For weeks Harry trained and trained. During his training sessions he was ruthless. He would completely obliterate the entire dojo, and then with a wave of his hand, everything would be fixed. He didn’t know how it happened, but one day he was training he discovered that he could perform wandless magic, and not get in trouble with the Ministry of Magic for it.
Martial arts, it seemed, could help one control their magical ability. Harry could now completely control himself, and had learned to block his emotions. He was empty. There was nothing in him except a determination to defeat Voldemort. So greatly did Harry want him to suffer, to feel pain, to die.
Master Myers watched from afar, observing Harry. Harry’s aura had become so dark that it seemed like he sucked the very light from the room. He did not know what had happened to Harry, but he was sure it was something horrid.
The days seemed to match with Harry. As time passed they grew darker, blacker, more menacing as intimidating clouds loomed overhead. Occasionally a lightning storm would go off when Harry was angry. Master Myers knew this boy had great power, and he was going to teach him how to command it. Master Myers had a secret, one that would help the boy on his way to greatness.
At the Dursleys Harry’s life was less than enjoyable. Vernon and Dudley would hurt him, while Petunia would give him pity and apologize when the beatings were over. Harry did not complain about the pain. He felt as if he deserved it. It was punishment; punishment for what he had done, what he had committed. For he had been the reason Sirius died, he was, in one way, a murderer. But then again, Harry thought, I’m going to have to be murderer anyway.
When Harry thought of Sirius, he would get a feeling of hollowness, of emptiness. Every night he was plagued by Sirius and the veil: plagued by Sirius’ death.
Nightmares can hurt you, as Harry soon found out. He received the nightmares so often, that he was having difficulty discerning the real world from his dream world. He could feel all the pain that was felt in the nightmares, even if it was not him the one the injuries were aimed at. He could feel the pains of his friends. Always were Ron and Hermione hurt. Determination flared up inside him as an image of Hermione lying dead on the ground came into his mind. “I will not let that happen,” Harry vowed to himself, “Never again will they be hurt. I will die before they are touched.”
“I fear for this boy, he is holding in too much anger, hatred, and pain,” Master Myers was currently engaged in conversation with Professor Dumbledore. “The Darkness is flooding him, invading him. He is in a war with himself, one that the light side is losing. The days are growing darker, Dumbledore, and he is the cause of it. If he is not helped now, he will be lost forever.”
Dumbledore looked grave, “I fear for him too. I have put too much weight on his shoulders: burdens a fifteen-year-old boy should not have to carry. I am to blame. My actions may be the cause of the end of this world. I made the wrong choice. He may never trust me again.”
“You did make the wrong choice, but there may be a chance to fix it. But first, there is something that has been bothering me for a while, and I don’t think it has to do with the prophecy or Sirius’ death. There is something deeper that I see in Harry. His aura has gone black, and it seems as if his very soul is tearing apart. Something has happened to him; something has been done that has to do with his soul. If we do not find out what happened, he may very well become exactly what he needs to destroy.” John Myers looked very fatigued.
“I saw the same thing happen once. I saw a kind boy turn into a monster. I saw the changes that occurred, but I did nothing. And now we have all paid dearly for it. It happened to a boy named Tom Riddle.”
You are worthless, Harry. You have done no good. People die around you. You are cursed: a soul-less being. You are a monster.
Harry sat trembling in his bed. Again, the nightmares invaded his sleep, ruled his dream world. Never did they cease their attacks. He was in torment; his mind was cracking ever so slightly every nightmare. He was already beginning to lose his sanity.
“Mom, Dad, I’m worried about Harry! He hasn’t answered any of my letters, and Ron said that he hasn’t answered any of his either! I need to know what’s wrong!” Hermione Granger was in a right state. She was pacing the room, throwing up her hands to accent certain words.
She was worried. She was worried about her best friend. She knew he was grieving, and she wanted to be there to comfort him. She had always cared for Harry, but she never showed it, thinking Harry wouldn’t reciprocate her feelings.
John and Jane Granger were trying their hardest to soothe their daughter. They knew she cared for him a lot, mostly because he was all she ever talked about.
“Hermione, honey, please calm down. Hey, since you want to see Harry so badly, how about he stays here for the rest of the summer? Professor Dumbledore thought it would be good,” Jane Granger asked her daughter.
Hermione squealed with delight, informing her parents that she would write to him immediately. When she finished, she rushed back to tell her parents. She also told them that if he didn’t respond, that they would go get him anyway. Also, just to be sure he was alright, she decided to call him. Harry had given it to her at the end of second year. She dialed the number, and waited for someone to pick up.