1 Chapter 1: Enough
Great Britain
Surrey
Little Whinging, 4 Privet Drive
14-year old Harry Potter stared listlessly at the lightbulb hanging within his dirty cupboard, wondering if life was enjoying squeezing lemons into his eyes. Dusty, cramped, and uncomfortable were only a few adjectives to describe his lovely room. His relatives were just, oh so kind, to grace him with entry into his cupboard, along with all of his items from the wizarding world. His dull Avada Kedavra green eyes trailed over to the corner right beside him, home to plenty of miniature spiders that never seemed to bother him. It was as if they had a mutual understanding of sorts.
Harry watched as a tiny beige spider, of which he couldn't recognize, spun a beautiful web that was sure to trap any little bug that came crawling into its domain. It reminded him of his, well, friends, who time and time again have proved to be nothing but untrustworthy. He could understand Ron sending smaller and smaller letters to him over the summer, as the red-head turned his back on him during the Tri-Wizard tournament. Hermione, on the other hand, was an unpleasant surprise. The strong-headed bushy-haired girl often followed in what she believed, at least most of the time. Other times however, she unfortunately viewed her books and professors words as law.
It was truly unfortunate that they have clearly decided whose side they're on, as Harry could easily figure out a pattern between the two letters, indicating the two were somehow together. Where was the question on his mind and with who. Whenever Hermione stayed over at the Burrow, the letters she sent were full of love and concern for him, whereas Ron would ask him how the Dursley's were. This summer, however, their letters have only indicated that they're being more hush-hush to keep him safe. Harry scoffed at the notion, having lived in a hell of his own long before the fated Hogwarts letter crashed into his damned life.
His intelligence, which had been carefully hidden for years, finds itself coming out of the deep-end. For years, Harry needed to dumb himself down in order to make sure that precious Dudley got the better grades. If he failed to do so, a beating was surely in his future. Once he got to Hogwarts and became friends with one Hermione Granger, that intelligence refused to come into play, as Harry feared losing one of his very first friends. Whenever he looks back at those times, he feels beyond foolish to have allowed his fears to get the better of him.
Carefully, he picked up one of the most recent letters from Hermione, bringing it all the way up until it covered his only light source. The urge to watch it burst into flames burned deep within his soul, and yet, he simply couldn't. There was an even stronger urge to burn every letter he received this far right in front of their faces, allowing the two to see exactly how he felt about their clear secrecy.
Supposedly, someone was due to pick him up from the Dursleys, but the notion brought annoyance as he would much rather leave on his own. The thought made Harry pause, wondering why he never did that in the first place. His third year, he had spectacularly blown Marge up and escaped to the wizarding world through the use of the Knight Bus. The memory brought back feelings of joy, having finally gotten one-up on his disgusting relative's who believed that his very existence was nothing but a curse.
Every single year he got sent back to this hellhole only fueled feelings of hatred that the saviour of the wizarding world simply could never have. Most of those feelings were aimed straight at the one and only Albus Dumbledore, who never gave him an explanation as to why he has to stay with his relatives. Time and time again he's heard the excuse of 'Blood Wards' which are meant to protect him, but if he's being hurt behind those wards, then they're simply useless. Honestly, he wouldn't mind a Death Eater raid on his relative's home, as it would bring him some deep-needed release from all the anger building within. Doing repetitive chores for hours on end can't give him that. What would he even do, pull out all the flowers in his aunt's garden instead of the weeds?
He sat up in his dirty old cot, groaning from the pain on his back. His uncle hadn't been too pleased that he spoke back to him last night when he tried to defend those he thought were his friends. The reward he received for even speaking up are beautifully drawn onto his back, as multiple belt marks paint a darker picture of the 'pampered life' he was clearly living.
His magic, the one thing he could depend on, had healed his back fairly well, leaving scabbing all over. Harry felt regret for speaking up, as he now believed neither of the rest of the 'Golden Trio' deserved his trust, his love, or his friendship. Sometimes, he wonders if letting the sorting hat sort him into Slytherin would have changed his life at all. Through the song, it stated he would have found his true friends and that's something he wishes he could have.
The reality is that he simply couldn't trust anyone. Where was Sirius, his godfather who seemed ecstatic getting to know him, yet hadn't fought to keep him. Where was Remus, the kind werewolf who felt delighted at being near the legacy of his dead friend, yet ran with his tail between his legs once Dumbledore put his foot down. Where were his best friends from the previous years, who promised to stick by his side no matter the situation after having gone through life altering trials? Where was Albus Dumbledore, who was glad to have him as the icon of the light and often acted grandfatherly towards him, yet sent him back to his hell no matter how much he begged not to be.
Adults and friends alike have failed him through their sheer ignorance and blind trust of one man, who has the rest of the wizarding world at his wrinkly finger tips. Enough is enough. For once in his life, it's his turn to make choices and decisions, rather than have little birds in his ears tell him how, 'Oh, Slytherins are just so evil' or 'Albus Dumbledore is such a great man.' No longer will he be led along towards a path that has been forced onto him. He's not his father, nor his mother, he has always been just Harry. A young boy who dreamed of unconditional love, yet has always had love at a price.
Grinning to himself, Harry carefully packs whatever he can back into his trunk that his relative's conveniently forgot about when he was locked back into his cupboard, both his safe haven and prison. He casually placed the letters from his 'friends' into the trunk as well, keeping them as his personal ammo. Previously dull eyes lit up into a frightening glow, with all of their attention on the door that would let him free. Unfortunately, he couldn't use his magic or he would risk possible consequences that would most likely start off a smear campaign against him.
Lifting his calloused hands, Harry turns them into fits, before punching the door that would begin his beautiful escape to freedom. He ignored the small scratches and splinters that gradually appeared on his fists, as he finally got the door to open up. Currently, it was past midnight and his relative's were happily asleep, living lives of blissful ignorance. Slowly and quietly, Harry Potter left his cupboard and went straight towards the front door, letting himself outside. An even larger grin spread across his face, as his only faithful beauty landed onto his fairly muscled arm that buffed up from years of Quidditch. "Well girl, it's time to be free." He quietly whispered in a joyful tone, before walking away from Privet Drive, far enough to attract the attention of the Knight Bus.
Harry could almost taste the deliciousness on the tip of his tongue, as the triple-decker light purple bus rapidly approached where he stood. A new version of him would grace the halls of Hogwarts and the wizarding word would have no choice but to accept him, for he will forge his own path.
It's time for the snake to come out into play, as the lion plays all like a fiddle.
