Shattered Surrender
by sick-atxxheart
Chapter Two
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The night had been cold, but Harry's shivers weren't anything new to him. Shoved in a small closet underneath the stairs, a thin blanket was his only source of warmth; long ago, Harry had learned to respect the fact that his mother's sister and her family hated him with a passion.
The room smelled oddly of spiders and dust, and from the tiny crack beneath the doorway Harry could tell that it was almost morning. Soon, very soon, his Aunt Petunia would be around to pound on the door, screaming at him to make breakfast. Harry wasn't sure what normal children were treated like, but even in his small mind he had made the assumption that it wasn't like this. When Mommy and Daddy had been alive, they hadn't made him do anything, and they hadn't been mean to him.
Obviously, he hadn't been good enough for them to stay around. His Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had told him that enough times already that he took it to be true. He had always been a bad little boy- and his parents were taken away because he was so bad.
Harry couldn't, and didn't want to, remember how many nights he had sat crying and hating himself because he was such a horrible person- a terrible child, a freak. That's why he had so readily accepted any punishment doled out by either Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia, or their fat son Dudley- because he deserved it, after all, didn't he? The more it hurt, the more he felt- and his tears were only signs of weakness, and he took punishment for that wordlessly also.
Harry, at his young age, didn't even notice the growing resentment that was inside of him. He had never truly felt loved- not that he remembered, anyway- and as he grew, the need for nurturing and someone to support him was also getting larger. But receiving that was like asking for a meal during a punishment- useless, and ultimately more painful than just waiting would be.
Harry learned, and he accepted what he was given; but he hated it.
As the long days went on, he moved closer and closer to cracking. Every punishment that was doled out- every horrible word that was spat at him with venom- each fueled the fire of anger that seemed to be burning inside of Harry, more and more each day. He could feel it, but he thought it was nothing- why shouldn't he feel some anger? (In all reality, Harry wondered why he couldn't simply feel nothing- after all, he was nothing.)
But one day, he snapped. The magic that flew out of his body, flinging his 'family' across the room, was nothing like he had ever felt before- fueled by anger and pain and want to escape, he felt strong. For the first time, Harry felt strong enough.
After that, there was no turning back. Within minutes, strange men had came and taken him away. "Dark magic", they called it. Harry was bad, they said. He had been bad, and he would be severely punished.
After that Harry no longer believed in love, or even hope. He believed in nothing.
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The taunting laugh echoed over Harry's head, and he shuddered as the light enveloped him again, causing him more pain than he thought imaginable. A daily practice of the prison guards was to torture the Boy Who Lived- but his title had quickly changed into The Boy Who Lived and Went Wrong, as soon as he had gotten to Azkaban.
A strangled cry left his lips, and with a small bit of strength left Harry reached up and slapped his hand over his mouth. It was one thing to scream from memories and fear- it was another to scream from pain. Harry wanted himself to be anything but weak- because in hell there is no room for failure.
The only choice was being strong, and becoming stronger was Harry's goal. Eventually, he knew, he could- and would- escape.
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"Harry?" Bella whispered quietly, her voice almost fearful. Harry had stopped crying long ago, and now he was blissfully silent- but she worried about him.
In this insanity, Bella didn't quite understand herself. She hated children- she hated them, hated them, hated them with a passion that almost no one else understood. Being close to Harry and caring about him was completely foreign to her- and she didn't quite know how to act. She was a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake! She was in Azkaban because she had tortured innocent people into insanity! Bella had no doubt that she herself truly was insane, because the idea that she was actually sane was just crazy. The Dementors had long ago given up pulling happy memories from her- instead, they just fueled the bad ones.
She wasn't sure what was worse.
She was pulled out of her reverie by the slight rustling sound of Harry lifting his head, and when she caught his eyes with hers the green in his glinted.
"We're going to get out of here, Bella," he whispered, his young voice sounding so full of malice and strength that she couldn't help but believe him. She, deep down, had no doubt that Harry Potter- the Boy Who Lived, regardless of his other names- had immense power within him.
Harry was continuing. "I'm not going to put up with this anymore, Bella. They're going to pay. They're going to pay for hurting me, and putting me here. They will pay, and soon."
Outside, the thunder cracked menacingly, and the Dementors glided on by.
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