A Inheritance??

Chapter 1 - The Summer at Privet Drive

Harry Potter's summer had been nothing short of a nightmare. Privet Drive had always felt like a prison, but this year it was worse. Far worse. The Dursleys had tightened their grip on him as though punishing him for simply existing. Ever since the ordert old them that his Godfather Sirius dies. Every morning began with a shouted command from Uncle Vernon and ended with Harry collapsing on his thin mattress in Dudley's second bedroom. He didn't see it as his.

They even made him burn all his things from Hogwarts in the fireplace. Every book, parchment, quill and the potions indegres, he had to throw in the toilet to not cause an explosion. He could just with scheer luck hide his Broom from sirius, the Maurauder's map and his invisibly cloak. Even his wand was now ash. At night, he often lay awake in the suffocating dark, listening to the creak of the house and the heavy snores of his relatives, wondering how he had ended up back here again.

He missed Hogwarts more than he could put into words. The castle had always been complicated — danger lurked around every corner, every year and he never quite felt safe — but at least there he wasn't treated like garbage. At Hogwarts, he was somebody. Here, at Number Four, he was less than nothing.

That gnawing emptiness inside him had only grown since the night in the Department of Mysteries, when Sirius had fallen through the veil. He tried not to think about it, but the grief lingered like a phantom ache, twisting tighter every time he remembered his godfather's laughter. Whenever he let himself imagine returning to the Gryffindor common room, to Hermione's careful concern or Ron's easy grin, the hollowness widened. He wasn't sure if anywhere in the world could ever feel like home again.

Uncle Vernon seemed to sense that Harry's spirit was already cracked and took great pleasure in shattering it further. Chores stretched from dawn until long after the streetlamps flickered on outside. Every time Harry lagged, Vernon's booming voice would shake the walls. Sometimes, it wasn't just shouting.

Harry's fingers still trembled whenever he remembered one particular evening.

Flashback

The sun had been sinking low, casting long orange streaks across the neat lawns of Privet Drive. Harry had been on his knees in Aunt Petunia's flowerbed, hands caked with dirt as he yanked stubborn weeds from the soil. Sweat plastered his messy hair to his forehead. He was almost finished, just one more patch to clear, when the grumble of a car engine rolled into the driveway.

Panic jolted through him. Uncle Vernon's company car came to a halt, the driver's door slamming with a sound that made Harry flinch. He hadn't finished the full list of chores.

"BOY!" Vernon's voice thundered across the garden, thick with fury. "GET OVER HERE!"

Harry wiped his filthy hands against his jeans and forced himself to stand, his stomach knotting with dread. Maybe—just maybe—he could explain, tell him he was almost done—

The thought evaporated when Vernon's meaty hand clamped onto his arm and dragged him across the yard.

"You useless, lazy, freakish brat!" Vernon's face was blotchy red, his mustache twitching with rage. He hauled Harry against the brick wall of the house. "I give you one simple job, and you can't even manage that!"

Harry tried to shrink back, but Vernon was already pulling his leather belt free with a sharp hiss.

The first strike landed across Harry's ribs, stealing the breath from his lungs. Pain flared white-hot, but he clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out. Another lash burned across his back, then his arm. Each blow came heavier, until Harry could feel his skin swelling, bruising beneath the leather.