Harry Potter and the Loss of Innocence

Ioci

Story Summary:
Harry is stuck at Privet Drive and has much to think about. A crazed wizard out to kill him. The death of his godfather and friend. The Prophesy looming in front of him. And not even one note from his friends. That's been Harry's summer holiday thus far, so can you blame him for wanting it to end? But should Harry really be looking forward to a year filled with surprises of all kinds and not all of them good? *HP sixth year fic following OotP and not incorporating HBP*

Chapter 01

Chapter Summary:
Harry is stuck at Privet Drive once more and has much to think about. A crazed wizard out to kill him. The death of his godfather and friend. The Prophesy looming in front of him. And not even one note from his "friends." That's been Harry's summer holiday thus far so can you blame him for wanting it to end? But should Harry really be looking forward to a year filled with surprises of all kinds and not all of them good?
Posted:
03/05/2005
Hits:
12,442
Author's Note:
Thanks for reading this and I sincerly hope you enjoy! ~Ioci


Chapter One: The Prisoner

I think I got a lot of friends

But I don't hear from them

What's another night all alone

When you're spending everyday on your own?

~Simple Plan: I'm Just a Kid

Harry sat on his bed staring idly out his window. His eyes were following a flying bird but his mind was elsewhere. He was still stuck at number four, Privet Drive, even though he had been assured that he would be rescued quickly. Well, no time better than the present, Harry thought. He knew that it had only been a week and a half, but he wanted out of this prison and quickly. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep from attacking his aunt, uncle, and cousin.

It wasn't as if Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, or Dudley was giving him a hard time. For the most part they just ignored him, which suited Harry just fine. It was not having anyone from his world to talk to that bothered Harry the most. He thought he wanted to talk about Sirius to someone, anyone who knew Sirius was innocent. He thought he was ready, but he wasn't sure.

Harry didn't spend too much time thinking about Sirius or the Prophecy. Harry didn't want to guess what that meant for his future, all his plans. And when his friends found out about it.... He definitely didn't want to think about that.

He shook himself from his stupor, glanced once more at the birds flying outside, and went downstairs.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry asked his aunt politely, "do you have any chores for me?" Harry and his aunt had come to a silent agreement. She wouldn't ask him to do everything and Harry would do it without complaining. Harry found that the chores gave him something to do, something to distract himself from his thoughts. And it helped him build up his strength.

"Yes. Would you mow the lawn today? Please?" she asked overly politely.

"Yes." Harry had started working out when he had gotten to the Dursleys'. What good was a power the Dark Lord knows not, if he couldn't last long enough to fight Voldemort? So he had started to lift cans filled with sand and rocks, run around the block several times every morning (he could now sense the friendly eyes that watched him), and do 100 sit-ups and 50 push-ups. Eventually, he'd lift heavier weights, run more laps, and do more sit-ups and push-ups. Eventually, but right now this small work out tired him and left him sore.

Harry hated mowing. At least he only had the back yard to mow. This summer's heat wave was worse than last year's. The front yard was dry, yellow grass, but the back yard was lush and green. Harry knew the only reason Uncle Vernon watered the backyard (against all the rules) was so that Harry would have to mow it. But because it was only the back yard Harry finished the lawn mid-afternoon. He walked inside and found Aunt Petunia cleaning the living room windows. "Anything else?"

"No."

"I'll be in my room." Petunia bent her head in acknowledgment and Harry went upstairs. When would they rescue him?

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon in his room, but it was stifling in there. He decided to go for a walk to the play park and so he headed out the door. His feet carried him to the park automatically. He could feel the eyes of the Order members watching. He wished they would just talk to him once. He wished that they would jump out from their hiding places and say, "Surprise, we're here to rescue you!"

It was a daydream Harry couldn't help but wish would come true. Privet Drive was so alienated from the wizarding world. He wondered what Mrs. Figg would do if he showed up there for tea one day? Maybe he'd go there for super tonight. Yes, he would.

Harry walked the few blocks to her house and started to turn up the sidewalk. Before he could, an old man called out, "Oi, sonny, 'elp me with this!" The old man was carrying a huge plant and a shovel. Harry quickly crossed the street and grabbed the plant from the man.

"Where you going with this?" Harry asked, thankful that he'd been working out.

"Ta the play park," he said grumpily. The man led the way back to where Harry had started. "Over 'ere, put 'er down right 'ere." He started to dig a hole, but Harry couldn't watch him struggle with it.

"Here, sir, let me help." The man gave him the shovel and as Harry was shoveling he started to speak.

"No ma'er what I say, keep shov'ling, here me boy?" Harry nodded. "Good. Wotcher." Harry kept shoveling but smiled. "There ya go, li'le deeper there. Good, good. Now what were ya doin' in Wisteria Walk, young man? Nothin' there for a boy like ya." Harry nodded. "Wouldn't want ta give the wrong people the right idea, now would ya?" Harry nodded. "Good, good, a li'le wider there. Good. That's the ticket. Now help me get 'er settled." Harry helped Tonks straighten the plant. "Would ya shov'l 'er in, that's a lad." Harry shoveled in the dirt. "Thanks much, laddie. Good day ta ya." The old man turned to walk the opposite direction Harry needed to take to get home.

He decided that that was the Order's subtle but effective way to tell him not to go to Mrs. Figg's. He wished he could have talked to Tonks a little longer and more openly. This was turning out to be a long summer.

Back at number four Privet Drive, Petunia just about fainted when she saw the shape Harry's clothes were in. He told her that he had helped an old man plant a bush, but she wouldn't believe him. She made him wait in the entranceway as she laid newspaper for him to walk over.

When he finally made it to his room, he sank on his bed before taking off his dirty clothes. He knew his aunt would freak when she washed his sheets, but he didn't care. He just wanted out. "When are they rescuing us, Hedwig?" She flapped her wings and Harry let her out to hunt. He wished he could follow her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few more days went by and Harry was starting to crack. He had just woken up and the thoughts that had bothered him before sleeping were starting to hammer his brain once more. He had received no letters from his friends. None whatsoever. It was just like the summer before his second year, yet Harry didn't think it was because of Dobby this time.

He had a feeling that Dumbledore had told them not to write. And, of course, being the good little Gryffindors that they were they hadn't written. Not once. They didn't even send a little scrap of paper with the one short word "Hi!" on it. Nothing. There was nothing at all.

Harry had just sent Hedwig out with his letter to Ron, begging him for a note. Not even a letter, just a note. He didn't need any news in it; he didn't need any details. He just wanted reassurance that he hadn't dreamt the whole thing up.

But who's subconscious could come up with the horror that was Harry's magical and non-magical life? Harry was sure he didn't have a big enough of an imagination to come up with what had happened to him just last month, let alone the graveyard a year ago, the Shrieking Shack two years ago, the Chamber three years ago, and Voldemort stuck to the back of Quirrell's head four years ago.

Quirrell was four years ago! Harry couldn't believe it; it seemed just like yesterday. And five years ago at the end of the month... Hagrid had come and given Harry the best birthday gift he had ever had. (Not that that was a hard thing to do considering the gifts that the Dursleys gave him.)

But all he wanted now was proof that it had actually happened. Harry couldn't even trust his dreams or nightmares. What if they were just a crazy person's dream to make his made-up world seem real? What if he was that crazy person? What if he had just made up the whole last five years and he would wake up any second now? He'd wake up and it'd only be 3:49 AM on July 31 and he would only have been 11 for three hours and forty-nine minutes. No Hagrid, no wand, no escaping the Dursleys.

"Boy, get down here NOW!" Harry rolled off his bed and headed, slowly, downstairs to find out what his uncle was screaming about now. "Hurry up and get down here!"

Harry lazily rounded the corner into the kitchen and looked from his purple uncle to his pale aunt to the stranger sitting calmly at the kitchen table. Harry stared at this stranger for a split second and then drew out his wand.

"Who are you?" There was a witch sitting calmly at his kitchen table drinking a cup of tea, dressed in white robes with a sun embroidered on the front, and she had her wand sitting on the table within reach.

"Now, Harry Potter, we both know you can't use that. Just put it away." She said this with a voice used to being obeyed, but Harry kept his wand out. He could clearly hear the fake Mad-Eye Moody bellowing, "Constant vigilance!" Petunia hurriedly shut the curtains on the windows, after peering around for any witnesses. Harry wondered, suddenly, where Dudley was at 8:30 in the morning because he never got up this early and Harry had passed his empty room.

"No, I think I'll keep it out for now, I can always use it in life-threatening situations. Now, who are you?" The witch smiled at him and nodded.

"You do have a head on your shoulders." She looked at him for a second and then answered his question, in a way. "I can't tell you my name, but as you should be able to tell from my uniform, I am an Auror."

"Uniforms can always be taken off the dead and tortured," Harry whispered, but everyone heard him.

"You must have had a hard life to think of that, Mr. Potter. I am an Auror and that should be enough for you."

"It isn't." The witch looked taken aback by his simple answer, but she quickly regained her calm.

"A hard life indeed. I'm here to tell you not to do anything rash. To tell you, Mr. Potter, and your relatives," she nodded towards his aunt and uncle, "that Death Eaters are watching this neighborhood quite closely and we have no idea why. You can take my advice and leave this area or you can stay: it's your choice. That is all I have to say, goodbye." And with that she Disapparated back to wherever she had come from.

"What was that?" a very purple Uncle Vernon bellowed at Harry.

"Just a witch telling me what I already knew," he sighed tiredly. "I'm going back to my room and back to bed." Harry started to climb the steps but his uncle grabbed his shoulder.

"Oh, no you don't. I want the shed painted today, without any of your un-naturalism. Do you hear me?" Harry turned around and for a second Uncle Vernon was taken aback. The look in Harry's eyes was one of a dead person's: hollow and lacking emotion. But it only lasted a second and then they were filled with anger once more.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon, I hear you," Harry gritted between his closed jaw. He walked out the kitchen door and went out to the shed. There he found the paint he had used the last year and started to paint the shed. The day soon grew hot and Harry was sweating in his light T-shirt and shorts.

Stroke up, stroke down. Dip paintbrush in paint. Stroke up, stroke down. Dip paintbrush in paint. Stroke up, stroke down. Over and over again.

Well, if this was a dream it was the most realistic dream he had ever had. The sun started to burn his back and neck and Harry needed something to drink. But he kept up the work. Harry hated this shed with a vengeance. Every year he had to paint it. The wood had never been sanded and was extremely dry from the two years of drought. Because of those two things the wood soaked up the paint and Harry knew he would have to give it a second coat.

Stroke up, stroke down. Dip paintbrush in paint. Stroke up, stroke down. Dip paintbrush in paint. Stroke up, stroke down. Over and over again.

At one point Harry thought he saw a person looking at him from the neighbor's yard, but he shook his head. Those neighbors had a ten-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girl; they were both terrified of the criminal that lived next door. Harry couldn't tell if it was him they were actually afraid of or if it was the bully Dudley, but it didn't matter. No one would be looking at him from that yard.

Stroke up, stroke down. Dip paintbrush in paint. Stroke up, stroke down. Dip paintbrush in paint. Stroke up, stroke down. Over and over again.

An hour or so later, something caught the corner of his eye. It was in that yard again. Harry looked over there without turning his head and saw someone looking at him. He shook his head and turned to look. It was gone, whatever it was.

Stroke up, stroke down. Dip paintbrush in paint. Stroke up, stroke down. Dip paintbrush in paint. Stroke up, stroke down. Over and over again.

Harry worked through lunch and the hottest part of the day. He knew he should have stopped, but he didn't want his uncle angry with him. This summer had only gone so well because Vernon was terrified to yell, hit, or throw Harry out of the house. It seemed that that strange witch had sent Harry flying over the line he had to cross to anger Vernon and now his uncle was furious. Oh, well, Harry thought, nothing new with that.

Stroke up, stroke down. Dip paintbrush in paint. Stroke up, stroke down. Dip paintbrush in paint. Stroke up, stroke down. Over and over again.

Finally the shed was done and Harry went into the house wearily. In the living room sat Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley, all watching the television. Harry looked at the clock and cursed. It was past 5:30; he had been working on that shed for nine hours without a break.

"When is supper?" Harry asked his aunt politely.

"You, boy, are not eating anything tonight." Dudley turned to watch Vernon lay into Harry; it was his favorite sport. "You are grounded until I say you aren't anymore. You will only have two meals a day, because I am a generous man, and you are only allowed to send that owl to that crazy man to tell him that I'm still feeding you. Do you understand?"

"Aunt Petunia," Harry said, ignoring his uncle and cousin. "Seeing that I'm only allowed two meals, may I please have my first meal of the day, because I missed it since I was painting all day?"

Petunia looked from her husband to her nephew with clear indecision on her face. They had that unspoken agreement and Harry hadn't complained once about that shed and he usually did. She looked at her husband and spoke, "He hasn't eaten all day, Vernon. If we don't feed him once, those... those... freaks will come and hurt us. We need to feed him at least once today."

Vernon looked at her and thought carefully. "My dear, you're right. Would you please prepare something for him? Nothing much. In fact, bread and water would be fine."

Petunia got up and Harry followed her into the kitchen. "I'm sorry, about him." Harry just stared at her. "He's just a little shaken up about this morning and everything. Thank you for painting the shed."

"Where was Dudley this morning, Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked politely.

She looked at him oddly, "Dudley spent the night at a friend's house, Harry. He wasn't here all day yesterday."

Harry nodded to her and took the sandwich and lemonade she handed him. Harry quickly ate it, thinking about how little he knew about these people he lived with every summer. When he was finished, he went to his room. When would they get him out of here? And who was that woman watching him paint the shed?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I thought they were getting us out of here quickly, Hedwig, but I guess not." Harry was sitting on his bed petting her. If Hedwig hadn't been there, Harry would have blown a fuse a week ago. She was the only creature at Privet Drive that could stay in the same room with Harry and not insult him, not cower from him, and not give him a disapproving look. She had kept him sane these three weeks. Harry couldn't believe it had only been three weeks, but that's what his homemade calendar said.

She spread her wings and idly flapped them. The sun was beginning to set for the night and she was ready to go hunting.

"Go on, girl. Have a good time." And with that Hedwig shot out the window.

The heat was stifling. Harry glanced around his room. On his desk sat his finished Potions essay. Professor Snape had decided to give the class homework, but they only had to do it if the planned to take his N.E.W.T.'s class. Unfortunately, Harry was planning on being in that class. He still hadn't gotten his O.W.L.'s results so he wasn't even sure if he could.

Strewn all over the floor were his schoolbooks, thrown there when he had gotten bored with them. He had most of his homework finished; just one assignment from Professor McGonagall that he needed some help on from Hermione. He had never finished any of his homework so soon. It was just because he had so much free time, but he had never before dreaded the boredom of having nothing to do. This was getting ridiculous.

On his wall was his countdown until school started. It had 21 tick marks on it; three long weeks in this prison. He had hoped it would only be a couple of days, or at the most a week and a half, but this... This was too long. He just wanted out. And that witch, last week, had recommended getting out. Should he tell his aunt and uncle what she had meant? No, Uncle Vernon would just throw him out.

The one thing missing in the room was letters or notes from his friends. He sent out his note, "I am fine, want out, Harry," every third day. But nothing ever returned with Hedwig. It was starting to really annoy Harry. All he could think of was Hermione, Ron, and Ginny somewhere together and having fun without him. He hadn't even signed up for the Daily Prophet this summer. He knew getting the news from the Daily Prophet would only make him more depressed.

Harry glanced out his open window. Outside, a swallow caught his eye. It was swooping and diving catching bugs in its open mouth. It looked so free, so peaceful. It was so lucky.

"That's just pathetic, Harry," he said to himself. "You're envying a swallow. And now you're talking to yourself. How absolutely pathetic."

Harry lay down on his bed staring at his calendar. It always made him think of a prison wall, one with tick marks carved into it by prisoners. And that was what he felt like, a prisoner in the worst prison imaginable.

He drifted to sleep at about midnight thinking how pathetic his life was and what his friends would say if they could see the famous Harry Potter now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Where is it?" Harry screamed at a couple lying on the floor. "Where is it, you traitorous scum?" His high-pitched voice was dripping with loathing and cruelty. The woman's legs were broken and Harry could see the bones sticking out. She must have been lying on her left arm because Harry couldn't see it.

"We don't know what you're looking for. Just leave us alone," the man whispered from the floor. There was blood coming from his mouth and nose. His arms were both broken and one of his legs was tucked up underneath him.

"You know exactly what I'm looking for! Crucio!" The couple started to writhe in pain. Minutes passed, the scar on Harry's forehead in excruciating pain.

He was in a large, well-furnished house. It seemed that he was standing in their living room. There was a fireplace to the direct left of him and a couch to right. In between the couch and fireplace was an Oriental rug and on that rug lay the couple, thrashing violently in pain.

"Master?" A pathetic looking wizard crawled into Harry's sight. "We can not find it. We've torn apart this house, but it is nowhere." Harry lifted the curse from the couple and they started to pant for breath and continued twitching in agony.

"You can't find it?" Harry said in a cold quiet voice.

"N-no, my Lord. We cou-couldn't find it," the ratty looking wizard stuttered.

"Well, Wormtail, you disappoint me once again. Crucio!" This time it was the wizard struggling with the curse. Harry waited a few moments and then said, "You will find it!" And with that he lifted the curse.

"I will ask you one more time and only once more. Where is it?"

"I don't know where it is!" the man screamed at Harry.

"Very well, very well. I always thought you should have been a Gryffindor, Alex. You were always so foolishly brave and courageous. Very well. Then you must have the same weakness that they all have." Harry turned to the woman on the ground and whispered a curse that even he couldn't hear. Welts started to show all over her body. Not deep welts, but they bleed all the same. Her screeching horrified Harry. What was he doing? Why was he hurting them? And that's when Harry realized what this was: a vision from Voldemort's mind. Harry felt himself wishing it was a fake, but deep down he knew it wasn't.

"Please. Don't hurt my wife. Please." The man was staring at his wife four feet from him.

"Master...." A witch who had been standing next to Voldemort the whole time spoke up. Harry knew the voice and hated the woman it belonged to.

"Yes, Bella," Voldemort said patiently.

"Can I take off her other arm? And his other leg?" Voldemort looked from the witch next to him to the couple on the ground. What Harry had thought were hidden limbs were actually missing limbs, limbs that were on the ground ten or so feet from them.

"Where is it?"

"I don't know," the man sobbed.

"Very well. Bella, you may have the pleasure of removing the woman's left arm and both her legs." Bella walked up to the woman, giving the man a disappointed look as she passed, and whispered a spell. There was a loud ripping sound and the woman's screeching got louder.

"No, please don't hurt my wife. Please. Please, don't. Please," the man whispered. Harry looked at Bella's face and felt his scar explode in pain. On her face was a look of purest pleasure and Voldemort felt the same way. Bella whispered the spell again and one of the woman's legs was torn off. It flew a few feet in the air and landed with a thud. The woman was sobbing now and the man was inching his way towards her. One more spell and the last limb was torn from her body. The woman's body started to shake from the stress and she slipped into shock. This quieted her screams and Harry sighed in relief.

"Where is it?" Voldemort asked the man again.

"I... I don't know," the man was sobbing uncontrollably. "Please, stop hurting her."

"Very well. I'll stop hurting her. Avada Kedavra!" A jet of green light shot at the woman and she stopped twitching immediately. The man finally reached her body and started to sob harder over her broken and dead corpse.

"No, no, please don't be dead, no, no," The man whispered into her hair. He turned to Voldemort a look of complete hatred and rage on his face and screamed, "Why!? Why must you do this to us?"

Voldemort looked down at the man. "Tell me where it is and you won't die the same way."

"I can't tell you. I don't know where it is. She did."

"Then why did you let me kill her, you fool?" Voldemort screamed at the man. "Why didn't you tell me that to begin with?"

"Because we would rather die then let you have it!"

"That can be arranged." Voldemort whispered his curse again and the man started to shriek in agony; welts were covering his body. "Let's see if we can find it in that pathetic brain of yours." Voldemort lifted the man's head. When he could see into the man's eyes, he said, "Legilimens!"

After several minutes, Voldemort dropped the man. "You are a fool." Voldemort turned from the man; he would let the man bleed to death for his foolishness. The old clock on the mantle started to chime. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Thirty. It was time to go. "My Death Eaters, we are leaving!"

About ten Death Eaters exited the house with him. They all left with a pop, but Voldemort turned back to look at the house in the afternoon light. It was a new house and from the outside it looked quite peaceful. Voldemort smiled. The inside told a different story. He raised his head and wand to the sky and shouted, "Morsmordre!"