Warnings: Abuse, and suicide ideation included in this chapter. Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

It was the beginning of the third week back at the Dursely's for the summer. Harry was laying on his wafer thin mattress staring unseeingly up at the ceiling. He was trying to clear his mind for once in his life so he could actually have a chance at sleeping. He had been plagued by nightmares all week long. They varied from the death of Cedric and Sirius to the daily beatings he was receiving from Uncle Vernon. At first he had thought he would finally escape the nightmares, as they had been suspiciously absent the first week of the summer, but boy had he been wrong. They had returned with a vengeance, seemingly out of nowhere. His only consolation thus far had been that they were not visions. He chided himself about his new found knowledge and the consequences it took him to learn it.

Harry finally knew the difference between a nightmare, a real vision, and a fake one sent from Voldemort. He had been thinking a lot this summer, especially in the garden, since apparently that would be his only chore. He found that the mindless work of weeding, tilling, planting, potting, and watering allowed him to organize his thoughts. It was during this time he had discovered that all of the implanted visions sent from Voldemort had a feeling of urgency weaved within them. The feeling felt foreign to Harry because it was not the panicked sense of urgency he would normally feel, but a calm force pushing him to explore, be curious, and feel dread and fear. Now that he knew the difference he often felt an increased sense of grief and guilt over not taking the time to learn this before the death of Sirius. He thought back to the promise he made to himself three nights ago.

Harry had just woken up screaming from a nightmare. He had been watching Sirius fall through the veil and Bellatrix's laughter was still ringing in his ears, his screams doing nothing to drown it out. Due to his disoriented state he didn't hear the clicks of his bedroom doors, the locks being undone one by one until his Uncle was at the last one. This only gave him a minute to prepare himself for his Uncle's rage.

"Freak stop your screaming this instant! I will not have you waking up the whole neighborhood with your unnaturalness!"

Harry curled into a ball at the top corner of his bed, trying to make himself as small as possible so as to limit the area the blows he was sure would follow his Uncle's rant would land.

"Boy you answer me this minute! What in the bloody hell is all this screaming about!"

Harry peaked up beneath his fringe, his Uncle's face was turning from red to purple and his fists were clenched at his sides. Harry promised himself right then he would not have another nightmare this summer.

"I'm sorry sir it was a dream I'll try not to do it again, I promise Uncle Vernon." He whispered into the silence.

"You're right- you won't be making any more noise tonight and do you know why boy?"

Harry just shook his head in the negative, too disoriented to speak. This response caused Uncle Vernon to lean in so his face was directly in front of Harry, ensuring the boy could see him and he smiled as he answered.

"Because you'll be unconscious before too long, no more dreaming tonight boy!"

Before giving Harry time for the words to penetrate into his sleep addled mind the first blow struck his side.

Crack! It was Dudley's Smelting's stick that struck Harry against his ribs.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Repeated blows reigned down over Harry's ribs, back and legs. Anywhere Uncle Vernon could strike while Harry was curled in his protective ball he did.

Crack! Blackness enveloped Harry as the last blow landed across his temple and sent him unconscious just as his Uncle had promised.

Pulling his mind out of the memory, Harry focused on an image of the garden. Despite the uneasiness he felt around his Aunt Petunia's new attitude towards him, Harry was beginning to appreciate and care for the garden she had him building. He imagined in detail all of the plants, flowers, and vegetables he had been nurturing this summer. He combined shades of greens, browns, purples, blues and pinks that composed the tapestry he was weaving in his mind, adding vibrance and dimension. He found that if he focused on his garden every night before sleeping, slowly adding new detail, the amount of nightmares he experienced lessened greatly. His goal tonight was to sleep through the night with only one nightmare. As he drifted to sleep he could hear the soft hoots of Hedwig reassuring him that she was here.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, blinking any lingering sleep away. He had done it! Quickly he took inventory of his body and felt no new bruises or injuries. Wow he thought, I didn't even wake Uncle Vernon up with my screaming! His happiness was of course short lived as there was suddenly a loud pounding on his door. That isn't Aunt Petunia's knock he thought quickly. He jumped out of bed just as the door swung open showing Uncle Vernon entering his room looking enraged.

"Boy what the hell are you doing still in bed! Breakfast should already be on table!"

Oh no thought Harry, he must've slept through Aunt Petunia's knock this morning. He was having a hard time comprehending that Aunt Petunia would have left him to the mercy of Uncle Vernon. She had been almost decent towards him this summer! Why wouldn't she make sure he was up when she had every morning so far?

A slap to his face brought him back to the present.

"Boy you are acting dumber than normal! Why aren't you answering me?!"

"Uncle Vernon sorry! I just overslept! I'll get breakfast on the table right away!"

"What do you mean you overslept? There's no time now is there? This is your fault freak! You better not be sick- I don't want to be catching any of your freak germs!"

"I promise Uncle Vernon I'm not sick, I'll come downstairs right now and cook you breakfast!"

"Blasted all I don't have time for this." With that last muttered statement Uncle Vernon took out Dudley's Smelting's stick from behind the dresser by the door. Holding the stick with two hands he swung it like a baseball bat straight at Harry's ribs.

Harry didn't even stand a chance. He couldn't even take a breath before uncle Vernon was swinging again, this time aiming for his back. As soon as Harry doubled over onto the floor Vernon aimed a swift kick to his stomach which flipped him over onto his back. With an evil gleam in his eyes he aimed the last blow for the side of Harry's head. With the last blow the world went black once again for Harry.

What Harry didn't know was that that morning Aunt Petunia had rapped on his door as normal to wake him up on time. Upon hearing mumbling she had assumed he had woken up. Aunt Petunia had been in a hurry that morning because she had many errands to run for the family, including shopping for food. She wanted to complete her shopping before Vernon got home from work that day so she could hide extra food for Harry. Too occupied on her mission, she hadn't thought anything was out of the ordinary when she had quietly slipped out of the house before any of the men were up.

Harry slowly came to consciousness and tried to lift his head but was stopped by the sudden spinning his room was doing around him. He slowly rested his head back on the floor and once again closed his eyes. He tried to take inventory of his injuries: he could feel a cracked rib, bruised back, bruised stomach, and he had a splitting headache. Again he attempted to open his eyes, but this time kept his head still. He glanced towards the window and could see that the sun was high overhead. He assumed that it must be around noon. He was surprised Aunt Petunia hadn't come for him yet. At that thought he listened to the house and heard nothing, it was empty.

Laying on the floor in pain Harry laughed at himself for his earlier happiness. He was sure he was being punished for ever having considered feeling a sliver of happiness after the deaths of Cedric and Sirius. He knew he didn't deserve happiness. Yet here he had been, just this morning, experiencing a feeling he knew he shouldn't even attempt to wish for. Lesson learned he thought sourly, happiness, life, and Harry Potter do not go together. He was the "Chosen One" alright, he was destined for a life of desolation, living in the shadows only to be a husk of a person and used as a weapon for the wizarding world. Now he knew the truth. He would never be accepted in the muggle world because he was a freak just like the Dursleys always reminded him and he would never be accepted in the wizarding world because nobody saw him as Harry. All any witch or wizard ever saw was Harry Potter, the "Savior of the Wizarding World". Vernon had finally won. He had finally beaten the last shard of happiness and hope that Harry had mistakenly held onto.

With that last depressing thought Harry once again lifted his head, this time the room didn't spin quite so quickly, so he decided to sit up. Another mistake, he threw up instantly. The motion of throwing up caused his stomach and back both to spasm, sending Harry into painful spasms similar to the Cruciatus. Collapsing back onto his back, Harry found himself staring at his ceiling with tears in his eyes. What was he going to do? Write a letter? No, for one no one had written him this summer, not even Hermione, and also Uncle Vernon had strictly forbade it. He knew now was not the time to go against his Uncle's wishes, not when he couldn't even move. So really there was no one he could go to, well except maybe Aunt Petunia. No, he reminded himself, she's the one who put me in this position. Alone then, he thought, always alone.

Again he tried to sit up, breathing through the pain he held himself in the tripod position. He swallowed back the bile that threatened to rise from his throat as pain and anger ripped through his body. He was angry at his pain, himself, Dumbledore, Voldemort, his friends, and the Dursleys. He could feel his anger spreading through his veins like fire, threatening to consume him alive. Hanging onto to that feeling he hoisted himself up, using the edge of his bed as a leverage. Stumbling into the hallway and using the wall as support he found his way to the bathroom. He didn't even glance at the mirror, he knew he must look a mess. Gingerly he disrobed and stepped into the ice cold shower he had started for himself. After enduring the pelting water for a couple of minutes his body blissfully numbed from the cold. He let out a sigh of relief. He would show the Dursleys they couldn't keep him down, they wouldn't win. As Harry stepped out of the shower he promised himself no one would win but him. It was time for Harry to take control of his own life and the only way he could think to control it was by controlling his death. He would not die by the Dursleys hand, he would not let Voldemort kill him, and he would not die as a weapon shaped by Dumbledore for the wizarding world. He would choose how he died and when. He was taking back his life and death was the only way Harry knew how to succeed.

His promise firmly in place, Harry dressed and headed to the kitchen. On the table innocently lay his chore list as if his whole world had not somehow shifted this morning. With a clear mind he headed for the garden, crumpling the list in his hand. It was time to plan and what better a place to plan than his garden.

Note: This will be the last chapter focusing solely on the abuse, from here I am hoping to move the story forward with Harry back at Hogwarts after the next two to three chapters.