Disclaimer: Okay, if anyone of you reading this doesn't know who owns Harry Potter…get out. Get out right now and go read it. Then you can read this.

Author's Notes: There are most likely a lot of stories like this one, but there are lots of others that introduce new Yank students, have Voldemort's final battle…etc. etc. So, even though this isn't original, either are a lot of other one's out there. So there. J But don't forget to review. Even if it's just "Huh?" "What?" and "Bite me." I'll be happy. Trust me. And…if you're an author here…maybe I can use a little bribery. If you review this…I'll review something of yours.

Harry Potter and the Turncoat

It was July again. The twenty-eighth, to be exact. Three days until Harry Potter's, The Boy Who Lived, fifteenth birthday. There was not much to celebrate. Every time he closed his eyes to sleep, a monstrous, evil chalk-white face would appear, its red snake eyes looming out of the darkness as it killed Cedric Diggory. What was worse, was that he couldn't talk to anyone about it. His best friends from the wizarding world Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger didn't understand, and he wasn't even allowed to use the word magic under the Dursleys' roof.

Harry lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head. If he stared at the ceiling long enough without his glasses on, he could almost feel himself back at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry lying in his four poster avoiding homework. He rubbed his scar absently. Stupid thing caused more problems than the Weasley twins do. He wished it were a normal scar. He wished he still had parents amongst the living, or at the very least, that he didn't have the Dursleys. Harry turned his head towards the clock at his bedside, which showed it was almost seven in the morning.

He groaned inwardly. Any minute now, Petunia Dursley will be banging on his door for him to get up and do his chores. Sometimes he swore that they mucked things up the night prior so he'd have to do twice as much. Sure enough, a sharp rapping at his bedroom door signaled his aunt's arrival.

"Get up! Get up this minute!" Aunt Petunia yelled through the door. "You have chores!"

"I'm going!" Harry shouted back, rolling out of bed. He dressed quickly and made his way downstairs.

The three Dursleys were sitting around the table as usual, Uncle Vernon reading the paper with the top of his head poking over the top; horse faced Aunt Petunia sipping her tea while looking through the kitchen window to see Mrs. Next Door leave for work; and his horribly obese cousin Dudley. Dudley at the moment was cramming as much of his uncle's waffles into his mouth while his parents weren't looking.

Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper. "You're late, boy. What took you so long?"

Harry bit back a sharp retort. "I was contemplating the meaning of the universe."

"Oh? Is that what your…type…do? Ponder stupid questions all morning while your hard-working relatives make you breakfast?" Uncle Vernon snapped back.

"The waffles are Eggo. All you do is put it in the toaster for a minutes," Harry replied evenly.

"Shut up and go do your chores. I want the roof repaired by ten, then you can start on mowing the lawn and cleaning the gutters." Vernon was about to back to reading when he glared at Harry again. "In that order."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but decided against it when he saw Uncle Vernon's face turn purple. "All right, all right. I'm going." He trudged out to the backyard, grabbing an apple from the basket before dodging out the door. He had to do this because there were evidently not enough waffles to fill Dudley's enormous appetite and he had upended the table.

Outside the house of Four Privet Drive, the atmosphere was perfectly peaceful. The sun was already warm on Harry's bare neck and he knew it would be another scorcher. He could see the heat rising off the shingled roof and inwardly cringed at the thought of going up on his hands and knees. He probably wouldn't have one of the two before the afternoon was over. Harry headed towards the garden shed that housed most of the tools for the house maintenance and grabbed the hammer, stack of shingles and a bucket of nails. He kicked the door shut with his heel and staggered under the weight of his burden towards the already erect ladder.

Harry stood at the bottom for a moment, wondering if he could climb with his load, but decided better of it. He threw the shingles up along with the hammer but climbed up with the nails. Harry smiled ruefully. Too bad he didn't have a slingshot. He probably would be able to peg Dudley's ass from up here and Dudley wouldn't be able to get him. Harry wasn't at all sure the ladder would support the small whale. He sighed at the thought, knowing if he ever tried, Vernon would probably kill him. Harry set about his work.

Harry didn't know what happened. One minute he had been working on the roof like he was supposed to, the next, a sudden wave of nausea washed over him. The world seemed to blur like he had taken off his glasses and began to tilt back and forth like he was on storm tossed sailboat. He quickly sat down, clasping his head in his hands, blocking out all light. The light seemed to make his rapidly building migraine worse. Harry sat perfectly motionless for several minutes, waiting for the feeling to pass. It didn't. Of anything, it got worse. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs, and he realized he was gasping as if he had just run a marathon. This wasn't working he decided. Harry risked opening his eyes to bare slits to see his way to the ladder to climb down.

He dropped to the ground more or less after a free fall and lay still for several seconds, inhaling the smell of the grass below him. A sudden memory struck him. It was just like the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament when he had returned with the portkey…and Cedric's body. Harry leapt up, frantically brushing off the feeling of Cedric's body lying near him and practically ran into the house.

He didn't stop until he had almost run full on into the sink and shoved his head under the flow. The icy tendrils of water trickling across his face made all the difference in his headache as it seemed to clear almost immediately. The pain subsided enough for him to pull his head out and drink the water straight from the faucet.

Harry shut off the water and slid to the cool kitchen floor tiles. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the reading on the thermometer outside the window and groaned inwardly. 102 degrees and he'd been working on black shingles without much breakfast. No wonder he felt like shit, it was dehydration.

However, as bad as he felt at the moment, it was nothing compared to what was going to come.

Harry cupped his face in his hands again, shutting his eyes for a moment. The next moment, a sharp pain erupted from his stomach. His eyes shot open as he gasped in pain. He was lying on the kitchen floor. He supposed he must have fallen asleep. Harry didn't have much time to think about it though. A second flare of agony came from his ribs, and he looked up through pain filled eyes to see his uncle looming over him, looking like Voldemort himself.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he shouted, the magnitude of his voice making Harry's migraine return full on.

"Wha…what do you mean?" Harry gasped, clutching his ribs.

"You know damn well what I mean, you miserable lump of flesh!" Vernon roared. He reached down and grabbed Harry's arm, yanking him upright. Harry thought he heard his arm crack as he was dragged into the living room.

He inhaled sharply at what he saw. The ladder had fallen through the large window over looking the yard, spraying shards of glass everywhere and breaking a vase as well as part of the wall. The water from the vase dripped onto the Dursleys' brand new leather sofa.

Before he could explain, Vernon smashed a meaty fist against the back of his head, knocking him forward. A second threw him to the ground.

"You stupid boy! What were you thinking? After all we've done for you ungrateful little twit, this is how you repay us? Beastly child!" Vernon shouted, kicking Harry again and again.

The blows rained down on him and Harry knew his ribs were broken. His wrist was numb from a blow to his that Harry had blocked with it. After what seemed like an hour, the blows finally stopped. And Harry saw why. He tried to scramble to his feet, but his legs wouldn't support him and he fell back down. Harry dragged himself with one hand across the floor, cradling his injured one to his chest.

Vernon advanced on him like a bird of prey, the cane raised over his head.

"Please…please, I swear…" Harry whispered in terror. He had run up against the wall.

"You'll be praying soon enough," were Vernon's last words, before he brought the cane down again and again on Harry's shoulders and back. For an hour, it continued, until finally Harry could no longer scream and Vernon was too tired to lift the cane anymore, he left Harry lying almost unconscious in his own pool of blood.

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