Harry Potter and the Path to Power

Prologue

Uncle Vernon didn't speak a word till they got to the car; "Get in boy."

'Boy' was pronounced as something distasteful. Harry knew this would be another pleasant summer at the Dursleys. And to think that he had left his friends and his world only five minutes ago.

During the drive to Little Whinging Uncle Vernon again said not a word. The silence was unnerving. If he'd been sneered at, he would at least know what was going on, but this silence projected all kinds of horrors into Harry's head. What where the Dursleys up to? Harry kept wondering.

Then his mind turned to the events of the last task. Pure unadulterated guilt swept though him; the memory was always there humming in his mind, building guilt upon guilt but from time to time it would fully consume him, a time such as now.

Harry was still condemning himself for Cedric's death and nothing anyone had said about 'it not being his fault had changed that feeling, although on a rational level he knew they were right. Nothing the Dursleys could do to him would atone for his mistakes; he deserved it all........

At 4 Privet Drive Uncle Vernon turned on Harry and said: "There will be no 'funny business' this year, your Aunt Petunia is in a bad way and she needs her rest and her medication. You will go to your room and stay there unless I say otherwise. You will keep the house clean, cook our meals and make yourself useful if and when I let you out of your room. Do you understand me boy?"

Harry only nodded, to numb to say anything.

"I said: Do you understand, boy?" Uncle Vernon bellowed, anger and hate clear in his eyes.

"Yes Uncle Vernon," Harry replied weakly, too caught up in guilt to feel anything else.

Uncle Vernon then marched into the house, clearly expecting Harry to do the same.

Harry lifted his things and followed.

Chapter I

Harry was locked in his room and had not eaten since he had gotten back, which was yesterday, but he didn't care.

He didn't care about anything anymore. All he could think about, now that he had nothing to distract him, was what had happened at the graveyard in which he and Cedric had ended up at after the third task ...Kill the spare...

Then he heard something knocking on the window. It was Pig with what was probably a letter from Ron. With visions of Cedric's dead eyes still clear in his memory he took the letter and read:

Harry,

Hope you got home o.k.

That Muggle looked even nastier than usual.

Mum's been talking to Dumbledore about you staying here but apparently you have to stay with your relatives because of some sort of protective wards that are generated there (at least that's what I overheard when Mum was talking to Dad about it).

Don't let the Muggles get you down. (If it gets too bad I've already convinced George and Fred to help me get you out no matter what the oldies say; just owl me)

Cheers mate,

Ron

Harry had a small smile on his lips. Ron was a good friend.

Then the image of Ron and a dead Cedric flashed though his mind... an abrupt change had Ron lying there, with dead eyes staring up at him ...kill the spare... Harry shook his head violently; this would give him a whole new level of nightmares.

"BOY", it was Uncle Vernon, "GET DOWN HERE NOW."

Harry walked to the door and found it unlocked. Uncle Vernon must have unlocked it last night or this morning. Harry hadn't noticed; he hadn't cared.

When Harry came downstairs he saw Aunt Petunia lying on the couch and Uncle Vernon standing beside her, looking at her worriedly; then his eyes turned to Harry an the worry was replaced with anger.

"Been lying around all day have we? We'll fix that. Go make dinner."

Walking into the kitchen Harry was not surprised to see Dudley sitting there- the boy had once spent an entire summer in the kitchen watching television and eating.

Something was different but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Then it struck him. Dudley wasn't eating; he was just staring into space.

"Dudley?" Harry asked for the first time feeling something like worry for one of his relatives. Dudley had such a vacant look in his eyes it was plain creepy.

"It's Mum, you know," Dudley suddenly said, "she's gone mad. Has to take all sorts of medicine."

Harry was somewhat shocked.

A member of the most normal family ever go mad? Not very likely.

Then he saw all the medicine bottles on the shelf near the kitchen sink.

He walked over and looked at them. He didn't recognize any names except one: Prozac.

He knew that Prozac was an anti-depressant used by Muggles; he'd seen it on the telly.

Aunt Petunia was depressed; leave it to Dudley to call her mad because of it.

Dinner was a quiet affair and Aunt Petunia didn't join them. Instead Uncle Vernon brought her a plate. Harry was denied any food.

"You could do with loosing some weight, boy."

After doing the dishes Harry decided that it would be best just to go to his room.

Once there Harry decided it was time to write back Ron but the haunting image of his friend, lying on the ground, dead, was still dancing before Harry's eyes.

On impulse he decided he didn't want to correspond with Ron too much that summer, to avoid this image and the questions he and Hermione would certainly ask: "How are you? Do you feel well? Not depressed? Dursleys treating you O.K.? You know it's not your fault don't you?"

He didn't want to answer these questions because of the pity that would follow any honest answer. He didn't want pity; he didn't want to hear it was not his fault. It was his fault and he deserved anything he got.

Ron,

Everything is fine here. I'm going to be very busy with all kinds of chores and as you know the Dursleys don't like owl post. That means we can't write each other as often as usual.

Too bad.

I'll owl you when possible and then we can make plans for the summer.

Harry

The letter was a lie but it would buy him some time alone. He wrote a similar letter to Hermione and then sent off Pig and Hedwig.

After this he lay down on his bed but sleep would not come; he didn't want sleep to come because then he would have to face his nightmares.

Over the weeks following the third task and Voldemort's resurrection his nightmares had been increasing in number and intensity every night.

He hadn't told anyone... he didn't want to burden them; besides he deserved them for all the mistakes he had made, for not saving Cedric.

Somewhere in the state between sleep and waking Harry heard someone enter his room.

He looked up and saw Uncle Vernon.

"So boy," his Uncle sneered, "you let someone die, didn't you?"

Harry saw a letter with a Hogwarts crest on it in Uncle Vernon's hand.

Oh God, he knew... they had told him.

"You saw someone die and still they sent you back here; to your 'loving relatives' who will love you and nurture you," Uncle Vernon said, every word was dripping with sarcasm.

"They must really hate you boy, to send you here. I don't think they care anything for you and as for that convict godfather of yours- he was a figment of you imagination.

HE DOESN'T EXIST.

Things are going to change. You will not be attending that school anymore. They probably don't want you there anyway. Your freakish things will be locked up and you will not think about magic ever again.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND, BOY?"

Harry was overwhelmed at this speech and didn't know what to say.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, FREAK?" Uncle Vernon bellowed and he backhanded Harry.

The next thing Harry knew he was lying on the ground looking up at Uncle Vernon.

"I said: do you understand?" His voice was deadly and barely more than a whisper. Harry saw a multitude of emotions playing on his uncle's face: Hate, anger and a desire to inflict pain given any excuse.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry had once more receded into the vortex of guilt that dominated his mind and accepted everything as his due.

Uncle Vernon turned, picked up Harry's chest and put it outside his room along with Hedwig's cage.

Harry was glad Hedwig was not here; there was no telling what his Uncle would have done to his pet.

After that the windows of his room where covered up with wooden boards that were brought up by Dudley. He gave Harry a malicious look, for he to knew he had free reign to torment his cousin.

Just to prove his point he punched Harry in the gut before exiting the room.

"Do you have anything magical left in this room, freak?" This seemed to be Harry's new name.

"No, Uncle Vernon," Harry stated.

Again Harry found himself on the floor, his cheek stinging and he felt a little blood trickle form his lips.

"DON'T LIE TO ME, BOY."

Deciding he didn't really care Harry told the truth: "Just my wand."

"Hand it over."

Harry looked up at Vernon in surprise.

The man had never wanted to touch anything magical in his life and now he wanted Harry's wand?

Deciding it was taking too long, Vernon kicked Harry and held out his hand again, not saying anything but the threat was clear in his eyes.

Slowly Harry handed over his wand; he had been keeping it up his sleeve.

When Vernon took hold of the wand a shock seemed to course through his body and he took a good look at it. His eyes shone with something akin to fascination; almost lovingly he brought up his hand and stroked the wand.

Then Harry saw the impossible happen. When Vernon stroked the wand, black sparks flew from the tip and both Harry and Vernon looked startled.

"What did you do, freak?" Vernon asked a mixture of awe and revulsion in his voice.

"It wasn't me," Harry whispered. "You are holding the wand."

Harry was racking his brain frantically for an explanation to what he had just seen; any explanation beyond the obvious but always came back to one conclusion; the one conclusion he did not want to believe:

Vernon Dursley was magically gifted.

Chapter II

Harry was lying on his bed, a hand protectively covering his ribs. Vernon must have broken one or two when he had kicked Harry, because every breath brought pain.

Vernon......... Wait when did this happen.

All his life Harry had called the man 'Uncle Vernon' but now every time in his mind there was only Vernon; then again why call a man who would inflict pain on you uncle? It was a term of affection or at least respect and that was something his 'uncle' did not deserve.

Several hours passed as the house grew quiet and the sky dark. Harry heard beds squeak as Vernon and Dudley went to bed.

His stomach growled, he hadn't eaten for more then twenty-four hours and felt the necessity.

As his aunt and uncle had always underfed him, Harry was used to sneaking downstairs to eat just a little more. Not too much though, because his relatives would notice.

With practised steps Harry went downstairs, avoiding every floorboard and step that might give him away.

Quietly he walked into the kitchen and to the refrigerator. It was filled with ready-to-go microwave meals. Apparently Aunt Petunia hadn't been cooking for some time now.

Harry fixed himself a sandwich and a glass of milk and ate them. His hunger although not sated was at least lessened and he dare not take more.

Not wanting to go back to bed and his nightmares, Harry walked in to the living room and froze.... Aunt Petunia was still lying on the couch and was looking straight at him.

Not daring to stir, Harry waited for his aunt's next move, but she just kept staring at him.

"Aunt Petunia?" Harry whispered.

Her eyes shot up to his and for the first time it became clear how unfocused her gaze was. It was as if she was having difficulty keeping her eyes locked on one point and had to continually refocus.

"James... James is that you?" his aunt said with a slur. "Have you finally come to take me away? I knew it was me you loved, not Lily.

I'm sorry for marrying Vernon but I was pregnant. I had no choice."

Harry was shocked beyond belief.

What was she saying?

Did she believe him to be his father?

And had she been in love with his father?

This was not something she would have normally said; it must be the medicine she was taking.

Feeling something between disgust and pity, he slowly moved towards his aunt.

Standing next to her he was thinking about what to do next when suddenly she grabbed his right hand. "James......?" From this close up, Harry saw that his aunt's wrists were bandaged.

"No Aunt Petunia, it's me... Harry"

"Harry.....? I know that name," Aunt Petunia said, her voice unsteady, eyes still unfocused.

"GET AWAY FROM HER, YOU FREAK," Harry heard a voice behind him bellow.

As he turned around Vernon charged Harry like a mad bull and punched him in the face. Harry fell back and hit the back of his head against the coffee table standing next to the couch.

Everything went black.............

When Harry woke up he was back in his room. Not only the back of his head hurt but also his nose... it felt broken. His lower back hurt as well; Vernon must have dragged him up here not bothering to lift him.

Slowly Harry stood, not sure of his own footing. He was still a little dizzy.

Just as Harry was getting his bearings back, the door opened and Vernon stepped in.

He looked at Harry and for the first time Harry feared for his very life.

"Now you're going to pay, boy."

With an expression that could only be described as a combination between anger, hate and ecstasy Vernon lazily punched Harry in the face again, throwing him back against the wall. The wind was knocked out of Harry and he saw stars before his eyes.

Before he could fall to the ground Vernon grabbed Harry by the throat holding him up, preventing him from falling. "I've been wanting to do this for a long, long time..."

Vernon's voice was low but had an excited quality to it.

Still holding Harry up, Vernon proceeded to hit Harry where he could.

The face came first.

Although he was fighting it, Harry couldn't prevent a whimpering sound coming from his mouth. This seemed to only further Vernon's excitement and he was hitting Harry harder and harder. Vernon was now hitting Harry all over.

After a succession of blows, Harry felt something snap in his side. A sharp pain followed.

Was this how a broken rib felt? If so, it was far worse then he had first assumed, this was nothing compared to before. Every breath was agony, like something sharp stabbed him every time he took a breath.

This was however, not enough for Vernon and he continued without mercy.

Harry kept hoping to lose consciousness but somehow Vernon knew just what to do and what not to do, to keep him from this release of pain.

Harry was now sure he had several broken ribs and his arm felt like it was broken as well after what seemed like hours of beating. He was now half sitting, half lying on the floor, not able to keep himself up.

Vernon showed no sign of tiring from his game and still had a look of glee and enjoyment on his face, sweat poring all over it.

"You know, boy, I've been wanting to do this for years but I always thought I wouldn't get away with it. Those freaks of yours wouldn't like it, I always thought. But they don't care about you do they? Why else would they have sent you back here? They want you as little as we do," Vernon taunted

Why had Dumbledore sent him back here?

His uncle must be right...... they didn't want him and who could blame them, everyone around him was a target for Voldemort.

While contemplating this, Harry wasn't paying attention to Vernon and didn't see the kick to the kidneys coming. Pain seared through his body and he slumped to the ground.

"Oh is ickle Harrykins hurt?" Vernon said in a mocking, sickly sweet tone. "Is little Harry tired?"

Vernon was circling around him.

"I thought you were this big bad hero? You can't even keep yourself upright."

With that Vernon left the room but before the door closed Harry distinctly heard: "We'll continue this tomorrow."

In the next few days a pattern emerged.

Mornings and afternoons Vernon would go to work and Harry was able to rest as was possible through his nightmares, but as soon as Vernon was home the beatings would continue.

After a few hours there was a break for dinner and some TV on Vernon's part; some bread and water for Harry, some leftovers if he was lucky.

Harry learned to eat quickly.

Vernon kicked the bowl with leftovers -which was precious sustenance to Harry- if he thought Harry was taking too long, spraying the food around the room. Hunger brought Harry to eating it anyway.

Water was even scarcer then food.

Harry was only let out of his room to use the bathroom once every morning and evening; Vernon had announced that this was only because he didn't want to suffer the stench.

At the end of the evening Vernon would return and inflict pain on Harry for another hour and then turn in for bed.

Dudley was never in sight. Harry thanked Merlin for small favours.

After the first day Vernon had also put up some more boards in Harry's room but now not only on the windows but on the walls, floor and ceiling as well. He didn't want anyone to hear Harry scream; anyone, except himself that was. Vernon thoroughly enjoyed Harry's screams.

He also got more inventive in hurting Harry, not only beating him, but using other methods to.

Harry fully expected to die when Vernon did not relent... but strangely enough this did not happen.

Vernon was talented in the art of torture but where he had learned or even why Harry could not fathom.

He was always careful to inflict a maximum of pain without endangering Harry's life; he kept him floating on the edge. It was driving Harry towards the brink of insanity.

On what Harry reckoned was the fourth day Vernon came into his room and said in a menacing tone: "Today were going to try something different.

You see I've found out something very interesting about this."

To Harry's utter amazement Vernon pulled out his wand.

"I was holding this thing yesterday and thought about what I was going to do to you later. Guess what happened......?" Vernon had an evil grin on his face.

"No?

No guess?

Too bad.

I'll tell you what happened. Something, a spark of some kind, shot from the tip much like before. Now, I'm guessing here, but I think that spark will do something to the person it happens to hit. I'm willing to try, are you?"

Without waiting for an answer Vernon pointed Harry's own wand at him and intensely whispered: "Pain."

Pain shot through Harry's body as the small boy fell to the floor and convulsed. He felt his muscles spasm and go rigid; he screamed his throat raw but to no avail.

It was not as bad as the Cruciatus curse but it was bad enough.

Slowly the pain subsided and Harry's body went slack. Tears were streaming down his face, tears from pain and tears of joy simply because the pain was subsiding.

"That hurt, didn't it?" someone whispered in his ear. It was Vernon. He had stepped closer to better observe Harry in his suffering.

"Well, I think we can do a lot better. Pain!" Vernon said now with more intensity.

Pain shot through Harry's body once more, even worst then before.

Harry would have done anything to stop this pain. He would beg, kill, and crawl to end this pain. He howled, screamed and could not contain the tears that were pouring from his eyes.

As the pain continued Harry lost control of his bladder, adding insult to injury.

Then suddenly the pain was gone again. The lack of sensations brought its own sort of painful bliss.

"You didn't like that, did you, freak?" Vernon's voice still a deadly whisper.

Vernon started ranting about what he was going to do to Harry, but his words went unnoticed.

Harry was totally disgusted with himself.

The complete and utter feeling of disgust was for his willingness to do anything at all to stop the pain. His lack of control

Harry realized that he might feel this way but he also realised that there was nothing he could do to stop the pain.

Vernon was not doing this to gain something; this was for pure pleasure.

He would go mad soon. It was unavoidable if he was continually tortured.

He remembered the story of Neville's parents.

Harry wanted nothing more right then and there then to see his friends again.

Ron and Hermione.

Sirius, his godfather, he could protect Harry.

Molly Weasley who would shelter Harry in her arms.

Others flashed before Harry's eyes: Dumbledore, Professor Lupin, Mr. Weasley and many others.

Right now he'd be happy to see Voldemort; that would be a relatively quick death.

But none of them were there.

None of them could protect Harry. He had to do it himself.

Escaping was not an option, nor was overpowering Vernon. The only way out was into his mind.

Harry wanted to lock away the very core of his being into a separate space he created in his mind: his feelings for his friends, the magic within him, his values, beliefs and all that which made him Harry; which made him the person he was.

That part of him he decided was something Vernon would never touch; would never corrupt.

The only way that space would open, he decided, was when he saw his friends again, Ron and Hermione together. He knew that then he would be safe again.

He also knew it was probably a futile gesture, but it was all he could do.

Pain surged through Harry's body once more; he had not been paying enough attention to Vernon. It was more intense then both previous times.

Again Harry was yelling and screaming, begging Vernon to stop, that he would do anything.

The only reaction was laughter on Vernon's part, the laughter of a madman.

Again and again pain surged through Harry's body. Only hours later did sweet release come.

The world turned black.

Again a pattern emerged.

Morning and afternoons Vernon would be at work and after work he would come into Harry's room and inflict pain.

The difference was that now that he was using a wand, Vernon could alter the level of pain used and take it to new heights.

Vernon discovered new techniques every day.

He would use the wand to simply induce pain through the nerves.

Another time he discovered he could trail the wand on Harry's skin and create blisters which immediately burst open. The sweat that burned the wounds when it came into contact with them was only a minor nuisance compared to the rest.

Pushing the wand to Harry's ribs and then turning it with a quick gesture while muttering "break" broke Harry's ribs.

Rest during the day was also fleeting for Harry was once more having visions of Voldemort.

Voldemort killing and torturing Muggles and wizards alike.

Voldemort in conclave with his Death Eaters.

Voldemort doing acts of magic, involving rituals so disgusting, that in a way they were hurting Harry as badly as Vernon's torture.

Day after day the magic used by Vernon was more intense and as time progressed more subtle, for Vernon's skill grew as did Harry's tolerance for pain.

Instead of his whole body, Harry sometimes felt pain only in his limbs or other body parts making the pain different because it was not all encompassing; leaving his conscious mind to concentrate on it.

Harry's screams continued.

Sometimes Vernon would beat Harry just for entertainment purposes. He specifically liked to break Harry's ribs (or after a while- keep them broken) so as to make every breath agony.

Harry felt something grow in him as time passed. It was like a white light coming from the hidden depths of his mind. It was there every time he wanted to rebel against Vernon, when he had just enough energy left to be angry or feel hatred.

Whenever Harry tried to seize it, it would flow away from him like water would through his hands.

After several fruitless attempts Harry gave up and decided just to let it be. It felt familiar and he was convinced it was not dangerous especially compared to Vernon.

It was always there, at times more clearly, stronger, but always there. Harry could never reach it.

Harry lost the concept of time.

Days followed night and afternoons followed mornings in a meaningless succession.

Harry dreaded each afternoon for this was when Vernon came.

Exhaustion, pain, hunger, thirst, fear, anger and helplessness were his constant companions.

Not once did Vernon show mercy.

Quite the contrary; whenever Harry showed weakness he became more brutal. It was as if he lived for the times when Harry would scream just that much more, when Harry would collapse or when he would beg.

Harry soon learned to avoid all these things, to manage the pain. Vernon only learned how to inflict more pain.

It was a constant struggle, a vicious circle.

Every battle took more and more out of Harry, leaving him weaker for it.

One day Vernon came in to his room but Harry was now too weak to even cower in a corner, even to tired to roll up in to a fetal position for the little protection it gave, he could only lie there.

"This game is coming to an end I think," Vernon said in a solemn voice that changed to a mixture of sadism and excitement as he continued, "but I have on last thing I want to try."

Vernon touched the wand to Harry's scar; he had a look of anticipation and delight on his face. Through the fog that enveloped his consciousness Harry felt dread and relief all in one.

Viciously Vernon whispered: "Pain."

A scream came from Harry; it was the scream of a wounded animal on the brink of death. There was nothing human left about it.

The world started to go black for Harry, final release was at hand and he was grateful; but somewhere he heard a voice that sounded as a scream but seamed quiet and coming from a great distance: "NOOOO, HARRY!!!!!!"

Then Nothing.