Chapter 2: Rage

Harry woke up from the strangest dream. He was inside his cupboard, and he woke up on the thin mattress like every night, but his arms and his forehead was full of caked blood. His head still throbbed, and he felt aching pain throughout his entire body. He remembered removing his bloodied t-shirt last night after all, but was so tired and aching and he simply fell asleep, forgetting to turn off the light and forgetting to thank the person who helped him.

{Yes, given the circumstances, I forgive you for not thanking me in saving your life}

He looked around the cupboard. There was no one. He convinced himself he wasn't in the land of the dead and wasn't dreaming. He was just afraid that he was getting insane.

{No you're not dreaming, nor insane, thankfully}, the Voice sound amused.

"Um, hello? Thank you for saving me. Where are you?" Harry asked.

{No need to speak out loud, I'm inside your head}

'Oh. Right.' Harry blinked. He pinched himself; he was still not dreaming.

'Well, thank you very much for saving me. Just who are you? I mean, I know I'm not dreaming, I still feel some pain, and I do hope I'm not crazy. How come you're inside my head anyway? How do you that, healing me just like that?'

{Stop babbling. So many questions... No, you're not dreaming, and I certainly hope you're sane. To answer your questions, I am Lord Voldemort.} The Voice, Lord Voldemort, said this in a very haughty manner.

{Let's see... how to explain this in the easiest way... My soul had been with you since you're just a child, but I was simply... dormant. But tonight you almost died. You're within an inch of your life. If you die, I will end up dying as well. That, is something that I won't allow to happen. But you have to accept me before I can do anything.}

Harry remembered vaguely that the Voice said to trust him. And he did.

{You've accepted me. And I managed to save your life, our life, by the joining of our souls. There was unfortunately no other way; your own magical reserve was severely depleted. I sacrificed my magic and combined it with what's left of your magic to heal your body. I believe these answer your questions?}

Harry was even more confused than ever. How could that explain anything? That actually raised more questions than answers! Just who is Lord Voldermort really? How can he hear him in his head? And how can souls be joined anyway? And what does it mean, magic? Magic doesn't exist!

It seemed that Voldemort can hear his thoughts. Or perhaps Harry was talking inside his head. He wasn't sure.

{You ignorant child! Of course magic exists! How do you explain this?}

Harry looked at his right arm, still bloodied but no longer broken.

{I healed you using magic. Oh, this is unbelievable. After last night you're still sceptical? Well, place your palm there. Imagine the blood disappears, like it never exists. And repeat after me, 'Scourgify'. And it will disappear, like magic}. The last sentence was said sarcastically.

Well, he had nothing to lose, he thought. Harry placed his palm on his blood-caked arm and imagined the blood to disappear. An image of his arm, scrubbed clean of blood, flashed in his mind. In front of his eyes, the caked blood all disappeared. Harry's jaw dropped. His brain finally caught up with yesterday's events. Suddenly he felt a head-splitting headache.

{STOP! STOP these assaults! My head! Questions after questions! This soul-mind-sharing thing is driving me crazy! Oh...} Both Harry and Voldemort now groaned in pain.

{Maybe... Yes, pairing both occlumency and legilimency should work...}

Thankfully whatever Voldemort had done had lessened the headache somewhat. In the following silence Harry tentatively asked, 'Um, Lord Voldemort right? That- that was magic right? Can I do that as well? I mean-'

Whatever Harry was about to say was cut short when he heard the one thing that he hated the most in the whole wide world. His Uncle Vernon's voice; shouting and cursing heavily. Harry felt his headache began anew. His chest started to constrict, and his blood began to boil.

Uncle Vernon, who had almost killed him! Without Lord Voldemort's help, he'd died last night! What was the reason that made Uncle Vernon so angry? Just because he saved himself from Dudley's clutches? Just because some freak accident occurred that let him get away from Dudley? And Aunt Petunia, what did she do? Just watched him being beaten to death? What kind of people are they? What kind of human just watch a child being beaten to near death?

Harry had had enough. He began to see red. His rage filled him. They'd pay, both of them. And Dudley too, the tattle-tale. He had enough as a punching bag. Being beaten for simple things, things that weren't his faults. Being called a freak. Ignored and ridiculed every day. Being told as worthless. Told as unworthy to live, a burden left on their doorstep. Good for nothing. Never had a friend as everyone was afraid of Dudley. Needing to watch his back all the time, needing to run and hide. Being hungry almost every day as he watched them eat what he had cooked, his portion only the leftovers. And all the while no one do anything. No one had helped him...

He had enough.

He kicked open the cupboard door, never realizing that it was bolted from the outside.

He went to the living room where he heard the voice coming from. Vernon was still shouting. Petunia was sobbing. He looked at the clock and realized it was almost noon. 'Why Uncle Vernon isn't at work? Isn't today Thursday?' He thought inconsequentially.

Then they all saw him. Dudley was also there, he realized.

Vernon eyes bulged when he saw him. Petunia face was streaked with tears. But Harry didn't see all that. All he saw was red. He saw his tormentors, his so-called relatives, who hated him so much that they wanted him dead.

Vernon face turned white. He looked like he saw a ghost, or perhaps the devil himself. Harry knew he looked a sight; his hair was still matted with blood, the dried blood on his face from his wounds last night made him looked quite deranged. What he didn't realize was that his eyes were red, and that rage and hate was pouring out of him in black waves.

He stood opposite Vernon and raised his right hand towards Vernon, palm outwards directly facing his Uncle's face. It was Harry's recently mended hand, the arm that was broken when that monster beat him to near death. So suddenly and without a word, Vernon was lifted from his feet towards the ceiling and flung bodily to the end of the wall. He was slammed into the cabinet hosting so many duck porcelain figurines that Petunia had collected. The crash that followed seemed to shake the entire house. Vernon lay under the white debris of porcelain and plates and whimpered in pain. Aunt Petunia, shaken, screamed in fright and rushed towards her husband. Dudley simply stared opened mouth, too terrified to even move.

Harry wasn't finished. Years of beatings caught up with him. He raised his palm again and Vernon twitches. Vernon screamed as thousands upon thousands of needles and knives got under his skin, and then every nerve, every fibre of his being is being fried so that he feels like he's burning alive. He screamed and screamed, begging Harry to stop, please stop, have mercy and just kill him.

Aunt Petunia then flung herself onto Harry, knocking his hand away. She grovelled in front of Harry, clutching his pants, tears streaking down her face.

"Please Harry, please let him go. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, he's not going to hurt you again, I'm sorry, so sorry, I'd never let him or anyone hurt you again, please..."

Harry didn't hear her, couldn't hear anything except the sound of his rage, all he saw was a woman whimpering, pleading to save her husband's life. He saw the woman who watched while he suffer, who simply stood there watching and did nothing...

He raised his right hand again, palm up, towards Petunia, and watched her flung towards the wall, her small frame crumpled when her back hit the wall. She whimpered painfully.

Harry turned to Dudley then, his cousin, the boy who tormented him every single day of his life, who leads a pack of boys, no, wolves who continue to seek and pummel him every chance they got, just to show who's stronger, who's in charge, or just took it as a hobby to see him suffer. Dudley was still rooted on the spot, face as white as a sheet, and a dark stain was forming in front of his pants and now starting to drip onto the carpet. Harry felt like laughing now, who's stronger, eh? He'd never pissed in his pants before, no matter how scared, how badly beaten he was.

He walked towards Dudley then, watching his face and enjoying the feeling of being on control, being the one who caused the fear instead of the one who cowered. He raised his palm again but before he managed to do anything, Petunia pleaded from the floor, "Not Dudley, not Dudley, spare him, please"

Something twitched inside his heart, he tried to ignore the feeling but those words kept on repeating.

The words mutated, changed, Not Harry, Not Harry and he heard a too familiar voice, a woman's voice that kept hearing in his dreams, "Please not Harry!" It kept repeating and repeating and then changing "Please … have mercy… have mercy…" and the woman screamed and those green lights came...

He dropped his hand and clutches his head, his head felt like bursting again. He dropped on his knees and whimpered then, the woman voice kept repeating "have mercy… have mercy…" on and on and all the while his head feels like it's going to burst. He screamed and screamed, in his voice and not in his voice, so that what was coming from his mouth sound unearthly and like coming from the depth of hell.

Slowly his head stopped pounding and his vision cleared. He no longer saw red, all the while the voice kept repeating "Please… have mercy…" and then Harry wept. The black waves surrounding him soon dissipated and the only sound were whimpers from Vernon and sobs from Petunia. Dudley swayed on the spot and collapsed on the floor, but Petunia, who had crawled to her son managed to catch Dudley and cradled him on her lap.

Harry, his voice thick from weeping, suddenly voiced, "How did my mother die? How did my parents die?"

Aunt Petunia, who still cradled the unconscious Dudley had thought the question was addressed to her. She hesitated but in a low voice finally told the truth that she had hidden for nearly ten years. "They were killed. Killed by a madman."

Harry looked up and stared at her Aunt. "Not a car crash? Not drunks?"

She whispered, wondering what will happen to her now for hiding the truth for so long. "No, Harry. They died protecting you. They were killed by an evil wizard. The Dark Lord."

"Lord Voldemort?"

Petunia shivered. She wondered how he knew the name. She hadn't heard nor spoken that name for years. "Yes Harry. Voldemort. He tried to kill all of you, but you're the only one who survived."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Why?" Harry repeated over and over again.

Petunia just stared at his nephew.

After a while Harry suddenly laughed. Threw his head back and laughed and laughed until he cried.

The one who killed his parents all those years ago was the one who saved his life last night.

A/N: Reviews appreciated