You made me...

You made me….


Summary: Ignoring HBP – “One just couldn’t flee - not from reality, not from oneself…” And certainly not one Harry Potter, because he was The-boy-who-lived, The-boy-that-was-condemned-to-see-reality.

It’s a world where you can’t discern between black and white, good and evil – where men are monsters and monsters are men – where it’s just a question of perspective… and the on-shining light…

Pairings: Let’s see…beside HP/SS… I am not sure… *shrugs*..but they will develop with my story…

Warnings: Too many to list them all! It depends on my mood, really, but I give you a hint; expect everything.
*Please, I don’t want to repeat myself: If don’t like it? – don’t read it! It’s just that easy…but don’t think I am afraid of flames…*

Disclaimer: All to the ‘wonderful’ J.K.R., may we forget HBP… *sneers*

Before we began – a few words from the author…
This story is intended to be dark… and I will make some of the characters suffer…believe me when I say, that it won’t be pretty… but I am open for constructive reviews…
But now… on with the fic… if I have forgotten something crucial…well, it has to wait for the next chapter…


Chapter 1


Family ties

Sunlight kissed the earth awake in those early hours of the new day.
Though most people didn’t appreciated it’s soft glow, one boy couldn’t help but to savour every bit of warmth the rays granted him and his sore body.

Harry Potter, the grand saviour, being the boy-who-lived and the one who defeated the darkest wizard of the century, Lord Voldemort as an one year old infant – this one Harry Potter kneeled stiffly in the backyard of 4 Privet Drive, being nothing more than a slave to his only relatives.

His uncle hadn’t been intimidated by Mad Eye Moody’s threat at the end of Harry’s last term at Hogwarts. To the contrary, he was even more motivated to make his nephew’s life a living hell – not that he intended to make this a long time.
A shudder went trough the boy’s body and he needed all his will to keep his hands from trembling.
He surely didn’t want to provoke his uncle, who was watching him from the veranda.

It was then, while he weeded his aunt Petunia’s beloved garden, when his memories shifted back to the last conversation he had with Albus Dumbledore.
The older man had insisted that the student had to return to this…place… even as Harry pleaded and begged not to, the headmaster was deaf to his request to stay at school or with the Weasleys through summer break.

“I can’t…. I can’t return there. They hate me…more than anything. Please Professor, please…”
Harry’s whisper was slightly frantic and he forcefully had to fight back the tears that were forming in his eyes, tingling to draw wet streaks over his heated cheeks and to show his inner misery. But he restrained them.
And though he had the strong urge to rock himself back and forward in his chair, he remained perfectly still seated.
But the man in front his kept his stance. His eyes twinkled familiar, yet the young student wasn’t in the least bit calmed by it.
“Harry, Harry, Harry...” the headmaster chid, while he kept his voice calm and soft, the words sent chills down Harry’s spine.
”We’ve talked about it and I thought that we came to an agreement that you were safest at your aunt’s house. Remember the blood’s magic… We can’t afford to lose you…”
With one gesture of his hand, Albus silenced further protests on Harry’s behalf and addressed the utterly defeated looking younger wizard with some final reassuring words.
“Perhaps we can arrange a stay at the Headquarters at the end of break…”
A friendly smile and a dismissive hand wave later, said boy found himself descending the stairs down to the gargoyle and on his way back to the dormitories to pack his belongings.
His stomach was turning and there was a tight knot in his chest…
He knew his outlook on leaving the Dursleys weren’t to his good will.

Dumbledore… Harry’s faith in him was seriously damaged after the incident in the Ministry and this situation clearly didn’t help to ease the distrust on his side.
Did the man even care or was Harry just another of his pawns in this battle between good and bad? His ‘golden boy’…
The young man felt his anger rising.
He wanted to rage, to shout his frustration out loud for the world to hear – he wanted to break something, to destroy…
Biting his lower lip harshly, tasting a bit of his own blood and shaking his head, he struggled to remain calm on the outside.
The possible consequences of Vernon’s attention weren’t his aim to achieve.

The copper taste in his mouth reminded him of the previous night.
It was the first time that his uncle had hurt him physically expect for being trapped or pushed.
No… he had beaten him up pretty badly…
His uncle had changed.

“BOY!!!!”
Harry visible flinched as his uncle yelled for him.
His anger was forgotten and replaced by fear as he heard heavy footstep on the lawn coming towards him.
Not a second later, a familiar shadow was cast over him and he shook as his arm was hauled upwards as he was forced to look into the beady eyes of his tormentor.
“You ungrateful brat, what are you doing? Has someone permitted you to pause? Eh?
Get a move, now. I want the garden to look perfect until noon…”
The older man kept his voice down, careful not to alert the all too precious neighbours and his words came out as a vicious hiss, the silent threats clearly audible for the shaking boy.
“Petunia will look after you as long as I’m at work … and don’t even think of anything… obscure.. I will know and then… “
He didn’t need to finish his sentence for Harry knew what was to take place then.
“Ah… and no meals today…”
Vernon had added as an after thought before he junked the boy back onto the ground and waddled to leave to go to work.
Another day in Harry’s “paradise” had officially begun.


ssSss


Trembling because of exhaustion, the young man fell on the hard mattress in the small bedroom he occupied throughout the summer.
The day has been to say at least draining.
His aunt’s high-pitched, squeaking voice still rang in his ears like a nasty Tinnitus he couldn’t get rid of.

‘Come here boy…’ ; ‘Mow the lawn, wash the dishes, clean the floor, polish the silverware…,’ ; ‘Hurry up freak…’ And so on.

He had obeyed, not wanting to give his relatives more reason to mistreat him where his mere being was enough to evoke their disgust.

His eyes were swollen and red, the heavy bags under them and the deep lines that seemed to be carved into his face were the result of the lack of sleep and the hard work.
The hot summer sun had burned his skin, making the formal tender white flesh looking like raw meat and his hands were covered in cuts and blisters.
Two days in Surrey and he looked worse than he had after the graveyard incident in his fourth year.

Trying to find the most comfortable position to relax his tensed muscles a bit, Harry shifted on his thin bed sheet, his eyelids closed, using every moment of peace for he knew it wouldn’t last long.
Thankfully, his uncle hasn’t returned yet, he snuggled into the worn-out old fabric, finding the slightest bit of comfort as he brushed his hot face against the cool of the pillow.
He tried to occlude his mind from the images of his friends – they, if in other times gave him strength, only hurt him in that moment – he just tried to forget his surrounding and the hole situation he had to cope with.
Determined to rest as long as he could, he let himself sink into a more or less peaceful slumber, just to face off his latest nightmare.

He had just arrived at his aunt’s house and watched the sunset while struggling to follow his uncle and dealing with his fairly heavy trunk at the same time.
The leading adult didn’t spare even a thought on his nephew’s problems and just trotted on.

Vernon had been unusual quiet on the way and as he didn’t change his demeanour at their arrival at number four, Harry had the vague hope that this summer wouldn’t be as bad as he had feared it to be.

But, as so many things in his life were built upon false hope, just to be crashed at some time, so were his wishes on a serene summer.

It was later in the evening – about one hour after his arrival that he spent just laying on his bed in his small room – when he could hear his uncle’s footsteps heading in his direction, followed by the man himself as he entered.
That he was surprised by his uncle’s visit was an understatement.

Harry cringed by the sight of the small half-smile on his relative’s lips and the funny look in his eyes. The sparkle within them seemed to be born of pure malevolent and his uncle’s face carried an excited flush.
Both parties observed each other, one of them with growing confusion.

Hands kept behind his back, Vernon started forward, heading in his direction, a frown as if calculating him never leaving his face until he stood right next to his lying figure.
Harry’s heart missed a beat and he just knew that…something was definitely not right.

“So…boy…”, his uncle drawled, his voice laden with malice and obvious hate, “It’s time you get a lesson about proper behaviour you freak, you ungrateful, undisciplined, worthless bastard – you disease. You will learn to pay respect and you will obey..!”
By now an irritating gleam had began to flicker in the older man’s eyes and it told Harry a tale – he could hear the tears and the screams, see the pain and the angst of torture and abuse. It told Harry a tale of hell.
“Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, you will begin with the list of chores your aunt and I will give you over the summer. No laziness, you’ll have to earn your life here and I dare you..” Vernon shook one of his meaty fists to underline his words, “to go against the rules.
I won’t tolerate your freakishness or anything related to it in my household any longer.
And about your friends…” Purple and red dominated Mr. Dursley’s face colour by then,” If you tell them anything, anything of that, boy, I swear you … not only you will pay... You and they will doom the day you met.” He practically spat the words.
“And now… I will give you a taste of the best medicine against your kind…” He suddenly purred.
The sick chuckle afterwards made the young boy tremble. He knew that his uncle had spoken the truth.
And then, it began.

The older man suddenly grabbed Harry and threw him against the opposite wall where the small teenager collided with a dull thud.
Then, faster than his large body volume would have let surmise, Vernon was at the younger ones side and began to backhand him rapidly.

It was him a pleasure to see the pain and the fright evident in those green eyes he despised so much, seeing bruises forming under his hands.
The ‘freak’ deserved it, and much more.
One of his fists found it’s way into the boy’s belly, driving back the flesh while twisting it as if to bore itself right through him.
The ‘freak’ coughed, but made no more sound.
Mr. Dursley let the limp boy sink onto the floor and with a sneer of disgust on his face turned to leave the shivering wrack of nerves to itself.

Harry’s body ached overall and his skin seemed to burn.
Especially his stomach was turned and flipped in agony, wanting to empty itself right next to him.
His eyes were wide with pain and fear. An ever prominent question was penetrating his thoughts. ‘Why?’
Though the maltreatment was just another line his uncle had crossed to make his life hell, it hurt.
He was accustomed to be verbally abused – he didn’t know it any other way – but it hurt to be hated by his own flesh and blood.
The ones who were supposed to love and care about him, with whom he were supposed to be safe with, hated him and inflicted pain upon him.
Harry didn’t understand.
Why did this all have to happen to him? What did he do? It was his fault, wasn’t it?
His thoughts were confused and his heart ached even more than his sore body.
‘My fault, it’s all fault’, his mind repeated over and over again.
Lily and James died to protect him. Would they have done it if they would have had the knowledge that their son would be responsible for two deaths perhaps even more?
Would they have done it, if the would have known that Harry had done nothing to save Cedric, known that his indescribable, foolish behaviour had driven his godfather to his death?
Certainly not.
It was his fault.
It was all his fault.
And he deserved the punishment, didn’t he?
He deserved the pain.

Harry wanted to cry, but no tears fell that night.
He wanted to scream, but nothing was heard from him.
He wanted to be caught as he fell, but even that wish was left unfulfilled.
He was surrounded by darkness.
He was alone.


Rough hands shook him awake.
Back into reality, he felt a lack of orientation and his head spun – confusion dominated him until reality hit back in.
His eyes blinked tiredly, but couldn’t focus without his glasses.
And as he hesitantly reached for them to put them on, he had to withstand the urge to scout backwards at the sudden sight that unfolded itself.
Merely five centimetres away from him, was the face of his uncle, his torso was bend over the end of the bed.

“So… I heard you were a bad, bad boy today…”, he growled lowly with a note of grim satisfaction to underline his words.
Harry didn’t answer, it wasn’t needed nor wished.
He didn’t defend himself, after all, he deserved it, didn’t he?


As his uncle’s wrath came upon him, his thoughts were washed away and Harry just wished to be back in the darkness of his dream to escape the pain that throbbed mercilessly through his body.

ssSss


A soft hoot brought him back, forced him out of his catatonia to see, hear, feel, smell, taste and remember again.
“Hedwig…”, he murmured softly, drained. “Do you bring any news, little one?”
His green eyes met amber ones, to see love, an if it was just for a moment, of the one living being that seemed to care, the last one.
Snowy white wings were spread and the owl, Harry’s familiar, glided from the window sill onto the outstretched arm to deliver the letter she carried to her Master.

Harry tossed them aside not really caring about the contents for he knew that it was always the same and caressed Hedwig’s soft plumage instead.
Ron, Hermione and Remus were writing him periodically, but their letters consisted only of pleasantries and nonchalant nonsense due to the danger of interception.
Nothing worth reading…

His two best friends and their families were staying at the headquarters over the summer and were seemingly enjoying themselves, on which Harry – to his shame – felt a slight pang of jealousy.
Sometimes, he had those pictures in his head, where a certain read head boy and a bushy brown haired girl were laughing and joking with their friends while they were throwing each other secret glances of shy affection, having a great time – without him.
He tried to cover his emotions with righteous anger and worry for them – after all, they were at war - how could they possible be so at ease?
But in the end, he had to admit to himself that that was not the reason why he dreaded each letter of them.
He envied that they could laugh, could live a normal life and be with their friends.
He envied that they had each other…
He mourned, mourned for that that he wanted but couldn’t have…
And for a moment or two, he lost himself in self pity and grief.

Harry sighed softly.
When did he change?
Two weeks ago, he would have torn the letters open, hungrily absorbing every word he got from the people he loved, but now…
He shook his head and regretted it immediately.
His muscles protested to the movement and he could see black spots dancing in front of his eyes.
3 weeks, though it seemed to be a life time since he left Hogwarts…
3 weeks full of hell…

His face was bruised and battered from the daily beatings, his body was cut and torn, his skin was burned, his frame was frail and at least 5 rips and one of his wrists were broken.
It hurt.
But he could deal with it – his mind detached from his body, far away from physical pain, though he couldn’t escape the torment of his soul.
One couldn’t escape the memories, the constant reminder of the past and the faults made in it.
One couldn’t run from the nightly visions that were created through this cursed scar of his.
One just couldn’t flee - not from reality, not from oneself.


It had to be around noon, the sun stood in it’s highest angle and Harry just sat in his room doing nothing – and it was heaven for him after weeks full of chores.
His uncle was still at work and Petunia and Dudley were spontaneously out, shopping.
‘Little, sweet Duddy-kins’ needed new clothes which meant that they wouldn’t be back ‘til late in the evening considering their chances to find ‘xx-whale-size’ for the overly large mess that was called Harry’s cousin.
He himself was just locked away in his room (‘Can’t risk to let the little freak demolish our home.’) and it seemed that that was the best thing that could have happened to him.

He was alone.
He was all by himself.
In his tired state, his brain needed a minute to comprehend the situation and the opportunity he now came to see.
Nobody was around to oversee what he wrote – nobody that could stop him to call the order for help to get away from that place.
He could….

Harry hurriedly stood and stumbled over to his drawer to get something to write and scribbled a quick note for his owl to take to Lupin.

Moony,

I need help.

H.P.

Nothing more, but seemingly it had cost him too much time for as he just put his signature on, he could hear the car of his uncle coming up the driveway.
He panicked – what to do now?

“Hedwig..”, he called his owl over to give her the piece of paper. “Please, girl. Take this to Remus and hurry.”
The snow white creature blinked once but obeyed immediately to his request.
With flipping wings, she took of and swooping through the half open window.
Harry let out a breath that he had unconsciously held and watched as her form began to vanish into the distance.
He believed to have succeeded. Eventually, he would be freed…

Then everything happened very fast, yet so slow that the teenager would be sure to never forget, to remember every moment of this and relive it in one of his personal nightmares.

A soft pang was heard and he watched in horror as the white spot that he knew was his Hedwig, dropped in her flight – she was shot and now falling fast back to earth, probably already dead.
Shock.
No… it couldn’t have happened.
He mentally screamed as he saw it again in his mind. Again and again as if the memory was on repeat.

“Hedwig…”
The moment was frozen over… but suddenly…
“BOY!!!!”
The front door was slammed and heavy footsteps could be heard, thundering towards his room, but Harry was still impassively staring out of the window – his eyes glued to the spot where he had last seen his beloved owl.
The shock hat taken over and he was numb because of it.
He didn’t hear the locks of his rooms being opened and the door banged with anger.
He wasn’t aware of his uncle storming in until he was grabbed from behind and turned around to face the older man.
Green eyes widened in realisation as he faced his raging relative and he knew that all that happened to him the last weeks would look like heaven compared to what would await him in his near future.
He could see it in these piggy eyes of his opponent – the sadist now undisguised and filled with fury.

“So… you forgot already. Forgot what I said to you the day you came back here?!”
Vernon’s voice was husky and laden with malice, hate and… lust? Yes… the man took his twisted pleasure out of this.
“I told you not to mess with me you freakish worthless piece of shit. You disobeyed…. Now…”
Those beefy hands had moved from Harry’s shoulders to his throat, slowly tightening and slammed him into the wall right next to the window.
Every bit of air was pressed out of the younger ones body, his face was a slightly blue mask of panic and pain.
Just as he was about to pass out form the lack of oxygen, he was halfway released.
And the beating that followed made him wish, he would have just been strangled.

“This is your own fault… *cough*.. you… *cough* .. brought it upon yourself…”
A punch into the stomach, a rib cracked. Harry wanted to double over, to let himself fall down onto the floor, but he was held up by the hand around his throat.
“Like father, like son… You don’t deserve anything else…”
Another fist was directed into the teenager’s ribcage.
And another one – a series of punches followed, all targeting the same area.
Sheer agony evoked a scream that was so loud; one could have sworn that the whole world should have been able to hear it.
Yet, no sound left number 4, Privet Drive.

The torture went on.
Harry lost track of time.
To him, his whole life was diminished to these moments of suffering.
Forgotten all the times he had laughed.
Forgotten all about his friends and the people he knew cared for him.
Forgotten who he was, the pain was omnipotent and controlled his very being.
Fists, feet, belts, bastinades - he couldn’t discern it anymore.

His tormenter had eventually let him fall onto the ground where he curled up into a tight, shivering, hurting… silently crying human ball.
Still… it wasn’t over.
A heavy weight forced him to lie flat on his back.
Harry’s guardian pressed his mass onto the much smaller one and the beaten and bruised body reacted out of instinct, struggling, kicking – fighting to be free.
It was, as if he had hit a wall and any further attempts were prevented as the younger one could clearly feel the others arousal pressing on his upper thigh.
He froze over.
‘No…no…’ he thought.
But that didn’t stop the older man from tearing the clothes from the hurting body, taking full advantage of the lack of resistance.

That day, Harry lost that bit of innocence he had vowed to keep until he would meet the right one to give it to willingly.
And it hurt like nothing his uncle had ever done to him.
No insult, no physical abuse had ever caused so much damage, not even Voldemort has ever been able to do that.
In that moment, something broke inside the young man - broke to never be healed again.
That was the moment, the Harry, as everyone knew him to be, died.
That was the moment that everything …changed.