From the Ashes

Chapter 1

To Hell With It

Thursday, 27 June 1996 - Nine days after the death of Sirius Black

For once in his life Harry didn't mind the general instruction and often ordered "Go to your room and stay there" that was expected at 4 Privet Drive. It was hard to say Harry lived there, as he truly didn't feel like he was living. Existing was the best description of what he was doing. There was very little he truly wanted to do. He had days ago cried himself out of tears. Waking or sleeping mattered little as the same memories continued to run over and over in an unending loop. Sirius's death and slip into the veil. His chasing Bellatrix Lestrange with so much anger and pain he actually tried to cast the Cruciatus curse… only to not be mad enough. And finally Professor Dumbledor confirming that "neither can live while the other survives."

"Boy!" came the only interruption to his isolation. "Boy, breakfast!" came the morning call. Uncle Vernon calling for Harry's services because heaven forbid anyone else in the house ever raise a finger. Harry didn't bother to verbally answer, but he knew the best of the bad outcomes would be to comply. He was already in trouble enough for not getting to it sooner. He walked down the stairs from 'Dudley's second bedroom' and turned the corner and reported to his duty in the kitchen.

Harry took some small appreciation from the smell in the air that the coffee maker at least ran. He may be the lowest person in the house, but at least that machine had to do what he set it to the night before

"It's about time." Petunia said snidely looking up from his magazine, as he entered the kitchen.

"Boy, If I am late for work because of you… " Vernon threatened, wagging a puggy finger at Harry, then he returned to his newspaper.

"Sorry Uncle Vernon, my apologies Aunt Petunia" he obligatorily replied as he got to work. Reflexively, from too many years of habit Harry quickly put a pot of water on the boil for eggs and loaded the toaster. While all of that warmed he poured two cups of coffee and walked around an oblivious Dudley listening to headphones to his aunt and uncle already seemingly to ignore him again.

"That's more like it," his uncle muttered as he sipped his coffee and continued reading the Times. "Good for nothing nephew." Harry heard as the first two pieces of toast popped. He reloaded it and dropped three eggs in the water to boil, then poured cereal and brought that over to his aunt and uncle.

As he returned back to the kitchen he was halted by Petunia clearing her throat."Ahem,"

Harry turned around, "Yes ma'am?"

Petunia simply gestured to Dudley. "You seemed to have forgotten your dear cousin. I know you surely want his tummy growling."

"Of course not, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied as he returned to what he was just about to do anyway. Dudley soon had his cereal, toast, and orange juice before him, as he continued to bob his head to the music, ignoring life outside his own head. When Harry returned to the stove the eggs were done so another lap put their boiled eggs in front of the Dursley trio.

"Coffee." Vernon ordered bluntly, having finished his first cup, not even lifting his eyes from the page. Harry grabbed the coffee pot and brought it to the table for his uncle's refill.

Until Dudley couldn't resist the opportunity that Harry's bouncing back and forth allotted. With the smoothness of a seasoned prankster Dudley slid his foot out to the path Harry had tread so many times. Tripping over it Harry yelled as fell to the floor, his chin catching the edge of the table forcing him to bite his tongue hard. But any thought to his pain was negated as the coffee pot fell sideways, and its brew flew outward falling squarely onto Vernon's shirt. "Aghh!" he cried out as the steam rose from his own shirt covering his now scalded chest.

Dudley snickered as Petunia cried out in disdain. "You did that on purpose!"

But what was the focus of Harry's attention was his rising uncle. "You ungrateful mongrel!" he cried out in pain from the burns. Just as Harry was lifting his head from the table, it was at perfect striking distance for Vernon to clench his fist and back slap Harry in fury. The force of the impact while he was still unbalanced threw Harry to the floor next to the wall.

"I'm sorry, Uncle." Harry begged as he cowered.

"After everything we've done for you!" Vernon's chair fell backwards as he stood. With quickness Harry never saw before the man quickly came and kicked Harry fully and squarely in the chest, "Good for nothing nephew. You'll be sorry." Vernon sneered as he glared down at Harry.

Harry briefly looked back to the table. As usual, Petunia sat quiet and emotionless, while Dudley grinned.

Harry had taken his beatings before, pain had become an old friend of his. But Dudley's grin is what truly registered with Harry's mind. He had seen it before, on the faces of Death Eaters anytime one of them or Voldemort toyed with him. Now the expression he had only seen in the shadows of the magical world, followed him to the light of the muggle world. Monsters on both seemed pleased to reduce his torture and pain to simple entertainment. Irrelevant, useless, disposable. How much had he endured already? Both here and in Hogwarts. How many injuries? How much of his own blood had he left splattered in both worlds? How much pain did he have to feel before he finally hit rock bottom?

"Well?" Vernon goaded, "Get up!" Slowly, with a glare he had never given his uncle before, he lifted himself against the wall. He didn't know if this was surrendering to the inevitable chaos of his life or the beginning of rebellion against it but Harry truly felt the anger and the grief of the past two weeks come to the surface, and it steeled him.

As another backhander fist swung to his face, Harry's hand reached up and stopped it dead. "No," he simply said, staring daggers at his Uncle. Gripping that fist tightly the sixteen year old stood up, then threw his uncle's fist to the side.

In shock, Vernon stammered, "What is the meaning of this?"

"It means no. No more! We are DONE with this!" Harried cried as he pushed his uncle backwards onto the smirking Dudley. The pair of them both toppled onto the table, breaking it. Petunia barely slid out of the way before getting caught.

He didn't run in fear, but he absolutely marched in determination to the room he slept in. He threw on his grey hoodie, packed little and packed quickly. His wand, a must. His Gringotts money sack, logical. A handful of letters from owls over the years, sentimental. He looked briefly at his Hogwarts trunk, but summer had barely started and it was two months until school opened. He grabbed a few scant sentimental items into his well worn backpack then looked at the stark room.

The only question was the snow owl in the cage. Harry raised his wand to the window, but then remembered the damned rules of under age magic. He pocketed his wand and grabbed one of Dudleys broken toys and threw it to the glass breaking it open. He opened Hedwig's cage and gestured to the open window. "Fly and follow me. We'll figure it out."

With a continued march he thudded down the stairs as Petunia was trying to care for Vernon's burns. Even while being treated the man still bellowed with a pointed finger. "Boy! If you walk through that door, don't you ever plan to come back in again!"

Harry stopped just long enough to turn to all three of his last remaining relatives. From the bottom of his heart and sixteen years of contempt he glared at them and simply said, "Go… to … hell." He purposely slammed the door on the Dursley's and continued to march at that determined pace off to the right. He had no particular destination yet, just anywhere but there. He looked up to check and was relieved when he saw Hedwig sail between the bars over his broken window. "Good girl," he whispered.

He needed three blocks under his feet before he finally started to calm down enough to think. Harry began a mental assessment of himself. The taste of blood in his mouth told him he definitely did a number to his tongue. He could feel the puffiness around his left eye that he knew was turning black and as the adrenaline wore off he could feel that there was at least one cracked rib. "What I wouldn't give for a Pepperup potion right now," he mumbled. Remembering he was in the muggle world, he took the next logical step. "Need to get to the Alley," he deduced.

Harry was trying to do the mental math to estimate how long his walk to Diagon Alley would be, but still it was the closest point in the wizarding world he knew. Eventually he gave up because he realized he had no curfew anymore so it was irrelevant. And it was about that time when he had decided on a destination and truly now starting to feel the pain in his chest that and impossibly fast blur came down the road. The speed and the blue color was familiar and marking the first good thing to happen to Harry today, the Knight Bus came to a jarring halt in front of him.

The door opened to a familiar sight from three years prior, and the echos of the day replaying in Harry's mind.

""Right, Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard in need. My name is..."

"Stan." Harry finished with a small grin.

"What?" the driver replied. "No, I'm Dan."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "Oh, I'm sorry. I took the bus a few years back and thought your name was Stan."

"Day or night?" the driver asked.

"It was dark out so… night." Harry replied.

The driver nodded understanding. "THAT was Stan. He drives nights. I drive days. Twins are a thing you know," he smiled.

"Ah, sorry."

"Happens all the time," Stan waved dismissively. "Where to?"

"Leaky Cauldron, please," Harry answered as he gave him a Galleon.

"Right away, make yourself comfortable."

Harry quickly sat on the first vacant bed and rested his head against the brass corner post. This time he didn't bother to look out the window to see the blur of close calls and impossible turns of the magical vehicle. He didn't care. Dan's explanation reminded him of another set of twins he knew, with red hair, like the entire rest of their family. Part of him loved the idea of visiting the Weasleys, but then considering the reasons why today, another part of home dreaded it. But as today's theme seemed to be 'what the hell' he quickly resigned himself to it. He knew at least the Weasleys always kept his name on their home floo permissions, so he settled on the next step on his trail.

The Knight Bus stopped with a jolt that Harry really didn't even notice. "Leaky Cauldron," Dan called out over his shoulder. A few other mages got off ahead of Harry but he followed them. He did nod and thanked the driver as he passed. No sooner had he stepped off the bus than it dashed away and the wind blew his hair. For good measure, Harry looked up and did see Hedwig perch on near roof top. He looked at the snow owl for a moment before it seemed to nod its head understanding the new destination, then leap to the air in flight. Harry took comfort in the knowledge that the bird had made the trip many times.

Entering the the wizarding world Harry put his hood up. Wearing muggle clothes was bad enough, the last thing he wanted was to be recognized. Fortunately, being early in the morning and being early in the summer meant that traffic in the Cauldron was at a minimum. A far cry from the standing room only it often was just before the start of terms. Harry walked over to the floo and looked for the powder. There was none… but there was a sign 'See staff for floo powder.' Harry kept his head low and walked over the bar where a middle aged portly fellow was polishing glasses. 'Ello,' he greeted.

Harry slipped a galleon on the bar. "One floo powder please."

"Right," the bartender nodded as he took the galleon and dropped the change and a pre-packaged paper envelope where the Galleon had been, Then went back to work, paying Harry no mind. Harry let a breath out he had been holding, happy to see this was all a normal everyday occurrence for them. He grabbed the sickles and pocketed them. Floo powder in hand he paused looking at the flames and sighed. Again, he was torn. He always looked forward to the Burrow, but he hated this trip's circumstances. But again, keeping with the theme of the day, he muttered to himself, 'Hell with it'. He ripped the envelope and threw the sand.

"Weasley Burrow."