Darkly Dreaming

Summary
After many years of abuse, Harry is jaded. But upon receiving his Hogwarts letter, Harry is enchanted with both the dark grace of the Slytherins, and the enduring bravery of the Gryffindors. Which will he choose? Dark!Harry.

Chapter Three

Harry's earliest memory of pain was associated with the bath tub. It was the day he got his first bare-back beating, which resulted in some broken skin. He could remember the gleam in Uncle Vernon's eyes as he held Harry down and stripped him raw with a belt. But there was also something behind Uncle Vernon's eyes – more than just a desire to hurt Harry or punish Harry – but a desire to get rid of something, as if hitting him enough would expel the ugly, horrible demon inside of him.

Then that night, Harry was forced to take a hot bath. That was when the real pain began. Sure, getting whipped was painful, but having the seemingly harmless water touch his skin was like being torched alive. The open wounds screamed, and Harry sobbed in the tub, pleading for Aunt Petunia to take him out, but she refused. What was worst was that she had the same look in her eyes too.

Harry could never figure out what it was that they were trying to take away. He thought he was a nice enough boy, a quiet boy. He had little to say, asked for even less, and complied with all of their wishes – forcefully asked for or not. But as Harry clutched the mysterious letter in his hand as he soaked in the bath tub, he finally knew what it was.

They were trying to take away his magic.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall

Harry's first thought as he read the roll of parchment was that it was the most poorly written letter he had ever seen. What is "Hogwarts" and where is this "school" located? Where do you buy your supplies? What can wizards and witches really do? What is their magic limited to? If you have a question, how do you write back? What if you didn't own an owl?

The questions swirled around his head madly, his brows furrowed together in a deep frown. Who was Albus Dumbledore? How important was he? How big was the "wizarding" world anyway?

The letter answered none of his questions. He was sure other people had to have similar questions as well. It never even crossed his mind that the letter could be a fake. He had never told a soul about where he slept, and the Dursleys sure as hell didn't tell anyone either. It was logical that the "school" had found out his exact location through magic.

The revelation that he possessed magical powers explained all the strange and odd things that had ever happened in his life. He felt relief flood through his sore body, happy to realize he wasn't a freak, but he also felt betrayed. His own magic had gotten him into more trouble than he could count. Every unexplainable event that had ever occurred in the Dursleys household ended up with a badly injured Harry.

The memories rushed through him in short scenes. Every punishment he had ever received because something weird had happened. Slaps to the face. Backhands. Cuffs to the head. Belt buckle to the back. Kicks and punches. Humiliation.

Suddenly Harry got a sick, heaving feeling in his stomach, imaging what the Dursleys would do if they found out that he got accepted into a magical school. They would throw him in the basement, forget the cupboard, and chain him to the corner like a bloodthirsty animal hungry for human flesh. They would reduce him to a growling savage through slow torture. "Where's your nephew, Harry Potter?" someone would ask, curious about his sudden absence. "Oh, he's a little delinquent. He's at a special school for troubled boys now," they'd respond. Everyone would shrug and accept the perfect suburban family's explanation. Why suspect them of child abuse?

Gagging, Harry dropped the letter and watched stoically as it floated to the surface of the water. The ink instantly splotched, staining the perfect, clear water around the parchment blue.

It took two days for the next letter to arrive. Harry wasn't surprised another one came. He was just thankful that he was outside in the garage organizing the toolbox, instead of inside the house with Aunt Petunia. He was thankful because this time, instead of coming through the post, the letter came swooping down in the form of Owl Post.

The owl landed on the fence by the open garage door and pecked at the wood, trying to catch Harry's attention. Harry looked up at awe in the owl, as he had never seen one before in real life, and offered his arm for the owl to hop onto. It did, and offered its leg to Harry.

Harry unknotted the string holding the letter to the owl's leg and pocketed the letter. No need to read it twice, he already knew what it said.

"Wait here," Harry whispered, unsure whether or not the owl would understand, and dug around the storage closet for the extra school supplies the Dursleys kept around for Dudley. He found a pen, and a single piece of paper, and quickly scribbled a letter.

Mrs. McGonagall:

My name is Harry Potter and I recently received a Hogwarts letter. I have many questions I would like to ask about the wizarding world and the school. Would there be a way to meet someone to answer my questions? Please contact me through the regular post, if that's no trouble.

Sincerely,
Harry Potter.

Harry read over it, chewing on his lip uncertainly, then restrung the letter to the owl's leg. He gave it one last pat on the head before letting it fly off. He returned the pen to the exact position he found it in, and returned to his toolbox.

Ever since last night when he read the letter in the bathroom, he had been constantly worrying about the Dursleys stopping him from going. He was bursting with questions that begged more questions, and he knew that his life would feel incomplete without getting a chance to understand his magic.

How would he convince the Dursleys to let him go? And then he thought of another worry. How would he pay for his school supplies? Perhaps he could get tested and convince the school that he was academic enough to receive a scholarship? Shaking his head, Harry closed the toolbox with a sigh.

The very next day, the bell rang around noontime.

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Sorry readers, for not being able to write long chapters. I promise I'll try though.

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