Chapter 15 – Reckoning

Standard disclaimer – don't own any of JK Rowling's works, nor am I profiting from them.

A/N: Apologies for the delays in the last few chapters, trying to gain perspective to write a semi-convincing account of childhood and domestic abuse is heavy stuff. I am grateful that you as the readership are both patient and understanding of my writing and the speed of my updates. I would love reviews and since I just started writing reviews for other stories I get the difficulty, but it really does help. To the 22 new follows, and 14 new favorites, welcome!

But truthfully part of him secretly hoped that part of it was due to his absence and destiny, and he hated that want, that need to be loved by even his abusers. His heart's betrayal desperate for that acknowledgement reinforced his self-loathing. Even after everything … it enraged him with how unfair and twisted it was.

All of that conscious thought evaporated as his aunt carefully placed her hat on a table and gingerly dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Harry barely had time to notice the almost resigned steel in her eyes, to carry on with her day like a good wife, before his eyes traveled across her face and time hurtled to a stop.

He didn't know what he noticed first, the split lip, the heavy bruising around her jaw, or the darkened fingerprints around her neck, but what Harry remembered most were his aunt's eyes, one blackened and slightly swollen, the other clear and haunted. They widened in shock and abject fear as Harry unconsciously pulled off his cloak and regarded his adopted mother.

The silence carried on for what seemed like minutes, Petunia staring at Harry as if seeing a ghost, an unfamiliar one at that, and meeting Harry's confused gaze. Only as Petunia reached a hand out towards his, as if checking to see if he was real, did Harry react, recoiling as if her hand could burn him.

"Do not touch me." Harry's eyes were full of hurt and confusion and his aunt looked down and shrank back into her chaise. He took a steadying breath and willed himself to look into his adopted mother's battered face, searching for a reason, any reason.

Petunia withered under his unyielding staring knowing she couldn't lie, but unsure whether or not she could even voice the truth. She had tried so hard with her nephew and her husband, but her failures had finally come back to seek payment.

"How long?" Harry's sad question rustled into the living room, quiet and deadly, a snake weaving through the grass.

His aunt shook her hand frantically, denying him. She wouldn't tell her monstrous secret, even considering it crippled Petunia's heart with shame. Harry watched her anguish, it matched his own. However, his was ebbing, replaced by a fierce anger at her refusal. I deserve an answer.

"How. Long?" Harry's anger began boiling and showing through his skin. The now familiar searing pain and seeping of his imbalance soaking his shirt. His aunt's eyes widened almost comically, her gaze locked on the slow metronome drip drip of the quicksilver as it formed a small pool on her carpets. He closed the distance between them, dipping low to his knees, forcing her gaze to his. If she wouldn't tell him, he would take it from her.

"How long?" He grated out the last request with as much civility as he could, but added a warning. "Petunia, if you don't tell me, I will reach into your mind and take my answers there. It will be painful, and I will not be kind." He let his words hang ominously in the air, though he wasn't sure if he could follow through violating her after she had suffered such a beating, but he hoped he wouldn't have to. He sat back on his legs and waited.

Petunia dropped her gaze and murmured so quietly he had to lean forward, straining to hear it, which left him unprepared for the cruelty that slipped from her lips.

"Since Lily and … your father."

Fleur stood numbly in Molly's kitchen at the Burrow, watching Bill meet with his parents before yet another dangerous curse breaking mission in Egypt. It had been this way for the past few months, any time that the eldest Weasley son would leave Britain, he would check in with both Molly and Arthur. The gesture was not lost on either parent and Fleur felt it was her place to stand with her husband and give all the reassurance possible to the grieving family.

Ever since that conversation with her mother and Gabrielle, though, her view of the Burrow was cast in a harsh light. Instead of homey and quaint, Fleur saw reasons for Gabrielle's suffocating destiny. The Weasleys were not wealthy, nor aspired to be. Arthur was now acting as the Undersecretary to the Minister because of his closeness to Shacklebolt, but it was still an unofficial title. But they are good people and a good light sided family with none of the pure blood fanaticism. She could easily convince herself of their worth, but the Honored Mother's requirements were much more demanding. It was during these times that her guilt would stir violently. She loved Bill with everything she had, but she worried when that harsh light would spill into her actual relationship with him.

She supposed she should be grateful that it was Harry that Gabrielle would try to be placed with. He was everything Gabrielle could want, except to be in love with her. That station, for now, was reserved for Ginevra, and while Harry could have multiple wives, Fleur suspected that to him, polygamy would be taboo and not considered real love, especially to someone who had never experienced love in a familial sense at all.

While that was understandable, it left her little sister in the cold and bereft of real love and would place the two families at odds, the Delacours on one side; Ginny and the Weasleys on the other. True love on one side, honor and obligation on the other.

Molly had been chatting to her amiably about something unimportant, to which Fleur gave a brilliant smile and asked how she felt about Ginny going back to school, and in Ron's case, to Auror training. It was a taboo subject and with Bill leaving she was supposed to keep it light and inconsequential, but with Gabrielle's situation, Fleur couldn't make small talk. She needed to speak about something meaningful, to give her some recourse to assuage the guilt that lay like a lead ball in her stomach.

Molly, to her credit, did not shy away from Fleur's questions, almost feeling the need for real conversation. She confided that she was still worried with the attack on Diagon Alley but that Hogwarts would have the protection of the Ministry and that her children, otherwise, had been in the Order of the Phoenix or fighting Voldemort. She didn't dare speak of Fred or even George, however, that healing wound was still seeping, ready to be torn open at the mere mention of his name. Fleur didn't want to upset her but she had to ask, "Harry?"

"Nothing, Ron hasn't even heard from him about Auror school. The last anyone saw of him was in the Alley" her face darkened and Fleur knew why. Harry was engulfed in Fiendfyre and then was gone, leaving an armless, flaming corpse of a Hitwizard in his wake.

Molly's wavering about her unofficial son concerned Fleur more than she allowed her face to show. If the Weasley matriarch was worried about Harry, then perhaps there was more to the Potter scion then the Veela knew. Whatever more that may be, Fleur had to know, had to make sure her sister, who had no choice in the matter, wasn't in danger.

Arthur Weasley fancied himself a voice of reason, given his place by his overprotective wife's side, so he had no problems standing up to even the Minister when he was in the wrong. After extensive silencing and other privacy charms, Arthur took a deep breath and confronted the Minister with the realities of the Diagon Alley attack. Perhaps it was a bit presumptuous to do it in Kingsley's own office but he never was one to stand for foolish protocols since the War's conclusion.

"I see you didn't take my advice about the Prophet and Harry's name." Arthur's voice barely escaped his gritted teeth in addressing Kingsley.

"Not this again Arthur." Kingsley's low rumble replied curtly. "I can't be seen defending the actions of a killer. Even if it is Harry."

"But you are defending the Ministry officials who attacked him. You know what we owe that man. If you want me to continue working with you, here, I need a better reason than that. Harry deserves better than to be a figurehead when needed and pushed aside when not. That is what both Scrimageour and Fudge did." Arthur took Kingsley's silence as his answer and swept angrily towards the door. "You can find me at the Department of Regulation tomorrow."

"Arthur … wait." Kingsley's face was at war with itself, contorting as he grimaced at his position. He couldn't lose Arthur's support, hiding behind that obsession for Muggle artifacts was a brutally efficient and quiet force that he relied on. He motioned the redhead to a conjured chair across from his desk. "I will need an oath." His baritone allowed no argument.

Arthur readily agreed to the secrecy and waited patiently as the Minister gathered his thoughts.

"Harry has been watched since his early days by the Unspeakables. They knew of the potential soul bond to Voldemort and his abuse at the hands of the Dursleys." The Minister glanced at Arthur and saw his face full of anger. "It was deemed best to allow both the abuse and the secrecy of the connection by Albus and the most experienced in the Department of Mysteries." He held up a hand to stop the diatribe forth coming. "It was unkind at best, criminal at worst, but it worked Arthur, it worked. Voldemort is dead and the Unspeakables assure me his isolation and suffering was integral."

Arthur blinked slowly, rage overwhelming his senses swirled with an uneasy sense of guilt. It had worked, it was wrong, like a sacrifice to some Pagan god, but the results spoke for themselves. He shivered to think what decision he would have made. Kingsley's warm voice slid into his thoughts, "Harry was built from very young to do this, to be isolated, to rely on very few. The Ministry wouldn't help, they couldn't reveal what they suspected only to be wrong or change the course of events, and … the Unspeakables are hiding behind their veil of secrecy."

"They use their past results to justify it, I imagine." Arthur added darkly, this was the battlefield of politics, an unseen war tallying merits and failures around perception versus reality. The Unspeakables were a powerful entity within the Ministry, but much of that power came from their anonymity and was kept in check with their unswerving loyalty to the Ministry and the British Wizarding world at large.

"Are they afraid Harry will crack, or is it that his power is originates from his fame, and because of his neglect he owes no one his loyalty?" It pained Arthur to consider that Harry's loyalty to his family would be somewhat inconsequential, but they never fought to know what his home life was really like, nor fully trust Harry with the secrets of the Order of the Phoenix, which helped lead to the death of his godfather.

"Both." Kingsley replied ominously.

"So shut him away like in his fifth year and place his closest allies in charge to collect the dew of reflected glory?" The Minister nodded tersely, remembering how upset Harry was to be isolated that whole summer and now, subjecting him to it again.

"Regardless of his condition now, we are playing a dangerous game, Kingsley. Just hope that Harry remembers who his friends are … or are supposed to be." Arthur's whispered lament swirled in the Minister's mind long after Arthur had returned home to his family.

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously at Petunia's admission. That meant Vernon had struck her before even considering being the director at Grunnings. His confusion must have shown in his eyes because his aunt, heaved a deep sigh and began confessing in a whisper.

"Vernon is a man who prides himself on creating his own luck on his own merits and that would be provide everything he could have wanted in his life. Meeting and marrying me, the consummate housewife, completed that fantasy." She shied away from Harry's gaze, and he steeled himself for what he knew was coming.

"When your mother came around with … your father, I knew something had changed in Vernon. He saw the glass ceiling, he knew no matter what there were some people who were better and nothing would change that. His envy turned to frustration and then anger ... he was so angry." Petunia's broken voice was a whisper, as if her tormentor could hear when his name was spoken.

"Your parents knew something was wrong, and Lily tried so hard to help. But it wouldn't matter. Even your father, knowing how much Vernon hated him, tried to make me see. But I refused and you paid for my ignorance." His aunt's face betrayed some almost foreign emotion when mentioning his father and mother.

Harry's head snapped up in angry bewilderment. What the hell was Petunia talking about. Vernon was the abuser, though Petunia should have known what life with them would have meant, but it was the life he was afforded. He dared travel back in his mind to those times his abuse was held in sharp relief. Vernon with the hot poker, face wild in anger and deep satisfaction. Petunia behind him, lamenting Harry's beating with sympathy that only a fellow victim would feel but he also saw something that stopped his heart. She was relieved and ashamed.

His brilliant green eyes stormed over with mirroring quicksilver. His unnatural stare bored deep into his aunt's face and he knew. He knew his aunt wanted him to be beaten, if only to stave off her own abuse. "You sacrificed me, your six year old nephew, to satisfy Vernon's appetite, to save your own skin." He looked at Petunia and saw Pettigrew, a weak person cowardly placing himself over what was right.

His rage slammed into her and crushed her to the chair, opening up her split lip. As the small rivulet of blood trickled down her neck, she adopted a position that seemed so familiar that it cut through all of Harry's anger. Hands raised in supplication, but already turning her face to the side to absorb the inevitable punishment. It made Harry's stomach collapse as he appraised the absolutely broken figure of his mother's sister.

He was shaking in anger and unspent emotion. Striking his adopted mother, just like Vernon had in anger, shook him to his core. He turned away from her to collect himself and pose the same question to himself. To do what is easy or what is right?

"Petunia …" Harry's voice sounded like it was ripped forcefully from his chest. "I was brought to your home so that the blood wards would protect me from Voldemort, it was your job to protect me from Vernon. You failed your task to my mother … you failed as my mother." Harry's damning words echoed dangerously throughout the house and she awaited the judgment of her adopted son.

Harry eyed the ceiling almost willing his parents to appear and make the choice for him, but took a shaky deep breath and continued, "You and Kreacher are my only remaining family … my parents would never forgive me if I didn't uphold the Potter name." He pointed at her imperiously, "You will leave Vernon today, into the protection of my House." The bile rose in his throat, but it was never a Potter's or Gryffindor's place to forgo doing the right thing.

"You may have my sister's kindness, but your father's … honor." She shuffled to a safe and pulled out a letter. He knew what it was immediately, it held the Potter crest and as he read it, a slight smile graced his features. It was his father's letter and it was almost word for word what he just said. It warmed him to hear he was in some way like his father. Petunia took a great risk for both of them keeping this letter, it was proof of everything that Vernon envied.

"Why did you keep this?" Harry tried to put steel in his voice, but knew it wouldn't scare Petunia enough to tell him the truth.

She smiled slightly, "It was a reminder that I was worth something, of what I owed your parents. Of how much I failed." Her smile evaporated. "I am sorry Harry."

"You may have failed me, but no one deserves this" he pointed in the general direction of her face, he still couldn't look directly back at her after his magic lashed out, punishing her. "I want you to leave now, so I can be sure you will. Stay in a hotel, I'll buy you a home, anything, just leave."

As he watched her gather up her clothes and the rest of her meager possessions, he noticed her pull more letters near where his father's was, all of them stamped with either the Hogwart's letterhead or Gringott's. She noticed his quizzical look but didn't volunteer anything. When it seemed like she was ready, he took her hand, it was cold and shaking slightly.

"Petunia, it will be fine." He gripped her hand, "We will be travelling magically to London; it may be … unpleasant. Find a hotel, and keep a low profile."

"What about Vernon?" Her eyes flashed fear and apprehension.

"He's mine." She shrank from the malevolence in his voice, but saw that malice was not reserved for her and nodded. She looked at her adopted son, now mature and regal, and felt shame that her only help in forging the man before her was to add the flames to harden him. Vernon would be wise to fear for his life.

She placed her hand on his arm and felt the air shift and hum before she found herself at the Knightsbridge hotel. After they checked in and Harry placed a bank note with the hotel manager, he placed her shrunk belongings in her room and enlarged them. As he turned to leave, to return to her old home and confront his uncle, she turned to thank him but he was already turning to leave.

"Harry, your uncle was right, you are not normal. After everything … thank you." She handed him the stack of letters, "I kept them hidden so Vernon wouldn't burn them." He offered nothing but a jerky nod of the head and before his tears betrayed him to this woman who did not deserve them, he shifted back to the Dursley home.

Garrick Ollivander was busy, always so busy these few weeks before the start of term at Hogwarts. He had no idea what this summer would bring, but the school had reopened quickly due to the organization and stern direction of Minerva McGonagall. It would be a smaller incoming class to Hogwarts, but he had many repeat buyers for broken wands. And all of those wands would be catalogued by the Ministry, except one. And it was that one, and its wielder that had troubled Garrick since he last saw Harry Potter.

He had compromised his agreement with the Ministry, and yet it seemed a temporary issue, if this tome from the House of Black were any indication. Harry didn't want the wand he took as a permanent replacement. Ollivander had looked deeply into the Black history before even perusing the text, and found that the pureblood mania that followed them was a bit misguided. Their motto, Toujours Pur, was always suspected to refer to blood purity, and in some sense, was. But in researching Harry's revelation that he was of the Arcane within his own Ollivander tomes, Garrick began to place all the pieces together.

His family of wand crafters was used to displace and minimize the Arcane wizards on the British Isles. Once the House of Black realized the loss of the most primal force of magic, they began to search for those who exhibited any semblance of a relationship to the "Fade", as it was called. Hoping that enough of that blood, purified in their descendants, could spell a return of the Arcane with all under the control of their Ancient and Noble house, Muggle born, half bloods, anyone who showed the slightest access was brought into the House under secrecy. Their blood was not of pureblood stock any more than the Potters. But shortly after Ollivander wands proliferated; the Arcane lines went dormant despite the Blacks best efforts.

Always pure. Garrick fingered the tome on his desk, it had distracted him for weeks as he obsessively read the tome of wand crafting. It was a manual used to craft a wand that would augment the blood to produce magic similar to those magi of legend. The idea of blood magic frightened Garrick, it was borderline dark, but he read on. Spurred by the possibilities, he recalled the delight he had when he compared Harry Potter's wand to the Dark Lord's. The wand chooses the wizard, but in this case perhaps the wizard would choose the crafter. And if what Harry said was true, channeling Arcane blood with that augmentation could produce startling results not seen since Merlin himself.

It had been a few generations since the Ollivanders had created a wand with a wizard in mind instead of having a preordained stock, but Harry was no ordinary wizard and Garrick had a feeling he would not be allowed to fail the Potter scion. Whether through force of personality or sheer force, Harry would have his custom wand; Garrick just had no idea what materials to use. And just like that, the wizened Ravenclaw and his ego realized he had already agreed to Harry's terms.

Further in the depths of Wizarding London, in the bowels of Knockturn Alley, the two Unspeakables met again at the Burning Lady. Mrs. Parker's hood cloaked her face from prying eyes. But she knew she was safe once ensconced in the warmth of the tavern and dropped her hood to search out her old acquaintance. She sensed his impatience and frustration and knew this would not be a pleasant conversation. Augustus Rookwood beckoned her to a nearby booth and glared at her.

"What is it Augustus? This is twice in as many weeks …" She clicked her nails impatiently on the worn wood.

"You know what the issue is, you didn't tell us about Potter. He attacked Ministry officials and somehow survived the Fiendfyre." His frustration was almost to boiling and her placid demeanor infuriated him more.

"He actually only attacked the Hit Wizard, and perhaps your curse was lacking. Are you seriously asking me why Harry Potter, the man who defeated the Dark Lord, was powerful? I gave you all the time you needed and you only managed to destabilize the Ministry. That may be the last time I can dissuade the Auror presence, already Matheson is hunting for the cause of the delay." Mrs. Parker enjoyed pushing his buttons; it was something she always enjoyed even as they were colleagues.

"You would do well to remember that we still have the Codex, and while we are both on it, my new colleagues won't be concerned about my involvement."

"Augustus, enough posturing … we are working for the same thing, though you may not realize it. I want Harry neutralized, if he is dead, well that works as well. Matheson and the Ministry want him as an absentee figurehead and you fucked it all up by turning him into a sympathetic figure by having him save people in the Alley." Mrs. Parker had the upper hand for now and turned the knife in his side.

He let out a heavy breath as he gazed at his former lover and confidante. She was different, tougher and more determined. He nodded to himself, she would have to be watched and he wouldn't underestimate her again, failing to rally the Death Eaters was not an option. But she was also guilty of that same overconfidence; she had him by the balls now but that would change in time, as did all things.

Hermione Granger sat in the Burrow's kitchen, absently stirring her tea from lunch. It was so odd being here in her surrogate home instead of staying with her parents, but the friction there was so intense it was just easier being here with Ron. Isn't that what you did after something awful happened like war, go back home and find solace with family?

It was a testament to her changing relationships that Harry's own lack of family didn't leap to her consciousness; instead she focused on Ron and the Weasleys. Her new boyfriend had suffered quite a bit protecting her from whatever curse that was, but it had inadvertently brought his bravery to Kingsley's attention, almost assuring him of an Auror job, if he wanted it. At first she was thrilled, but as she thought more of it, she dreaded him taking the post. Under normal conditions, it would have meant a lot of paper pushing and desk work, but with all the Death Eaters and their new aggressiveness, added with Ron's feats during the Wizarding War and the lack of Aurors, he would be seeing a lot of front line field work.

If she had her way, he would work with George at the Wheezes and focus on being a part time owner of the Cannons. In fact, she knew the Weasley family agreed with her, anything that would keep them out of harm's way would be a better choice; she suspected that was why Harry bequeathed that to Ron, even his best mate had reservations about his own desired career choice.

Harry. His name jolted her, with everything that had happened to Ron she didn't really think about him or what that silvery liquid was that seeped from him days ago at the hospital. She was sure it was just the stress, but her guilt ate at her a little because she was sure he had spared her at least a few thoughts. Hell, he had come to the hospital to check on us.

"Hermione, are you ok?" Ginny's voice rang out as she came back from practicing Quidditch in the backyard. Ron had gone with George earlier to open the Wheezes.

"What do you mean?"

"You just had that look that meant you were either thinking about homework, or worried about something. Is it Ron? What did that git do this time?"

"Easy, Ginny. Ron's been great. It's just Harry…" As Ginny mouth formed a perfect O as her eyes narrowed slightly, Hermione knew she had only seconds to clarify as her hand began twitching for her wand.

"Not like that, I just feel bad because Harry came to us in the hospital and at least I haven't really spared him a second thought since."

Ginny sighed, relaxing slightly, "Hermione, that's just who Harry is, growing up like he did, it's how he tries to keep people from leaving him." Her face was pained, as if revealing that insecurity reminded her of something unpleasant.

Luckily Hermione caught herself before asking. Of course, at Fred's funeral and then my own harsh words at Grimmauld Place. She uneasily thought back to the night of their triumph and how she choose Ron without any comforting or reassuring words for Harry. And how Ron had actually left him. He forgave all of us, even when it wasn't easy because he felt he had to, or else the people he cared about would just leave. She gave Ginny a sympathetic squeeze of her shoulder, "it's not your fault, Ginny, it's no one's fault; we were all just trying to keep our heads above water. Hermione's words seemed hollow to the redheaded witch, like an easy balm to soothe their guilt.

Harry flipped through all the letters that his aunt had given him. They were almost all from Hogwarts, all opened, carefully refolded and placed back within the envelopes. Many were from Professor McGonagall noting his rebellious streak or unfailing loyalty to his house of Dumbledore. One letter in particular was worn with thinning parchment as if it had been opened and examined many times. It was from his Head of House, and detailed his second year, his ostracism at the hands of the whole school and finally his unfailing bravery and selflessness in saving Ginevra Weasley. The most extensive wear came from around the wizarding photo of the redheaded witch. My mother … her sister.

She kept all of these, followed me all these years in secret. He thought the realization would bring him some solace; that the Dursleys weren't all bad, at least Petunia, but it didn't … it just made her a coward. It was a harsh judgment, but true. At least the idea that she cared for him brought him a modicum of peace, but it crystallized that confronting Vernon, and only Vernon would begin the process of unshackling himself from his automatic behaviors. All of that thinking became academic, as the door latch snapped and Vernon Dursley entered the house.

Harry's breath was ripped from his chest and he thanked Alastor Moody again for reiterating constant vigilance. He had been under the invisibility cloak since he left the hotel, so he waited for him uncle to give an "all clear" signal. Surely they had worked something out with the Aurors to let them know he was safe upon entering the house, a precaution for the type of rash action Harry was about to perform. He always kept a distance to the whale of a man and slid his feet slowly to hide his movements, after a quick thumbs up to those outside, Vernon heaved himself down onto a well appointed chair, beer in hand.

Harry seethed at the fat man before him, he was the worst kind of person, an abuser of women and children all because he was too incapable of earning what he thought was his and when that wasn't enough he had cheated on his wife as well. Harry almost snorted in disbelief, it was no wonder that he had no chance of being normal, even without a madman trying to kill him. Seeing his smug satisfaction and his obvious indifference at Petunia being gone enraged Harry even more. Obviously Petunia had threatened this before and then returned; tail between her legs. That this pathetic man held any power over the both of them was the final indignity.

He couldn't cast any magic; he assumed the house was monitored for it and truthfully, magic wouldn't do anyway, it wouldn't satisfy him. It would be ironic to confront Vernon with that which he hated most, but Harry needed his uncle to see he wasn't that same small boy anymore. He stood ten feet from his uncle in between him and the door and ripped his cloak off angrily. "Vernon", Harry voice came out as a low hiss, dangerous and promising pain.

Vernon's eyes bulged as he took in the stranger, but when he saw those green eyes, he smirked. That pitiful boy returned. He almost laughed out loud at the freak's audacity, but something about his eyes held his tongue. His smugness began to waver until he saw the slight shake of Harry's hand. The momentary return of his smirk was crushed along with his left cheekbone as Harry had his true intentions clear. The haze of semi-consciousness swirled as he registered a wet salty tang in his mouth and the shock would have registered quickly had the savage kick to his ribs not ripped his vision from him.

Harry was screaming at his uncle, demanding reasons for his abuse, cursing and raging at him. The feeble answers that were returned did nothing to assuage his anger or quell the disturbance deep in his psyche. He became numbly aware that Vernon's protestations had become less frequent, slowly replaced by low groans of pain spaced between Harry's insistent questions. As Vernon's replies lost all of their humanity, Harry found he didn't care. He had stopped listening as soon as his questions dissolved into ranting. He always had the answers he needed, and his uncle was culpable. No reason would justify his behavior, excuse his life, and as such, it was forfeit. Kenji would be proud of his kohai, if any monster deserved no mercy it was this one.

Harry glanced down at the wreckage of the man he once considered his uncle. Sadly, even this catharsis, did not release his feeling of bondage. This was what he had secretly feared in his worst moment. That nothing would dislodge his uncle's jeering face snarling at him, now fully in the open replacing the grim visage of Voldemort, whenever he wavered or failed, whenever he slept. He only had one idea left, but it would leave him no room for wavering, and no other options. He slowly slid away from his uncle, noting that he regained consciousness, and began to draw in Fade.

Ginny was still sitting in her room overlooking the long expanse of property around the Burrow reminiscing about how after this last summer, everything would change. Even now, everywhere nostalgia crept in as if she had already left, where she and Harry would sit talking about nothing in particular, even those supremely awkward moments his first year at Hogwarts. She had fallen in love with Harry even before she met him, dreaming of some mythic hero destined to save them all. And he had, but at a terrible cost. His destiny had cost him a childhood, his entire family, and now his home. Her hero made flesh, was no legend, he was an island to himself and desperate with guilt. Ginny would have rejected such an honest tragic figure even five years ago, if she knew this Harry Potter. As she saw him struggle, suffer losses, and as she endured her last year, she gained respect and love for this tarnished but accessible Harry, the one who existed in real life.

The idle Snitch grew dangerously hot in her pocket and she felt a deep stab of fear in her stomach. Something was terribly wrong with Harry, whenever he had imparted some of his core to her, for days and sometimes a week later, she could feel it react to his swings of powerful emotion. Nothing more than an instinct, merely an echo of how he was feeling, but there was no mistaking this, Harry was in trouble.

"Kreacher!" Ginny's desperation drew the elf into her presence immediately. He wore the same agitated look on his face as she did.

"Mistress?" Clearly Kreacher knew exactly what Ginny wanted from him as he waited until she gathered her cloak and holstered her wand. Kreacher shook his head, "Wand out, Mistress Ginny. Be ready."

She took a deep breath to control her slight trembling and with a quick nod to Kreacher.

"Take us to him."

Harry felt them approaching before they appeared in the living room. Ginny immediately placed a calming hand on Harry's shoulder and gently tried to turn him away from the broken man in front of him. She was vaguely aware that this was Vernon Dursley, she recalled seeing him on Hogwarts' train pickups at the end of term, but he had been savagely beaten, and judging by the blood on Harry's shirt, his adopted son had held very little back.

Ginny recalled the scarring on Harry's back and glared at Vernon becoming slightly nauseous at the sight. It was then that she noticed that Harry had turned himself away from his uncle and was silently crying into her shoulder. "Harry … love?"

She heard a derisive snort emerge from the floor of the living room and gripped Harry tighter fearing what he might do. She fixed her gaze at Harry, willing him not to continue his actions of just a few minutes ago. She couldn't feel Kreacher nearby, she wasn't sure if he was silencing the house or watching out for the Aurors, but she needed the elf to help calm Harry down. Before his magic does something … irreparable.

"You brought your whore to my house?" Vernon's outrage escaped his wrecked mouth before his mind comprehended how this would forfeit his life. Ginny closed her eyes even as she grabbed for Harry's arms, desperately trying to keep him from using the Fade. But his reaction was impossibly fast and before her arm even touched his that same white hot light sped towards Vernon, a thin shaft of pure magic. Ginny grimaced as she readied the dousing spell that would attempt to put out the flaming torch soon to be Vernon.

As the beam neared Vernon, it slowed and finally stalled, fragmenting into thousands of motes of light each held in suspension. Ginny stared at Harry, amazed at his control, but noticed he was as shocked as she. Her eyes found Kreacher, beads of sweat cascading down his face, lips twisted in agony at his effort. Whether the pain was from defying his Master or for harnessing that much raw magic, she couldn't tell, but she gently prodded Harry to rouse him.

He nodded and the motes shot back towards him and seeped back into his skin around his taut face. Ginny recoiled slightly, mainly at the still smoldering anger visible on his face. Kreacher slumped slightly, as his eyes begged forgiveness. "You were right to stop me, Kreacher, I thank you for your service." Harry's flat tone hinted at the control required to maintain his temper.

"He is yours as well, Freak?" Vernon's reprieve emboldening him, but shrank as the faery approached him golden eyes swirling dangerously. "Insult Ms. Weasley again and risk your safety, but insult my Master … and pay with your blood." His backhand left four deep bleeding furrows in Vernon's cheek. "You must leave Lord Potter, the Aurors will investigate the yelling and the spikes in magic."

Kreacher turned towards Vernon again after addressing his Master, and pushed a long fingernail deep into Vernon's collarbone, twisting savagely. Whether the elf was now in the service of Harry Potter or not, he was still an elf of the Blacks. "He needs to be healed and memory altered."

Harry looked pensive at ordering his elf to do so. But moments later his pause became evident. "Make it so, Kreacher, and … he left Petunia of his own volition. Make it a clean break, no contact."

Kreacher smiled grimly and waved at Harry and Ginny as they shifted away. Vernon paled as the elf's harsh gaze returned to his battered and bloodied face, and paled further still as Kreacher's grin deepened.

Ginny held a still shaking Harry as they arrived at the Burrow, in her and Hermione's room. She felt his control waver and finally break. She had no clue that he was under this much pressure or that his uncle had this much power over him. He kept whispering that he saw Vernon's presence lurking in the dark of his mind, waiting for a chance to hurt him and made Ginny's blood run cold and still. She knew that feeling, knew that fear. Tom, the diary.

She held him, allowing him to spend all his emotion. This was part of her Harry, not the Chosen One, but the man who saw and felt too much before his time. She knew it would pass, that he would move forward and told him so.

"He will always exist in some part of your mind, but he will fade over time. I should know, after the … Chamber, it took time, but I found something that helped to hold onto, a talisman if you will." She smiled distantly, as if recalling a memory.

"A talisman? What was it, something Bill gave you, your DA coin?" Harry's stuffy voice emerged from around Ginny's shoulder.

Ginny pulled slightly away from him as she poured all her love through her gaze as she locked her eyes into his green ones. "You, Harry, I held onto you. You protected me then, and when I was afraid, I looked to you." She curled herself under his chin and into his warmth and pulled him down onto her bed and waited until his breathing evened out and relaxed before she sent a message to Hermione to stay with Ron for the night.