Chapter 1
Aaand He Finally Snapped.
Chapter 1: Seriously, what did you expect?
The car ride to Privet Drive was awkward, to say the least. Uncle Vernon was silent, which was a blessing but also a serious threat. Sirius. He had never wanted so badly for his godfather to come and take him away from this hell-hole. The silence also forced him to think about everything that had happened that year at Hogwarts. How much of it could have actually been avoided? If he hadn’t been so bloody compliant about the Tournament, maybe Cedric would still be alive. Maybe Voldemort wouldn't have returned. Maybe…
Harry was furious. Terrified. The "what ifs" weren’t helping. He needed to do something. He needed someone to do something. Vernon shifted in his seat, his eyes watching him through the mirror. He was probably waiting until they were safely inside the house to fully scream at him. Harry couldn’t care less. What had happened the summer before his fourth year was the least of his problems. In fact, whatever punishment the awful man had in mind would be nothing compared to what the world was going to become now that Voldemort was back in full force. Why had Dumbledore sent him back? Safety? Did he seriously think he would be safer on Privet Drive instead of Hogwarts? At least there, he could do some serious spell-casting training or, I don’t know, get ready for what was coming.
Harry refused to spend another summer doing chores and being deprived of proper training.
One month in, Harry moved about with dark bags under his eyes. He was covered in bruises, and his mood—if previously moody—was now definitely full-on dark. Not a single phone call from Hermione. Not a single owl from Ron or anyone else. He felt like it was a repeat of the summer before his second year. But worse. Much worse. The nightmares were so bad he had taken to only lightly napping during the day. Apparently, his screams were so utterly devastating that even the Dursleys had decided to leave him alone. He would purposely leave the door of his room open, just in case he did fall asleep at night and the nightmares came, so they couldn't enjoy a peaceful night’s sleep either. Let them listen. Listen to what the magical world they hated had done to him, and maybe force a little sympathy from them. Obviously, none of his relatives had asked about it, but at least Dudley, who had attempted to make fun of him one morning during breakfast, had done so half-heartedly.
His aunt and uncle were never at home. It seemed that dealing with a broken magical teenager wasn’t part of their plans for the summer. But his cousin, who apparently couldn't stand the heatwave that had fallen over Surrey, seemed to be slowly becoming a recluse. And since Harry had decided that "unhinged" would be his new personality, he started sitting next to his cousin in front of the TV and talking to him about his miserable life. It was therapeutic in a way. Who cared anyway? His friends weren’t even writing, nobody was responding to his demands for information, and this way, there was a slight chance something in the Muggle news might show up about attacks happening. To add insult to injury, the Daily Prophet was spitting lies about him. No surprise there.
Dudley didn't pay attention anyway, too engrossed in one of the three screens he always had on. From time to time, he would shush him or look up from his phone or computer game to give him a look like he had gone mental or something, babbling to himself on the sofa. And maybe he had. Who cared? Once, his cousin had asked, "Who the hell is Voldy-sport?" Probably thinking Harry had been talking about some athlete or something, and that had cracked Harry up somehow.
Their relationship didn’t improve after that, obviously. But Harry needed to numb his emotions somehow. Always tired, always restless. He couldn’t use magic. He couldn’t leave the house. And the anger was building up inside him. Knowing that he needed to cool down and think straight pushed him to exercise. Which caused Dudley to make fun of him for how skinny and scrawny he was. Which caused Harry to initiate a fistfight with his cousin. Which wasn’t a smart move at all, but the beating he took worked wonders for him. A painless body had time to focus on horrific memories. Apparently, a bruised body could only focus on the pain. And thus the routine of light but dreamless sleep, breakfast, therapy talks with his cousin non-stop until annoyance and the subsequent beating, took place. It worked for both of them.
Ah, the faces of everyone when they finally came to pick him up were priceless. At least it planted the seed in everyone’s mind about the wisdom of dumping him back there next year. A plus Harry hadn’t planned for but came to appreciate. If he was going to be left out and treated like a child, he may as well play the part of the defenseless victim and embrace it. Maybe Dumbledore would at least feel a tiny bit of remorse. Or get an earful from Molly. Either way worked for him. He was done being the perfect champion for Dumbledore’s side. He had decided. And the decision was final. He was going to be on his side and care only for those who were one hundred percent with him. He would give his all for them in return. But for everyone else? They could go fuck themselves.
Yes, furious. Harry was furious.