Chapter Text
Chapter 1 – The Loss Of Will
It was an overcast and unseasonably cold early evening on an unassuming street, in an unassuming neighbourhood. No one would think or fathom the happenings within one of these houses, quiet happenings behind closed doors and closed mouths.
In the smallest bedroom of this unassuming home, located on Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, lay the emaciated and exhausted body of a boy.
Harry Potter was… done. He had no more left to give, and the past few weeks had ground down what little resistance or hope he had left.
After the utter fiasco of last year, and the forced participation in the tournament that had him witness the death of his class mate, right in front of his eyes, before being tortured terribly and humiliated barely being able to escape. Harry had thought things might change, that the sheer amount of shit that had fallen onto him would be too much for people to ignore.
But he was wrong, of course he was… to think differently at this point, seemed preposterous to him now. His thoughts had been stripped of any kind of hope since the graveyard, and the reactions of those around him hadn’t done anything to help ease the dark weight that seemed to be bearing down on him.
It was never going to change, things were never going to get better, only worse. Every year he hoped, prayed even for just one year where he could just be a kid at school, with his friends, worrying about classes and homework. But instead he had hell, packaged in a variety of different scenarios, all chipping away at him until there was barely anything left. And the thing that now hurt the most? He had heard nothing, nothing from anyone.
The events of last year had been made all the more painful when his friends, or who he thought were his friends, had been so quick to abandon him. Ron, through sheer stupidity and jealousy, who wanted to enter the competition himself in pursuit of glory and riches, had got pissy at Harry, believing Harry had entered behind his back. And Hermione who believed he was doing it to show off for attention, just being an irresponsible boy. Both believed that Harry had actually put his name in voluntarily which was laughable, and both gave him half arsed apologies before practically muscling back into his life again as if nothing happened.
Harry had almost forgiven them too, almost. But by the time the school year had ended and summer began, he felt like doubt was drowning him along with his nightmares. His thoughts were just so much darker now, it was hard to see why he had ever trusted them in the first place.
Things just didn’t add up, the way people acted, the way he was treated. It had always been somewhat subtle in the beginning, enough to not exactly raise any alarms at first, especially not for a boy who had lived the first 10 years of his life in a cupboard, and didn’t know he even had a name other than “boy” or “freak” until he began infants school.
But even Harry could see it now, though he desperately didn’t want to. The many times he had told Dumbledore about the abuse he suffered at home, to only be told that while the Dursleys might not be the most outwardly loving family, that they did love Harry deep down, and that Privet Drive was the safest place for him to be.
It must have been so deep down that a high pressure sub would be the only thing with a hope of getting down far enough to find it…
Then there was the way he was kept in the dark every summer, getting maybe a few letters here and there.
But this year, when he desperately needed them the most, his friends had abandoned him again.
Nothing… he had heard nothing from anyone, all his letters going unanswered, his only hope of maintaining the thin shred of sanity he had, dissipating like smoke in a strong breeze.
Again they had dropped him, they had even let his birthday go by without even a quick note, and Harry was beginning to suspect it was because of someone telling them not to respond. That someone, he suspected was the supposedly wonderful and mighty wizard himself, Albus bloody Dumbledore.
It seemed to Harry now that, despite the way he tried to come off as the kind and somewhat eccentric grandfather type, that Dumbledore was definitely not what he appeared to be.
Every bad thing that had happened to him, Dumbledore had a hand in somehow. Either he was conveniently absent after watching troubling events unfold, or he simply didn’t act when he should have.
It almost felt like he was waiting for something, testing Harry in some unfathomable way that he couldn’t quite grasp.
Harry had tried desperately to ignore it, to pretend he couldn’t see the patterns of behavior, the willful way he ignored Harry’s pleas for help, even going so far as to subtly imply that maybe Harry deserved and needed a certain level of discipline, and that Harry was being very unfair on his Aunt and Uncle for implying such things when they couldn’t defend themselves.
He'd given up asking not to go home for summer after that conversation, feeling all sorts of confusing emotions about it.
Harry let out a breathy barely audible laugh into the evening gloom of his tiny room, remembering how he had actually ended up feeling guilty for saying anything, trying desperately to try and see why he was wrong, ignoring the treatment he suffered, the scathing insults, the back handers across his face, or the fact he had gone so long without food that… well he no longer felt hungry anymore, just pain and the slow diminishment of his strength and ability to function.
Maybe he was so hungry this time he had started hallucinating, he had read that in severe cases that happens… along with the deterioration of your muscles, your brain slowing down until even simple tasks became difficult. Paranoia and depressive thoughts were also something that he had read would happen, something about altered brain chemistry.
Was that why his thoughts were so much darker lately, why he just didn’t seem to be able to think anything positive without a shadow clouding his thinking, distorting things to a point he was afraid of his own mind?
It would explain the thoughts he was having lately, might explain why he cocked up the evening meal again yesterday, ending up with Aunt Petunia clocking him in the side of the head with a frying pan.
He just couldn’t think straight, couldn’t keep his mind on one task anymore. He was trying but, he’d end up simply looking at something and his eyes would sort of get stuck there, everything grinding to a halt as the world went by around him.
Funny thing about it was he knew time was passing, but when he came round again the amount of time always seemed to be far more than it had felt.
Wait… he was thinking about something else wasn’t he? Oh yeah, Dumbledore, the old goat.
With a groan that sounded more like a sort of wheeze, Harry managed to pull himself onto his side, his lips chapped and raw, eyes now sunken and dark with shadows. Carefully he managed to pull himself up from the bed, wincing at the pain in his hip from the pressure of the old mattress against his bony frame.
He was sick of thinking about that man, about Voldemort, about the wizarding world as a whole, even about life…
Harry sucked in a sharp and somewhat painful breath, his forehead wrinkling as the thought sat in his mind, refusing to leave.
He had thought it many times before in the last few years, but he’d always been able to push it away. Lately that had become more and more difficult to do, and now everything he came up with seemed weak and more like denial, even he feared he wouldn’t pull himself back out this time, or perhaps wouldn’t want to.
Even after the beatings he’d get from Vernon when he’d had a bad day at work, or because Harry had looked in his direction, or just because he'd been seen at all. After the words of hate and vitriol spewed forth from all three of the Dursleys in differing degrees. Even after the near death experiences at Hogwarts and at Privet Drive, all the terrifying events and impossible situations… He had always been able to find something to hold onto, seeing his friends, spending time with the Weasleys, playing Quiddich, even if it was just the simple wonder of his magic, but now? He had even begun to resent that, which frightened him more than anything else.
For the first 2 weeks back at Privet Drive he had woken nightly, screaming as images of the graveyard swam in his mind. Watching Cedric die again and again, over and over and being unable to stop it had been a torture that left him shaken, but he seemed unable to think of anything else. Trying to play out different scenarios where he hadn’t died, and they had both made it back didn’t seem to work either, he’d get so far only to be thwarted each and every time by thoughts that didn’t seem to be his own.
What good was his magic if he couldn’t protect people, after all if he hadn’t had magic, he might have had a normal life… he wouldn’t have to endure the beatings, and the increasingly humiliating and degrading punishments Vernon had been dishing out.
It started with simply being beaten, then he was beaten unconscious, so that the family could sleep without his “incessant whining” disturbing their precious sleep schedules.
Vernon would force him to stand in the kitchen, facing the wall whilst they all ate like he was a naughty child being given a time out. Only he would be stood there for hours, unable to move, unable to eat or drink or even use the bathroom.
Then it progressed further after a mocking comment made by Dudley one day during breakfast.
“So who’s this Cedric you’ve been shouting about eh? Is he your boyfriend?”
Harry had frozen in the middle of serving the beans, dropping tomato sauce over the table top.
That one sentence seemed to make something in Vernon crack, a sickly sort of grey colour fading out his usually angry red.
It also made something deep within Harry cry out in fear, trying to hide itself away in the dark recesses of his mind. The whole day Harry had walked around feeling on edge, some level of danger was normal with his family, Vernon in particular, but it had increased significantly since that breakfast.
That night, after waking from another nightmare of staring into lifeless eyes as he strained against ropes holding him in place, feeling the searing pain in his arm as Wormtail sliced the dagger into his flesh, Harry woke to something worse.
“That’s it isn’t it?”
Vernon had spat, his breath hot on Harry’s face.
Harry blinked the moisture from his eyes, trying to focus in the dark of the room. Vernon had his forearm in a vice grip, nails digging at the barely healed wound from the ritual.
Harry grimaced and tried to release Vernon’s grip from his arm, but he still wasn’t recovered from whatever happened to him in the graveyard, not to mention that he had only been fed a meagre portion of leftover stock, some stale bread and a bit of hard cheese maybe every few days in the few weeks he’d been back. He just didn’t have any strength left, not that he could have wrestled his Uncle off even at his strongest.
“Not only are you a fucking magic freak, but you’re one of them!”
Vernon spat, dragging Harry from the bed, who fell onto the floor hard and only just avoided bouncing his skull off the bedframe as he was dragged towards the door.
“Wh-what? One of them who?”
Harry stuttered out as his very compromised brain tried its best to fire into action, wondering just what the hell it was he could have done this time.
“A dirty homosexual, a poof! In my house no less!!”
Vernon almost screeched, dragging Harry to the bathroom as Harry tried to catch up with what on earth was going on.
Vernon pulled open the bathroom door so hard Harry thought it might come off the hinges, damage he would undoubtedly have to fix tomorrow in the cold light of day.
Then Harry seemed to freeze, his brain sparking with recognition as his eyes widened in fear.
“Wait, a poof?”
He said weakly in shock, confusion and fear spiking inside him.
The only thing Vernon seemed to hate more than magic, and Harry himself, was what he referred to as “poofters” which Harry had come to learn, was when two men were romantically involved, though Vernon had not used quite so tame a description.
From an early age Harry had learned that it was a bad thing, that Vernon and Petunia detested the homosexuals and how they were a menace to society. Harry didn’t think they could hate anything as much, until his 11th birthday.
Harry was suddenly yanked to his feet and thrown into the bath tub, smacking his head off the side of the tub and leaving him dizzy as he felt the all too familiar trickle of warmth coming from his nose, the taste and smell of blood filling his senses as his face throbbed along with his joints.
“Filth! Dirty perverted scum, that’s what you are! Bringing your sickness into my home, you were born broken, weren’t you, freak?! I’ll teach you a lesson!”
Suddenly Harry was doused in freezing cold water, so cold it shocked his lungs for a moment, leaving him gasping and unable to breathe right. He eventually managed to force a breath out, coughing violently and spitting up some blood that had slid down his throat. His mind cast back to the depths of the Black lake, the bone chilling cold and the pressure in his chest as he struggled to reach the surface...
“N-no I I I’m not, I d-don’t…!”
Harry tried to splutter, but Vernon was having none of it. For the next hour, he kept Harry under the freezing water, berating him, humiliating and mocking him, whilst throwing the occasional punch for good measure. Harry didn’t think he could feel much lower than that, but it turned out he was wrong.
Vernon had eventually given up with his torture, and headed to bed, leaving Harry soaked to the skin and unable to move right. He was so cold he couldn’t feel his fingers, could barely grip the dial to turn off the shower. He stumbled miserably back to his room where after an hour, he managed to change into some dry clothes and crawl into his bed.
He didn’t get up the following day, he simply couldn’t, but by the next day he had to try and hope he would be able to sneak out whilst doing garden chores, rummage through the neighbours bins for something to eat.
He could no longer steal from the household bins, as Petunia had caught him once, and from then on she would pour bleach into the bin nightly before bed, making sure Harry watched her do it.
So he had dragged his aching and cold body out of bed, and made his way slowly to the door but that’s when he realized the door was locked, and his stomach seemed to somehow sink further.
That’s what had led to him standing in the gloom of his bedroom a week later, thinking about all the bad things that had ever happened, wishing rather worryingly that he would just go to sleep that night and not wake up.
Harry swallowed the paste that was his spit, or at least tried to as he looked out of the window, the greyish orange of the sky stretching out into the horizon mockingly. His stomach grumbled almost feebly as he forced himself to walk to the door.
He couldn’t actually understand how or why he was still alive at this point, surely he should be dead anyway so it wasn’t surprising he was thinking about it, right? It seemed that the dark weight he had always felt like a sort of shadow to his thoughts, was so much more prominent in his mind now, clouding everything until Harry couldn’t see any way out. He wasn’t sure how else to describe it. It was always there now, louder than it had ever been in his life, and much more convincing.
He took a deep breath as his hand hovered over the handle, wondering if it would open today. It had only been unlocked a few days ago, allowing Harry to move about freely again.
He suspected that the Dursleys had grown tired of having to let him out twice a day to use the bathroom, and Petunia had some sort of book club she attended and was due to host it in a few days, she probably didn’t want to have to do all the cleaning herself, let alone the food prep.
So, Harry had been let out again to clean the house and cook their food, but he was waiting for the time he would be locked away again. Harry’s fingers turned the handle and the door clicked, moving forward as he gently pushed, and Harry let out the breath he was holding. He could still move around, that was… something at least.
His first stop was to the bathroom, where he drank as much water as he could. It sort of helped with the pain in his stomach, made him at least feel some sort of full for a while. It was a temporary solution, a way to trick his body into feeling full, but he needed some actual food soon, even if he had to steal from the neighbours bins…
He cautiously made his way downstairs to the kitchen, his eyes passing longingly over the storage closet where, every year he watched Vernon lock up his belongings. This year he had gone one further, after one of the many beatings that left him unconscious, Harry had woken to find that the one thing he clung to for even a semblance of safety, was gone…
Vernon had taken Harry’s wand, locking it up where Harry couldn’t get it.
Harry checked the time as he entered the kitchen, noting he needed to start making food for dinner. Beginning to prepare the joint ready for the evening meal, Harry stared longingly out of the window.
Perhaps he would take a walk after the beef was put in the oven, maybe try and raid the bins before walking down to the duck pond by the small park nearby. It was usually quiet down there, gave him chance to think and clear his mind.
Though that had seemed almost impossible of late, perhaps getting out of the house and spending time there would help him think like he used to.
That was the thought that got him through the meal prep, sliding the joint into the oven just as Vernon came stomping into the kitchen.
Harry stood up quicker than he meant to as fear shot down his spine, swaying as he felt faint and gripping a chair for support.
Vernon seemed to study him for a few moments as Harry tried to make the room stop spinning, clearing his throat before grabbing the newspaper that had been left on the table.
“Are you just going to stand there dirtying the place up or what?”
He said in a snarl, shooting daggers across the top of his paper at Harry that, if real, would have sliced him to pieces.
“N-no Uncle, I was going to go for a walk to the park, I’ll get out of your way…”
Harry said quietly, hoping he could just leave the house for a while. But as he reached the hall he heard a thump on top of the kitchen table, and the scraping of a chair.
Harry sped up as he got to the front door, grabbing the oversized hoodie that had been Dudley’s, now thread bare in places with a broken zipper.
“And why are you going there eh? Is that where you’re meeting them?! The other perverts and ponces like you?”
He seethed, face turning a frightening shade of puce.
Harry froze as he turned to look at his Uncle, completely in shock. He had no idea why his Uncle was saying these things, he seemed almost deranged as he started to stalk closer.
“N-no Uncle, I don’t understand. I’m n-not…”
Harry stammered, feeling more and more like a trapped animal.
“Don’t lie to me, I should have seen it from the start, such a weak pathetic thing like you. Yes course you’re one of them, bloody pervert!”
Harry’s fear response kicked in and he scrambled for the front door, managing to get it open before he paused as a wave of fear shot up his spine.
“Set foot outside that door boy, and you better not come back!”
Harrys eyes widened as he trembled on the doorstep, a cold chill licking across his skin as he looked out onto the misty evening street. Slowly, he turned around, standing with his back to the cold air, swallowing harshly as he looked at Vernon, whose eyes seemed to light up, in the same sick way he had seen Voldemort’s when he had crucio’d Harry.
It was the same psychotic enjoyment, the same sadistic glee, and with sinking realization, Harry knew he was definitely no safer here than he was out there. In fact, no matter where he went he’d have a sadistic brute breathing down his neck, so… was there any point to any of it?
Why was he risking another beating to stay here? For Dumbledore? who didn’t seem to actually care about him, beyond the superficial expected care to keep up appearances that is. Or for his wand perhaps? Well, considering Vernon still had it and everything else he owned locked away, it wasn’t like it was doing him any good. Besides, magic had caused him so much grief at this point, what was the point in clinging to something that made him a target? Sure, at first he had been overjoyed by magic, the wonders it held, and how for once in his life he felt like he belonged somewhere. But as the years had passed, Harry had come to realize the harsh truth of his reality, that the sense of belonging had turned into a sense of imprisonment and how the amazement and awe he had felt just didn’t make up for the misery he had endured.
With that knowledge in his mind, the choice was frighteningly easy, he’d been asking what was the point? The answer was, there wasn’t one.
Harry took a breath before bolting out the door, as fast as his weak body would propel him. He heard Vernon shouting, something along the lines of “And don’t come back!” before the echoed sound of the door slamming shut reached him through the thick mist that seemed to be gathering.
Harry was almost at the small park before he finally stopped running, everything in him exhausted beyond anything he had ever felt.
He didn’t exactly have a plan, though he found himself thinking he didn’t really need one, as he sat down on one of the swings and sighed. Either he would walk until he found somewhere high enough to throw himself from, or the cold would get him if starvation hadn’t already done irreparable damage to him. That thought scared him, but it still seemed somehow to be a better option than carrying on this way. Though he wasn't sure how he had come to the conclusion that his death was the only way out, he couldn't seem to shake the idea.
Whatever way he looked at it, at least it would be over soon. And wasn’t it sad that that was the first comforting thought he’d had in months?
…
Harry sat on the swing in the little park in Little Whinging, with little thought about his surroundings. What did it matter? He was going to end it one way or another, as long as it wasn’t by Voldemort’s hand, frankly Harry didn’t care how or who.
So when the snarky tone of Dudley came floating to his attention, pulling him from the staring he must have been doing, for once he didn’t care.
“Hey freak! What have I told you about hanging around in my park?”
Dudley shouted, as he waddled over flanked by his cronies, Pierce still looking like a pointy faced rat, reminding Harry of a young, skinny Pettigrew.
Harry rolled his eyes, managing to somehow unclench his hand from the chain of the swing, and stand himself up.
“Dudley…”
“Big D!”
Pierce corrected, smirking as Dudley puffed out his chest with a smug grin.
“Right, yes.. Big D, surely you aren’t so big that you need an entire park for yourself?”
Harry said impatiently, rolling his eyes again as Dudley cracked his knuckles and ground his teeth.
“I’m gonna kick your head in freak, then you’ll be late home, and my Dad will punish you real good!”
Dudley said as a dark cloud seemed to have formed on the horizon, the air temperature dropping to the point even Dudley and the gang pulled their jackets around themselves more.
“Dudley I’m not going home, but you probably should. There’s a roast in the oven, and you wouldn’t want to miss food now would you?”
Harry said in a patronizing tone, walking towards the underpass leading towards the small pond.
He had expected to be grabbed, so when Pierce gripped his arms and pulled them behind his back, he wasn’t exactly surprised.
Death by Dudley… it was possibly the worst way he could think of to go out, but he supposed he couldn’t exactly be picky.
The first few punches hurt, especially when one collided with a rib, and Harry felt a sickening crack. But after that it kind of all faded away again as his brain seemed to turn off. The next thing he was aware of was opening his eyes, laying on his side in the gravel in the tunnel of the underpass.
“Stop it! You aren’t allowed to do that shit freak, stop!!”
Harry heard Dudley wail, as he saw Pierce making a quick exit out of the tunnel, running passed Harry and back towards the park.
Harry watched as the lights on the walls seemed to flicker and die, how the air itself seemed to darken like a shadow. Then he felt it, that creeping clawing cold that reaches deep into your soul, seeping into your bones and making them feel like they were going to explode.
A rattling sound could be heard from the far end of the tunnel, and Harry instantly knew they were in big trouble.
Then the screaming in his head started, the terrible screaming that he both wanted and didn’t want to hear, pulsing in his ears until he felt dizzy.
“Please stop, I won’t hurt you again, I swear! Just please stop!!”
Dudley pleaded again, his voice closer now as his colossal form came into view, blurred and slightly out of focus as Harry forced himself to his knees and straightened his bent glasses. He then clambered to his feet, bracing a hand against the wall of the tunnel, just as frost crept across the surface, covering his hand in the shard like crystals.
“Dudley this isn’t me, you have to run, now!”
Harry said, turning to Dudley and pointing down the tunnel towards the park.
“Run home now Dudley, and don’t stop till you’re inside! I’ll hold them off, just go!”
“Hold what off!?”
Dudley exclaimed as he frantically looked around, seeing nothing, but reacting to the presence of the two Dementors now floating down the tunnel towards them.
“Just go, you stupid prick!”
Harry shouted, waving his hand and stumbling into the middle of the tunnel, staring at the Dementors as they approached.
Harry heard the heavy footfalls of Dudley as he ran, and he sighed as he acknowledged that at least he did one good deed, even if the life he saved wasn’t the best.
Harry stayed still as the Dementors approached, watching the two hooded figures float slowly towards him, their rattling breath seemingly trying to suck in more than air from their surroundings, tasting despair in the air as they closed in.
Light seemed to disappear and yet the Dementors were visible, with their grey, oily, scabbed hands reaching out towards him, their forms a seemingly darker shade of black than the tunnel had become.
Sure, Harry could have run but, he wouldn’t have got far. He was exhausted, barely able to keep himself standing, there was no chance Harry would make it back to Privet Drive, but instead of even trying Harry found himself unable to move.
This was ironically perhaps what his dark thoughts had been looking for, the easiest way to end things, and it seemed to Harry in that moment like even the universe had agreed with this decision, and sent these creatures to him in an act of twisted mercy.
Though this was what Harry had resigned himself to and definitely what the heaviness in his mind seemed to desire, he still found himself reaching for the wand he didn’t have, and stumbling backwards into the wall as the two Dementors surrounded him.
“This is it…”
A voice seemed to whisper in his mind, as rotting grey icy hands gripped his arms, and the hood of the creature slowly approached his face.
This was how he was going to die, no going out in a blaze of glory as many expected of him, or for the benefit of his friends, or to protect others, but with a small whimper of regret as he looked at the face of his greatest fear, and felt the sickening lurch of something being pulled from deep within him.