My first try at this stuff.probably won't be very good
Chapter 1: Fear and Guilt
The black darkness closed in on the young boy, curled into a ball on his shabby bed, wrapped tightly in a thin, ragged sheet. The air was suffocating, gasping for breath the boy shivered, unwilling to remove his only security. Every creak of the house, every breath of the wind caused another series of trembling whimpers. Faint, at first, then louder, the heavy, deliberate footsteps approached his room. With little difficulty, the heavy wood door swung open and a thin beam of light was cast through the dark, illuminating the huddled figure. A raspy breath and thick, drunken whisper filled the room. "Harry honey. Come out come out wherever you are. Uncle Vernon is here to claim his dues." Closing his eyes tighter, the boy held his breath. He felt a soft, large hand grab at the sheet and tear it away. Beginning to plead softly, he lay perfectly still, limbs shaking as he felt the too large nightclothes being torn off his body, then a sudden heavy weight of a body on his chest. "No noise, boy, remember? This is our little secret."
Sitting bolt upright in bed, Harry Potter gasped for breath, brushed the damp, wayward locks of black hair out of his eyes and felt his shirt- the sweat had soaked both him and the bed. The darkness from his mind was gone, in fact, the bright, golden sunshine slipped through the dust-cloaked window, and the morning noise of the family awakening could be heard from the hall. Drawing his knees to his chest, he wrapped himself into a ball, head hidden as he unconsciously rocked, trying to gain his breath back. It took a few moments before he had regained enough control to slowly stand up, legs stiff from a night spent curled in a tight ball, and begin to get dressed. A shrill call from downstairs announced that, for once his presence was missed,
"HARRY!!!! My god BOY WHAT IS TAKING YOU SO LONG?!! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT, IT IS YOUR JOB TO GET VERNON AND DUDLEY'S BREAKFAST READY AND IT IS EXPECTED ON TIME!"
Harry quickly finished combing his hair and rinsing his face with cold water. Stumbling down the hall, he almost fell as his cousin, Dudley, walked out of his room and stuck his fat leg out in front of him. It took all of Harry's balance to stay on his feet, and Dudley's laughter followed him down the stairs into the kitchen. His Aunt Petunia stood in front of the stove, arms crossed and a frown plastered on her thin lips. She tapped her foot impatiently as Harry pulled the bacon and eggs out of the refrigerator and began to prepare breakfast.
"Ungrateful child, here we are sharing our home, food, and clothing with you, a FREAK, and you can't even be grateful enough to help out once in a while? All that is asked is that you cook breakfast for Vernon and my Duddykins, both need a good helping get the, through the day and you can't even do that much."
Harry sighed, mumbling apologies. It was no use trying to argue- he was always wrong. Thumping down the stairs was Vernon, Harry's uncle. He took one look at Harry and menaced,
"Has he done anything wrong again Petunia my dear? Don't worry, I'll deal with the boy."
A threatening look caused Harry to back away slowly, busying himself with setting the table and pouring tea and juice for the family. His shoulder still had a green-yellow bruise on it from the last time Vernon had dealt with him, and it was not in Harry's interest to give his uncle another reason to do so. Not that Uncle Vernon needed a reason. It was his favorite pastime to come up with further excuses on why Harry needed to be taught another lesson.
At least school starts next week, Harry thought to himself, then I can get away. Just one more week.
Having gotten through the morning with nothing more than the usual threats, Harry flopped down on the lawn outside after his uncle had left for work and Dudley had gone to find his friends. The warm sun caught and brightened the green in his eyes, and he leaned his head back against the soft grass of the Dursley's impeccable lawn. Almost unconsciously he fingered the scar on his forehead, the only real reminder he had of who he was. He wasn't just Harry, orphaned boy the kind aunt and uncle raised and took care of, parents having died in a car accident. He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the only one to defeat Lord Voldemort, hero of the Wizarding world. Not here. Not on sunny little Privet Drive, where everyone lived in their own, dense world. For his whole life, Harry had wanted that escape. Now he wasn't so sure he did. A sudden wave of guilt caused his breath to catch. Who was he kidding? He wasn't a good friend. He had gotten Cedric killed- Cedric who had never done anything wrong, Cedric whom everyone loved. And Harry had as good as killed him. Harry, the boy who endangered everyone and anyone associated with him, who had killed his Sirius Black, the only person Harry had ever wanted to live with, the only person Harry had counted as family. Putting Ron and Hermione in danger countless times was more than enough, but then he had gone and murdered the only adult Harry believed cared about him.
Maybe what Uncle Vernon says is true, maybe I am just a bad, ungrateful brat who is greedy and selfish and cold. I deserve to be hit, to be hurt. They punish me because it is best for me, because I am a bad kid, because I don't deserve anything good in life. People know me by something that I can't even remember, that I did by no skill at all, and I shouldn't be credited for something like that.
Harry closed his eyes to control his breathing, which had grown loud and angry through his unspoken rant. The image from that night was immediately conjured back into his mind, and that was the breaking point. Eyes flying open, the warm green had turned to stone, intent and focused. His right hand slipped to the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small needle, the cold, silver steel warming in his hand. He drew his thumb across the top, putting some pressure, and pulled his hand back to observe the smooth cut, blood welling to just under the surface of the skin. He smiled to himself and moved back behind the bushes, where a neighbor couldn't see, and rolled up his sleeve. His thin, pale upper arm housed at least fifteen other cuts in different stages of healing, all perfectly straight, running both horizontally and vertically. One, further down toward his elbow, was a violent slash, still a red scab running diagonally across the width of his arm. Harry hadn't caused that one. Ignoring the other cuts, Harry carefully selected a spot close to his shoulder and very lightly drew the needle across his skin. It didn't break the skin, but that wasn't Harry's intention. The pain lasted longer if he was slow, if he dug the needle only a little further each time. His mind bathed in the distraction, soothed by the rhythm and familiarity of the motion. Falling into a daze, Harry leaned back against he house, drawing his hand back and forth, allowing the blood to slowly appear and well out from his skin, a brilliant red seeping from his body. With the blood went the fear, the pain, and the past.
Chapter 1: Fear and Guilt
The black darkness closed in on the young boy, curled into a ball on his shabby bed, wrapped tightly in a thin, ragged sheet. The air was suffocating, gasping for breath the boy shivered, unwilling to remove his only security. Every creak of the house, every breath of the wind caused another series of trembling whimpers. Faint, at first, then louder, the heavy, deliberate footsteps approached his room. With little difficulty, the heavy wood door swung open and a thin beam of light was cast through the dark, illuminating the huddled figure. A raspy breath and thick, drunken whisper filled the room. "Harry honey. Come out come out wherever you are. Uncle Vernon is here to claim his dues." Closing his eyes tighter, the boy held his breath. He felt a soft, large hand grab at the sheet and tear it away. Beginning to plead softly, he lay perfectly still, limbs shaking as he felt the too large nightclothes being torn off his body, then a sudden heavy weight of a body on his chest. "No noise, boy, remember? This is our little secret."
Sitting bolt upright in bed, Harry Potter gasped for breath, brushed the damp, wayward locks of black hair out of his eyes and felt his shirt- the sweat had soaked both him and the bed. The darkness from his mind was gone, in fact, the bright, golden sunshine slipped through the dust-cloaked window, and the morning noise of the family awakening could be heard from the hall. Drawing his knees to his chest, he wrapped himself into a ball, head hidden as he unconsciously rocked, trying to gain his breath back. It took a few moments before he had regained enough control to slowly stand up, legs stiff from a night spent curled in a tight ball, and begin to get dressed. A shrill call from downstairs announced that, for once his presence was missed,
"HARRY!!!! My god BOY WHAT IS TAKING YOU SO LONG?!! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT, IT IS YOUR JOB TO GET VERNON AND DUDLEY'S BREAKFAST READY AND IT IS EXPECTED ON TIME!"
Harry quickly finished combing his hair and rinsing his face with cold water. Stumbling down the hall, he almost fell as his cousin, Dudley, walked out of his room and stuck his fat leg out in front of him. It took all of Harry's balance to stay on his feet, and Dudley's laughter followed him down the stairs into the kitchen. His Aunt Petunia stood in front of the stove, arms crossed and a frown plastered on her thin lips. She tapped her foot impatiently as Harry pulled the bacon and eggs out of the refrigerator and began to prepare breakfast.
"Ungrateful child, here we are sharing our home, food, and clothing with you, a FREAK, and you can't even be grateful enough to help out once in a while? All that is asked is that you cook breakfast for Vernon and my Duddykins, both need a good helping get the, through the day and you can't even do that much."
Harry sighed, mumbling apologies. It was no use trying to argue- he was always wrong. Thumping down the stairs was Vernon, Harry's uncle. He took one look at Harry and menaced,
"Has he done anything wrong again Petunia my dear? Don't worry, I'll deal with the boy."
A threatening look caused Harry to back away slowly, busying himself with setting the table and pouring tea and juice for the family. His shoulder still had a green-yellow bruise on it from the last time Vernon had dealt with him, and it was not in Harry's interest to give his uncle another reason to do so. Not that Uncle Vernon needed a reason. It was his favorite pastime to come up with further excuses on why Harry needed to be taught another lesson.
At least school starts next week, Harry thought to himself, then I can get away. Just one more week.
Having gotten through the morning with nothing more than the usual threats, Harry flopped down on the lawn outside after his uncle had left for work and Dudley had gone to find his friends. The warm sun caught and brightened the green in his eyes, and he leaned his head back against the soft grass of the Dursley's impeccable lawn. Almost unconsciously he fingered the scar on his forehead, the only real reminder he had of who he was. He wasn't just Harry, orphaned boy the kind aunt and uncle raised and took care of, parents having died in a car accident. He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the only one to defeat Lord Voldemort, hero of the Wizarding world. Not here. Not on sunny little Privet Drive, where everyone lived in their own, dense world. For his whole life, Harry had wanted that escape. Now he wasn't so sure he did. A sudden wave of guilt caused his breath to catch. Who was he kidding? He wasn't a good friend. He had gotten Cedric killed- Cedric who had never done anything wrong, Cedric whom everyone loved. And Harry had as good as killed him. Harry, the boy who endangered everyone and anyone associated with him, who had killed his Sirius Black, the only person Harry had ever wanted to live with, the only person Harry had counted as family. Putting Ron and Hermione in danger countless times was more than enough, but then he had gone and murdered the only adult Harry believed cared about him.
Maybe what Uncle Vernon says is true, maybe I am just a bad, ungrateful brat who is greedy and selfish and cold. I deserve to be hit, to be hurt. They punish me because it is best for me, because I am a bad kid, because I don't deserve anything good in life. People know me by something that I can't even remember, that I did by no skill at all, and I shouldn't be credited for something like that.
Harry closed his eyes to control his breathing, which had grown loud and angry through his unspoken rant. The image from that night was immediately conjured back into his mind, and that was the breaking point. Eyes flying open, the warm green had turned to stone, intent and focused. His right hand slipped to the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small needle, the cold, silver steel warming in his hand. He drew his thumb across the top, putting some pressure, and pulled his hand back to observe the smooth cut, blood welling to just under the surface of the skin. He smiled to himself and moved back behind the bushes, where a neighbor couldn't see, and rolled up his sleeve. His thin, pale upper arm housed at least fifteen other cuts in different stages of healing, all perfectly straight, running both horizontally and vertically. One, further down toward his elbow, was a violent slash, still a red scab running diagonally across the width of his arm. Harry hadn't caused that one. Ignoring the other cuts, Harry carefully selected a spot close to his shoulder and very lightly drew the needle across his skin. It didn't break the skin, but that wasn't Harry's intention. The pain lasted longer if he was slow, if he dug the needle only a little further each time. His mind bathed in the distraction, soothed by the rhythm and familiarity of the motion. Falling into a daze, Harry leaned back against he house, drawing his hand back and forth, allowing the blood to slowly appear and well out from his skin, a brilliant red seeping from his body. With the blood went the fear, the pain, and the past.