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Harry leaned his head against the slightly chilly window pane in his room. The cold sensation against his scar made his headache slightly easier to cope with. His nights for the past week had been filled with dreams, horrible nightmares that plagued his every sleeping moment, and cast a sleepy haze through his every waking moment.

The dreams were invariably the same every night. Between the Graveyard from the end of his fourth year, and the Department of Mysteries from barely a few weeks ago, Harry’s mind was forced to watch an oddly amalgamated series of images, each showing his failures. He saw Cedric die, saw Sirius fly into the Veil… and each time, their shocked faces morphed into expressions of hatred directed at him.

“Its your fault!” they screamed at him, lips unmoving, “You killed us! Your stupidity caused our deaths! How many more people will you kill, Potter?!”

And covered in sweat, he would rocket out of bed, screaming in terror. Uncle Vernon’s voice would stream in from the next room, shouting obscenities before he stormed over to beat Harry up. Each night, as Harry fruitlessly apologized, Vernon would use Dudley’s bat to beat Harry up, breaking his bones, only leaving his face and right arm undamaged so that Harry could peer out of the window without looking like he had been beaten, and could keep writing the letter to the Order every three days.

Each night, as Harry laid there in pain, weeping, there was nothing he could do to stop the pain except lean his forehead against the glass of his window, to soothe the headaches. Inevitably, he would fall asleep, having partly fainted due to blood loss, and was fortunate enough to enjoy at least those few hours of pure sleep without nightmares. He would wake up in the late morning, after Vernon had left, to find a piece of stale bread and a plastic cup of water. Harry always wondered how the Dursleys were able to find that many slices of stale bread, but decided that asking would just worsen his situation. Amazingly, however, his accidental magic would kick in while he was passed out, healing his every wound and restoring blood to his body. This, inevitably, angered Vernon more, while making it seem like a game: hit Harry as much as you can, and see if the next day, he’s still all cured up. The obvious result of this healing, ironically, was that the beating that followed was always worse than the one before it.

Luckily, Harry had managed to hide his wand, cloak and photo album under the loose floorboard under his bed, and had let Hedwig make a nest for herself in the tree in the Dursleys’ yard. If he hadn’t, his owl and his most treasured items would have met the same fate as the rest of his possessions: having gone up in a giant ball of fire in the Dursley’ back yard.

Now he sat here, tears still coursing down his cheeks. He could hear Vernon’s shouting, and heard the door to their room slamming open, then bouncing back to close with a bang. Dudley was laughing; Harry could barely hear the squeaking noise over the sound of the porn constantly playing. Disgusting. With a bang, the door to his room was thrown open, and a red-faced Vernon entered. Harry turned his tear-streaked face towards his uncle just in time to get kicked in the stomach. He doubled over, vomiting out his meager rations. Vernon screamed fiercely, an unintelligible sound, then pole-axed Harry on the back, sending him crashing to the ground. Groaning in pain, Harry rolled over, wanting to get this over with and slip into blissful unconsciousness.

Vernon, retrieving the bat from near the door, waddled back towards Harry, grinning maniacally.

“This time things are different, boy!” Dursley shouted, his chins wobbling. “None of that ‘leave his face alone’ business!” he boomed, making Harry’s face go pale at the implications.

As Vernon raised the bat up, he grinned, having caught sight of his watch. “Happy Birthday, freak,” he sneered, bringing the bat crashing down on Harry’s skull.

Vernon’s watch, being state of the art, was set to atomic time – and was therefore exactly on the spot when it said that the clock had just struck midnight on the 31st of July. At that exact moment, Harry Potter exploded in light, blasting the bat that came hurtling downwards at his head directly back into Vernon’s face. The bat impacted the large man with an audible crack of Vernon’s nose, breaking, a moment after Vernon’s wrists were broken by the sudden twist in the direction they were moving in. The staccato of cracks was crowned by Vernon striking the wall with a crash, and sailing through it into Dudley’s room. Through the haze of light around him, Harry stared in disgusted fascination as Vernon landed squarely on a naked, masturbating Dudley, just in time for Dudley to ejaculate on his father.

Swept away in the rainbow of light that buffeted him around his room, Harry was aware of only two things: first, the incessant tapping of various owls at his window, and second, the presence of an extremely amused old man who looked exactly like Dumbledork, except for the fact that this man looked impossibly older, did not have a broken nose, did not wear ludicrously lurid robes, and wore no glasses.

It was at this point that Harry decided that he would be better served by fainting, and so he did.

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Hey guys, this is my first fic, I love Harry Potter and I hope that you all like my fic! Please, review and don't flame, you don't learn how to improve through flaming!