Hey guys, welcome to my story! Sadly, I do not own the Harry Potter series. Also, you might be a bit confused at the first chapter, but I promise that I will clear it up in the following chapters as we get to see what actually happened to Harry. This chapter is also quite short, but it's supposed to be since I'm trying not to give out too much information. I promise longer chapters starting from chapter 2 where I start writing the flashback. I'm a new member on this site so if you could give me any constructive criticism, please review!
Nighttime at Shell Cottage was always extremely beautiful. Seagulls cawing their lullabies, the waves softly colliding against the shore, the summer sky abundant with shining lights. Anyone looking out on this scene would feel peace, contentment. Beauty. One person isn't feeling this way. In fact, what he's feeling is quite the opposite. Anything other than beauty.
A skinny, dark-haired boy is lying on a vast bed with numerous blankets covering his bruised body. His hands curl around his stomach protectively. His legs are tucked underneath his upper body. Tears are gathering up in his emerald eyes, begging for release. He doesn't allow them to be shed. He has suffered enough humiliation, thank you very much. He doesn't need to weaken himself any further.
How could he have been so stupid? Harry always prided himself on his ability to distinguish evil from good. He figured his dark experiences and past mistakes taught him the danger of naivety. Of course, Harry thought , he still was able to fuck everything up. He opened up his heart, his mind, his emotions to the one person he should have distrusted the most. But no, he made himself vulnerable. He was tricked into seeking comfort from the man, caring for him, and dare he admit it, loving him. And of course, fate bit him back right in the arse.
Oh, but now he despised him, hated him more than anyone, perhaps even more than Voldemort. If Harry ever saw him again, he would have no trouble casting Crucio on that merciless traitor. He would tear his limbs apart, taunt him, humiliate him just like Harry himself was humiliated...it would never be enough. Because that man didn't fall into the same trap Harry did. Betrayal is the worst punishment.
A cold front envelops the room as a breeze squeezes through the open shaft. Harry pulls the blankets tighter around his body. He tries to fall asleep in order to put off his morbid thoughts. Only if it's just for a little while. His attempt meets little success. A day of blissful unconsciousness messes up a sleeping schedule. The aching in his body doesn't really help either. Even though his stomach begs for his attention, Harry refuses to look at it. To do so would mean breaking the little strength he has left. He isn't sure if he would ever be able to look at it again.
Harry yearns for it to never have happened, for all of it to be a dream. He just wants to wake up from this nightmare in the arms of the man he had grown to trust. Harry would then tell him about his crazy dream and the man would assure him of its absurdity. They would tease each other with Harry being innocently cheeky and the man being overly sarcastic. Perhaps that man would say "Je t'aime" again and now Harry would be able to respond.
A lone tear lingers on Harry's dark lashes and travels down his cheek after he blinks. He snaps back to reality and angrily brushes it away.
"Quit being a baby and start acting like a man. What happened is your goddamn fault. You reap what you sow," Harry silently tells himself.
He decides to stop thinking about the man and start thinking about the next Horcrux. Crying pathetically on a bed wouldn't change anything. Action will. And maybe, if Harry got lucky, he would see that man again and have him at his mercy. But for now, Harry refuses to give him a second thought. After all, it's not like that man deserves it. And with a newfound determination, Harry drifts off to sleep, memories haunting his subconscious despite his willing to forget.