Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter!! None of these characters are mine except for the new ones I have created. Please do no sue!
Author's Note: Hey this is my first Harry Potter Fan fiction . . . So be nice please and tell me what you think I hope you like my recreation of the 6th book. Well, also, it's 2:15 in the morning and I'm dead tired as I write this too. Lmfao.
Slow Rotting Rat:
Harry stared blankly at the wall feeling distressed and lost. His mind was going numb. None of his friends seemed to be able to help him about the emptiness inside him. They were trying everything to help him, but his mind didn't seem to want to understand them. Sirius was all that he thought about. The one person that was family to him was gone and it was tearing him apart.
Sleep never came easily to him anymore. Every time he slept he had nightmares of when his Godfather died. He tossed and turned, trying everything to get comfy and nothing worked. It was as if Harry was going to just rot away.
The Dursleys started to notice that something was terribly wrong with him. Though they would never admit that they might be the slightest bit interested in him or feeling worried about him. But they knew. Knew that he was really downhearted. Even Dudley seemed less into poking fun at him and seemed to know that if he did, he would be lying flat on his back within minutes.
Harry sighed heavily as he heard his name being screamed up the stairs. He stood up and ran a hand through his messy hair. Staring into the mirror he could see that he was looking more and more like his father everyday and the resemblance was starting to scare him. It seemed that everyday he had to look at his dead father in a mirror. Which didn't make Harry feel any better about himself.
Running down the stairs he ran into Dudley. Dudley seemed ready to open his mouth, but Harry glared darkly at him and growled under his breath. Without a word, Dudley took his bulky, fat self and moved to the seat in front of the television. Aunt Petunia soon strutted out into the hallway to find Harry. She was wearing a ridiculous suit that made her look like a thin mint.
"Get in there right now! Lazy bum. You should be up already. Now get to making our breakfast." Aunt Petunia snarled and stalked off into the kitchen where surely Uncle Vernon was reading the paper.
Harry rubbed his eyes vigorously as he tried not to run into any walls as he made his way into the kitchen. His body was aching all over from staying up so late every night. This was proving difficult for him to do his chores too that the Dursleys seemed to have piled on since Moody had that talk with them at the end of the year. Harry was so tempted to complain to Moody that they were giving him hell, but he didn't want to be a burden when he knew they were so busy. For they called every night to check on him practically and he always said he was fine.
Shuffling into the kitchen, Harry moved to the dishes and began to wash them, forgetting about the breakfast altogether. Scrub, scrub, scrub. He tuned out Aunt Petunia chatting with Uncle Vernon about the weather. Scrub, scrub, scrub. He didn't even mind that Dudley was snorting like a pig at the funny program on the television either. Scrub, scrub, scrub. All he thought of was what he had been thinking all summer. The people who were now just believing in his story. Though it made him happy it pissed him off. They all should have believed in him sooner and now he was getting sympathetic looks when he didn't want them anymore. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die slowly. Just to disappear.
Another thought that Harry hated himself for was that he almost wished Voldemort had picked Neville. This was killing Harry. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't lie to himself for he hated his life. Hated it and he would rather be any other person. He'd gladly give up his life for Ron's, Hermione's . . . or even his Godfather's right now. Harry would rather be dead like his Godfather than in his own shoes. If only he . . .
"BOY!" Harry jumped at the scream and the metal pan he was scouring flew into the air. In a downpour of water, the pot fell flat on his messy haired head with an extremely painful bang. Water splashed all over the white tiled floor and Aunt Petunia screamed bloody murder. Uncle Vernon stood up, knocking over the wooden chair, "LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE, RUDDY USELESS IDIOT!" Uncle Vernon's round face grew viscously bright red and he began to rage, "You have done nothing right lately!! Lazing about like you own the place! No wonder you have no friends! You're a lowlife vermin, that's what you are! Now if you don't shape up . . . well . . . we'll just have to make you work until you bleed!"
Harry lifted the pot covering his eyes and stared through his wet eyelashes at Uncle Vernon's tomato face. Rage was building up inside Harry, but he managed to keep it down. Uncle Vernon was nothing to him and Harry didn't care anymore. Nothing mattered anymore to him. At least not the worthless Dursleys and he figured that being bloody for a while would not hurt him. He would take his chances with Uncle Vernon until Vernon ballooned.
"Now, clean up this water!" Aunt Petunia yelled, "And where's the ruddy breakfast?"
Dudley suddenly entered the kitchen and grinned at Harry, "Has the rat mutated into a water rat?"
Harry growled under his breath and placed the pot on the counter, his feet squishing beneath him. His body was soaked and he hated it. The water seeped through his clothes and made him shiver. Soap covered his shoulders and he knew he looked pathetic. He probably deserved being called a water rat. At this point in his life, Harry cared less what people called him. It was probably true in some sense.
Aunt Petunia's eyes turned downward, "Why are you so quiet?! You usually put up more of an argument! I don't like this. You're probably cooked up some evil plan! Clean up this water and go to you room you dirty scrub."
"We don't want to see you for the remainder of the day." Uncle Vernon hissed at Harry.
Harry sighed, "Yeah, whatever." He grabbed a towel and bent down on his knees to dry up the water. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon turned to make their own breakfast, but Dudley stood above Harry. Dudley stared down at Harry with mingled laughter shining in his eyes and a fat beef jerky hanging from his fleshly, plump, pink lips. With a smile, Dudley hacked up a large pile of saliva in his mouth and spit on the floor next to Harry's foot. "Don't forget to clean that up either." Harry glared up at Dudley and bared his teeth, telling himself to relax for it was just spit.
An hour later Harry marched up the stairs, wet, hungry, and in pain. His head was near bursting and his eyes were sore. The scar on his forehead burned, but Harry hardly worried about it anymore. He didn't care. Not that he cared for much of anything lately. Nothing mattered.
In his room he ripped off his wet clothes quickly and changed into the large baggy clothes that once belonged to Dudley long ago. He shook his head like a dog to shake off the water and he ran a hand through his wet hair. He dried his round black glasses on his shirt and fell back onto his bed. Only lying there for mere minutes he heard Hedwig float in from outside. She landed with a thud on Harry's dresser with a rat in her mouth and two letters and a daily prophet tied to her leg.
"Hedwig, bring it here." Harry whispered, unable to move with the pain in his legs. Hedwig hooted and ruffled her wings. She swallowed the rat and flew to Harry's side. Harry untied the letters and paper. With a pet on the head by Harry, Hedwig took off and flew toward her cage, drinking the water in its bowl. Harry ripped open the two letters quickly and read them. A few moments later he threw them onto the floor and rolled his eyes. They were both from Ron and Hermione telling him how great their summers were going. It didn't help him to hear their happy stories about their summers. As a matter of fact he would have rather them not write him.
Harry flipped through the paper too. All he found were boring articles how the ministry was trying everything in their power to stop Voldemort. Harry growled deeply, "Did they really think that they were going to stop him if they feared his bloody name?!" He chucked the paper at the wall and sat up quickly as one of the pages sliced across his finger. He bit his lip at the slight pain and grabbed his finger as red blood slid down his hand. "Damn." He whispered. Suddenly, he let go of his finger and watched the blood slowly. It swerved in and out of the lines in his palm and down to his wrist. It made him feel kind of good for a moment. Then promptly he wrapped his finger in his shirt to stop it from bleeding. What was he thinking? That didn't feel good. It hurt, right? Harry shut his eyes tightly and leaned back into his pillows, falling into a deep sleep.
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Well, how did you like it? I hope you did . It would make me very happy. Well, I'll try to update as soon as possible too. I don't know when that will be though haha. Hopefully soon. Let's just pray that Harry doesn't find out he's a cutter or something. That would suck.
Author's Note: Hey this is my first Harry Potter Fan fiction . . . So be nice please and tell me what you think I hope you like my recreation of the 6th book. Well, also, it's 2:15 in the morning and I'm dead tired as I write this too. Lmfao.
Slow Rotting Rat:
Harry stared blankly at the wall feeling distressed and lost. His mind was going numb. None of his friends seemed to be able to help him about the emptiness inside him. They were trying everything to help him, but his mind didn't seem to want to understand them. Sirius was all that he thought about. The one person that was family to him was gone and it was tearing him apart.
Sleep never came easily to him anymore. Every time he slept he had nightmares of when his Godfather died. He tossed and turned, trying everything to get comfy and nothing worked. It was as if Harry was going to just rot away.
The Dursleys started to notice that something was terribly wrong with him. Though they would never admit that they might be the slightest bit interested in him or feeling worried about him. But they knew. Knew that he was really downhearted. Even Dudley seemed less into poking fun at him and seemed to know that if he did, he would be lying flat on his back within minutes.
Harry sighed heavily as he heard his name being screamed up the stairs. He stood up and ran a hand through his messy hair. Staring into the mirror he could see that he was looking more and more like his father everyday and the resemblance was starting to scare him. It seemed that everyday he had to look at his dead father in a mirror. Which didn't make Harry feel any better about himself.
Running down the stairs he ran into Dudley. Dudley seemed ready to open his mouth, but Harry glared darkly at him and growled under his breath. Without a word, Dudley took his bulky, fat self and moved to the seat in front of the television. Aunt Petunia soon strutted out into the hallway to find Harry. She was wearing a ridiculous suit that made her look like a thin mint.
"Get in there right now! Lazy bum. You should be up already. Now get to making our breakfast." Aunt Petunia snarled and stalked off into the kitchen where surely Uncle Vernon was reading the paper.
Harry rubbed his eyes vigorously as he tried not to run into any walls as he made his way into the kitchen. His body was aching all over from staying up so late every night. This was proving difficult for him to do his chores too that the Dursleys seemed to have piled on since Moody had that talk with them at the end of the year. Harry was so tempted to complain to Moody that they were giving him hell, but he didn't want to be a burden when he knew they were so busy. For they called every night to check on him practically and he always said he was fine.
Shuffling into the kitchen, Harry moved to the dishes and began to wash them, forgetting about the breakfast altogether. Scrub, scrub, scrub. He tuned out Aunt Petunia chatting with Uncle Vernon about the weather. Scrub, scrub, scrub. He didn't even mind that Dudley was snorting like a pig at the funny program on the television either. Scrub, scrub, scrub. All he thought of was what he had been thinking all summer. The people who were now just believing in his story. Though it made him happy it pissed him off. They all should have believed in him sooner and now he was getting sympathetic looks when he didn't want them anymore. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die slowly. Just to disappear.
Another thought that Harry hated himself for was that he almost wished Voldemort had picked Neville. This was killing Harry. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't lie to himself for he hated his life. Hated it and he would rather be any other person. He'd gladly give up his life for Ron's, Hermione's . . . or even his Godfather's right now. Harry would rather be dead like his Godfather than in his own shoes. If only he . . .
"BOY!" Harry jumped at the scream and the metal pan he was scouring flew into the air. In a downpour of water, the pot fell flat on his messy haired head with an extremely painful bang. Water splashed all over the white tiled floor and Aunt Petunia screamed bloody murder. Uncle Vernon stood up, knocking over the wooden chair, "LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE, RUDDY USELESS IDIOT!" Uncle Vernon's round face grew viscously bright red and he began to rage, "You have done nothing right lately!! Lazing about like you own the place! No wonder you have no friends! You're a lowlife vermin, that's what you are! Now if you don't shape up . . . well . . . we'll just have to make you work until you bleed!"
Harry lifted the pot covering his eyes and stared through his wet eyelashes at Uncle Vernon's tomato face. Rage was building up inside Harry, but he managed to keep it down. Uncle Vernon was nothing to him and Harry didn't care anymore. Nothing mattered anymore to him. At least not the worthless Dursleys and he figured that being bloody for a while would not hurt him. He would take his chances with Uncle Vernon until Vernon ballooned.
"Now, clean up this water!" Aunt Petunia yelled, "And where's the ruddy breakfast?"
Dudley suddenly entered the kitchen and grinned at Harry, "Has the rat mutated into a water rat?"
Harry growled under his breath and placed the pot on the counter, his feet squishing beneath him. His body was soaked and he hated it. The water seeped through his clothes and made him shiver. Soap covered his shoulders and he knew he looked pathetic. He probably deserved being called a water rat. At this point in his life, Harry cared less what people called him. It was probably true in some sense.
Aunt Petunia's eyes turned downward, "Why are you so quiet?! You usually put up more of an argument! I don't like this. You're probably cooked up some evil plan! Clean up this water and go to you room you dirty scrub."
"We don't want to see you for the remainder of the day." Uncle Vernon hissed at Harry.
Harry sighed, "Yeah, whatever." He grabbed a towel and bent down on his knees to dry up the water. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon turned to make their own breakfast, but Dudley stood above Harry. Dudley stared down at Harry with mingled laughter shining in his eyes and a fat beef jerky hanging from his fleshly, plump, pink lips. With a smile, Dudley hacked up a large pile of saliva in his mouth and spit on the floor next to Harry's foot. "Don't forget to clean that up either." Harry glared up at Dudley and bared his teeth, telling himself to relax for it was just spit.
An hour later Harry marched up the stairs, wet, hungry, and in pain. His head was near bursting and his eyes were sore. The scar on his forehead burned, but Harry hardly worried about it anymore. He didn't care. Not that he cared for much of anything lately. Nothing mattered.
In his room he ripped off his wet clothes quickly and changed into the large baggy clothes that once belonged to Dudley long ago. He shook his head like a dog to shake off the water and he ran a hand through his wet hair. He dried his round black glasses on his shirt and fell back onto his bed. Only lying there for mere minutes he heard Hedwig float in from outside. She landed with a thud on Harry's dresser with a rat in her mouth and two letters and a daily prophet tied to her leg.
"Hedwig, bring it here." Harry whispered, unable to move with the pain in his legs. Hedwig hooted and ruffled her wings. She swallowed the rat and flew to Harry's side. Harry untied the letters and paper. With a pet on the head by Harry, Hedwig took off and flew toward her cage, drinking the water in its bowl. Harry ripped open the two letters quickly and read them. A few moments later he threw them onto the floor and rolled his eyes. They were both from Ron and Hermione telling him how great their summers were going. It didn't help him to hear their happy stories about their summers. As a matter of fact he would have rather them not write him.
Harry flipped through the paper too. All he found were boring articles how the ministry was trying everything in their power to stop Voldemort. Harry growled deeply, "Did they really think that they were going to stop him if they feared his bloody name?!" He chucked the paper at the wall and sat up quickly as one of the pages sliced across his finger. He bit his lip at the slight pain and grabbed his finger as red blood slid down his hand. "Damn." He whispered. Suddenly, he let go of his finger and watched the blood slowly. It swerved in and out of the lines in his palm and down to his wrist. It made him feel kind of good for a moment. Then promptly he wrapped his finger in his shirt to stop it from bleeding. What was he thinking? That didn't feel good. It hurt, right? Harry shut his eyes tightly and leaned back into his pillows, falling into a deep sleep.
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Well, how did you like it? I hope you did . It would make me very happy. Well, I'll try to update as soon as possible too. I don't know when that will be though haha. Hopefully soon. Let's just pray that Harry doesn't find out he's a cutter or something. That would suck.