A/N: I am still not quite sure if I should post this story at all, but after editing the first chapter for the fourth time, I have decided that I will let you readers decide if it should continue or not.
I did enjoy letting my imagination run wild, after all.
So let me know if I should continue or not.
Enjoy.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story that you do not recognize belong to me. Everything else belongs to JK Rowling.
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He truly wasn't sure if he was alive, or stuck in some horrible nightmare that wouldn't end. And he wasn't sure, if he wanted to find out.
The pain felt real, but then again, doesn't everything feel real even in dreams?
There were days when he wasn't sure
of whom he was. Other days he just wanted to die. And then there were
those good days, when he didn't feel anything at all.
Didn't
think. Just stared out into nothing with half lidded eyes, his
muscles twitching involuntarily now and then, from the aftereffects
from countless crucius.
He had once been a...well...Not a happy boy. But then, he had never been a sad or angry boy either.
His parents were brutally murdered three months after his first birthday.
Just a day after he was left at the doorstep to his aunt's house.
His aunt, though a very devoted mother, could not stand the sight of her nephew. He was a constant reminder of what she could never have. Of a world to where she would never belong.
So, to punish him for...well...Being, she locked him into a cupboard. A tiny little cupboard, under the stairs. For the first few days, he had cried. A heart wrenching cry for his mother. His father. He didn't understand. Why didn't anybody come to change his wet nappies? To feed him? To hug him? Where was the light?
On the seventh night, he didn't cry. He slept silently instead, now knowing that no matter how much he screamed to be lift up. To be held. Nobody would come for him. He was alone.
That following
morning, his cupboard was flooded with light, and he was
not-so-gently grabbed by his aunt, that proceeded to bathe him,
change his nappies, and feed him with food from a baby-food jar that
just recently went out of date.
The following years, he would grow
used to his aunt and her family.
His
aunt, who could have been pretty if she had eaten more, was a
constantly irritated woman with no tolerance for imagination what so
ever.
Her hair was blonde, always up in a tight bun on her head,
and she had a sour look on her face, like if she was sucking on a
lemon.
Her bluish-green eyes were always somewhat dull, and
her fingers were long and bony.
The boy remembered those fingers
well, since she always pinched his ears, legs or arms when he was a
bother. And he was always a bother.
Her favorite hobby it seemed was to give the boy chores, and as he was working, she would stand next to him and tell him that he was unwanted, and what a little freak he was.
Her husband did look nothing like his wife.
He was a big, overweight man, with a head of brown hair, and a big moustache under his nose that crumbs constantly got stuck in when the man ate biscuits or bread. He worked at a drilling company, called 'Grunnings', and every day at dinner he was always boasting about the people he had fired. Oh, he loved firing people.
The man, who
had brown, beady eyes, liked to give the boy a shove or so when he
got in his way.
If he still was a bother, the man would slap him
around a bit, and talk about how worthless the boys' parents had
been.
The boy also had a cousin.
And this cousin was a horrible little boy, who would go out of his way to make every child's life unhappy.
He was blonde, with watery blue eyes, and a very pink, round face. He usually could be seen, waddling around, and eating candy, as he tried to scare the other little kids on the street.
For he, obese and constantly eating, was bigger than them.
"That's my boy, Dudley. You're going to be a fine young man one day." His father used to say, and wipe a tear from his eye, as he saw his son demand another piece of cake. "A fine man indeed. You were born a businessman, just like me."
The boy, who had been thrown into the cupboard the first time he arrived to Privet Drive number 4, learned to not be noticed.
He learned that he, although considered strange, was nothing special at all.
So
when he was taught to cook for his family, move the lawn, paint the
fence, weed the garden and to clean the house, he tried to do his
best. Because he wanted to be loved, like his cousin. He wanted to do
well.
To be a good boy.
He learned to read by the age of four, to cook fancy dinners by the age of five, and how to pay for groceries by the age of six, but he was always looked upon as if he had done everything wrong. That he was no good.
And he was always a very lonely boy. At school, he had no friends, because his cousin told everybody that he was weird. That he was a freak.
And
as long as the boy could remember, strange things had happened around
him.
Things appearing out of thin air, snakes talking to him, and
teachers' hair turning blue.
Yes, he was a very strange boy. But strange doesn't always mean bad.
When he turned eleven,
the boy was introduced to the world of magic.
He had been invited
to a boarding school, in Scotland, where other children, just
like him,
learned to control their magic.
He
was a wizard.
At first, he had thought it impossible.
He, a
wizard?
And when he found out, that he was also famous in the wizarding world, he had shaken his head.
"But that's impossible." He had told the giant man that had come to collect him. "I'm Harry. Just Harry."
And
even though little Harry loved this magical world, filled with
strange creatures, wands and his first real friends, he was in
constant danger.
Bad people were after him. Death eaters and their
dark lord. Voldemort.
He had managed to survive every encounter with the bad wizards and witches, but a year ago, he had not been able to escape.
He had been tied up in a cellar,
somewhere, and tortured until he no longer was sure of what was real
and what was not.
Until he could not remember his own name. Until
Harry...Just Harry, didn't know who this Harry
was
anymore. He didn't even remember that he was fourteen, and the only
hope that the wizarding world had.
But something was wrong.
Green eyes, once bright and almost glowing, now dull from hunger and pain, blinked.
The right eye was brighter than the other, a paler green. He had been hit with some spell, and even though it was supposed to gorge his eyes out, the spell had been so weak; it had only blinded this eye.
He turned his eyes up. Up. And there.
There
was light.
He squinted. It hurt. He wasn't used to it. But. There was never
light. Not
here.
And
light must mean...Must mean no pain.
And so, thinking that it was death that finally had come to claim him, he shakily raised himself up on his hands and knees. He was feeling sick just by moving. As soon as his captures has realized that he was too weak to even stand and barely move, they had left him on the floor. No shackles anymore. No binding spells. A mistake on their side. They had forgotten how strong magic this boy held within him.
So
the boy, slowly making his way to his feet, stared at the light, and
started to make his way towards it.
His painfully thin arms
reached out for it, and his bony hands hit something...a...a...what
was it called again?
Some sort of opening.
He
pushed.
A
cool breeze hit his face, and he took a ragged breath.
There, up
there in the dark blue, was a giant white orb, smiling down at
him.
There were odd shapes all around him. Trees?
His lips
twisted up into a small smile.
"Light."
He
was stumbling over branches. He had to get away.
Had to. He didn't
know why, but something in him kept screaming at him to run. Away
from where he came from.
His
feet were bleeding, but he couldn't feel it. Couldn't feel the stones
digging into his feet, or the branches clawing at his bare arms.
He
only knew that he had to get away.
It
was the only way he was to survive.
Suddenly,
he saw more light on his left, just as he realized that his feet now
were on something smooth. Something with no dirt and no trees.
He
turned to the light.
Two yellowish orbs coming towards him.
He
took a small step back, as he heard a woman scream.
"Mama?"
Then it all turned black.