought they were so normal for taking in a boy, and then doing everything in their power to make him miserable.

The only comfort that he had was the occasional letter from one of his friends. Hermione, usually. Still, the letters were few and far between, and took a lot of effort to hide from the muggles. The letters had hinted that Ron and Hermione were actually staying together for whatever reason, although they wouldn't say where. There was a lot that was left out of the letters, as if they were purposely hiding things from him that he didn't like at all. He felt rather jealous of them at the moment, sitting uncomfortably hungry and alone in his little cupboard while they enjoyed each other's company and probably Mrs. Weasley's cooking. He knew that he was being a little uncharitable, but he couldn't really bring himself to care.

Harry looked up from his musings. He imagined he had heard the floor creaking. He listened closely now. No, it had not been his imagination. The residents were finally stirring. He could hear them ambling around upstairs, getting ready for whatever the day had planned for them. Harry tried opening the cupboard door, but it was currently locked. It looked like his relatives might have realized that, by now, Harry would seriously begin considering 'stealing' food from them in spite of the awful consequences of being caught. He couldn't help but weakly laugh with more than a little self-pity. He couldn't help but be somewhat thankful that certain people at Hogwarts couldn't see him now, he probably looked so pathetic.

He quickly quieted as he heard the telltale signs of Vernon Dursley's descent. As Harry heard the steps pause outside of his cupboard, the door was unlocked and opened. His head rang as the man's voice struck his ears.

"Boy! Get out and get to work! Your list of chores is on the table. Get them done by nightfall. Go!" he bellowed.

"Yes, Sir," Harry answered. His uncle seemed happy with the title and left Harry to his chores. Vernon was like that. The man loved feeling empowered. He constantly wanted to show his dominance over anyone around him, even though he doted on his son. With the attempt at placating the man obviously working, the skinny boy knew he would be able to safely take a piece of bread to nibble on in place of a breakfast.

Harry quickly climbed out of his cupboard and scrambled to the kitchen. There, he picked up bread to eat and the list of chores, looking it over. After going over all of the work he would have to do, he nearly groaned. The list was made up of an impossible amount of work, as if the older Dursley was completely unaware how long each item took. It would be even more difficult to complete now that his body was becoming sluggish with its movements. Harry went over the list a second time and turned to the front door to get started. Impossible or not, he wanted to at least have a chance of getting more food tonight, and it wasn't like anyone was on their way to his rescue.

After stepping outside, he looked around. It was a scorching day as well as humid, making it all the more uncomfortable. Most of the neighbors were inside with their televisions and air conditioning. Harry walked over to the garden in the front yard to get started on his chores.

…

The sun had just finished setting. Harry was ready to fall into a dead faint as he made his way back inside. He had worked as fast as he could throughout the entire day. The only break he had received was at mid-day for a glass of water and a meager lunch. At least Petunia understood that she couldn't keep getting free labor if she actually starved him to death: the big one didn't quite understand that. Even with his hard work and attempted haste, he had yet to finish quite a few chores. That made him nervous. He was sure that all it would take was any small excuse for his 'family' to claim Harry wasn't doing as he was told or that he was purposely being belligerent and refusing to do his 'chores' and so be 'forced' to punish him. As he was heading inside with a last look around, he noticed his uncle's car returning.

Harry scrambled towards the stairs with all the speed he possessed in his wounded state. He wanted nothing more than to be out of sight when his uncle entered the house. Only partway up the steps, he heard the front door slam open. Harry tried sprinting up the remainder of the stairs, but his protesting leg gave out. Falling down the stairway did nothing to help out the injured boy. In fact, it made the situation much worse in his eyes. Why did he have to choose to go up the stairs?

The commotion attracted the eldest Dursley's attention. Having spotted the boy on the landing of the stairs, Vernon advanced upon his nephew.

"You useless son of a whore!" Vernon bellowed. Harry wished he could be anywhere else at the moment. His fear of his magic-less, fat, and somewhat slow uncle far exceeded any fear that he had ever had of most of the dangerous magical creatures he had encountered, excluding Dementors. The fact that he had magic at his disposal didn't lessen his fear a bit, for magic never came to mind when he was faced with his uncle; around ten years of having to deal with the man's anger and Dudley's attacks without the knowledge of magic had conditioned him. The man had a mad gleam in his eyes and a definite wobble in his step. Harry had the horrible realization that his uncle was drunk. He had seen his uncle in such a state times before, and had learned to hide when Vernon took trips to the local bar after work.

Dursley staggered over to Harry, his face twisting into a scowl, and Harry heard a door upstairs close. It was likely that Aunt Petunia was going to wait it all out in her bedroom, lest Vernon take to yelling at her. Harry flinched as the larger man took a hold of his collar and lifted him bodily off the floor. Grimacing as he was punched in the stomach with the free hand, Harry repeated his wish to be elsewhere silently. Vernon threw the small boy into the wall next to him. Harry let no sound of pain or distress pass his lips. He would not give this man the pleasure of hearing him cry out; his pride wouldn't allow that.

As the boy slid to the floor, Dursley stomped over to him and picked him up again, screaming.

"Up, you filthy bastard!" Harry bit his lip as he was thrown down again and kicked. The drunken man seemed to tire of this sport, as he had stopped kicking him. Instead, he dragged Harry over to his cupboard door and threw him in, locking the door before leaving to sleep off the alcohol. The darkness and comfort of unconsciousness quickly pulled the beaten boy in.

Hours later, Harry reawakened to a dull throb of pain throughout his body. He quickly sat up, and then groaned his regret at the movement. His attempt at locating the time failed, so instead, he simply stared at the door to his cupboard and began morosely reminiscing on his past mistakes.

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Ebony Scales: Please tell me what you think of this so far. Suggestions and helpful criticism would be much appreciated. Please take the time to submit a review.

Update, 11/2012: This chapter has been revised. After going back after all this time and reading what I had written, I was, unsurprisingly unhappy with it. I started this story while I was in High school, and it shows. I will try not to change too much of this story while I go through the chapters in order to revise them, but I can't make many promises. As the story was, I had little interest in trying to finish it. Since I don't want to be one of those writers that completely abandons a story, I will need to change it into something that I'm willing to continue.

Edit (1/21/15) – It's taken me a rather long time for me to go through this and edit it to my satisfaction. I know that I'll have to somewhat adjust the storyline if I'm going to make it into a story that I'm willing to finish, but I'm trying to keep as much as I can. Just bear with me through all of this.