A/N: Version Alpha. Do tell me if you find any error of any kind. Disclaimer: See Prologue
Chapter 1 – Breaking Free
The way back to Privet Drive, after his second year at Hogwarts, was eerily silent. His cousin, who had been brought for a trip to some special computer store earlier, was on the backseat and pressed so far from Harry that said boy had every difficulty to refrain from laughing out loud. Driving, his uncle was altering between a pasty white shade and an angered red one; Harry had suspicion the last one came from Mr and Mrs. Weasley who had insist on some presentation and a lot of handshakes. So it was with an uncle who had settle on the anger and a running Dudley that a young wizard met his summer holidays.
Pacing back and forth in front of his bed, the famous Harry Potter was trying to work his way around the situation which would present itself on Privet Drive next day. Marge Dursley was coming to number 4 for one week. One week of pure Hell for one Harry James Potter. Aunt Marge had taken upon herself to insult the Potter child for every breath he drew. But this unwelcome visitor wasn’t the only source of problem for our young wizard: upon his arrival from King Cross’ Station, uncle Vernon had grabbed his belonging and shoved them in the cupboard under the stairs, making it impossible for the boy to work on his summer assignments and Snape would probably skin him alive if he shows up without his ten inches essay on the differences and limitations of using bezoar versus general anti-venom.
So caught up in his thinking was he, that it took him a full minute to acknowledged the little taping sound coming from his window. The Boy-Who-Lived sighed, an odd sight for it was his birthday after all, and opened the window to three owls: one from the school, old Errol from the Weasleys and his snowy owl Hedwig. Harry grabbed the school’s official letter first, its carrier taking flight as soon as relieved from his package. Inside was the characteristic and normal list of material for his third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, his ticket to the Hogwarts Express and…what was that? A permission slip for the occasional visit to Hogsmeade, a town purely inhabit by wizarding folks. Pity he would probably not see it; his uncle was no where close to sign this paper. Tossing the papers aside, he picked up Errol letter next and unfolding it, came upon a clip from the Prophet where a large picture of the Weasley Family was display right under Ministy of Magic Employee Won the Jackpot. A little smile made his way to the young’s face, erasing the lines of worry that had started to appear since the first day of summer.
Ron’s letter was brief, explaining that his father had won a bunch of galleons and they had used the money to visit his older brother Bill in Egypt where said brother was unravelling the mysteries of the ancient Egyptian wizards, but mostly breaking the wards around pyramids and sacred places; sounds fun. Harry wondered if he would travel later. He certainly wanted to, but would he be able to? With Voldemort always finding a way to corrupt his school year, one never knows. Blinking, as if confused, he put the letter next to the school one and read the last one which seems to be from Hermione who was currently in France, visiting the wizarding culture of the country as well as the muggle one; another one who was travelling while he was locked up in number four Privet Drive again. Bitter resentment and choking anger caught up in his throat a moment later and, would he have been facing the mirror of his wardrobe, he would have see his scar flaring onto his forehead and a little shimmer at shoulders’ length. Seconds after, nothing was left of those sudden emotions. Panting, as if he had run a marathon, he lowered himself to his chair slowly and started to take long breath.
It was not the first time this kind of thing had happened. He remembered well the hot rage that had seized him up as uncle Vernon had taken possession of his wand. For one fleeting moment, Harry had sensed his body jerked, as if trying to do something of his own mind and it had creped him out to see his fists clenched and ready to take a swing at his uncle. This new emotion had made disappeared the rage and minutes later he was in his bedroom with nothing more than his owl and his clothes and a bloody headache. Since then, he evaded his uncle for fear of this. The second time had been almost the same but it was the result of a confrontation between Dudley’s gang and himself. It had taken place at the park where Harry was dreamily swinging; Dudley and his friends had came up right in front of him. As always, the boys had started to taunt him, insults were being thrown at each others until one made the balance tipped.
“So I heard you mother was a bitch Potter, nothing more than a…” had said Piers Polkiss.
He had never finished his sentence for he found himself gaping for air as Harry’s fist was trying to choke him. Two seconds was the time he had needed to regain his mind and without a word to the wide-eyed crowd, he had turned around and fled. And now he was there, recovering from the anger that had made his way up against his friends! What was happening to him? Had he always been so prompt to anger? He didn’t think so. Rearranging his letters, he put his pyjamas and tucked himself under the covers, hoping against hope that sleep would bring him some miraculous way to deal with Marge Dursley.
Sadly for the green eye boy, sleep was an awful thing. Visions of his uncle’s red face, his overgrown cousin beating him, his aunt laughing of him and a big black snake with yellow eyes opening his mouth and sticking his fang into his stomach plagued his dreams. Nothing to make him rest and he woke up at least three times during the night due to those nightmares. It was with dark circles under his eyes that Harry brought his aunt’s luggage to the spare bedroom of the house while trying to dodge her dog’s teeth. Angry, he took a swing with his foot and kicked the little thing under the belly, sending it flying down the stairs with a pain shriek.
With a satisfied smirk, Harry could finally let go of his load and made his way downstairs. Already the Dursleys had started to eat the lunch. His uncle was casually talking with his big sister, Marge, who look suspiciously too much like Vernon, was spitting some words between mouthful of steak and rice, Dudley was watching the television with undivided attention while his mother kept glancing at him with her large and proud smile. Disgusted, Harry seated himself between his cousin and Petunia and tried to make himself as small as possible to escape Marge Dursley’s wrath. It proved hopeless. Speeches like: “Did we never teach you how to stand young man? Mind your manners! Would you have been a puppy I would have whipped you long ago” or “Where do you send him Vernon? St-Brutus. Well I would advise you of asking to double punishment for his ill manners. Wouldn’t do to disgrace the poor family who welcome you under their roof would it?”
Although, considering past events, the week passed smoothly. Harry managed to keep control of his emotions through the recitations of his potions ingredients’ table or his charms curriculum since first year; he even started reciting Hogwarts’ theme song! He didn’t want anything out of the ordinary to happen. If it did, he would probably see bars to his window again and that wouldn’t do. Sadly, on the last day of her stay, aunt Marge took one too many cup of wine. Her big arms were waving over her head while she was expressing herself quite loudly about her dogs’ breeding when she said one too many thing.
“You see Petunia, everything is from the mother’s blood. If the mother’s ill, the puppy will be. See here; take your nephew for example. In spite of all your efforts, he end up bad mannered, bad tempered, bad and bad through his blood because it came from his mother. She was nothing more than a bitch you see…”
And she would have continued if it was not for the sound of Petunia’s dishes breaking. Three pairs of eyes turned to him: the shocked one of Petunia, Vernon’s one burning of angered and the contemptuous one of Marge, Dudley’s were still glued to the television; oblivious of what happened around him.
“BOY! Let me get…” started Harry’s uncle, but he was cut off by his sister who’s eyes narrowed and stared hard at the boy who still had his head down, hands gripping the dishes which had broken in two pieces.
“Ungrateful brat. You have now decided to cost more to the Dursley family after everything we’ve done for you? Count it lucky that after the stupid people who called themselves your parents got killed in a car accident Petunia and Vernon accepted to raise you as their own son! Probably died the both of them because your daddy was a drunken who didn’t know how to drive eh?”
With a whooshing sound, Harry suddenly faced his uncle’s sister. His emerald eyes were currently burning of anger and it was with a cold voice, devoid of any emotion if it wasn’t of rage that he finally spoke.
“Excuse yourself, for my dad was never a drunken as you are. Both were better people than you can ever hope to be”
“BOY GET…”
“Shush Vernon. Let mister Potter defends his slut of a mother and his drunken of a father…”
That was too much. Harry never knew what happened exactly on that day, but all of a sudden there was the sound of glass breaking everywhere in the dinning room. The lamp shattered, the television explode, startling Dudley who shrieked, the dishes disintegrated in nothing more than dust and somewhere in all that, Marge Dursley found herself flung against the far wall, upside down and yelling. Vernon was the first to unfreeze and with rage he stood up.
“BOY GET HER DOWN THIS INSTANT!”
“NEVER!”
What follow was a series of crashing sound and grunting which resulted with Vernon laying face down on the table and Harry running straight to the cupboard under the stairs. With one narrowed look the door open furiously and his wand soared to his outstretched hand, his trunk following closely behind. Walking with determination, he literally blast off the front door, getting more than one curious eye from the neighbours, and made his way out in the pitch black night under the careful watch of one full moon.
Review & Review people. Criticisms are welcome, flaming is not. I want to know what you think of this story, either you like it or not and WHY?Edvin