To those of you who were looking forward to a quick post, Tadaaaa.

Previously: (will try to make a habit of this) Harry Potter know by the name The-boy-who-lived to many dead and known to many more as the Former Dark Lord The Walking Death, had lived undying for many years. With the aid of the Naturals, humans without magic, Harry performed a ritual the would fulfill his final goal in life, his own death. Tired of his immortal suffering in a hell made by the war between Magic and Naturals, Harry activated the ritual under the protection the several Natural soldiers sent by the surviving Natural's military to support him. When time came for his end the words and interactions with Commander Graves sparked a drive to live, a feeling long thought lost within Harry. In his final hours and unsure what the ritual would bring about for him, Harry completes with ritual after days of preparation for the best and worst outcome whichever one those were.

Beta'd by Scottken and Real Swede

Book I :: Chapter 2 :: Repression and Retaliation

"Up! Get up! Now"

Harry awoke with a start before silently bemoaning the start of a new day. His Aunt's energetic knocking rattling the hinges of the door that made up the entrance to his cupboard. Harry could practically see her gnarled knuckles within his inner mind as they clashed with the small door meant to store shoes behind.

"Up!" she screeched. Pulling his glasses onto his face, he placed his hand over his eyes just as his oh so charming cousin Dudley displaced the sawdust and cobwebs from the stairs over his head. Holding off a second for the plump boy to rush past the door, Harry silently made his way to the kitchen not uttering a word.

With her usual commanding screech, Harry made way to cook the bacon that was to be for his oh so special cousin's birthday by his aunt's command. With bacon, eggs, sausages, hash browns and tea all on their way, the free time the family acquired from his labours was most pleasing for all, Harry included. While he worked, they left him alone to his thoughts and practices. Looking over his shoulder, straining his neck just a bit around the corner, Harry could see the Dursleys all huddled together, fawning over the large pig they called their son while he complained about the number of presents he had received for his birthday that year.

And what a ridiculous number of presents there were. Harry couldn't make out half the living room with them there. Seeing that they were preoccupied, Harry turned back to the bacon and for a moment let go of the spatula and pan. Closing his eyes for a moment, he focused on his centre and opened his eyes.

As warmth flowed outward from inside him, calming him, Harry let it fill up within him to the brim. From his toes and all the way to the digits of his hands, he let the warmth accumulate not letting it leave his body for even a moment. The feeling began to circulate as it remained contained and repressed within him. It wasn't easy being a wizard within the Dursleys' presence but exercises such as what he was doing at that moment made for a good reminder as to what he was.

Yes, Harry was not a freak, nor was he a failure. Harry was a wizard and he knew this from the moment he first became aware of who 'Harry' was. Though he wasn't normal either and he knew this. After all, he had magic, but everything seemed to come to him fair easier than most; like he had already done it before which was confusing to him.

Harry would experience sensations of déjà vu accompanied by sensations of positivity or negativity whenever he met, did, or experienced something new, magic included. Very quickly Harry learned to follow these gut feelings. It was through following these feelings that he found himself able to endure most of his hardships and trials until now.

A simple example was how at the first opportunity he had; Harry had bought some stock for a company called Apple. He knew though he didn't know how that the stock would be worth a great deal in the future. So far, he wasn't wrong. As it was, the stock itself was rising and oddly enough Harry felt he should leave it. Even as it fell every so often. He put more money into it raising the amount gambled in the company.

Naturally, he did everything quietly and without the Dursley's knowing. Had they known, not only would his treatment as freak become worse, but any money earned would be eaten by Dudley's gullet. Just knowing that he wasn't a freak allowed Harry to ignore most of their actions. Being called a freak was bad sure, inexcusable even, but it wasn't without merit. Sure he was different from them, they knew it, he knew it, it was just that it mattered to them but not himself. Just by knowing that he wasn't a freak was enough for Harry to maintain his sanity and his sense of self. Even if he wanted to retaliate, the merits of doing nothing outweighed the cons of reacting to their bigotry.

The family, except for Dudley, knew he was a wizard and the hatred that they possessed towards magic was firmly directed at Harry in its entirety. As such, much like with his investments, Harry practised in secret, usually by circulating his magic within himself.

However, since he knew of it, Harry had, at the same time, willingly suppressed his magic for fear of the repercussions. Thanks to that, no accidental magic ever occurred around him and meant his beatings were limited only to really bad days. Days that were long behind him now.

While they still blamed him for some things that they considered odd, such as misplacing of keys, which was something nobody could ever possibly do themselves, they left him alone. The Dursleys did limit the punishments and beatings he endured, thankfully, in favour of ignoring him for the most part. That wasn't to say they never did anything else, just that they preferred to ignore his quiet presence.

Harry turned an ear upward from his internal meditations to see Petunia fussing over Dudley crying. Correction, Harry though, fake crying. Between his Uncle's purple-faced glare and his cousin's complaints, Harry knew he was in for a long day.

On his way towards the zoo, Harry was able to guess what had happened as they dragged him along with them. Something must have happened to Mrs Figg, the neighbour who normally looked after Harry, which resulted in a change of plans for the Dursleys. After all, there was no way in God's grace they would ever bring him along to taint their special boy's special day.

As they pulled into the zoo, Harry was surprised at how his day was vastly better than many before considering the circumstances. Harry avoided interactions as much as possible, as he walked a fair distance behind the group; keeping quiet and as small a presence as possible. For all purposes, in public, Harry was a quiet attachment to the Dursleys. To anyone who really cared to look, it wouldn't seem like Harry was a part of the group. No, if anyone had cared to look, he would have looked like a lost child in the zoo.

But this suited Harry just fine. If he was ignored then he wasn't suffering and somewhere in his mind, he knew. He didn't know how or why, but he knew one day he would be free of the Dursleys. After all, if nothing else, he had magic and once far away enough to be safe from them he would find a place where Harry could be free to be Harry, magic and all. Until then, despite his horrible life, at least for today with a cursory glance here and there, he could enjoy a trip to the zoo.

"Make it move!"

Harry broke from his trance to see that they had wandered into the reptile exhibit. Dudley was complaining about how boring the exhibit was and that the large boa constrictor was doing nothing at all. Harry watched from a distance and couldn't help but overlay himself over the snake's existence. A lonely caged soul, who doesn't speak, who remains mocked and gazed at without respect as a caged object that is feared. A creature whose fangs had long since been culled.

Even as his Uncle banged on the glass in an attempt to spook it, Harry felt a form of fellowship with the snake while the overlap of the action reminded him of earlier that morning. After all, its situation was not much different from his own; almost identical in fact.

As the Dursleys moved away Harry was drawn to the snake and was overcome with a feeling of déjà vu. As he watched the snake, it was to Harry's surprise that the snake seemed to stare back at him. Suddenly a word escaped his mouth, drifted through his lips as if from a long-forgotten dream.

"Parselmouth." The word came out horse and dry from years of lacklustre use.

Harry's eyes shot open, his hand jetting over his mouth as a quick gaze around showed that he had not been heard.

The Dursleys successfully thought Harry was mute and for better or worse that was a good thing in Harry's opinion. It was interesting how if you knew someone couldn't talk, you were a lot less likely to speak to them in the first place. Sure, they hated him for being more abnormal, but then again it was a nice boon all things considered and not a lie Harry wanted to be exposed yet.

Returning his focus back to the snake he concentrated his thoughts and reached out to the snake.

"Can you understand me?" he asked through the only form of magic he had ever become proficient in, a magic he would later learn was an extension of the mind magics. Animo Oratio.

The Snake nodded its head earnestly. It could understand him. Harry's sense of déjà vu grew stronger and Harry wondered if this had happened before. It all felt so familiar and not in a good way. A sinking feeling was looming in the back of his mind and yet Harry's gut feeling was to push deeper still, to continue towards that ill-feeling.

"I'm sorry about them. They're not the best sort of people to be around." Harry apologised.

The snake nodded in understanding before gesturing its head at the two larger males waddling to look at a tan-ish scaly-looking lizard. Rolling its eyes its head jerked slightly in rhythmic successions. Harry grinned and held back a chuckle. He realised the snake was laughing at his cousin and uncle while mocking their movements.

"I know how you feel," Harry communicated with his thoughts standing perfectly still leaning slightly against the glass. "It gets really annoying after a while. Especially for you, I bet."

The snake nodded vigorously in agreement as it rose from its sleeping posture to hover at eye level with Harry. So focused on his conversation with the snake, Harry had no chance to brace himself as his much larger cousin tackled him to the ground in a rush to watch the active snake.

"DAD! COME QUICK. LOOK AT WHAT THE SNAKE'S DOING!" His shout rang loudly in Harry's rattled grey matter.

Against Dudley's massive portly mass Harry was sent skidding across the ground. The cold concrete surface unforgiving against Harry's exposed skin. Anger sparked only momentarily as he focused on the source of his pain. His eyes staring daggers up at his cousin. At that moment Harry realised his mistake, the second it happened. He had allowed his emotions to breathe freely for, what had to have been, the first time in years. That single moment was all his suppressed magic needed to break free. And that loose magic possessed both a target and an intent.

The glass making up the vivarium instantly lost its corporeal form. Harry watched with an expression of fear and shock as his cousin who had been standing a little too heavily against said glass fell headlong into the exhibit having lost his balance when its physical form vanished. Wet soaked and confused the portly boy stiffened straight as a stone rod in fear as the massive boa slithered over him and out of the cage it had lived its entire life in.

Gliding elegantly across the concrete the snake stopped for but only a second to stare at Harry. "Thanksss." it hissed out with a curt nod before continuing its way out, hissing at pedestrians as it made its way to freedom.

Looking back at Dudley, Harry spotted that the glass had returned after having calmed down and collected his own emotions. Harry would have grinned as he watched Petunia and Dudley panic in the realisation that the reptile hall now had a new exhibit. Only one thing stopped him and that was the sight of his uncle in all his putrid glory. Purple-faced, veins pumping and throbbing out of his skull. Harry did not dare to break eye contact with this enraged Uncle. As Harry looked up at him, he knew that if there was no good in the world then in the next few hours, he would likely perish under the weight of Vernon Dursleys hatred.

After being practically manhandled into the car and dragged into the house, Harry was thrown into his own cage and as his ears rang from the impact he suffered from hitting the wall, Harry could hear the lock to his cupboard clink shut. Not a word was exchanged. There wasn't a need. Harry knew what was coming. What exactly he couldn't say, but he knew what was coming.

Harry learned early on that any outward actions on his part would trigger the anger and brutality of his relatives. By staying quiet and unnoticed they tended to forget about him and leave Harry in relative peace. But the moment something happened, it was as if all those small events that would have happened otherwise come down upon his head with all the force and mercy of a guillotine that had not been sharpened in a millennium.

This time, however, Harry knew his punishment was not likely to be as gentle as his usual punishments.

Only twice had Harry ever been 'punished' for doing something magical. The first time was when he magically summoned a toy he wanted. A toy that Dudley had taken from him. The boy was selfish and wouldn't share and subconsciously Harry had magically summoned it into his hands even though his rational mind knew he did not want to do it. His Uncle then took it back and dragged Harry into the shed. Pinning Harry's 'sticky' fingers down with a wood clamp he began to whip him with his belt as a lesson to never steal while all the while relishing in his suffering as every so often you could hear Harry's knuckles pop from the press.

Harry had screamed in pain and begged for him to stop as each finger was subjected to the wood clamp in turn. At least he would have been screaming out had it not been for the sheet tied around his mouth, gagging any sound that was produced. In reality, all that came out was a very shrill muffled screech that peaked every so often.

Harry learned then and there that silence would bring him some peace and safety. With each sound that the fat tub of lard heard from Harry, the belt buckle would come down upon him harder than before. It was then that Harry became a mute to the world. After that day Harry never spoke to anyone else again. While he had to endure a few more punishments, eventually everyone, including the Dursleys, had come to believe that he was mute. Harry had come to understand his inability at the time to speak was due to his magic activating to protect him during the punishments. Now it was an act supported and maintained by his magic.

The second time he was 'punished' was when his aunt tried to put an end to the mess that was his hair. Shaving all but a fringe at the front she had left him in an embarrassing state but one he could tolerate. However, by the next morning, Harry had grown it all back.

Three times they tried shaving it however each time it would grow back to its usual messy state. It was during the third time that his uncle dragged him out of bed at midnight and into the kitchen and like a hawk waited, watched as Harry's hair grew back. Each time it became long enough to grasp the porky bastard mercilessly ripped said chunks out of his scalp with no remorse. Sometime during the repeated process Harry had fainted and awoke two nights later. Harry had no idea how he got out of that terrible situation, but he guessed that the family had just given up and got bored with trying to de-hair him. All the same, fainting from blood loss was surprisingly a pleasant way to get away from the pain and torment.

Harry, however, knew this third time would not be like the others. Later that night Harry tensed as the heavy footsteps of his uncle meticulously resonated through the wall as they inevitably approached him. The hinges of his door whispered almost mockingly as they reluctantly opened to reveal his guardian.

Uncle Vernon, a cold rage burning behind his beady eyes that haunted his nightmares, stood over his nearly eleven-year-old form. His fat sausage link fingers grabbing him without hesitation or kindness. He didn't resist as Vernon dragged him out into the shed. Knowing well what was about to happen Harry calmed his mind and created a small room in his thoughts. Harry had done this many times after he discovered he could one day after meditating. In the room of his mind, he could slip away from the mortal coil and hide inside his own thoughts, deaf to all that happened to him.

The golden-red decorated room was small but comfortable. Most importantly it inspired a feeling of confidence and safety. A large lion banner that was draped over the wall watched over him with pride and distinction. Snakes coiled round the bedposts towering form. An eagle statue jutted out over the door, watching vigilantly for any intruder while engravings of badgers marched and danced all along the lowest most reach of the room's walls depicting a time of festival and cheer with great friends. There inside that room, Harry hid within his own mind as his punishment began as the shed's door closed with a grim click.

Bound to the workbench in the shed, Harry's eyes regained their light as he pulled himself out from the room. Not knowing how long he had been inside that room he quickly took note at the sight of the sunlight leaking through the door to see it was daytime. He was stuck in here bound to the wood with his uncle's belts while his numb fingers, were held in place by Vernon's old and brand-new wood clamps. Harry could only guess how long he had been out but considering how stiff he felt Harry guessed it was five days at most. His stomach felt hollow and heavy as it pressed down on himself.

Had he been a normal boy he would have died from lack of hydration, but he wasn't. Harry wondered if this was what those monks did in ancient times to defy the laws of physics. Stories did say they fasted without food and water while meditating for days. While curious the situation was pressing as Harry had yet to see Vernon anywhere. Harry wondered if he had left for work, leaving him there for later. Harry knew this wasn't the end of his torment. As he closed his eyes to re-enter into his mentally safe meditations Harry heard Petunia muttering outside of the shack. Harry guessed she was once again tending to her garden; however, it was more accurate to say she was trying to save it.

"That stupid boy. Running off and causing us trouble again. He better come back soon, or he'll be in big trouble." she grumbled out having to take care of her plants herself due to his absence.

As Harry returned to the crimson room, he paced for a bit within it. Harry wondered if the women had any idea as to his current predicament. Then again, he had to wonder if she was even aware of the suffering he endured at the hands of her chubby husband. While she never helped him, at the same time she never did him wrong either. A stern glare, a sharp tongue here. However, Petunia not once actively went out of her way to harm him in any manner. Shaking his head, he felt it didn't matter. Laying down on the comfy four-poster bed Harry let gentle sleep embrace him as he dreamed.

It was stormy, Harry found himself within his cupboard under the stairs. The door opened and Harry found himself falling out of it into an old shack of some kind. Black rain fell all around him painting the ground around him red. Clouds above descended towards him, opening like one of those worms from Dune. Vile and putrid oil-like liquid dripped down onto him. When it made contact, Harry found he couldn't move as it slowly covered him as the clouds descended. As Harry's nightmare continued and just as Harry gave in to the black sludge, the room burst into light as the shack door fell. Gazing at the door Harry saw a mountain of a man silhouetted proudly in front of the light. With a gentle hand stretched towards him Harry found himself whisked away to safety and away from his suffering. The nightmare that felt too real to be such, turned into blissful dreamless sleep. Not too soon either as the writhing Harry stilled just in time as Vernon opened the locked shack.

Harry opened his eyes. He found himself in his cupboard again. He was unsure how much time had passed and for a moment wondered if he was dreaming again. Pulling up his shirt he saw that the injuries he had endured while still painful were at least visibly gone on his skin which hung loosely on his ribs. Putting his oversized brown shirt back down he wondered if Vernon had become bored of him again. Two taps reverberated through his door as he pondered this likely reason.

Two taps. Harry rolled his eyes. The fat man didn't get bored, he was just tired of eating bad food. Without their cook, he must have felt that the joy of punishing him wasn't worth punishing himself with his wife's cooking. Getting up and walking out Harry made his way into the kitchen despite the ache in his joints and whipped up breakfast as the Dursleys chatted in the background. Just another day as usual.

Oddly enough Dudley was nowhere to be seen. His cousin must have been bored out of his mind and out wreaking havoc somewhere else with Piers, Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon, his so-called gang.

With Harry Hunting season being over, what with said primary target missing, the group of stupid boys must have been off somewhere else. Most likely being noisy, bullying some poor schmuck, or vandalising the school to which Harry would likely be blamed for; again.

"Boy! Get the mail." Vernon's commanding voice demanded from the living room couch.

Harry stepped away from breakfast and picked up the mail that had just slid through the mail slot on the door. On his way back he shuffled through the mail before he suddenly felt his heart stop. His heartstrings were being pulled like rubber bands as something in his mind became incredibly active. His magic which he had noticed was becoming, recently, more difficult to control and repress was now gushing out with his thoughts like a leaking sieve. The only defence left that held the flow at bay was his own skin.

Harry felt his chest tighten and his breathing hitch, stuck in his chest. His heart was pounding, and it felt like he was having a panic attack without the panic. So engrossed was he that he didn't hear his uncle's demands as to his hold up.

Someone had sent him a letter. No one ever sent him anything. And yet it felt right, expected. Like this was supposed to happen. Yet the attack felt foreign, unexpected... wrong.

A large fist collided with his jaw as Vernon, having grown tired of waiting on the boy, backhanded him into the ground. Punishment for keeping him waiting Harry rationalised as he wondered what had just happened. All the same, it broke him from whatever kind of attack he was having, so silver lining Harry thought.

"Boy. When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it with the utmost –" Vernon growled out in an irritated manner before stopping as something caught his eye. A letter. A letter that he knew was to come and feared for nearly ten years that it would. Looking at Harry's letter and then back at Harry he ceased ranting and grabbed the mail before rushing off in a hurry, ignoring Harry completely.

His red face had shifted to a sickening shade of yellow that could only be matched by a traffic light or vomit. Apparently, he was incapable of going pale enough to be called white, but Harry suspected that yellow was the average man's pale for his uncle.

Harry sneaking a peek into the living room, curious as to what had caused such a distraught reaction from his Uncle. As he peeked, he saw Vernon and Petunia in a silent but heated discussion, fear in both their eyes. The pair's eyes looked up and spotting him. Petunia simply said in a thorny commanding tone, "Closet. Now." Harry made no argument.

Harry did as he was told and wasn't punished for the burnt breakfast that was produced by this series of events. Again, silver lining harry thought. On his back in the cramped cage, his life revolved around Harry wonder who had sent him the letter. Closing his eyes, he could see the letters on the front of the letter.

Mr H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging Surrey

Why did the letter trigger an attack response in him and more importantly, who was out there that knew he lived in a cupboard under the stairs? That line alone meant that someone knew of what he was living through, right? Pondering these thoughts Harry drifted into sleep. He did not even care that he was once again locked up in his cage which was confirmed by the sound of the key to the cupboard turning within its keyhole.

Drifting into slumber curled up in his makeshift bed, Harry found himself standing in what appeared to be a sea of stars. Above his head, he corrected his observations as there was a mirrored lake which reflected the stars below him. It felt like he was floating but at the same time looked like he was standing on glass. It was like the sky under his feet was a floor yet all the same non-existent.

In the mirror-like lake above him, that was the sky, Harry could see himself standing on the water looking back at him through the lake-like sky. In the reflection above him, he stood on a lake of water, staring down he was floating in a void of stars. Whatever Harry found himself standing on – be it an invisible sea or galactic void – whatever it was, appeared to be quite stable and cold to the touch like the calm surface of a frozen lake.

Thoughts and questions racked his dreaming mind. What was this... what was he seeing... where was he?

The experience was surreal and following his gut, Harry jumped at the lake-mirror sky. While he expected to fall back down instead Harry drifted toward the lake as if there was no gravity to contain him. The moment he touched the lake, it's mirror-like surface shattered into thousands of sparkling bubbles, each one glowing and shimmering like priceless jewels, each the size of an average adult bowling ball. Harry had shut his eyes when the sky-like body of water shattered but upon opening his eyes, he saw... himself.

Harry was looking at himself yet not himself. He looked... It looked different. Yet he couldn't quite put his figure on what was different. It was like him but unexposed to magic or at least the knowledge of it. He just looked so... ignorant, pure, in pain yes but still pure.

Slightly fearful of what was happening, Harry stepped back a half step. However, the moment he did the dream ended. The galaxy of jewel-like bubbles burst and cracked apart like a cheap windowpane and Harry found himself falling into his small cupboard sweating. The transition was almost seamless and was disorienting and scary. Harry laid there breathing heavily his mind in a cheap panic. Questions of if he was still in a dream or awake weighed heavily on him. Staring at the stairs above him which made up his ceiling Harry couldn't tell when the dream ended, and reality began, and this scared him.

With a jolt, Harry shot up and realised that the trinkets he had collected inside his closet were floating.

Finding his centre and repressing his magic Harry ended the accidental magic and checked to make sure no one had seen him. Inside his closet, at midnight he was grateful that his relatives hadn't paid him a midnight visit.

Going back to sleep Harry shivered in panic. With the depths of his subconscious, he loved magic but after the most recent punishments, he was in no condition to love magic of any kind. Closing his mind, he knew he had to be more vigilant. Any more outbursts like before and Harry feared for his wellbeing. There had to be a limit to what he could survive, and Harry feared that limit would appear the next time. As slumber took hold and Harry dreamt, he remained unaware that such fear and rationality had placed a lock around his centre. A lock that had been placed atop another that was holding back a frightfully full river.

Waking up the next morning, Harry was greeted with the grumbles of his guardians near the front door. While he couldn't see much through the slots of his door, Harry could make out his uncle in a sleeping bag who had been waiting on the mail. In his hand was said mail. Three letters in green. Petunia conversing quietly enough that Harry couldn't hear much but he did hear Vernon drilling shut the mail slot and walking away with a confident and proud grin on his face. The remainder of Harry's day was uneventful and quiet as he remained locked in his cage.

The next day Harry heard the soft patter of letters bouncing off the wood that now blocked the mail slot. He closed his eyes, his head drooping as it didn't matter. Trapped in his cupboard he couldn't get them even if he wanted too. Later that day Harry listened as his letters, four this time were torn apart but a huffing and grumbling Vernon. Each rip tore at his heartstrings and yet brought a sense of relief. Ever since the first letter, Harry realised his control over his magic was weakening. It was flowing more freely and becoming more violent and savage. If things kept falling apart as they had been Harry felt something bad would happen and it would be impossible to fix.

These letters just so happened to be what he thought was the cause as they brought forth both hope and fear. Yet at the same time, every letter triggered within him a sensation of love and hate for his magic. Like a great adventure with both love and pain was just beyond the seal. A journey where despite everything, he was free. This conflicting nature had left Harry confused and uncertain. As night fell, another lock appeared as cracks formed.

The following day which had to have been Saturday since the milkman had arrived, Petunia was greeted with 24 letters all rolled up within the two dozen eggs she was given. Dudley who was racing out of the kitchen from his ranting father and with no shortage of fear and amazement in his words asked from the other side of Harry's cupboard door, "Who is so desperate to talk with you to do that?"

Harry wonder that himself.

Sunday was surprisingly a day of freedom for Harry. He was let out of his cupboard having been told that he was getting a break from being punished. Not likely Harry thought to himself. Harry knew that the real reason was that the post didn't come on Sundays and Vernon likely missed his servant's cooking. Harry scoffed at that thought mentally. Like Owls would care that it was Sunday.

Harry not missing a beat stopped to wonder why he thought owls would have anything to do with his mail or his release. Sure, there were owls on the Dursley's car when four letters arrived two days ago. He had heard them on the car all day after all and heard the family complaining about them, but what did that have to do with his post?

Despite looking sick and somewhat stressed Vernon looked pleased to Harry as he sat down for breakfast. "Love Sundays," he stated cheerfully as he could have meant every emotion in it. "After all, no work, no stress, and of course no post –"

His statement was cut off as a rumbling took hold over the living room. A single letter, soon followed by a swarm of letters, whizzed past their heads and around the room. In an instant, the entire room was filled like a full-on locust swarm with letters addressed to Harry Potter zooming about without a care. This moment broke something within Vernon.

"THAT'S IT!" he bellowed, "WE'RE GOING AWAY! FAR AWAY! WHERE THEY CAN'T FIND US!"

Dudley cowering in the corner in his mother's arms in a right distraught state mumbled out, "Dad's gone mad, hasn't he?"

His mother didn't answer as she simply tightened her hug on her son. Vernon's wrath apparently terrified her to no end as well as her son.

That evening the family spent the entire day on the road fleeing from their cosy home at number four.

Through the entire trip, Harry was able to breathe easily. Both because Vernon was focused on driving and because unlike their usual trips the family had taken barely anything with them but a few clothes so at least this time around Harry wasn't buried under their luggage. Something, however, was scaring Harry and now trapped in the moving metal can that Vernon drove, Harry knew exactly what it was that sparked that fear. Vernon. The man was on a quiet warpath and wherever that path ended up was likely to be Harry's grave. The punishment this time was likely to be fatal, even if he was protected by his magic and had nothing to do with someone's letter sending fetish. Somehow Harry knew neither would protect him this time from what was likely to come.

Each night, they made quick stops as they fled from Harry's mail. However, even on the road, the letters seemed to haunt them relentlessly.

It was nearly Monday around midnight when they arrived at their destination. Rushing everyone in a hurry, Vernon corralled the family into a boat and shepherding them himself rowing them to what appeared to be an abandoned lighthouse. As storm clouds greeted them upon the horizon Harry felt nearly sick. The trip had been more stressful for him as the fear of his punishment upon their arrival loomed over his head.

Shoving everyone in Harry could feel the heat of Vernon's tightening grip on his shoulder. Once they all entered Vernon went off to drop the family's luggage upstairs. While he did that, Harry found a corner that felt safest and hid there near the fireplace, hoping to avoid what his instincts were telling him was about to happen.

The creaky shack did nothing for his nerves. The crunch and squeak of the old wet floorboards from above helped Harry track the nearest threat and left him in a rigid state of awareness. His magic was raging inside him along with his survival instincts, but Harry knew if he used magic, his death would only be that much worse.

He sat there huddled away as the second counted, then minutes passed, then hours. The Dursleys had gone to sleep, but Harry found himself desperate to stay awake. The Storm clouds in the distance shrieked out in aggressive and booming fury. A constant reminder to him that there was no escape; A constant reminder that there was no escape, only a matter of time.

It was about noon the next morning that the distant storm's approach struck the shack and Harry was too out of it to care. Earlier that morning, a sleep-deprived Harry had started to fight off his magic actively as it threatening to burst free against his will. Painfully so.

It was relentless and the more Harry struggled to hold it in the more he found he was losing his hold. With the thoughts of inflicting 'punishment' on Harry dancing like gumdrops in Vernon's mind, Harry started to panic. For hours he held off but eventually, he began to break. At some point, small oddities started to happen. They started small, unnoticed. The shack shuttered, the logs in the fireplace moved slightly, wood and glass alike creaked and groaned hauntingly even within the storm approaching crescendo.

Petunia and Dudley were cowering on the couch fearing the shack was haunted but Vernon had jumped to the - albeit right - conclusion that Harry was the culprit.

"BOY! You will stop that this instant!" Vernon commanded as he roamed towards the boy, towering over the struggling child.

Harry didn't hear him. Too busy was he trying to do just that, stopping is screaming magic, that he didn't even hear or notice Vernon approach. A load smack, pain, and a shriek from Petunia broke him from this concentration. Lying on the ground blood pooling from his head which had slammed heavily into the stone wall, Harry gazed up confused before gazing fearfully at the sight of Vernon. The moment he made eye contact thoughts of rage, fury, and anger flooded into Harry's mind. Through it, all only one thought was audible to him.

The boy is at fault, kill him.

Harry's instinct screamed at him to defend himself from Vernon, but Harry ignored it. Years of fearing the torture of using his magic visibly inhibited him. Harry tried to reign in his magic which was threatening to explode outward like a bomb to no avail. In pain, dazed, and with eyes blurred his vision, Harry curled up and focus as best he could on his centre. He endured as Vernon swung his beefy arms again and again at Harry. His bulky mass pinning Harry to the ground where he lay.

"Vernon, what are you doing!?" Petunia shouted before she too coward at the sight of the man's furry.

Not skipping a beat, lightning and darkness eclipsed the shack and Petunia and her son coward as the bestial instincts of Vernon took hold and fell upon the shrinking boy. Blow after blow fell upon Harry and with each one, the abnormality seemed to increase in number. The shack now shaking violently.

"I. TOLD. YOU. TO. STOP. BOY." the obese man demanded with each swing. Petunia was crying words out to her husband begging him to stop. Even afraid she could see the signs that he was making it worse. Something within her, like Harry, was screaming at her to stop him. And like Harry, she didn't act on them. A few seconds later she wished she had.

Vernon hesitated as he saw an oily-black, sandy, mist begin to be emitted from, no, as Harry's body transmuted itself into a dark and malicious mist-like cloud. The last thing any of them recalled was that of a greasy, deathly cry of pain that reverberated for miles and even into the ears of a large mountainous man who stood not but a half day's trip away from them.

Harry found himself no longer being assaulted by his magic nor his uncle. He was having that dream again. The same one the night his first letter came. Like before Harry leapt up to the mirror in the sky and just like before the water burst and Harry found himself surrounded by those warm and magical bubbles that sparkled like jewels.

Standing before himself he was afraid, but a need drove him forward. From apparently nowhere, Harry found his bravery and stared at himself expect to see the same Harry who felt different from him.

It was different. This time he wasn't looking at himself, not really anyway. In front of him was a version nearly five or six years younger. His childlike self smiled up at him as he floated up to eye level. The child was smiling but Harry could feel the storm of fear and pain behind their eyes. Taking a chance Harry reached out with his hand and felt fear. The fear that he would reject the him that held out his hand.

Harry reached out to touch the child, to embrace the scared yet smiling boy. When he stepped forward 'Harry' hesitated. The small boy flinched, afraid of bodily contact. The child stopped smiling and its scared inner emotions were now reflected outside as well as within. All the same, hesitantly its arms open, as if asking for a hug. It was a final show of faith before all hope was lost, the last chance or that's what Harry felt like it was. It looked like it to. The final act of faith before all hope was lost to a child long forgotten.

He acted. Harry too bore himself bare, dropping all guards against the smaller him. In a single movement filled with warmth and comfort, Harry hugged the boy sharing in its fear his own as well. Warmth flooded over him banishing the starry sky which he hadn't noticed before was now replaced by a black oily mist. The mist, filled with rage, made ready to suffocate and consume to two Harry's. Harry, too busy to notice this kept his eyes closed and was focused entirely on accepting the small weak child-like version of himself. Unaware due to his action of embracing this young child, a change occurred within and around him. A pressure unnoticed and unseen like gravity crushed the mist into not. By the time he opened his eyes the mist was crushed into the ground forming a black marble-like floor.

Harry's mind was a blur as thoughts not his own flooded into his mind. A voice spoke behind him and turning around he was greeted by a man who had long black hair and looked to be about fifty or forty years old.

"It's about time." The middle-aged man declared, glaring at him in exasperation. "Had you accepted our magic sooner; things would have ended up a whole lot cleaner."

Turning around Harry noticed the child was gone and turning back he saw himself exactly as he was, Eleven years old, weak, bloodied and bruised. Harry just stood there gaping, uncertain as to what to make of the situation. Stuttering he asked, "W-who... W-what are you?"

The doppelganger sighed, both in frustration and relief. "Well, that doesn't really matter since you already know –" pulling back his hair to reveal his forehead. There was no scare. Harry wondered why he expected to see a scar.

"Who and what I was no longer matters, as I am about to give everything I am to you. Now that you have accepted your magic and no longer fear it, I can, or I should say have, finally complete the ritual." The doppelganger stated as it began to fade away into a spectrum of rainbow coloured glowing particles.

"There has only ever been one Harry James Potter. Just consider this a gift from a 'you' who no longer exists. Don't hesitate as I did, letting life and everyone else direct me as to where to go. And don't wait for the next great adventure to be your first great adventure. Until then my last give is to clean up the mess, we, or rather I, made."

In a flash of light, he awoke unable to say anything and Harry found himself in a white room staring up at the ceiling.

The room was clean and filled with a strong scent of flowers and pungent herbs. The walls were white and far too clean to be comforting. It was out of place seeing as the walls he expected to be made of plasterboard were made from stone bricks. At the same time, they did not feel exceptionally out of place just unusually lazy or ancient, outdated even. A bed curtain red as rose surrounded and shielded Harry from the view of other patients.

Sitting up Harry looked around and basked in the sensation of nostalgia. Closing his eyes, he felt the multitude of magics flowing in the air and wrap around his worn-out body. It felt right, homey even.

With a calming breath, he tried to pull on his magic just like he would usually do and called to his magic. He was pleasantly surprised to see that he was able to summon forth his magic with just as much ease and grace as he did so long ago, or more accurately with just as much ease and grace that he would expect given the eleven-year gap in its use. Directing it as he did Harry watched as one of the roses by his bedside crystallise within the vase that held it. Harry's smile transformed into a grin with a similar easy as the rose's own transformation.

He remembered. Harry Potter had returned to the magical world.

xXxXx

Special thanks to: Darksnider05, kent-jenen, god of all, Princess Silverstar, and Haunton

"For their outspoken comments, encouragement and swift reviews. I look forward to hearing from many more of you in the near future. Here's to you guys. Seriously I doubt I'd have been motivated to unload this as quickly as I have without your simple show of interest. Hats off to you all.

Also, for now, Animo Oratio will remain undefined since there's plenty of evidence to hint at what form of magic it is. Good luck figuring it out; shouldn't be that hard; unless I am overestimating my own writing skills which wouldn't be the first time. Have fun.