Words from the Grave

It's said that even the strongest of weapons will break when put under enough stress. For Harry Potter, the hidden-away Boy-Who-Lived and abused ten year old child, coming close to such a breaking point was not an unknown feeling.

His frail body suffered broken bones, deep painful bruises and malnutrition on a seemingly regular basis. His spirit was regularly attacked by the apathy and emotional bullying from his "loving" family. An incident in Harry's younger years could easily have been lost within the sea of physical and emotional agony. Instead, it would seep into the very being of the small boy to change his very fate.

Harry had come home as the proud owner of high grades. For many other children it would have been a wonderful time, their parents pinning the report to a fridge and perhaps even taking the child out for a meal. The Dursleys viciously beat Harry and threw him into his cupboard beneath the stairs for daring to make their beloved Dudley look like an idiot. Young Harry was faced with knowing that the approval he so desperately craved would never come and had to make a choice. A weaker Harry might have given up and buried his work effort, knowing that he could easily not try, and coast the rest of his life. This Harry wasn't that weak.

As the pain dominated his small body and the darkness of unconsciousness pressed in on his awareness, a part of Harry's mind made the decision to separate itself from the world. In front of others, looking out of his broken and badly prescribed glasses, would be Harry the Freak. The child who would do whatever he was told to do, a meek slave for the Dursleys to order about. Behind the mask would be something completely different. This Harry would be far stronger than his relatives or future enemies could ever imagine.

This, hidden, Harry understood that his childhood was wrong, that the Dursleys were the freaks, and that he needed to learn and play things smart if he ever wanted to have the life he dreamed of. Years later, in a magical Scottish castle, Harry would come to name this deeper, truer version of himself. In that moment of decisions when he refused to break, he had forged his will into that of a true Slytherin.

There was no change for the Dursleys after that day, no sign to the poor excuse of a family about what they had unwittingly created. At school he would do his work twice over, the first being his absolute best efforts while the teachers would always see the second, more creative homework that was always a few marks worse than Dudley's terrible results. Harry was surprised to find that it was far more difficult to deliberately fail his work than do his best and was forced to find ever more creative methods of coming in last. He would then sneak back into the classroom when no one was around to get the answers in order to check his original versions and, by his tally, he was constantly near the top each year.

When Harry was old enough to find his way to the library, he used the newfound treasure trove to read everything he could get his small hands on. He pushed his mind into new areas no matter how difficult the books might have been and the librarian would often find him, dictionary open, reading through a textbook years ahead of his current age as some new topic caught his attention. She would also see him curled into a corner, finding pleasure in devouring the fiction section in order to forget about Number Four Privet Drive.

He appeared to be a quiet and timid boy who kept to himself and rarely, if ever, offered his own opinion. All the knowledge and imagination that his hours in the library developed were safely hidden behind his mask. Unfortunately, as Harry grew so did the conflict between between what the Dursleys had taught him and the mounting evidence of something different about him. Something that was at the very root of everything wrong in his relationship with his relatives.

Harry had thrown out everything Petunia and Vernon spouted about his parents, the tales of them being drunks and dying in a car crash contained far too much flee for the boy to take them seriously once he thought them over. It was that realisation that had Harry then look at himself and all the weirdness that he had meticulously documented in his mind; His hair seemed perpetually stuck in his mop of messiness and even when it was sheared off, it returned to its original length overnight. When Petunia had tried to force him into wearing that horrid top, it had shrunk until it would have been a perfect fit for any of his action figures he kept hidden inside his cupboard.

Harry had done as much research as he could without attracting attention to himself and realised that his injuries healed much faster than they had a right to. And then there was the big event. The moment when Harry ran away from Dudley and his gang and suddenly found himself on the school roof without any logical answer at how he got there.

If Harry too his relatives almost religious panic over the "M word" as a real fear then there was only one conclusion to the nine year-old boy. Magic was real. Somehow he was able to do magic and Petunia and Vernon knew. They knew and were so scared of it that they hurt him in order to make themselves feel better. Harry wondered if this meant his parents were also able to do magic.

Harry's day of answers began like any other even though it was his tenth birthday. The morning saw him furiously busy making sure the Dursleys' breakfast was ready and only then could he sit down to eat his measly ration. Gradually he became aware of a growing warmth in his chest, a feeling that touching him on an emotional level. It filled Harry with a sense that he had longed for but never felt in Privet Drive; Love.

Harry blinked in surprise and did his best to hide the happy tears threatening to break free from the intensity of what he was feeling. Just as he feared his mask would break, the feeling ebbed away into a steady soft thrumming. An image flickered in his mind of a long black trunk and he somehow knew it was hidden in a dark corner of the attic and, without thinking about what he was doing, he opened his mouth.

"I wonder if that scratching sound was coming from the attic."

The adult Dursleys shared a quick, panicked look. Petunia hated the idea of rats getting into the house and leaving their disgusting pellets around while Vernon immediately balked at having to call out a professional.

"Boy! You'll get up there right now and clean it out." Vernon demanded. His face was already reddening in outrage at having anything disgusting in his home. "I don't care if it takes you the entire summer, I want it cleared out and animal free. You understand, freak?"

"Yes, uncle." Harry meekly answered, confusion running wild behind his mask as to why he had said what he had. Yet there was also a sense of anticipation of being able to find the trunk he had seen in the vision and wondering what it all meant.

Harry obediently climbed the folding ladder and pulled it up behind him so he could be left in peace. He carefully looked around, squinting in the low light that came through the single window at the front of the attic, and found it exactly as he had expected.

The attic was a large open area full to the bring with junk, packed boxes and thick layers of dust coated it all. The warmth in his chest pulsed, pulling him towards one specific corner and he followed without question. Harry's jaw dropped when he found the trunk from his vision looking exactly the way it had in his mind. It was also surrounded by a clear ring of space as though pushing all the junk away from it.

"Wow."

The trunk was black with silver trim, about four foot long, and Harry came to see that it had his initials in fancy script on the lid. In awe, Harry slowly, reverently, reached out to run his fingers over the letters. After years of being given nothing but leftovers and hand-me-downs, he actually had something of his own. The feeling of ownership was a heady one for the young boy. He immediately decided that even if the trunk was empty, he would never get rid of it and always remember how it made him feel.

Harry knelt down to peer at the lock and frowned when he saw, not a hole for a key, but some strange design. He ran his thumb over the mark and instantly felt a sting that had him hissing sharply in pain. When Harry pulled his hand back he saw the familiar dark stain of blood on the lock. To his surprise, Harry watched it fade as though the lock was drinking in the blood.

He gaped in shock and almost missed the soft click of the trunk unlocking. Harry took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself and carefully lifted the lid. Inside he found a letter sitting on top of a red sheet that hid whatever treasures where beneath. The envelope might have looked innocent if it wasn't for the single word written on it. The word that had Harry swallowing hard with nerves. His name.

His hands were shaking as he picked the letter up, noticing that it was written on a weirdly thick type of paper he wasn't used to.

Dearest Harry,

I love you my beautiful baby boy. Your father and I love you and always remember that we never wanted to leave you...

Harry dropped the letter, his breath coming in rough gasps as his mind caught up with what he was reading. It was a letter from his parents...his mother...and they did love him. It was the first time Harry could remember being told the words and the tears he had held trapped, threatened to pour free. He fought viciously with his wavering control as he carefully picked the letter back up.

...If you are reading this then our worst fears have come true and you are living with my sister, Petunia, and her arrogant oaf of a husband. Knowing Petunia as I do, this letter may be the first thing you'll know about us. It breaks my heart to think this might be the fate of my little baby

Take your time with everything you're about to learn and remember, Harry. You carry us with you wherever you go.

Magic is real. It's real and there is an entire world out there fully of magical people and magical creatures. Your father and I can do magic and so can you. There is something called accidental magic when children's emotions make their magic do things and you've often made your bottle fly out of my hand when you've been impatient for your drink. I can't imagine what you've made happy as you've grown up but I'm sure Petunia hasn't made it easy for you when you've had any mishaps.

"That's putting it nicely." Harry grumbled.

The trunk you found this letter in is one I've designed and made myself. It's charmed to stay hidden to anyone but you with a powerful compulsion so that if they move house, someone will still pack the trunk away and put it in the new home's attic. Our plan was to make sure it was always available for you to find before you left for Hogwarts (the magical school where your father and I met).

Petunia hates magic. We were close growing up and she saw my magic and me going to Hogwarts as the reason our sisterhood fell apart. She ended up married a man who mirrors her hatred for anything not "normal".

No matter how badly they've treated you Harry, no matter what they've said to you, remember that we loved you, that magic is real and it is a good thing.

You may be wondering how I know that your life hasn't been easy. Do you remember feeling light-headed and how the trunk took your blood? I made it so that it's blood-bonded to you and it scanned your blood. Your father and I have written many letters to you with some of them only appearing in specific situations. You reading this letter means you've been left to the mercy of my sister and know nothing of the magical world.

I can't tell you how difficult it is for me to think of what your life must be like. My baby boy, who is right now playing with James and his uncle Pa-foo, has been hurt by my own flesh and blood and by those who should have protected you. But I'm your mother and I couldn't live with myself if I didn't plan for the worst while hoping for the best.

You see, Harry, we went into hiding against a very evil wizard called Voldemort. He's a crazed terrorist who wants to take over the magical government and has a group of fanatical supporters willing to do anything for him. The three of us are especially in danger.

There was a prophesy made that a man called Albus Dumbledore believes refers to you and it's believed that Voldemort knows about it. I don't believe in fate and destiny, Harry, but it doesn't matter what I believe. It only matters what those in power believe. So we went into hiding.

We're hidden under layers of protections but the most important thing for you to know about is the Fidelius Charm. It's a spell that hides a secret inside someone's soul so that only the Secret-Keeper is capable of telling anyone else. Our Secret-Keeper was your father's best friend, Sirius Black, but it was feared that he was too obvious a choice. We feared for Sirius' safety and decided to swap Secret-Keepers with another friend, Peter Pettigrew. That we are not with you and you are reading this letter means that he betrayed us.

I do not trust Dumbledore, Harry. He was there when the prophecy was made, he suggested the swap of Secret-Keepers and he even helped with the spell change-over. You should never have been taken to Petunia and this means something bad has happened to Sirius (we named him your godfather) and that Dumbledore placed you there instead of somewhere magical.

My darling son, there are so many things I wish to say to you. There are other letters in the trunk from both of us as well as our journals and important things we felt you should have. But I know none of it fills the hole left by parents.

Our plan was for you to wait until you received your Hogwarts acceptance letter and then disappear into the magical world, leaving my sister for good. But I don't know how bad life is for you. If she has hurt you, if your life is as bad as my nightmares threaten, then I want you out of there as quickly as possible.

There is another letter detailing what our plans are for you. In it includes instructions on getting away from Petunia even if you are being magically watched. Remember, my beautiful Harry, nothing is as important as your health and safety.

You will always be my little boy.

Love, Mum

Lily Potter née Evans.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there with the letter forgotten in his hand. For the first time in years he cried; he cried for the love he had lost, he cried for the love he had been denied by his aunt and uncle and he cried for the loss of his innocence. As the tears fell and then slowed, he swore to himself that he would follow his parents' plan.

Magic was real, his family had been betrayed. The plan would be followed and Harry Potter would have his vengeance.