A.N: This is my first fanfic ever, so I hope you like it. Please feel free to point out any grammatical mistakes I've made, and if you enjoyed it - review!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, I've just borrowed him for this story :)
Harry Potter sat straight up in bed, drops of perspiration shining on his forehead. Even though he didn't notice it, he was shaking violently at the sight he had just had to relive. He had just had a nightmare, about the night Voldemort had returned to power. It seemed that this summer his dreams had become much more vivid, and every time he saw the light leave Cedric's eyes as the green spell hit him, Harry still felt the gut-wrenching pain like it was the first time. He slowly shook his head to bring himself out of his own thoughts. He knew that lingering on the dream would do nothing to help him.
He looked around his room slowly, "What I wouldn't give to be back at Hogwarts" he thought wistfully to himself. He felt for his glasses on the crooked bedside table and slid them on to his nose. Once his eyes had focused and he had adjusted to the dark room, he looked at the clock…it was only 2:30 am.
"Great" He thought. "Now I get to miss out on six hours sleep."
He pulled off one of the think sheets covering him, and removed his ragged jumper that had once belonged to his cousin.
It had been one of the coldest summers this year, but yet Harry felt like he was sweating from the sweltering heat.
Since the third task he hadn't felt right, he would get shooting headaches at odd times, which only lasted a minute or so, but were agony all the same. He had come to the decision that they were due to Voldemort's return, and the reconnection of his scar and the Dark Lord's thoughts. In the few weeks remaining at Hogwarts before the summer holidays the pains had started. He did his best to hide this from Ron and Hermione, his two best friends, but they had occasionally looked at him with concern, or asked him what was wrong. Each time he replied with the same answer; "I'm fine." This just caused his friends to roll their eyes, and continue casting him looks when they thought he wasn't looking.
But inside Harry knew he wasn't fine, emotionally or physically. He was barely sleeping any more, and he kept on seeing Cedric's face every time he closed his eyes. The memory of Cedric falling to the floor, pale and limp was a sight that was ingrained into Harry's mind. It seemed like it was burnt into his eyelids. At the beginning of summer he had spent many nights crying over the events of that night, thinking about how much life Cedric had left, and how it had all been thrown away cruelly for the Boy-Who-Lived.
"No!'' he told himself quietly "I'm not going to think about it…''
But he knew that was a lie. Each night he saw the same thing over and over again. And each night, Harry had woken up, some times sweating and shaking, some times having cried out in his sleep, his hairs standing on end. On these nights it would take him hours to fully calm down, and he dared to go back to sleep incase he was to wake up in the same state.
Luckily Harry had not had any of his screaming ones at Hogwarts; they had only started when he had come back to the Dursleys. He wasn't sure why that was, perhaps the knowledge that he was on his own, or maybe just the fact that he had been too in shock, and it had only just set it that he really had been responsible for the death of Cedric.
Since arriving home from Hogwarts, nearly every night this summer he had woken up screaming, something that did not please his uncle. He was now receiving half the food he usually would, some thing that had made his stomach growl in the middle of the night. Harry was used to eating less then the usual teenager, but now even he was feeling deprived. Every day Harry would receive a meager portion of the family left overs, and on the better days, a piece of burnt toast. The lack of food had been taking its toll on the teenage boy, and whilst his stomach had shrunk to accommodate this lack of food, he still had hunger pains late at night.
Harry got up and walked over to his open window. The cold breeze felt nice on Harry's flushed skin. He looked into the sky, willing Hedwig to return from delivering the weekly letter to Sirius. Harry sighed, missing Hedwig and hoping it would not be long before she would return, affectionately nipping his ear. She was the only connection to the wizarding world that he had at 4 Privet Drive, and he sometimes felt like he needed her, to remind him that he was not alone. At the moment that was something he really needed reminding of.
He closed the window, leaving only one open so that there was enough space for Hedwig to fly through. He pushed his face up against the cool glass, watching the stars in the sky above. The glass was refreshingly cool, and he relished the feel of it against his skin. It was only when he peeled his face off of the window that he realised just how hot he was.
He gingerly put his forehand to his head. Harry could instantly tell that he was hotter then normal, and he knew this was not good. As a child he had always had to look after himself, and he had learnt to judge when he was feverish and when he was just warm. He knew that his temperature was higher then normal, and this was usually the first sign that he was about to get sick. He shock his head slowly, this was bad, very bad. He couldn't afford to get sick, not when he had jobs to do!
He removed most of his sheets off of his bed and laid on the bare mattress. Whilst Harry was terrified of the recurring dreams that he knew there was a large chance of returning to, he also knew he would need some strength for the chores he would have to complete later that day. He sighed in defeat and settled down into the small single bed. He slowly took off his glasses and settled into a fitful sleep.
Harry was awoken a few hours later by the shouts of his uncle from downstairs.
"BOY!" Vernon shouted up the stairs. It was 8:30 and the boy wasn't in the kitchen making breakfast yet. His door was always unlocked at 8 am sharp, so he could prepare any food, and it would be ready when they came down. Vernon stalked to the bottom of the stairs, waiting to hear a response from Harry's room. He waited for a moment, then hearing no movement, went upstairs. He made as much noise as possible, wanting to disturb the boy from what he imagines to be a peaceful lie in for the freak. "If the boy thinks he's going to get out of his chores by being lazy, he's got another thing coming" he growled under his breath. Arriving at the padlocked door, he brought his hand back and thumped. The lock was undone and was only hanging on the the door on one side, so Vernon knew that Harry couldn't use being locked in as an excuse. "UP! NOW!" he shouted through the crack in the door.
Vernon Dursley was a man with a very short temper, and the boy was quickly wearing on it. If he didn't appear at the door profusely apologizing and making breakfast very soon, Harry was going to see the angry side of his uncle. Just as Vernon was getting ready to kick the door he heard a rustling come from the room. The rustle was followed by a low moan, and then a very pale, very sick looking Harry appeared at the door, swaying gently as he gripped onto the door frame. "STOP PLAYING SICK AND GET DOWNSTAIRS AND COOK MY BREAKFAST!" Vernon screamed. The Boy wasn't lying in bed all day! Vernon needed his breakfast before work, and the house was looking a mess. Even if he was "sick" he couldn't get out of these 'vital' jobs, but Vernon highly doubted that they could get sick. "COME ON BOY! MOVE!" He bellowed, causing Harry to jump and his shivering to increase.
He slowly made his way down the stairs, stumbling every once in a while and holding onto the handrail with all his might. He was not going to let this defeat him, even if he didn't know what this was.
He could tell that his uncle was loosing his temper, and Harry knew that it would end badly for him if he didn't hurry up, so ignoring the pain that flashed through his every move, he hurried down the stairs. When he reached the bottom he bent over panting, trying to get the air back into his lungs. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and his head swam dangerously. It was all he could do to stay upright. Suddenly he heard a hissing voice right next to his ear. "Boy, I have been surprisingly lenient with you this morning. If you don't get in that kitchen now and cook my family breakfast, there will be hell to pay. Are we clear?". Harry shuddered and managed a slight nod. He trudged into the clinically clean kitchen a picked up a pan from one of the cupboards and set it on the stove, wiping his furiously sweating forehead. Why was he so hot? He knew it wasn't a sudden turn around in the weather, as he could hear the news from the living room saying that heavy rain was forecast for that afternoon. He sighed, this was a sign of the sickness that was all around the neighbourhood, and even though Harry never really socialized with anyone, he figured that he must have just picked it up.
Harry didn't realise how wrong he was.