The Dark Chronicles of Harry Potter

Ladies and Gentlemen: TATA!!! I´M BAAAAACK!!!!! THE STORY´S BACK!!!! Ummm....I missed something?

Mental note one: It´s NOT my fault, that Cedric Diggory died! Not my fucking fault!

Mental note two: don´t argue with Uncle Vernon. I don´t want another broken jaw, hell no.

Harry Potter, one of the most famous wizards, the Boy-Who-Lived, the survivor of the killing curse, was sitting in a cold, dark, little room. Locked. The central heating, by a strange occasion, didn´t work in his room, leaving him frozen to the bone and miserable. Even a thin woolen blanket, in which he wrapped himself, didn´t work. It was a cold, rainy summer, a summer which looked more like a fall. And it was cold and chilly, not the right place for the future savior of the nation...The atmosphere, the weather, the locked gloomy room - everything pressed on him, leaving Harry with himself, with his thoughts and feelings, which he didn´t want to understand. But still...he couldn´t escape them. No way.

Inside his head.

"No. I can´t. I had enough of it. Stop. Stop. Stop! I don´t want to hear anymore of this shit! Look, in what condition I am! I´m beaten, broken, thrown away!"

"Yes you are. You´ve been fucked up for two months! Your arms have been broken two times each, your jaw snapped like carton under Vernon´s fist and oh, did I mention your cracked ribs? And, on top of it all, he shoved a kitchen knife through your guts! How´d you like it, eh?"

Harry winced at the memory. Uncle Vernon. He got fired during Harry´s fourth year, and started drinking heavily. All his anger and bad temper was carried out on the poor boy, leaving him beaten and hungry each evening. Throughout the day Harry did house-work without rest, as if some ugly parody of Cinderella. His hands, when not in plaster, had been red and swollen from hard work. But that wasn´t the worst thing. The worst thing was food. Or, the lack of it. Harry starved. His daily menu consisted of two thin slices of bread and watery cabbage soup, surely far not enough for a fast-growing teenager. During the chilly nights, when he lay crumpled up in his bed, covered with bloodstains, he dreamed of food. Of meat. Of something, that would stop the sucking empty feeling in his stomach...

Harry WAS abused. In the evenings, drunk Vernon would come from another bar meeting, and the fun would start. He asked himself: why don´t I defend myself? Why? Why am I lying here, unable to move from pain, blurry visions instead of normal sight, and again and again his fist comes crushing down on my head, knocking the shit out if me!?

Dudley participated too. He didn´t change a bit since Harry saw him last time, and he remained the same fat, coward, monsterous ball of dough. When Vernon beat Harry, Dudley would stand aside, and only when his father had finished, he kicked motionless, harmless boy hard in his stomach and sometimes in the shin.

"I´m tortured. I´m nothing. I´m a rag doll. Even less."

In his first day, Uncle took his wand and hid it somewhere. No more magic. The only thing, which still belonged to him was Hedwig. Poor bird. She suffered too, locked like him in little cage with no keys...

"You need to end this."

"Yeah, I know...but how? He has the power, not me. Look, what I am!"

He stood up, legs shaking from weakness and starvation. He walked slowly to a big mirror, which was placed on a night table. Harry looked at his reflection, the hated image which was haunting him all these days. Today, he looked even worse than when he got out of hospital, a week ago.

His always bright green eyes now seemed bleached and dull. This were the eyes of an animal, which got in a trap and knows, that the only thing that awaits it, is a hunter´s gun.

They looked hopelessly upon the world and pain reflected in their depths...Big, blackish-purple circles under his eyes, scraps and bloodstains on his ash-colored cheekbones, where the skin never had the time to heal itself. His face now resembled a skull, because the skin wrapped itself so tightly around his bones, demonstrating them to the world. Harry´s raven black hair have grown longer, but where as messy as ever and now they weren´t bright, no, instead they were covered with dust. His frame and skin color, the whole appearance in Dudley´s old shirt and jeans made him look like a victim of Holocaust. Harry pulled up the shirt to reveal sticking out ribs and a long, ugly stitch on his belly...The post-operational scar from the knife. He remembered that significant night. Oh, yes...

Harry was washing the dishes, as usual, when he heard Vernon stumbling into the house. He knew he was barely conscious from the alcohol, so as not to draw attention to his person he just stood near the sink, keeping his eyes low. He heard Vernon roar on Petunia: "Stupid bitch, get your hands off me." The next moment his uncle came staggering into the kitchen, breathing heavily. Harry did not turn his gaze from the sink. Don´t look back. Don´t turn around...

- BOY!

Harry turned and looked at Vernon. His meaty face was red and sweaty, his fierce and insane stare penetrated him. He was at the edge. A condensed cloud of whiskey hang around him. The next thing that Harry remembers, is his uncle´s twisted smile, when the cool, hard blade like a silver lightning comes cutting his flesh. Harry stupidly looked at the wooden handle of the knife, sticking right out of him. The blood trickled out if the wound, dirtying the shirt. "This can´t be happening. Not to me..." Blood was coming up to his throat, threatening to suffocate him. Harry´s thoughts become slow and lazy. His vision clouds. Next fragment - he falls to the cool floor, and the terrible pain starts tearing him from the inside, like someone made a bonfire in his guts. "Oh God, dear God, please no, NO NO NO! I don´t want to die!" Hard to breathe. Too much blood, his blood. " Oh please help me, someone, please stop the pain, there is so much PAIN!!!" The last thing he sees is Vernon´s and Petunia´s terrified faces. Black out...

Vernon, luckily, realized, WHAT he did, and if the boy died, he would get in jail. Drunk, he though, took bleeding, unconscious Harry in the nearest hospital, just in time to save him. Harry got severe internal injuries, and the operation lasted for two hours. The explanation was that Harry had been carving out of wood and accidentally cut himself. Of course, it was a lame explanation and the doctors didn´t believe it a bit, but when Harry had finally gained conciosness and the surgeon asked him about it, one fierce uncle´s stare said enough. Harry confirmed it his fault. The hospital staff let go off his case and after five days Harry returned to his prison cell...

But the straw that broke his back became his birthday. He hadn´t got a single gift or a letter. Like he disappeared from others people lives. Everyone forgot him. Why? Not a note. They supposed to be his friends, didn´t they? Long, lonely nights he silently cried about it, but there was no-one to comfort him. Why did they abandon me?

" They didn´t need you, Harry. They didn´t need your personality, your soul. You where only a star, and your so-called `friends´ only wanted to get their part of the light. Get it? You were just an idol, a cult. People were your friends because of your fame, money, popularity. Not because of yourself. They wanted fame, so to say: " I´m friends with the famous Harry Potter! Am I cool!!" They wanted to get influence, power, participation in some miracle. They see you as a savior, They would send you to hell, saying how much they love you. You´re just as Malfoy. And when an idol falls, it is abandoned. You are doomed to it. Nobody needs your feelings, your inside. You´re not a human to them. A hero. A shield for their little miserable lives. Nobody needs plain Harry Potter. Everyone needs The Defeater of Voldemort. Last year you sucked. They threw you away. That´s all. You don´t have REAL friends..."

Yeah. Ron and Hermione, two grey mice, wanted to be seen, to use him in their ways. To be famous. The whole Gryffindor admired Harry for being something that he wasn´t. They all can go to hell. Dumbledore wanted to make Harry his weapon against Voldemort, playing on the death of his parents. "For this, he placed me here, so I could suffer from the Dursleys and hate Voldemort even more. So I could be an obedient puppet on a string. He knows that I´m abused. That motherfucker knows, that sly old fox. He wants to make a weapon out of my pain and angst, but I uncovered his evil plan. I won´t be a puppet. From this day, I will do only what I think is the right thing. Go to hell!" They betrayed him...He won´t forget, how they left him...

Harry took out from under his pillow Dudley´s old CD player and put the phones in his ears. He lay back, giving himself to the music...

"Where should I start

Disjointed heart

I´ve got no commitment to my own flesh and blood I...

Left all alone

Far from my home,

No one to hear me, to heal my ill heart, I...

Keep it locked up, inside...

Cannot express

To the point I´ve regressed...

If anger´s s gift, then I guess I´ve been blessed, I...

Keep it locked up, inside

Keep my distance from your lies...

"I´ve had enough. I have to stop it. I´ll cut the strings. I have no fear." As Harry listened and thought, he could feel the anger swelling inside his soul, growing, putting aside his indifference and apathy for his fate. It gave him strength, the will to do something to stop this abuse. Hatred and violence started burning like wildfire, sweeping aside all other emotions. He remembered, that in the end of his last year he learned a bit of wandless magic. There was a hope.

"But I need pain to keep my feelings in control." He thought. Harry pulled out of his pocket a razorblade.

" Breaking a part of my heart to find release

Taking you out of my blood to bring me peace..."

He brought the thin steel blade to his wrist, watching as the pale skin and flesh beneath it diverges. He watched in fascination, as the red metallic liquid abundantly flowed out of his sliced wrist, so rich and warm. The sharp pain, that will follow him all his life...The pain that he controls. His life that he controls...and nobody else.

"Someone has to pay for all this. Someone will pay. I will have my bittersweet revenge for my broken life, body and mind. They all will pay...Very soon."

And then, wincing from pain, watching his blood he smiled. A smile that would´ve done Voldemort proud...

AN: ufffffffff...I started it! I´m making this a non-typical "Abused Harry story. Please rate and review and such shit:)