Prologue
“Kill the spare”
A sudden jet of green light.
Cedric’s body falling lifeless to the floor.
Harry jerked awake, frantically looking around, his scream dying on his lips. That was the 4th nightmare like that in as many days and his sleepless nights were starting to take their toll. His performance in his chores was beginning to drop and he didn’t even want to think about what would happen to him if he continued to underperform. Images of frying pans thrown towards him flashed in front of his eyes. He just hoped he wasn’t too loud this time. Last night when he woke up screaming Uncle Vernon hadn’t been happy.
He waited sitting bolt upright in his bed not daring to move a muscle in case his aunt or uncle heard. He remained like this, unable to move and frozen in place by fear for a good twenty minutes before he slowly started to allow himself to relax. He grabbed his glasses form beside his bed and glanced at his alarm clock. 4AM, not that bad, he’d managed to get a few hours of sleep tonight. He contemplated just staying in bed and trying to get another few hours of sleep but decided against it, knowing it wouldn’t be a worthwhile use of time, but maybe he could get started on his charms essay now whilst there was no chance the Dursleys could catch him.
Getting out of bed and lifting the loose floorboard under his bed without making a noise was a skill he had perfected his first summer back after a year at Hogwarts, sneaking around after that bloody stone had to have given him some useful skills cause God, He didn’t learn anything from the teachers that year that he couldn’t have found out in about five minutes of vaguely dedicated research. He stopped that thought with a chuckle, he was starting to sound disconcertingly like Hermione. He grabbed his charms book from his hiding place along with a longish piece of scrap parchment so he could begin his essay, shoving an old torch he found in his bedroom in between his teeth, he started writing, making sure that he didn’t include all the detail he knew he could so Flitwick wouldn’t become suspicious, after all, after 4 years of being a plain and average student, he thought it might give his poor professor a heart attack to start performing well now.
It was expected of him that he got good marks in Defence (what being the boy-who-bloody-lived and all) and transfiguration (he was James Potter’s son after all) but apart from that Dumbledore had made it very clear his first year that he wouldn’t be expected to perform outstandingly in any of his other classes. It wasn’t the image he wanted Harry to cultivate (a loveable but unremarkable child) And now there was nothing Harry could do to change the minds of his teachers. He was stuck being the average student until he could figure out a way to free himself of Dumbledores tyrannical hold on his life. It hadn’t taken him long to piece together Dumbledor's plan for his life, he realised in second year after he managed to kill a bloody basilisk that that wrinkled old prune had a plan for him to fulfil, but by that point he was stuck in his role. But that didn’t stop his from wishing…. No. There wasn’t any point thinking about things that could never be. So, reluctantly, he put Dumbledore out of his mind and got back to work on his charms essay, hoping he could almost complete it before he had to be up to start breakfast for the Dursleys
********
Harry had almost finished with his charms essay when his alarm rang, 6AM, time to start on the food for Dudley. However, since the holidays began he had been conflicted about what to make his spoilt brat of a cousin because, according to Aunt Petunia, Dudley was still meant to be on a diet, but if Harry made the porridge that he was expected to, Dudley would go mental. So, he was again faced with the question, Who's anger would be easier to bear, Dudley's or Petunia's. But to be fair, that hadn’t been much of a choice, despite her devilish temper the only thing that Petunia was likely to do was to hurl some half-hearted insults his way, whereas Dudley would probably hurl a brick.
How wrong he was.
**********
He was halfway through making some pancakes for Dudley when he heard the tell-tale stomps of Vernon coming down the stairs.
‘Weird’, Harry thought, Vernon was normally gone by this hour, off making some boring business contract with some boring middle-aged man.
“BOY” Vernon shouted, the anger in his voice evident.
Harry flinched instinctively. Unsure what he’d done to warrant such anger, but sure that whatever it was, he was going to pay.
“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, SHOUTING THE HOUSE DOWN AT 4 FUCKING AM SCREAMNING ABOUT SOME BOY. I DIDN’T TAKE YOU FOR A FUCKING PANSY BUT I SUPPOSE I SHOULDN’T BE SURPRISED!”
Harry closed his eyes. He thought no one had heard. He was in deep shit. He wanted to run, to escape before Vernon could lay a finger on him but he knew any attempt would be futile. Vernon’s mind was made up, there was no escaping the pain now.
He opened his eyes and took a wary look up, only to be confronted with his uncle’s face, so purple and threatening it looked like he might explode at any moment. In another situation the sight might have been vaguely amusing. But not now.
“AND WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? I THOUGHT YOUR AUNT HAD MADE IT CLEAR ONLY PORRIDGE WILL BE COOKED IN THE MORNING FOR DUDDERS. AND HERE YOU ARE MAKING HIM PANCAKES!! DO YOU WANT HIM TO GET IN TROUBLE AT SCHOOL AGAIN?”
He waited, obviously requiring an answer to his question but Harry was frozen in place. He couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. At this lack of response Vernon’s face grew all the more angry, his lip curled in the way it always did when Harry was in trouble. He wasn’t sure if it was due to excitement or anger, but either way, the sadistic prick had decided this morning was not going to be easy for his nephew.
“That’s it boy” Vernon said, his voice all the more threatening now it was lowered to a whisper. “Follow me”
*******
The next few hours were a blur, insult after insult, punch after punch being thrown at Harry, his arm yanked backwards so violently he heard a sickening crunch as the bone buckled under the strength of his uncle. But he didn’t scream. He wouldn’t scream. Vernon didn’t deserve his screams. But as a carefully placed kick to the chest caused a crack which could only be the result of ribs breaking, he did let the tears slip down his cheeks as he gave in to the sweet release of darkness.