Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, I'm not trying to steal off J.K. Rowling, and I promise you I'm not infringing upon anything. The only thing that is mine is my plot, and possibly Harry's madness, I'm not too sure yet.
Author's Note: Take into mind that I have school, work, friends, and family to contend with, so sometimes chapters might not be up as fast as you'd like them to be. Reviewing keeps me motivated and feeling good about myself (if you're nice), so it'd be kind of you (if you like it) to say something. Flamers strictly piss me off because they usually have nothing better to do and only wish to discourage other people to make themselves feel better, so if you're one, clear off now because I'm not going to respond and your 'flame' will be deleted.
Author's Warning: I would like to note that this is a SLASH story, if you don't know what that is, then please take the time to find the definition. I will also being dealing with drug abuse, physical abuse, and other mature themes that are really not suitable to people under seventeen. This may vary from country to country. I heard this one time and I stick by it: Innocence can only be lost, and once gone, can never be returned. This basically states that some things that you read and see will stay with you forever, but it depends on how you process this information that can change you. This story may be tame to some, but it can also be pretty detrimental to others. Please keep that in mind.
Author's Note Two: Since I know people like to know what pairings they're getting into (like I do) I will divulge this information, but only the bare facts. It will be someone from Hogwarts. There will be some OC characters that he will be involved with. That's all, wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. (Hehe, maniacal laughter)…I need to get out more…
I promise that all the other Author's Notes won't be nearly as long, but I like to get it all off my chest at once. I may ask for your opinions on some things because I haven't planned out the little bits in the middle. I know where I want to take this story; it's just the little details that are bothering me. Anyway, on with the story! Enjoy.
Inhale the Embers
.Chapter One.
Privet Drive wasn't well-known for disturbances and odd happenings. If you asked anyone what it was like on the uncontaminated street with six houses, you would receive a shrug and a vague description of a peaceful neighborhood. Even though people knew this street to be spotless and normal, it still seemed unable to sell number three and number five of the street. A dumpy lady with frizzy red hair was the realtor for these two houses and could regularly be seen flaunting the houses' credibility, only to be shot down.
Petunia being the ever gracious gossip, believed it to be Harry's, her freakish nephew, entire fault, seeing as the houses were on either side of them. She frequently went out with the realtor to meet the potential buyers to get to know them before the rest of street, being the owner of juicy gossip had its many advantages. Every time the places were rejected, Petunia simply sniffed in a superior way and simply believed that they weren't the right sort to be in the neighborhood anyway.
This entire charade lasted maybe four years, until finally, in the summer; number three had been sold. Petunia was severely miffed at the fact she didn't meet the people moving in, seeing as she was away at a gardening convention, and had a determined glint in her eyes that foretold some very unsuspecting people were about to be subjected to heavy questioning by Petunia Dursley.
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Staring up at the ceiling in a small, desolate room was one sixteen-year old boy with wide-framed glasses, tape dissecting the middle, messy raven hair and a luminous pair of green eyes. While seeing nothing special about this small teenager, his eyes held many noxious tales, filled with fatal spells, choking deaths, and acerbic words.
He currently lies upon a tattered blanket on a squeaky bed frame on his back, a poisonous curl of smoke curling from his partly opened mouth. In his left hand a partly burned through joint is burning ash marks into a slightly brown spot on the grey carpet. Taking another toke, an array of yellowed bruises forms on one side of his face and neck, that then trails off in a slithery manner down his left arm. Dusty eyelashes flutter closed upon inhaling the numbing fume, and the small joint is finished. He curls his fist around the remains, clearly enjoying the pain, as a twisted smirk graces the features, and finally drops it to the ashy ground.
Harry Potter feels like whispering, he feels like changing into a majestic raven and daring the hell that lies below him. He senses his immortality, that fleeting life span that will end painfully and truly horrific in the face of others. Although this may have scared him at some other time, at this moment, it gives him strange satisfaction that he will go out with a booming explosion. Many will hear for miles upon miles.
He feels detached and an out-of-body experience touches him, making his squirm and clutch tightly at the bed cover beneath him. He feels the urge to devour something, and almost gets up before he realizes he can't escape from the room, seeing as he's secured with locks and bolts. There is no where to go and suddenly the room seems tiny and box-ish, like no air is able to get in through the slatted window. Sunlight tries to stream through from the morning but is unable and makes small beams to the ground. The room is stifling hot and it only encourages Harry's agitation. He wants out of the room more than anything, feeling the oppressing walls moving inward. The feeling begins to pass and Harry calms and simply enjoys the haze of forgetting the deaths that had plagued him since he arrived in Privet drive only two weeks ago.
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Two weeks ago--
When Harry arrived at the house, he knew he was in shit; there was no other word for it. It was almost as if Uncle Vernon knew that Sirius had died and a known murderer was not able to watch Harry, because as soon as that front door closed a very hard wall met the side of his face. It was made worse by the fact a side-table was in the way of that impact and he had not only his head but slammed his arm pretty well too. Attempts at protesting the treatment earned a quivering dance of double chins, a steely-eyed glare, and his trunk being shut in the cupboard. Vernon had then clumsily gripped Harry's hair and proceeded to yank him up the stairs to the dank room at the end of the hall. As soon as that door slammed in his face, Harry knew that was possibly going to be worst summer of his life. Not because of the Dursleys, no, he was used to them by now. It was the fact that he would have all this time to stew over what happened at the Ministry. He would have no reprieve from night-terrors that haunted his foggy mind.
As the few nights started, he couldn't hold in the screams and yells, which resulted in having the sound choked from him by Dudley. It hurt too much to scream now. The nightly terrors held Sirius' surprised face as he stumbled into the Veil, immortalizing it. No matter how hard he tried, Harry couldn't get the pain of Voldemort's possession out of his head either; even his scar twinged at the thought.
The night by night mess of nightmares couldn't be helped, and was making the uncomfortable stay at the Dursley's even worse. It was no wonder that Harry started to get the shakes at occasion, couldn't stomach most food (which Aunt Petunia greatly enjoyed), and caused him to have panic attacks at odd moments. The wall regularly tried to suffocate him, the dryer liked to snap at him, and the thing under his bed currently was trying to come up ways to shish kabob him. While this was humorous to Harry afterwards, it was slightly disconcerting that he was unable to do laundry without hyperventilating; he couldn't step within two feet of the bed (resulting in him jumping onto it most nights). However, when wall try to close on him, he can't even think for being terrified. It was a work in progress, as he liked to think, but then his thinking wasn't exactly stellar considering he was maybe raking in two to three hours of sleep each night.
It was one of these nights during the first weekend that Harry woke up, as per usual, sat to the edge of the bed (with his feet up), and held his sore head to ice cold hands. Hedwig hooted to his right and he gazed at the unsettled owl, which rustled her feathers and snuggled down to sleep. Harry gave a smile, albeit a tight one, and was about to settle down for non-existent sleep when he heard a noise from outside.
Suddenly very alert, Harry stuck his hand under his pillow, reaching for the familiar stroke of wood that made up his wand. Jumping a few feet in front of his bed (did he just see a tentacle?) Harry edgily made his way to the window and peered down at the street. Not noticing anything at first, he assumed he had been mistaken and was about to turn back to his bed, when he noticed a curl of wispy smoke coming from the next door neighbor's driveway, number three. Harry raised his eyebrows when he noticed the moving lorry in the driveway, snorted, and reminded himself to give Petunia a scathing glare when he next saw her; which, when he thought about it, could be days considering he didn't know if they remembered they had a nephew. Jumping back, Harry promptly snuggled down into his threadbare blanket and tried to think of flying high on his Firebolt, above the castle with Hedwig soaring along side.
Harry did dream that night, the first dream in a while in fact. He dreamt of flying on his old Nimbus 2000 with Hedwig and Buckbeak by his side, reaching him neck to neck. A small smile graced his lips.
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The next morning, Sunday, Harry stretched a bit, looked at the clock, and gave a startled squeak when he saw Aunt Pentunia framed in the doorway. Her response was a huffy nose snub and her arms crossing over her noticeably unsubstantial chest.
"You're to be quiet and unnoticed this afternoon as we are having guests over. The new neighbors in fact," Aunt Petunia glared a little harder, "so I don't want you to mess anything up."
Harry had rolled his eyes when she mentioned the neighbors, and simply nodded his assent before jumping out of the bed. He chuckled a little at the cake incident in his 12th birthday when the Mason's had visited. Petunia must have been thinking along the same lines and her lips tightened and her nostrils flared a bit more.
"You will eat something now, so we don't have to give you anything later on. Mind that you don't eat anything that is in the fridge, seeing as it's for the luncheon," With that done, Petunia walked off, stopped for a few seconds, and then kept walking down the hallway. Harry reputed she was straightening already too straight portraits of his overweight cousin.
Taking old form-fitting jeans from the closet, Harry stood up and walked to the bathroom down the hallway. After taking off his dilapidated pajamas, Harry straightened and looked himself fully in the mirror. A slightly scrawny figure looked back at him through the mirror, a pale yellow tiling adorning the walls and a matching yellow shower curtain completing the ensemble. Harry looked decidedly out of place within the pristine bathroom and it disgusted him to no end. While Harry had grown somewhat over the passing years, Harry still stood at a meager 5' 6" with skinny arms and legs. His muscled chest brought the points up, but the hollow look in his eyes brought his look back down to street urchin. The only thing that could possibly make the picture even worse was the bruises adorning his left cheek, his torso, his left arm and his neck, gifts from both Vernon and Dudley.
A sardonic grimace came to his face when he remembered Friday, oddly vividly. Oddly because he remembered his head being repeatedly smacked against something metal and possibly spiky; this accounted for the now dried blood specks that flickered through his greasy, black hair. Harry gave a shudder at the unwanted thoughts of greasy black hair, his greasy Potions professor; obviously remembering earthy funguses, scathing remarks, and fuming cauldrons.
A thorough scrub down was all he did, ignoring his obvious need to relieve stress that stood proudly and gave a few jerks before it was subdued by cold water. Harry absolutely hated being a teenager with sexual urges. Not only did it serve to be a horrible distraction when he should be concentrating (Transfiguration…), but it seemed to want to pop up (excuse the pun) at the most inopportune moments. Harry was no stranger to sexuality, but the fact that the farthest he had gone was his hand, made him feel a bit inexperienced and blushingly shy at stupid moments. It's not like thinking of Cho gave him stimulated thoughts, there was nothing there…something that disturbed Harry considering she was still very beautiful. Walking in the whal—his cousin's room while having sex with an equally large female was something that would stay with Harry, permanently burned into his retinas in a very detrimental way. Harry didn't intend to walk into any room, even the living room, without knocking first now. Plus it placated his fucker of an uncle.
Stepping out of the shower, Harry made sure no water was left behind on the floor, and changed into his jeans before realizing that he had completely forgotten to grab a shirt.
"Fuck." It was said simply and without emotion, but Harry knew his voice belied a subtle edge, something that had developed in the short week he had stayed here.
Harry tiptoed quietly to his shabby room around the corner when he heard footsteps walking closer, obviously heading for the bathroom. It was when he heard an obviously different male voice that he realized the visitors were already here, dining, and one of them was coming up the stairs only to meet up with a half-dressed, half-wet Harry Potter. Dashing as quickly as possible, Harry screeched back into the bathroom, before comprehending that the person was most probably heading to the "empty" bathroom. Swearing colourfully and loudly, he realized he would have to meet this mystery person, whether he wanted to or not.
Stepping confidently back onto beige carpet Harry lifted his head to match up with warm brown eyes. The owner of the brown eyes must of have been around seventeen, with an intimidating build, but oddly soft features. A caramel coloured pile of hair swept across his eyes, obviously done with the intention to appear slightly windswept, but a fine layer of stubble belied a rebel. He was adorned in dark blue jeans and a button down t-shirt that gave the look of being ironed and stuffed in a closet, only to be brought out at "special" occasions. The one thing that set him apart from all the other rebels Harry had the prudence to watch was the smile that graced his features upon looking at Harry.
"Hey there," a North American accent escaped the mystifying teenager.
"Hey," Harry forced his lips to spill out.
"I don't recall Mr. Dursley mentioning he had another son…," the teen said with a knowing tinge in his voice that led to debatable questions. When he said this, his eyes traveled down the various bruises that decorated Harry's slightly damp skin.
Harry's eyes narrowed and he slid out, "I'm his reluctant nephew," and that's what he left the stranger with. Harry didn't give a flying fuck if the man knew Vernon abused him, it wasn't any of this fucker's business anyway. Harry mentally grimaced at what Mrs. Weasley would think about all his swearing. "I don't recall your name though?"
"Well you wouldn't, you've only just met me. The name is Dallan last name Kennedy, hailing from the mountainous range of Canada. Most just call me Dall—or scream it, depending on who you're talking to." There was definite drawl in his now husky voice. "I do not believe I know your name, what with the appalling manners your Uncle displays."
"Harry," he said, his face hastily turning back to its original colour instead of cherry red from the teen's earlier words. He had never encountered anyone that openly exuded sexuality, especially at a prude school like Hogwarts. You couldn't snog a girl without the entire school knowing, let alone actually having sex with one. Harry cleared his throat and tried again. "Harry Potter."
Instead of the usual widening of eyes, stuttering of words, and fearful flick to his forehead, he received detached interest. "Traditional, I must admit, but it oddly suits you."
"Thanks for your opinion; now could you please move, you are blocking the hallway," Harry was now annoyed and his voice must have shown it because Dall's eyes widened slightly and he shifted slight to the right, allowing Harry to squeeze by, but not without brushing his arm. Harry couldn't help but notice the pierced eyebrow, or that he smelled of some unknown plant that he couldn't place. It was vaguely familiar and it brought up the memory of weighing scales and cauldrons.
Now safely back in the boxed room Harry's thoughts spun around the new entity that had returned down the stairs. Maybe he was imagining the lingering footsteps near his own door, but he wouldn't know considering he was a bit distracted by the inching walls. Giving another glare to the sneaking walls, Harry couldn't shake the familiar smell.
It was later that Sunday night that Harry's eyes widened in the shadows that he realized he knew it from. That particular plant was a regularly used Potion's plant…fixed in most calming Potions: Cannabis. The teenager he just encountered must be a wizard, there was no other explanation…was there?
Harry's dreams were convoluted, one minute showing a shadowy figure that blinked in out of swirling vestiges left from remnants of other dreams. Disjointed faces of Voldemort flickered through, and heated expressions of his friends made him cringe. But through the entire ordeal, that lingering shadow never left, always loitering in his after thoughts.
A/N: Okay, I know, I've got author notes up the ying-yang, but I'm really nervous about sending this off, so I just thought I would tell people to be gentle. I mixed this chapter up many months ago and I only brought up the courage to post it now. Well, here it goes.