Chapter I

Harry was locked in his room and had not eaten since he had gotten back, which was yesterday, but he didn't care.

He didn't care about anything anymore. All he could think about, now that he had nothing to distract him, was what had happened at the graveyard in which he and Cedric had ended up at after the third task .Kill the spare.

Then he heard something knocking on the window. It was Pig with what was probably a letter from Ron. With visions of Cedric's dead eyes still clear in his memory he took the letter and read:



Harry,

Hope you got home o.k. That Muggle looked even nastier than usual.

Mum's been talking to Dumbledore about you staying here but apparently you have to stay with your relatives because of some sort of protective wards that are generated there (at least that's what I overheard when Mum was talking to Dad about it).

Don't let the Muggles get you down. (If it gets too bad I've already convinced George and Fred to help me get you out no matter what the oldies say; just owl me)

Cheers mate,

Ron



Harry had a small smile on his lips, Ron was a good friend.

Then the image of Ron and a dead Cedric flashed though his mind. an abrupt change had Ron lying there, with dead eyes staring up at him .kill the spare. Harry shook his head violently; this would give him a whole new level of nightmares.

"BOY", it was Uncle Vernon, "GET DOWN HERE NOW."

Harry walked to the door and found it unlocked. Uncle Vernon must have unlocked it last night or this morning. Harry hadn't noticed; he hadn't cared.

When Harry came downstairs he saw Aunt Petunia lying on the couch and Uncle Vernon standing beside her, looking at her worriedly; then his eyes turned to Harry an the worry was replaced with anger. "Been lying around all day have we? We'll fix that. Go make dinner."

Walking into the kitchen Harry was not surprised to see Dudley sitting there- the boy had once spent an entire summer in the kitchen watching television and eating.

Something was different but he couldn't put his finger on it. Then it struck him. Dudley wasn't eating; he was just staring into space.

"Dudley?" Harry asked for the first time feeling something like worry for one of his relatives. Dudley had such a vacant look in his eyes it was plain creepy.

"Its Mum, you know," Dudley suddenly said, "she's gone mad. Has to take all sorts of medicine."

Harry was somewhat shocked. A member of the most normal family ever go mad? Not very likely. Then he saw all the medicine bottles on the shelf near the kitchen sink.

He walked over and looked at them. He didn't recognize any names except one: Prozac. He knew that Prozac was an anti-depressant used by Muggles; he'd seen it on the telly. Aunt Petunia was depressed; leave it to Dudley to call her mad because of it.

Dinner was a quiet affair and Aunt Petunia didn't join them. Instead Uncle Vernon brought her a plate. Harry was denied any food. "You could do with loosing some weight, boy." After doing the dishes Harry decided that it would be best just to go to his room.

Once there Harry decided it was time to write back Ron but the haunting image of his friend, lying on the ground, dead, was still dancing before Harry's eyes.

On impulse he decided he didn't want to correspond with Ron too much that summer, to avoid this image and the questions he and Hermione would certainly ask: "How are you? Do you feel well? Not depressed? Dursleys treating you O.K.? You know it's not your fault don't you?"

He didn't want to answer these questions because of the pity that would follow any honest answer. He didn't want pity; he didn't want to hear it was not his fault. It was his fault and he deserved anything he got.



Ron,

Everything is fine here. I'm going to be very busy with all kinds of chores and as you know the Dursleys don't like owl post. That means we can't write each other as often as usual. Too bad.

I'll owl you when possible and then we can make plans for the summer.

Harry



The letter was a lie but it would buy him some time alone. He wrote a similar letter to Hermione and then sent off Pig and Hedwig.

After this he laid down on his bed but sleep would not come; he didn't want sleep to come because then he would have to face his nightmares.

Over the weeks following the third task and Voldemort's resurrection his nightmares had been increasing in number and intensity every night.

He hadn't told anyone. he didn't want to burden them; besides he deserved them for all the mistakes he had made, for not saving Cedric.



Somewhere in the state between sleep and waking Harry heard someone enter his room. He looked up and saw Uncle Vernon.

"So boy," his Uncle sneered, "you let someone die, didn't you?"

Harry saw a letter with a Hogwart's crest on it in Uncle Vernon's hand. Oh God, he knew. they had told him.

"You saw someone die and still they sent you back here; to your 'loving relatives' who will love you and nurture you," Uncle Vernon said, every word was dripping with sarcasm.

"They must really hate you boy, to send you here. I don't think they care anything for you and as for that convict godfather of yours- he was a figment of you imagination.

HE DOESN'T EXIST.

Things are going to change. You will not be attending that school anymore. They probably don't want you there anyway. Your freakish things will be locked up and you will not think about magic ever again.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND, BOY?"

Harry was overwhelmed at this speech and didn't know what to say.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, FREAK?" Uncle Vernon bellowed and he backhanded Harry.

The next thing Harry knew he was lying on the ground looking up at Uncle Vernon.

"I said: do you understand?" his voice was deadly and barely more than a whisper. Harry saw a multitude of emotions playing on his uncle's face: Hate, anger and a desire to inflict pain given any excuse.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry had once more receded into the vortex of guilt that dominated his mind and accepted everything as his due.

Uncle Vernon turned, picked up Harry's chest and put it outside his room along with Hedwig's cage.

Harry was glad Hedwig was not here; there was no telling what his Uncle would have done to his pet. After that the windows of his room where covered up with wooden boards that were brought up by Dudley. He gave Harry a malicious look, for he to knew he had free reign to torment his cousin.

Just to prove his point he punched Harry in the gut before exiting the room.

"Do you have anything magical left in this room freak?" this seemed to be Harry's new name.

"No, Uncle Vernon," Harry stated.

Again Harry found himself on the floor, his cheek stinging and he felt a little blood trickle form his lips.

"DON'T LIE TO ME BOY."

Deciding he didn't really care Harry told the truth: "Just my wand."

"Hand it over."

Harry looked up at Vernon in surprise.

The man had never wanted to touch anything magical in his life and now he wanted Harry's wand?

Deciding it was taking to long Vernon kicked Harry and held out his hand again, not saying anything but the threat was clear in his eyes.

Slowly Harry handed over his wand; he had been keeping it up his sleeve.

When Vernon took hold of the wand a shock seemed to course through his body and he took a good look at it. His eyes shone with something akin to fascination; almost lovingly he brought up his hand and stroked the wand.

Then Harry saw the impossible happen. When Vernon stroked the wand black sparks flew from the tip and both Harry and Vernon looked startled.

"What did you do freak?" Vernon asked a mixture of awe and revulsion in his voice.

"It wasn't me," Harry whispered. "You are holding the wand."

Harry was racking his brain frantically for an explanation to what he had just seen; any explanation beyond the obvious but always came back to one conclusion; the one conclusion he did not want to believe:

Vernon Dursley was magically gifted.