Disclaimer: Not mine.

NOTE: One reviewer mentioned that Hermione wasn't there when Harry didn't shake hands with Malfoy, and while that's correct in the books, I used the scene from the movie since I think Harry insulting Malfoy in front of everyone would make Malfoy even more angry, which fits in better with the story. I'm sorry for not mentioning that last chapter to clear up confusion.

Er ... THIS CHAPTER IS A BIT GRIM AND POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING. I'm fairly sure you'll have guessed what's going to happen to Harry, so feel free to skip that bit if it makes you uncomfortable.

Chapter 4 - A Truth

Harry really hated his life. His life led to him ending up in his childhood bedroom about to be beaten up by his drunk uncle with no way to stop it that wouldn't result in his getting expelled. His uncle wouldn't care about any of the reasons he shouldn't hurt Harry right now, so reasoning was out. Harry had never learned to fight hand-to-hand, although he was a bloody good shot with a gun, so he couldn't do anything physical. Running away wasn't an option since he needed a place to stay while he fixed the wards, and anyway Dumbledore would just send him back since he wouldn't be able to hide for long.

What he hated the most, however, was undoubtedly the sickly fear that caused his palms to sweat and sent his heart racing in his chest. He was a grown man who'd fought two wars and survived several things that should have outright killed him, and yet here he was, at the mercy of a fat pig.

The thing was, in all of those battles, there'd been something he could do, some way to protect himself or escape. But this wasn't like that - there was nothing he could do to avoid it, to avoid the man tied into some of his earlier bad memories. Fear wasn't rational, and Harry feared Vernon when he was defenceless like this. It was a bitter realisation, knowing that after all this time, he was still afraid of his childhood bogyman. (His childhood bogyman before he knew about Voldemort, anyway.)

Vernon's steps thudded down the hall towards Harry, and his body uncoiled in a mixture of defeat and strange relief. {Waiting's over.} The door banged open loudly as his Uncle pushed through forcefully, looking around the room wildly until he spotted Harry standing by the window. He lumbered forward threateningly, muttering incomprehensible gibberish about freaks under his breath. He swung a fist wide, aimed at Harry's head. Caught off guard by the sudden lunge, he only just managed to twist his head so his face wouldn't get hit before Vernon's fist crashed into his temple, sending Harry staggering with his vision swimming and ears ringing, blood dripping down his face. A vicious shove sent him crashing into the bedframe, his left arm making an alarming snapping sound.

Harry slumped against the end of the bed with his face pressed against the cheap plastic and his arm cradled to his chest protectively, breathing through the pain. He barely had a moment to wonder why his uncle had stopped before his shirt was roughly ripped up and bunched at the back of his neck by one of Vernon's meaty hands, which then pinned Harry, his face pressed uncomfortably against the mattress. The point of this became clear when Harry heard a swishing sound and a line of pain erupted on his exposed back. He jerked instinctively, trying to get away, but a foot to the ribs knocked all the breath out of him, and soon his uncle swung the belt again.

After what could not have been more than a few minutes but felt like a lot longer, the repetitiveness of it was almost enough to distract Harry from the ever-growing pain. His uncle would swing the belt, and Harry wouldn't move for about ten lashes before pain would get the better of him and he'd flinch away. Then Vernon would kick the breath out of him and the cycle would begin again. By the fifth or sixth time this had happened, Harry's world had narrowed down to feeling the lashes land, the blood dripping down his sides to pool on the floor. {Hurts, hurts, hurts.} Harry chanted inside his head, trying to pay attention to anything other than the pain.

His uncle had probably become bored of the belt, because the next thing Harry knew, Vernon had pulled him up and tossed him to the floor violently. Harry could only gasp breathlessly in pain as he lay there, vaguely aware of Vernon's bulk looming above him. He let out a choked scream when a foot stomped on his right knee, a loud snapping sound betraying the seriousness of the hurt. His uncle kicked him a couple more times before leaving, the snick of the lock behind him telling Harry that he wasn't going to be let out any time soon.

{Fuck, am I glad for magic.} Harry thought disjointedly. {This would take ages to heal on it's own.} He lay there for another minute or two, just breathing through the pain. Eventually, he felt well enough to try and sit up. He grabbed the bed with his right hand and pulled himself up, ignoring the burning pain of the cuts on his back as they started to bleed again.

With a little manoeuvring, Harry managed to wrap the sheets he'd hidden around his torso in a makeshift bandage. It was sloppy and wouldn't hold for long, but Harry couldn't have cared less right then. He then set the alarm to go off every twenty minutes in case he had concussion and shouldn't go to sleep, tied the rulers to his left arm to stop the bone from moving around too much, held his head over the bin and washed off the cut on his head, and used the pen and paper to make a list of his injuries; broken left arm, broken right knee, bruised/broken ribs, bleeding back, possible concussion. Harry didn't know if and when the Order would check up on him; if he was unconscious when he was found, it might help if they knew what was wrong.

It also served as a great distraction. Once Harry had finished writing down his injuries, he entertained himself and staved off the black eating up the edges of his vision by drawing a rather graphic cartoon where Vernon got his head blown open with a shotgun.

Hey, he could dream.

Harry had reset the alarm five times and filled half the notepad with scenes from the various battles he'd been in by the time a light tapping sounded on the window. His head shot up, and a wide grin split his face. "Hey, girl." He crooned. "I am very glad to see you." With difficulty, he levered himself up and hobbled over to the window, happiness at seeing his friend overriding the pain. He pulled it open, but stopped her when she went to fly in. "I need you to do something for me, ok? I'm going to smear a little of my blood on your feathers, and I want you to go to either Dumbledore, McGonagall or Snape, whoever's closer."

Hedwig hooted, offended. "I know, I know, you don't like anything messing up your feathers." Harry soothed hurriedly. "But I don't want to explain all this in a letter and I'm not sure Dumbledore would believe me if I did. I'm really not sure he'd believe that it's bad enough to require medical attention. Same goes for McGonagall and Snape. But blood is a much simpler message, and any of them will come if there's a chance that I'm dying." Harry winced as his ribs shifted dangerously, and desperately tried not to breathe too much.

The snowy owl eyed him suspiciously for a moment before hooting softly in acceptance, somehow managing to look resigned. It was the work of a moment to slip a finger under his makeshift bandages and smear the blood on Hedwig's soft plumage. With another soft hoot in goodbye, Hedwig flew off. Harry didn't bother closing the window behind her, instead just turning around and gently lowering himself to the ground, the way the room was moving around him enough to convince him that trying to move back over there was a bad idea. His knee throbbed in pain, as though agreeing.

His head thumped gently against the wall, the room greying in and out. If Harry had more energy, he'd be worried about it. As it was, he could barely keep his eyes open.

Harry knew he must have lost consciousness, because he was suddenly brought to awareness when he heard a loud bang and a crash from downstairs. There was furious yelling from downstairs for a moment, before that cut off as well. Either Order members had just restrained his relatives or Death Eaters had just killed them. Harry found he couldn't care much either way, beyond hoping it wasn't Death Eaters coming to kill him. It wasn't like he could stand properly, let alone fight.

Footsteps came up the stairs, four sets if Harry heard right. {Four people.} Harry thought fuzzily. {Not Death Eaters then. They'd never send only four. Probably Dumbledore. Maybe Madam Pomfrey. Whoever else was around when Hedwig arrived.}

The lock snicked and the door swung open softly. Harry focused blearily on the doorway, and made out Dumbledore's beard before his eyes slipped closed of their own volition again.

"Merlin's beard ..." Someone breathed. Harry was far too out of it to recognise the voice.

"Severus, I'll need your help." A businesslike voice ordered. {Madam Pomfrey.} Harry would know that voice anywhere, no effort needed. {And Snape too, I guess.} Harry felt people moving around him, heard Madam Pomfrey casting her usual diagnostic spells.

"Severus, give him a pepper-up and then a pain-reliever." The medi-witch instructed tersely.

"Pepper-up, Poppy?" A third person asked, worry in their voice. "Are you sure?"

"He needs to stay awake, Minerva." Madam Pomfrey said firmly, but not unkindly. "Sleeping is dangerous for him right now."

Thin fingers gripped his jaw and tilted his head up to hold a vial to his lips. Harry made a distressed noise and immediately tried to flinch away, mind taking him back to the times when a tube had been shoved down his throat. Unfortunately, the liquid still slipped down, and Harry coughed painfully as he tried not to choke. The movement made his ribs shift, a sharp pain in his chest. He just breathed for a few seconds, feeling the pepper-up take effect.

"Ow." Harry said.

"Mr Potter, can you drink this?" Madam Pomfrey asked soothingly. "It's just a pain reliever." Harry felt something pressed into his uninjured hand. Barely stopping to check that it was what the Medi-witch claimed it was, he gulped it down in one go. The empty vial clattered to the floor once it was empty, since no-one bothered to catch it.

"Harry, dear boy, what happened?" Dumbledore crouched down so he was level with Harry. The boy opened his eyes again and regarded the ex-headmaster with unusual seriousness. Dumbledore almost felt uncomfortable under the gaze. It wasn't accusing, although Dumbledore suspected that Harry had every right to look accusing. It was ... heavy, somehow.

"My uncle." Harry said, letting his head thump gently onto the wall. "None of my relatives are very fond of me, and they weren't very pleased with having to put up with me on such short notice."

"How many times has this happened before?" Madam Pomfrey asked, her face pale in the low light, hands moving as she cast spell after spell to mend Harry's arm and ribs, to bind his knee and stop the bleeding.

"Not often, and never this bad." Harry thought back to the times he'd suffered beatings. "Usually only after I did obvious accidental magic where anyone else could see. Like the time I ended up on the roof of the school, for instance. Other than that, my cousin's favourite game as kid was Harry Hunting."

"How much damage did he usually inflict?" Snape's eyes looked like black torches, and Harry wondered how much pain the Potions' master was planning to deal out to the Dursleys.

"Bruises with the occasional broken bone." Harry listed nonchalantly. "Vernon is usually careful not to break bones, but Dudley didn't know how to avoid it."

"Why didn't you tell someone?" McGonagall burst out. Harry shrugged.

"It hasn't been so bad since I informed my relatives that I have an escaped mass-murdering godfather who wants me to be happy but forgot to tell them that he is actually innocent." Harry said with a kind of black humour. "Dudley's been terrified to come near me since after my first year and Petunia never had much to do with me anyway. Vernon usually just leaves me be. I guess an unscheduled holiday for me made my uncle angry enough to not care about the consequences of harming me."

Dumbledore stood up again, looking older than he ever had. "Where are your things?" He asked softly.

"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs." Harry informed him. "The first couple summers he'd lock all my stuff away as soon as we got back from King's Cross until right before we left on September the 1st. I also managed to sneak some stuff up here wrapped in my invisibility cloak; I hid it under the loose floorboard."

Within minutes Harry's trunk had been retrieved and everything that had been under the loose floorboard was safely stored inside it. McGonagall took Harry's trunk, pulling out a phoenix pendant and disappearing with a whispered word, Snape following her silently. Dumbledore cast Harry one more sorrowful glance before heading downstairs, presumably to do something about the Dursleys. Madam Pomfrey pulled out another phoenix pendant and put both her hand and Harry's against the metal.

"This will take us straight to the medical room I set up in Grimmauld Place." The medi-witch said. "It will jostle you about, but the pain reliever is still in effect so it won't hurt, it'll just feel a little odd. I've wrapped you up as best I can, and the trip shouldn't do you any more damage."

At Harry's nod of acceptance, she whispered the activation word under her breath and the world went white as his least favourite form of travel took hold.

Lucius absently spun the crystal tumbler in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl inside with a kind of detached fascination, admiring the perfect colour of the very fine scotch even as most of his mind was occupied with more unusual matters.

"After all this time?" Narcissa asked quietly. Lucius inclined his head the slightest amount.

"He could be only a puppet in this." Narcissa mused. Lucius raised an eyebrow. "He is a puppet in most things." Narcissa sniffed in response to his unasked question.

The barest hint of a smile flitted across Lucius's pale lips. "That Potter is. But if he is a puppet, why is the puppeteer moving now?"

"Because the Dark Lord is back." Narcissa stated.

Lucius took a sip from the tumbler. "He has been back since the third task. Why now?"

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. "You do not think Dumbledore told Potter to issue the apology."

"I do not." Lucius stretched out. "And yet, if no-one told the boy what to do, why now?"

"He found out." Narcissa couldn't quite see where he was going with this.

"How?" Lucius questioned.

"Maybe someone mentioned something to him." She rationalised.

"After five years of him being completely ignorant, likely never having even mentioned Pureblood traditions within earshot of Potter, they suddenly let it slip now?" Lucius sounded doubtful. "I do not believe that Potter is a puppet in this case, Narcissa; doing as he is told is one thing, but I do not believe that he could lie well enough to give an apparently sincere apology when he would in reality be most annoyed to have to apologise for something he would most likely not see as his fault."

Lucius sipped from his drink before continuing. "Nor do I believe that it is a coincidence that Potter is doing this now, so soon after the school is apparently purging any attempts of the Ministry to control the students. They are linked somehow, Narcissa. Potter's unexpected, out of character behaviour and Hogwarts herself waking are too close together, and I do not believe in coincidences. But I cannot see how."

"Potter is just a boy." Narcissa said neutrally.

"Is he?" Lucius asked. "I grant you he has no particular skills, or a great wealth of knowledge, but he has escaped the Dark Lord not once or twice but four times. Four! Trained hit-wizards in hiding managed less than one boy. No, Potter may not be special in the conventional sense, but he always pulls through somehow, escaping the Dark Lord by the skin of his teeth. That is an art all on its own."

"You plan to join Potter, then?" Narcissa asked.

Lucius snorted. "I am no fool, Narcissa, and Potter's luck does not seem to transfer to the people around him. Just look at the Diggory boy." He sighed and drained his glass. "I will keep my options open, as I always do. I will instruct Draco to accept the apology, and in recompense for the slight Potter can be taught about Pureblood traditions by my son. Should the Dark Lord fall, at least Draco should have some avenue of friendship to retreat to."

Narcissa inclined her head in acceptance. "Very well. What shall you tell Severus?"

"Ah, Dumbledore's little spy." Lucius said. "Nothing more than I shall tell any other Death Eater. That my son is getting close to Potter so he may better serve my Lord."

"Dumbledore may put pressure on the boy to refuse to go." Narcissa warned.

"The old coot can pressure as much as he likes; the boy has accepted that he owes us this with his apology to the House of Malfoy, and the only way he can get out of it is if I waive the recompense, which I will not." Lucius said disdainfully. "I have no patience for that Muggle lover and his meddling ways; there is nothing he can do to make me free Potter from his obligation."

Cornelius Fudge was not happy. Hogwarts was slipping further and further out of his grasp, and it seemed there was nothing he could do about it. He'd mentioned replacing Umbridge to Amelia, but the woman had just given him a scathing look and made a hurtful comment about the next one torturing children.

Why couldn't anyone else see that having Dumbledore in charge of all those impressionable young minds was dangerous? Dumbledore was building an army out of them, Dolores had almost had proof, and yet no-one would listen to him! What was worse, people had heard that Potter had been harmed the most. The public was wondering if the Ministry had it out for Potter. Next thing you know, they'd start saying that Potter was right about You-Know-Who all along!

He couldn't trust any of the sheep in the Ministry, the ones who followed the gossip and believed what they were told. But there were others, like that Auror Amelia wanted to suspend last month who was quite devoted to the Ministry's cause. Dawlish, his name was. Cornelius had transferred him to the Minister's guard when Amelia had put her foot down and refused to have him on active Auror duty.

Cornelius smiled, contacting his secretary and asking for Dawlish to be sent to him. Hogwarts would fall under the Ministry's control, one way or the other.

A cloaked figure rested nir head in nir hand, humming thoughtfully over a chessboard. "Well, isn't this interesting." Nir voice was scratchy, every syllable grating. "She's got herself a little helper." Ne grinned, showing a lot of teeth. "I can't wait to see what he'll do next!"

So this is another chapter, and so soon! It is a bit shorter than usual, but I reached a natural stopping point.

Ne and nir are gender neutral pronouns that mean he/she and him/her, respectively. I used them for the mysterious figure because, well, ne doesn't have a gender. Ne will be the only character without a gender in this story, and why ne doesn't have a gender will be more obvious as you learn more about nir. Spoilers, and all that.

About Harry going to the Dursleys: Vernon acting as he did was both a result of anger at having to put up with Harry unexpectedly and being drunk. Harry went to the Dursleys because he didn't know that his uncle would be too drunk to listen to reason, and Harry didn't want to alert Dumbledore that he was different if there was an Order guard around his house. Also, Harry couldn't claim his Lordship to get free of the Dursleys because no-one can know about Harry's lordship without compromising his secret, since Harry literally can't learn of his lordship until he is seventeen years old, thanks to the strict secrecy spells protecting the identity of the Lords.

Hope that clears everything up.

Enjoy, Shib. :).