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Harry Potter and the Inheritance of Truth	By : bagoftois Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 156888 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not nor have I ever owned Harry Potter and subsequent charactes belonging to J. K. Rowling, neither do I make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Harry Potter stood up from the flower bed, shirtless and tanned, to drag the bag of mulch he used for the gardening back to the shed. To most of the neighborhood inhabitants of Privet Drive, he was the yard boy. No one thought it odd that the same boy had been doing the yard work for eleven years, starting when he was five, but he wasn’t the yard boy; he lived there. Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey, England.

Since he started school at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, at eleven, he did this only during the summer now, but this would be his last day, today. The last day of digging weeds out of the flowerbeds, laying mulch, cutting the grass, and laying fertilizer. The last day of cooking every meal of the day and not being guaranteed a part of the food. The last day for ducking fists, fending off sexual advances, and starvation. Tonight at midnight he would be an adult. He could leave the Dursley Household and find his own refuge.

Harry was turning 17 and by wizarding standards that was an adult. He still had one more year of schooling and a mad man to kill, but we all have our jobs to do.

He threw the heavy bag of excess mulch into the shed and wiped the sweat from his scarred brow. He walked back to the front yard to collect the garden tools and spotted a group of young girls looking at him. He blushed at the attention. Harry, despite the malnutrition, had reached an unexpected height of 5’11, and inch shy of 6 feet. The physical activity of training and Quidditch had given him a lean muscular frame and defined torso. The girls eyed him appreciatively and winked. He was about to smile back but he was hit suddenly by a open hand to back of the head. The girls quickly passed and Harry turned in time to duck another blow. The missed hit knocked his glasses from his face but his vision was not impaired, anymore, thanks to Hermione, he could see without them.

“Boy, I told you not to be seen. Making googoo eyes at girls while you should be working is not following orders.” A large rotund man with sausage fingers grabbed him by his long hair. His hair grew long during the summer because his uncle, Vernon, discovered short hair is harder to grab when so inclined. His Uncle was surprisingly strong for a man of his girth. His hand was wrapped up in the mid back length of almost black tresses as he dragged Harry into the house.

Harry didn’t try to defend himself, the beating were more severe if he did. He wasn’t able to overpower his uncle. He always felt weaker when he tried to strike back or defend against a blow, than defending himself against others outside this house. He always felt weaker when he returned to this place for the summer. He had tried to run away once, but Headmaster Dumbledore had sent some to fetch him quickly and return him to his ‘loving’ family. From then on anytime he was tempted to try an run again he would get to the edge of the front walk and could not pass further. He would put on foot out to take a step and him body would fail him. He tried and tried for a week and finally gave up the first time. He had tried at least once every summer for the last three but it was always the same. The only time he could pass that spot was when a member of the order came to collect him a week before classes started.

He spent that week with the only people he wanted to call family, the Weasleys. He spent it with his best mates, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. That was the only time he felt like a child and not a servant of a house elf. The only reason we hadn’t starved here at number 4 was because of a house elf. All his misadventures fighting the mad man Voldemort got him a spastic, yet helpful, house elf Dobby, that brought him food once a week to hide under the floor boards in his room, along with the other precious item he tried to keep safe from his destructive cousin, Dudley. Dudley was a younger carbon copy of the man that had Harry by the hair, dragging him up the stairs.

Vernon Dursley dragged his freak of a nephew up the stairs to a door that had a line of locks on the front. He twisted the knob, hidden between locks, and opened the door. He smirked at a thin woman with auburn hair and scared eyes cowering in a door frame down the hall.

“Harry’s not going to be able to make lunch, Pet, get to it.” He sneered and jerked his thumb towards the stairs. She scrambled quickly in that direction.

He shoved Harry into the dirty room. It was cluttered with broken and forgotten toys and broken furniture. There was a small roll away cot in the corner of the room next to the barred window. Harry grunted as he was thrown across it.

“So, Freak, you want to have some fun, eyeing those girls. I can show you how to have fun.”

Harry started to struggle at his uncle’s words, but to no avail. His arms were pinned behind him by one of his uncle’s arms and the man lay on atop him. Harry could hardly breathe with the large man on top of him.

“Harry,” his Uncle’s voice lowered to a pleading, craggy whisper, “don’t you want me to treat you nice? I can. You only have to let me put it in you.” He punctuated his words by moving his free hand down to squeeze Harry’s ass. Harry winced with force of the squeeze. Vernon moved his hand back up his nephew’s body roaming over his abs and chest, and tweeking a nipple as his faced moved into the crook of Harry’s neck. He bit hard in to skin and sucked. When he lifted his mouth, Harry’s neck was marred by an ugly red-purple mark.

“Mine.” Vernon breathed into Harry’s mouth. Harry tried to struggle as his nausea intensified and he started to taste the bile rise into his mouth.

Vernon tore his mouth away from the handsome boy at his first taste of vomit. He had gotten quite well at tearing his mouth away just in time to avoid it spewing into his mouth. He smiled down as it cascaded down his nephews chin unto his chest. He chuckled to himself. It was always guaranteed that Harry would be sick and not compliant. Regardless of what Vernon told the boy, he wanted Harry resistant. He got enough of dead fish sex from his withering wife. He wanted some movement and a mouth that could take his girth.

“If you don’t want my kindness, boy, than you’ll have to take my passion.” Vernon jerked Harry off the cot, sitting on the edge and leaving Harry to kneel in front of him. He let go of Harry’s arms and grabbed his hair again. Vernon lowered Harry’s head towards his crotch as he tried to control the struggling boy. He unzipped his trousers and pulled out a massive angry purple cock to shove into Harry’s mouth.

“Mind the teeth boy and maybe you’ll be fed tonight. I know my sniveling wife has been secretly feeding you; you would have died long ago from what I let you eat. I punish her every night you look healthy.” He wrenched Harry’s hair taking advantage of the gasp and shoving his member into Harry’s opened mouth. “You’ve got a good gob there Freak.” Vernon moaned as he lifted and lowered the boy unto his member. “Yes love, like that. Your mouth is like heaven.” He continued to moan as he got closer to climax.

Vernon suddenly felt dissatisfied with coming down the boy’s throat and wanted to see his spunk ooze out of a stretched and bloody hole. He decided to take the choice for Harry finally. He had been nice enough to give him a roof, bed, and clothing; Vernon felt he deserved to have the boy fully finally. He wrenched Harry’s head away from his cock and moved him face down on the rickety cot. Harry always thought about the disparity between the cot’s looks and its apparent strength to hold Vernon Dursley’s massive weight.

Vernon pulled and ripped away the baggy hand me down pants that Harry wore and smiled through a moan as he shoved a finger into a dry, tight ring of muscle. Harry began to struggle using all the strength he could muster, but he kept feeling a resistance to any blows or leverage he might have had to stop his Uncle.

He began to cry when his Uncle added another thrusting finger into him. He tried to concentrate on blocking the pain, like he did during his beatings, but this was a total violation of his being. His Uncle seemingly satisfied, from his consideration of the boy’s virginity, pulled his fingers out and spit into his hand.

“I’ll use a little lubrication since that gob of yours felt so good and I’m already slick.” He took himself in hand, while he continued to hold the struggling boy down by the hand in his hair and on his neck, and then started to nudge the head of his cock at Harry’s opening. Harry closed his tear filled eyes and wished that something would stop this.

“What the hell,” Vernon yelled as he scrambled off of Harry’s body. “You bloody freak, look what you’ve done to me.”

Harry pushed himself up off the cot and turned his head to look at his Uncle Vernon and smiled at the sight. There between Vernon’s legs was not the massive piece of male flesh that he was to proud of and intent to use to violate Harry, but a miniature version of his former self. Vernon Dursley could not even compete with a Vienna sausage.

Vernon looked up at the smiling boy and turned a surprisingly, never seen by Harry, shade of deep purple. His face looked to be a massive bruise of rage. Harry’s smile fell from his face as he realized nothing good could come of this event. The first blow was not a surprise to Harry as he slumped to the cot by its force. The successive blows were not unexpected either. What really scared Harry was that it hadn’t stopped, even after the usual tell tale signs that Vernon’s bulk was too much to continue his beating, his breathing hitching and power of hits abating, he just kept going. He hit Harry until his fist were covered in blood, then he started kicking the boy on the floor in front of him.

Harry to blow after blow curled into a ball and just waited. He had wished for unconsciousness but it would not come. Vernon finally stopped when he grabbed his chest and fell back unto a box of Dudley’s old broken toys. Harry watched as the rage left his Uncle’s face and was replaced by fear. Harry just lay there and stared at Vernon’s now pale face. He turned only when his cousin came into the room suddenly.

Dudley ran over to his father and yelled for his mother. When Petunia Dursley entered to doorway her face showed shock under laid with hope as she saw her husband clutching his chest and struggling to breathe.

“Stop standing there like a useless bitch, mother, call an ambulance.” Dudley shouted at his mother. Fear streaked onto her face at her son’s tone and she scurried down the hall to a phone to call emergency services.

“I swear you freak if my father dies I’ll kill you with my bear hands.” Dudley looked on at his bloodied and bruised cousin. It didn’t matter that Vernon Dursley had tried to rape him and had just severely beaten him. It didn’t matter at all.

Petunia returned to the room to inform her son she had called for help.

“There on the way, but what about Harry they will ask questions?” Petunia was secretly hoping that they did, she had wanted out for years, but felt trapped.

Dudley looked at his father and then made a decision. He walked over to Harry and dragged him out of the room and slung him onto the floor in his own room across the hall. He closed the door satisfied that his father had hurt his cousin enough that he couldn’t move on his own. Dudley returned to wait near his father, while a staring Petunia hope against hope that they were too late in arriving to help her abusive husband.

Harry lay on his cousin’s bedroom floor and listened to the medical emergency people come in and take Vernon away. He heard a snippet of conversation that said he would live. Harry’s heart sank at the statement. All he did was close his eyes and concentrated on pulling his magic out of his core and healing himself until Dudley returned from the hospital.

Harry started healing his broken ribs first to help him breathe easier, then closed any bleeding wounds, and finally used his magic to force the sore spots on his body. It didn’t take long for him to heal himself. Harry had discovered way before he got his letter from Hogwarts that he could heal his injuries, it was probably why he was still alive after 16 years of severe abuse. He just didn’t know it was magic until he met Dumbledore, the Headmaster of his school. The one who made him come back to this every summer.

Harry jumped when her heard the door open, but relaxed a bit when he saw his Aunt Petunia.

“Harry love, are you okay?”

“I’m fine Auntie, my magic took care of most of the damage.”

His aunt wrapped her arms around him and helped him to his feet. She helped him to the bathroom and sat him on the toilet to clean the blood from his face.

“Harry you have to leave before Dudley or Vernon returns. You have to.”

“I can’t there’s a barrier keeping me here. I can’t break through. I was going to try after my birthday tonight, but Dudley will probably be home by then.” Harry sound dejected why would this happen when he was so close to freedom of even just protection, since he would be able to use his wand finally.

Both inhabitants of the bathroom turned when they heard a tapping on the bathroom window. A brown owl Harry had never seen was there with a letter attached to its leg. Harry opened the window and apologized to the bird for not having a treat, but the bird just nuzzled Harry anyway and flew out the window. Harry opened the letter breaking the Gringott’s seal and caught the small key that fell out. He read the contents and smiled at small favors.

Dear Mr. Harry James Potter

I am writing to request your presence at Gringott’s by 6pm today. It is regarding you inheritance, both magical and financial. It is imperative that you get here before the close of business today. We are well aware of the house arrest wards on your home. We have provided an untraceable portkey for your convenience. The activation word is Potter-Black.

Your servant

Griphook Tombfiller.
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Harry Potter and the Inheritance of Truth