A/N: As a disclaimer for the whole story. I do not own of any of these character. JKR does. I'm just playing in her universe!

Chapter 1 - Back At Privet Drive

The door behind Harry closed with a click. "Welcome home!" Harry thought to himself as he returned to number four Privet Drive at the end of his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Get in here, you lazy good for nothing freak!" yelled Vernon. Harry stepped into the living room, resigned to two and half months of misery at the hands of his relatives. "Leave your things in the hallway, and go outside and tidy the garden. The grass needs cutting, the shrubs needs pruning and the flowers need watering. Do it before dinner or you're not getting fed."

Harry sighed and went outside. Just for once he wanted a normal life, with normal relatives and people who cared. The trouble was, that now he knew there was something better. He knew his parents hadn't died in a car crash, he knew he was a wizard, he knew that people cared for him. Hagrid had given him a birthday cake last year - a real cake. For him! He'd got Christmas presents from Ron and Hermione. He'd been given a broom from Professor McGonagall and allowed to play on the house team. But more than those material things, he'd learnt that people cared for him. Whereas now, he was stuck in Privet Drive with people who wished he didn't exist, and who took pleasure in making his life miserable. It was going to be a long summer.

He finished the gardening as he heard Aunt Petunia putting the dinner out on plates. He hurried inside so that he could get some food - if he wasn't there, he knew Dudley would eat his, and that his aunt and uncle would let him. Uncle Vernon glowered at him as he sat down. "I hope that's done to my satisfaction, boy, else you'll be locked in your room without food for the remainder of the week!"

Harry bit back a retort, and meekly replied, "Yes, Uncle Vernon." It would be no good to rile the man this early in the holidays. He could, and would, at little provocation, make Harry's life more miserable than it currently was.

"And don't expect to get any of your things back until the day you go back. I'll have none of that freakiness under my roof."

Harry had summer homework to do. He couldn't get behind. He wasn't going to get detentions the first week back just because his uncle refused to let him have his things. He made what turned out to be a big mistake. He argued back. "That's not fair!", he spluttered, "I need my things - I've got homework - essays to write, reading to do."

"Boy, do not answer me back. Go to your room. There will be no dinner for you." Harry didn't move. Dudley leaned over and took his plate. Harry tried to snatch it back, but got a slap on the wrist from Vernon. Unshed tears in his eyes, Harry stalked out of the room, went to his room and slammed the door. He threw himself down on the bed and cried. It really was so unfair. He hated it here, and he was stuck here until September.

He stayed in his room all evening. The light dimmed outside, and he eventually fell asleep, emotionally exhausted.

When he woke up next day, the first thing he recalled on opening his eyes, reaching for his glasses and looking at the ceiling, was that he was at Privet Drive. The events of yesterday afternoon marched through his mind. They set the scene for the remainder of the holiday. With a sigh, he made the mental adjustment that had seen him through his childhood: Stay quiet. Keep out of the way. Keep your head down. Do as you're told. Don't expect anything nice to happen. With that mantra said, Harry got up and faced the world.

Two days later was Dudley's birthday. Harry was pleased. They were taking Dudley out to the cinema, bowling and dinner with his friend Piers Polkiss. It gave Harry a day of quiet. He'd been left a list of chores to do as long as his arm, but at least he could do them without constant bullying from Dudley, oversight from Aunt Petunia and derision from Uncle Vernon. There might even be enough time for him to watch some television. It didn't occur to him to ignore the list and have a lazy day. He wasn't suicidal - he really didn't want to know what Vernon would do if he didn't do the chores. Withholding his dinner would be the least of his worries.

Life continued this way for two weeks. Dudley took every opportunity to bully him. Dudley invited Piers round whenever he could so that they could torment him. Any time Harry retaliated when Petunia or Vernon weren't in sight Dudley would run inside and claim Harry was doing 'freaky stuff'. This would get him sent to his room without dinner, usually with a cuff upside the head on his way courtesy of Vernon. Harry learnt very quickly not to retaliate. But this meant putting up with the constant jibes, the shoving and punching. They continued the game they'd invented at primary school - Harry Hunting. Some days Harry was fast enough to hide in his room and pull the chest of drawers in front of the door before they could get in, or sometimes run away to the park and hide, but other days he wasn't so lucky and got bruises and scrapes for his trouble.

Petunia didn't do anything to help him. He had to do chores for her - the laundry, chopping vegetables, the washing up. He'd been graduated to cooking dinner by the end of the first week. He wasn't very good at it and if he burnt the dinner - something that happened more than once - he'd get chewed out by Uncle Vernon.

When Vernon wasn't at work or watching television he was berating Harry. Dudley took great delight in this. It was, to him, a show - a nightly occurrence, and at weekends there was usually a matinée performance as well.

Harry became increasingly angry and upset. Some days his unhappiness showed through more than others and he had difficulty getting out of bed until he'd hear from downstairs the dulcet tones of Uncle Vernon bellowing for him to get up. Other days he got so angry that he just had to get out of the house before he screamed and raged at all of them. Finally he reached breaking point.

The final straw came when he was making dinner one evening. All four of them were in the kitchen. Vernon and Dudley were sitting at the table waiting to be fed while Harry stood over the stove stirring a pot and Petunia hovered over Harry, correcting every little thing but never once helping him. Vernon had got home late from work and was tired. He'd been working late a lot recently - he had some important business deal in the pipeline and had a lot of paperwork to do. Vernon was talking to the room in general about working hard and made sure he got a dig at Harry at the same time.

"Dudders, I can show you all the ways to get to the top and be a success, unlike some," he said, glancing over at Harry meaningfully. "Better than having no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scroungers for parents. I mean, dying like that and leaving their son..."

Harry had stopped listening, or indeed doing anything. He was concentrating on not blowing a fuse, yet he could feel his magic rising with his anger. He tried to think calming thoughts - quidditch, Hogwarts, flying - but it wasn't working. Harry let out a scream of pent up rage and frustration, all his emotions unravelling in a single second. He thought he heard an explosion, but perhaps that was just in his head. He blacked out.

Harry came round to the sound of his name being called softly, "Harry... Harry...". He opened his eyes and focused. Swimming into view was Dumbledore. Harry was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, his back against the wall. He made to get up. "No, stay where you are for a few minutes." Dumbledore said. Harry looked around and took in the scene. The chairs in the kitchen were scattered across the floor. Uncle Vernon was unconscious (hopefully that was all it was) yet in a sitting position against the cupboards behind where he had been sitting. It looked like he'd fallen over the back of his chair. He had a raised bump on his head that was already going an interesting shade of purple. There was a heavy saucepan next to him that looked like it had fallen off the top of the cupboard and hit him on the head. The dinner he had been cooking was plastered up the walls and ceiling. The pot it had been in was nowhere to be seen.

Other sounds began to register. Petunia was wailing about 'her ickle Diddykins'. Harry searched out Dudley. He was also unconscious. He was on the floor in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, Petunia hovering over him, alternating between reaching out to him and putting her hands up to her face in shock. Then Harry caught sight of something he really didn't want to see. Professor Snape. Add to the summer that was fast resembling hell one potions master who hated Harry with a passion, and Harry wanted to pass out again. Snape appeared to be checking around the kitchen, then he went in to the living room and came back and shook his head at Dumbledore. Snape then did something with his wand Harry didn't catch, and again he shook his head, looking relieved.

"Harry, can you tell me what happened?" asked the headmaster kindly.

"Um." was all Harry managed. Snape came over and looked at Harry critically, then inhaled sharply and came even closer.

"Albus, his ears are bleeding." Harry put a hand up to his ear and felt something warm and sticky beginning to trickle out. The potions master pointed his wand at Harry and performed a diagnostic spell. A parchment appeared in front of him. He read it, then said to Albus, "He has perforated ear drums, but other than that he appears fine." His tone sounded to Harry almost relieved. Strange. "I will check on the boy." With that, Snape ran the same diagnostic on Dudley and found nothing wrong with him.

At that moment there was a great groan from Vernon and blearily he stood up.

"Vernon, Diddy is hurt. That freak did this!" said Petunia. Vernon was suddenly very awake. He looked over to his son, then Harry, then around at the rest of the room.

"Why, you little... " he aimed a kick in Harry's direction. Snape who had been watching and listening was very confused at the use of the word 'freak'. He could understand Vernon's confusion about events. He could understand he'd be more than a little annoyed about the state of his kitchen. He fully understood his concern for his son. But the way he looked at Harry, his words, his tone, and then how he attempted to kick Harry caused him concern. Snape grabbed Vernon's shoulder to off-balance him enough that the kick never landed.

Petunia sidetracked Vernon from Harry,"Vernon! Help Dudley!" Vernon turned away from Harry and went to Dudley, whose eyes were fluttering open. Petunia started wailing again about how her little angel was going to be alright. Dudley did indeed look alright to Harry. Having been around Dudley long enough Harry had long since learnt the signs of 'milking it', and Dudley was doing that for all he was worth. Groaning, putting his hand on his head, and then his stomach, his arms and his legs, anyone would think from the noise he was making he was at death's door. Snape rolled his eyes at the scene.

Dumbledore spoke to Harry again, "I need to know what happened, Harry. Arthur - Mr. Weasley - heard in the ministry that underage magic happened at this address. There was going to be a letter sent to you about improper use of magic. Arthur contacted me. Professor Snape was with me in my office at the time, and we both apparated here to find all of you unconscious and the room looking like a tornado had been through it. Was there anyone else in the house Harry?" Harry shook his head, looking guilty. Dumbledore looked around again, "This was your magic? Harry, what made this happen?"

"It was an accident. I tried to calm down, but I couldn't. I felt my emotions unravel and then there was a kind of explosion and then you were waking me up."

"What made you that upset?" asked Snape. Harry looked at his knees and shook his head. He wasn't going to explain that, and certainly not to the bat of the dungeons.

"Well," said Dumbledore, in his happy, everything will be fine voice, "it looks like we can put the kitchen back to normal and leave you to your evening." Petunia had helped Dudley to his feet by now and was helping him to the couch in the living room where he would be coddled all evening. Vernon looked like he might blow a gasket, getting redder by the second, his cheeks matching the colour of the lump on his head. He really wanted the wizards to leave. It wouldn't do for Privet Drive to have any of 'their sort' here.

Dumbledore, with a wave of his wand, straightened the room, set the table and food appeared in the four places. "Come along, Severus." he said.

Professor Snape was suspicious. He didn't know what of, but something clearly wasn't right here. He had a suspicion that Dumbledore knew what it was, but he would never say. He didn't like it when things weren't what they seemed. He'd been a spy too long to drop the matter. He needed to know. If Dumbledore wouldn't say, he would have to find out for himself.

"Mr. Potter, I will call in tomorrow to check how you are. I would like to be assured that there's no damage to either yourself or your magic." Harry's heart sank. Snape at the Dursleys'. That was going to be a day that would go down in history. As Dumbledore and Snape apparated away, he didn't realise exactly how accurate that thought would turn out to be.