Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Silver, Not Gold ❯ Prologue ( Prologue )

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter Belongs To J.K. Rowling and not to me. I make no profit off this story, so don't sue. Really, don't sue, it'll be a waste of your time anyway seeing as I'm broke.

 

WARNING = Very dark fic. Will contain child abuse, rape, mentions of suicide, swearing galore, and a whole heap of general badness. If you don't like, don't read. If you do read, don't say I didn't warn you.

 

PROLOGUE

 

August 31, 1991

 

4 Privet Drive, Surrey

 

Harry Potter, the so called Boy-Who-Lived, was in pain. Lots of pain actually, not like that was anything new, especially after the month he had just had.

 

Cowering on the floor of his small room, Harry bit his lower lip and tried not to cry out as his uncle brought the belt down on his back again, taking yet another strip of flesh away. His whole back was already bloody by this stage, and he had the suspicion that at least two of the ribs of his right side were bruised if not broken from where his uncle had kicked him earlier.

 

“Worthless brat.” Vernon spat at the cringing boy at his feet. “You deserve this, you know. You bloody freak, you'll never be worth anything, you better bloody see that by now.”

 

Harry didn't say anything. There was nothing he could say that wouldn't make his uncle even madder and possibly start his punishment all over again from the beginning. All he could do now was stay quiet and hope that he was actually done as he seemed to be.

 

The last month had been a nightmare for Harry. For as long as Harry could remember, he had been Vernon's whipping boy, usually doing something that his uncle deemed bad enough to be beaten black and blue at least once a week, but lately he had been going all out. Ever since Harry had returned from Diagon Alley with Hagrid, his uncle had been beating him bloody on a daily basis, as if he was trying to get as much pain in as possible before Harry up and left for the next several months. Tonight, Harry's last night at number 4 Privet Drive until (with any luck) next summer was no exception. In fact tonight, with Petunia and Dudley being off at that private hospital getting Dudley's new pig's tail removed, Vernon had seemingly decided to go even farer than usual. Harry was starting to wonder if he would ever stop hurting.

 

Despite Harry's hope that Vernon was finished, his uncle simply snorted in apparent disgust before whipping him with the belt once again. at this last strike Harry lost his battle to stay silent and let out a short scream.

 

Fortunately this seemed to be what Vernon was waiting for, and he smiled a sicking smile. “Pathetic.” Vernon spat, literally. “But then again that's all you'll ever be. A pathetic waste of space, just like your worthless parents. I'm almost glad you're going to that freak school tomorrow, at least now we won't have to put up with your abnormality in this house for a while.” And with last kick to Harry's ribs (now Harry was certain that at least one had cracked), Vernon turned around and stalked out of the room, apparently unable to stand the sight of his nephew any more.

 

Harry just lay there for a few minutes before he forced himself up off the floor and slowly made his way to the far side of the room. Over to where his new owl Hedwig was sitting locked in her cage, making concerned hooing sounds all the while, next to Harry trunk of school things.

 

“It's alright Hedwig, I'll be alright.” Harry said softly, reaching through the bars of the cage to softly pet the beautiful snowy owl. Hedwig didn't look very convinced, but she did nibble on Harry's finger in an affectionate way, seemingly trying to comfort her new master. Harry couldn't help but smile at this. He'd always liked animals, they generally treated him much better than people, and Hedwig was quickly becoming one of his all time favourites. Well, okay, he never liked Marge's dog Ripper, but then again Marge was Vernon's sister. It only made sense that she would mess up raising a dog the same way Vernon messed up raising a pig… uh, his son that is.

 

After a few minutes of petting Hedwig, Harry sighed to himself and reached into his school trunk for the first book he could reach. With the pain of his back and ribs it was obvious he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, he might was well use this time for something. Besides, he needed something to take his mind off the burning pain.

 

Harry emerald green eyes grew darker as he opened the potion book. “He won't be able to get away with this forever Hedwig.” He promised his owl and also himself. “I'll work hard at Hogwarts, I'll get stronger. Strong enough that neither Vernon nor anyone else will ever be able to hurt me again!”

 

SNG*SNG*SNG

 

32 Windburn Street, Oxford

 

Hermione Granger buried her head further into her charms textbook, trying to ignore the yelling going on downstairs. She tried to focus on the correct wand movements for the unlocking charm, but it was no use, the screams from downstairs forced their way into her head anyway.

 

“You take her, I've got a very busy day tomorrow, I don't have time to waste on taking your damn brat to the damn station!” Hermione's mother yelled, supposedly at Hermione's father.

“My damn brat, you're the one that got pregnant with the little bitch to trap me in this marriage! Besides, I got to work too and since it's my practice I decide who gets to take the stinking day off!” Her father yelled back, accompanied by what sounded like the sound of his fist slamming into the dinning room table.

“I never wanted her, you bloody know that!” Hermione's mother screamed back, this time followed by what was unmistakably a plate being thrown against the wall, most likely aimed at her husband's head. “I wanted to get a bloody abortion, but you fucking talked me out of it. Said that rich old cow you call your mother was sick and would die soon, but that she wanted grandkids. You said she would leave a shit load of money to us if we bloody had her. Well guess what you bastard, it's over ten years later and the old bag's still around. Now we're stuck with a bloody witch living in the house, and we still don't have the old bag's money. So if you think I'm going to listen to you again you're even dumber than you look.”

“Don't you walk away from me you whore!” Hermione's father yelled. “Don't think I don't know where your going, you slut, your not leaving me with that little bitch to go screw that disease ridded lover of your's again. I'll just divorce you, then you'll get none of my mother's money you want so much.”

“Try to stop me, you worthless sack of shit.” Her mother's voice was getting weaker, despite the fact that she was still yelling at the top of her lungs. Clearly her father was right for once, and Hermione's mother was leaving to go see her ten years younger lover. “And don't talk about Daniel that way, at least he knows how to satisfy a woman. I don't even know how the hell you managed to get me pregnant in the first place, you've got to be the worst fuck in all of England.”

“What the fuck did you say to me you whore?! Get the fuck back here!”

 

A few short moments later the sound of the door slamming shut echoed throughout the house, followed by Hermione's father's cruse filled screams as her mother started her car and drove away. After a good five minutes of cursing the very existence of his wife and offspring, there was a brief quiet followed by the sound of the Granger's second car starting up. Evidently Mr Granger had decided instead of yelling himself hoarse at a woman who was no longer there, his night would be better spent going to the bar to get hammered and maybe picking up a prostitute or two. Which really, was no different that any other night these days.

 

Hermione sighed and tried to force her attention back on her charms book, but she was having trouble, her mind replaying the fight she had just heard against her will.

 

It was hardly anything new, Hermione had been hearing fights like that for what seemed like forever. Granted they were becoming more frequent these days, but her parents never said anything she didn't already know and had known for years.

 

Hermione had known since she couldn't even remember when that her parents hadn't wanted her, had never loved her. The only reason they had gotten together and then stayed together was greed. When Hermione's mother had gotten pregnant, Hermione's paternal grandmother was sick, cancer. She hadn't been expected to recover. Grandmother Granger had been rather well off, rich actually, and had been talking for years about how she wanted her money to go to charity and do some good after she died. Hermione's father had hoped that being a grandmother would change his mother's mind about that and make her leave her sizable fortune to him, and Hermione's mother, seeing dollar signs flash before her eyes, had been all too happy to go along with the idea.

 

Well, it had sort of worked. Grandmother Granger was ecstatic, and fell in love with her new granddaughter at first sight. However, having Hermione in her life gave Grandmother Granger the strength to keep going and fight the cancer into remission. As a result, all too soon the new Mr and Mrs Granger found themselves in a marriage they didn't want, with a daughter they didn't want, and without the money they did want. They had spent the years since hoping the damn cancer would come back despite the fact it never did. Every year this went on seemed to strain their nerves even more until the fights had become a nightly occurrence.

 

Hermione knew all too well she wasn't wanted, but that never made it any easier to hear. The only one who ever gave her any affection was her grandmother, who her parents dragged her off to see on a regular basis, all the while threatening her into trying to act like they were the perfect loving family for her. After all, they still hoped Grandmother Granger would die one of these days and leave them everything. As much as Hermione loved her grandmother, these visits made her feel physically ill at times, the way her parents treated the sweet old lady. At least Grandmother Granger really seemed to love Hermione and was proud of her achievements. Unless they were acting up to the old lady her parents never even used her name anymore, let alone acknowledge her as anything other than an unwanted burden.

 

Hermione growled to herself, realising that she would not be able to concentrate again unless she did something, and so put down her book for a moment and opened a certain draw at her desk. Reaching in she pulled out something that she knew her parents had no idea about, not that she expected they would care much even if they did. A small, but lovely sharpened knife. The knife that helped Hermione get through her day whenever things got rough, no matter how sick she knew her addiction was.

 

Hermione rolled up the right sleeve of her long pyjamas, revealing a forearm already covered with several thin scars, all so straight they could be nothing but deliberate. Taking the knife firmly in her left hand, Hermione slowly and carefully dragged the knife along her arm, opening up another cut to add to her collection. She smiled slightly to herself as the blood rose up from the cut, feeling as if the pain within her soul was being realised with every drop of blood. Sick as she logically knew it was, Hermione suddenly felt immensely better.

 

Hermione sighed in relief and after putting the knife away tried to focus her attention once again back on her charms book, while making a mental note to get up early and call a taxi to get to the station, seeing as it was unlikely after the row she just heard that her parents would take her.

 

“I'll get stronger.” Hermione muttered to herself, her eyes still scanning the charms book. “I'll show them that they were wrong and that I am worthwhile. I'll be the strongest witch at Hogwarts.”

 

SNG*SNG*SNG

 

The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole

 

The normally noisy house known as the Burrow was unusually quite this night. As the Burrow housed such a large family of wizards, including the infamous Weasley twins, it was not unusual for it to be filled with loud talking and laughter and even the odd explosion until wee hours of the morning. Tonight was different however. With four of the five children living in the house going off to Hogwarts in the morning, Mrs Weasley had declared that they all needed to get to sleep and sent them off to bed hours ago. And so no one argued with Mrs Weasley when she gave them that look, not even the twins, they had went.

 

However, not all of them were asleep. The Weasley's youngest son was still awake at this time, lying on his side in his bed, watching the sleeping players in the wizarding poster of the Chudley Cannons, trying not to think of what was sure to come. He would surely come for him this night. After all it would be his last night of free access to Ron, who knew when he would get the chance again after they got to Hogwarts.

 

Ron was hoping to would be a long time. It was one of the three biggest reasons why he was looking forward to going to Hogwarts. The second reason was that he wanted to get away from the worried looks his family kept shooting him all the time, the ones that made him feel like he was on display for the whole world. Third and most important, it would keep him away from her.

 

Ron knew he had changed lately. All he had to do to see that was look in a mirror. Ron had been growing steadily paler over the summer as he spent less and less time outdoors, making his bright red hair and freckles stand out even more than they already did. His once limp hair was styled daily into sharp spikes, thanks to the large bottle of `Wendell's Wizarding Hair Gel' Ron had pinched off Bill a couple of months ago. Ron had also stopped wearing colours, even going so far as to steal a bottle of extra strength wizard dye from his mother to dye all his clothes black earlier this summer. Even his Chudley Cannons robes had not been spared.

 

However, even bigger than his looks, Ron attitude had changed over the course of the summer months. Once hot tempered, with a good sense of humour and adventure and a ready smile, Ron and become withdrawn and cold and sarcastic. He'd seemingly lost interest in quidditch and pranks, and even his once famous appetite seemed to be slowly slipping away. All he seemed to want to do now days was curl up in a quite corner with his chess set, or even more shockingly, one of his new school books.

 

However the biggest change was the way he interacted with his family. He would rarely if ever meet his parents' eyes anymore, and would only speak to them to answer direct questions. He went out of his way to avoid being alone with anyone, especially his brothers Percy, Fred and George. When Bill and Charlie both turn up for a week to visit (A different times, they couldn't manage to get vacation time from their separate jobs the same week), they were given the same treatment.

 

The twins had even stopped pranking him. At first they did in an effort to shock him back to acting normal, only to grow even more concerned by his response. Instead of getting upset and huffy like they had hoped, he would only look at them coldly and maybe give a sarcastic response if he was feeling generous. Other times he would just ignore their attempts completely. By this stage the twins were actually getting rather scared by this attitude, for while they were jokesters to the core, they truly cared for their younger brother and this attitude was truly worrying them. This was not the Ron they knew.

 

The only one who wasn't treated with cold, seeming indifference was the youngest Weasley and only girl, Ginny. Ginny was the only one Ron would still willingly spend time with. He would teach her wizard chess or play exploding snap with her, or sometimes just sit and listen to her talk. She was the only one he would still smile at, and once Ginny was almost sure she had almost made him laugh. In contrast to his new cold attitude with the rest of the Weasley family, Ron seemed to be growing even closer to Ginny. He also seemed to becoming increasingly protective of her, and the older Weasley all hoped that he may eventually open up to her about what was bothering him so much.

 

All but one anyway.

 

As if summoned by that unfortunate thought, Ron was drawn out of his contemplation by the sound of his door creaking open. Resisting the urge to swear or scream or even vomit, Ron closed his eyes and tried to detach himself form the world around him. He knew what was coming, only too well.

 

Sure enough, moments later Ron could feel them on him, the deceptively strong hand that worked to rid him of his panamas against his will. Ron clenched his fists as his underwear followed, the hands pausing for a moment to roughly fondle him while they were at it. Through it all Ron didn't make a sound, not even when the hated hands squeezed his cock so hard it brought tears of pain to his eyes. Ron knew from bitter experience that screaming and begging for him to stop would not help, if anything it just turned him on even more. By now, he had learnt not to give him that pleasure. Besides, it wouldn't help him anyway, his and every other bedroom in the Burrow had a permanent silence charm on it to help the occupants sleep at night, a fact that had been cruelly twisted to suited Ron's attacker's sick desires.

 

“Roll over, get on all fours.” The voice Ron had come to hate with all his being these past few months said, sounding husky with desire. Ron didn't fight, didn't argue, just did as the voice said. He hated this, but knew there was no point fighting back. His rapist always got what he wanted in the end, not matter how hard he struggled he just wasn't strong enough to get away. He had learnt over the last several weeks that the sooner he gave in, the sooner it was over.

 

Ron tried to imagine he was somewhere else. He tried to ignore the harsh breathing above him, the way his attacker bit him hard on his neck and shoulders leaving marks. He tried to ignore the hands gripping his hips so tightly he knew was would have purple hand shaped bruises on them. He tried to ignore the sharp pains running up his spine as the bastard thrust hard as he could up his arse. But of course it didn't work, as usual, and instead he simply tried to stifle his screams of pain, biting his lip hard to stop the whimpers from escaping him.

 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Ron's rapist finished with a groan and pulled out, letting Ron collapse on the bed. Ron stayed quite and still, not wanting to do anything that may encourage the bastard to go for another round, and hoping he would just leave. After a few moments, Ron's wish was granted as he heard the sound of his rapist pulling his clothes back on before tossing Ron pyjamas at him.

 

“Get dressed, can't have Mum and Dad find their little Ronnie like this in the morning can we?” Percy asked, mockingly. After a short cruel laugh Percy started to move towards the door, only pause with his hand on the doorknob and say something that made Ron's already cold blood turn to ice. “You know Ron, Perfects get their own rooms at Hogwarts. I'm sure no one will mind if my little brother shares with me every now and then. You know, to scare away the nightmares and what have you. Oh yes, we're going to have fun at Hogwarts this year.” And with one last, lust filled chuckle, the bastard Ron used to call his brother finally left.

 

Knowing that there was no way he would be able to sleep after that, Ron pulled his aching body out of bed and after getting redressed moved towards the window, pausing to grab his transfiguration book on the way.

 

The sheets automatically cleaned themselves once Ron got out of bed, just one of the many charms the Burrow had on it, which Percy so cruelly twisted to serve his own pleasure. Ron wondered darkly if his parents had any idea what those charms would be used to cover for when they set them. Probably not, Ron acknowledge, not that that meant they'd believe him if he told them. After all, it was Percy he would be accusing. The golden boy, top of his class, prefect. Perfect Percy who could do no wrong in their mother's eyes, who wanted to follow their father into the ministry. No one would ever believe him if he tried to tell them what Percy did to him in the middle of the night. Or worse, accuse him of making Percy do it, of being a dirty whore who wanted his own brother to fuck him. Ron knew he would never be able to handle it if his parents who he still loved dearly ever accused him of that.

 

“I need to get stronger.” Ron muttered to himself as he opened his transfiguration book. “I need to be stronger than Percy. It's the only way I'll be able to stop him, and the only way anyone might possibly believe me. I need to get stronger.”

 

SNG*SNG*SNG

 

Longbottom Manor, Scotland

 

Quietly, so as not to be discovered, Neville Longbottom tiptoed up the halls of the ancestral Longbottom Manor, hoping that just this once he could avoid an attack of clumsiness. It was late, and he knew he should have been in bed asleep by now, especially with the big day tomorrow. In fact, as far as the rest of the family was aware he was asleep. However, just before Neville was about to turn in for the night he discovered something terrible. His new toad, whom he had lovingly named Trevor, had disappeared again. He just had to find him.

 

Now, Neville knew that toads were in no way considered the coolest pets at Hogwarts. In fact, they were generally considered downright lame. But In Neville's mind Trevor was different. After all, he was the first present Neville had ever gotten because someone, in this case Great Uncle Algie, was proud of him. Not because they were obligated, it being Christmas or his birthday or whatever, but because they were proud of him. Great Uncle Algie was proud of him, for getting into Hogwarts. Or, at least he wasn't bitterly disappointed anyway. At this point, Neville would take anything he could get that proved he wasn't a total disgrace to the name of Longbottom.

 

Neville had known for the longest time that he was far from the grandson his grandmother wanted. He knew his family would be happy with just about anyone else as the heir and future lord of the Noble House of Longbottom. He knew his family had long despaired over his weak magic, even thinking him a squib for a long time. Knowing did not make the knowledge any easier to bear though, and hearing his own family put him down the way they did never got any easier. All Neville truly wanted was for someone to love him as he was, but he knew he would never be allowed that. Not unless he could be every bit as good a wizard as his father, as impossible a task as that seemed. Only then would he be worth anything in his grandmother's eyes,. Only then would he redeem himself for the sin of being whole, being sane, while his parents lay in St Mungos, unable to recognise anything or anyone around them.

 

Neville would never forget that day three years ago when he first realised just how much his grandmother truly resented him for still being here. It had been his father's birthday, and as usual on this day his grandmother was drinking herself away, trying to forget the pain, all the while yelling at random intervals about how strong her son had been, about how weak her grandson was in comparison. Finally, sometime late in the evening his grandmother had sort of slumped in her chair, dropping her latest glass of wine. By now Neville had been used to these drinking binges, and knew that this was the sign that his grandmother was ready to go to bed. Usually this would be the point where Neville would call one of the house elves to help but this time, being all of eight years old, Neville felt that maybe it was time start being a man and help his poor grandmother to bed himself. However, he soon learnt just how much of a mistake this idea was. As soon as he touched her arm in fact.

 

“Don't touch me, you miserable squib!” Gran had yelled angrily, pulling her arm away from Neville's and glaring at him with a hatred he had never seen in her before. “It's all your fault, all your fault. You were there too, you were right there. Why couldn't those lousy Death Eaters have taken you instead of my precious son! The whole family would have been better off. It should have been you, not him. Why couldn't it have been you. I don't want you, I want my son! I want my Frank! It should have been you!” At this, his Gran broken down into tears and Neville had fled the room, horrified by what he had been told.

 

The next morning Gran had carried on her normal routine like nothing had happened. She had not repeated what she had said, but neither did she deny or apologise for it. Neville had tried to carry on like he did before, but he knew he would never get those awful words out of his head.

 

Sighing quietly to himself, Neville tried to push those thoughts out of his head and concentrate on getting back to bed as quickly and quietly as possible. He had found Trevor hiding in the fountain in the courtyard already, and now as it was quite late he really did want to just get to bed and go to sleep. Maybe in sleep he could forget that horrible memory for a little while.

 

However, fate seemed to want to kick Neville when he was down tonight, as his chosen route back to bed took him directly past the drawing room, and as he drew nearer he heard a horrible sound. His two least favourite aunts, Great Aunt Enid, and Great Aunt Callidora, were clearly in there, talking in loud voices.

 

“This whole thing is a disaster.” Great Aunt Enid groaned. “A bloody disaster. Now the near squib's going to Hogwarts, and everyone will see how far our once noble family has fallen.”

“I know what you mean, Enid, but it's not like we can keep the brat locked up in the Manor forever.” Callidora said. “Too many people know he exists, if we tried to stop him going to Hogwarts, people would assume he was a squib.”

“Oh, I see, so instead we send him to the best, and I might add most expensive, school of magic in Europe instead so people will know he is a squib?”

“I never said the plan was fool proof.” Callidora said, sounding bitter, but Enid just sighed in annoyance.

“Lets face it, Calliodra, we're doomed. I've said for years that our best chance was to arrange to marry the brat off to some pureblood witch and hope that her magic might over power his lack of in any children they might have, and save our line that way. But the truth is he's so useless that not even our family fortune would convince any pureblood family worth the name to take him. Even the dirt-poor idiots the Weasley's would have more sense than that. Damn it all, why couldn't that death Eater bitch have tortured the brat into insanity instead of his father. His father was a strong wizard, and even with his first-born locked up like a lunatic it wasn't like he couldn't have another. It's not like anyone would have missed the brat anyway.”

 

Neville felt tears rush to his eyes. He tried ti ignore the words, but he couldn't, he knew they were true. It should be him in St. Mungo's, not his father. Not his strong, brave father, who he could never measure up to. No one would have missed him.

 

Trevor suddenly let out a harsh croak, and Neville realised that in his anguish he had been squeezing his poor pet too tight. The sound broke through the pain-filled stupor he had fallen into, and Neville turned on his heel and ran. Forgetting bed for the moment, and the need to be silent, Neville ran like the wind for the one place he felt safe. The greenhouse.

 

After what seemed like forever but was probably only about four or five minutes, Neville ran inside his favourite place in the manor, and collapsed amongst the plants he loved, clutching Trevor to his chest and he cried.

 

“I'll get stronger.” He promised Trevor through his tears. “I'll work super hand at Hogwarts and I'll get stronger. I have to.”

 

 

 

Author's Note

By the way, I have no idea what Hermione and Neville's addresses are, so I just made a couple up for this story. If you know their real addresses feel free to tell me, but I probably won't bother changing it since I really don't think that's such a big deal even if I know some people get touchy about these things.

 

PS, if you don't like how dark this story is turning out to be, don't bother reviewing to tell me. I gave you a nice big warning at the beginning if you ignored it it's your own fault.