Black Emerald

~One~

Chapter One

Harry Potter, the light's golden boy, the prophesized one, or more correctly, the chosen one, was in severe pain.

Tears escaping down his pale-stricken face. Green, emerald eyes ridden of their usual illuminating light, and now had dulled to mossy-green.

He couldn't breathe regularly due to his chest being bloodied beyond repair. From the many carvings his Uncle pushed against him.

He hadn't meant to do it, it was accidental magic, but to his Uncle he was automatically labeled, 'Freak'.

He was doing his chores like any other day.

Completing a list that was far too long, the idea of completely it was foreign to Harry; but he still worked his hardest to complete it in time. He had overworked himself cleaning stains from Dudley's carpet.

Dudley had overlooked his cleaning, and suddenly Dudley had different colored hair. Apparently, Harry was thinking of colors when the incident happened.

So what did Dudley do?

He went crying to his Uncle Vernon. Vernon wasn't happy one bit, so he yelled at Harry.

With words, that Harry hadn't heard before, not even in his time at Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Going as far as to burn it into his skin all over his body.

He had regular beatings, up until he had received his Hogwarts letter; when he was eleven years old.

He had freedom away from the beatings at Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, but it only lasted as long as the school year.

He was now thirteen, and beatings turned into more of the aggressive type. Drawing blood, until he was almost a welcome visitor to Death's door, but he had never been raped.

Which, Harry was still thankful for to this day. He was still roomed in the cupboard under the stairs.

Not even harboring the thought, of moving into a room above; next to the very tormentors that find pleasure in his own beatings and public embarrassment.

Dust filled his lungs, he coughed, even that hurt.

His limbs were sore, his body needed to stretch, but in the little space left no room for him to stretch.

Every summer it was like this, and he pleaded to Dumbledore to have him placed at the school for the summers after each school year ended.

It was no use, saying that his Aunt and Uncle were all around pleasant people, and he should be lucky to have them as a family member.

Harry had been complety outraged, there was nothing he could do about it. Years went by and Harry just gave up hope on someone rescuing him from the bloody nightmare that he had to live through.

He tried to shift his weight to his side.

Thinking that his breathing would be easier, he could handle this.

It was a piece of cake compared to the death like situations that he found himself and his friends in every year that he attended school.

Like his first year and going against Quirrel, or his second year; defeating the basilisk in the chamber of secrets; Harry didn't even want to imagine what sort of life-threatening plot he would be involved in. But, Harry had enough of it.

The more he thought about it, the more he believed that Dumbledore was using him.

Raising him up to be a weapon of war. Voldemort was evil, but it was Dumbledore who made him the way he was.