The characters, Spells, Places and the whole concept of the world of Harry Potter belongs completely to J. K Rowling. Everything besides that which is only the storyline and some characters I might add at will belong to me, though I don't mind sharing them.
Enjoy the story!
Harrys point of view
I turn off the light in my small second floor room at the Durslys and beg for some good night sleep. My scars has been hurting for days without end and the few last days I could do little but lie down, looking at the ceiling. The second my head touches the pillow a terrible pain courses through my entire brain, forcing my eyes to close in agony and my fists to clench together. As it fades slowly I turn to my side and try to lie still, hoping for forgetfulness in sleep.
After what seems like hours to me and a few minutes for the lying clock I feel light and sleepy, and I close my eyes.
I am a snake.
I have been this snake before. This is a vile serpent, the size of a man, with glaring red eyes. This is also me.
I stand in a big room with stone walls. Those stones are huge boulders, chipped at the edges and look only remotely fitting for building. But still they are there. There are dusty bookshelves on the walls, lined with piles of thick dusty books. I know what those books contain and yet I do not, those books rouse my interest, but I seem to have little control of myself. I do not approach the shelves.
Instead I take out my wand and cast a soul into oblivion. I feel relieved and I call a name. A robed wizard, dressed in black comes into the room. He is not at all familiar and the deep lines of age carved into his face along with his almost luminescent white hair and beard are in complete contrast to his black and lively eyes. Eyes full of mischief. I command him and point at a prisoner. In the dim light of the room I see the poor soul trying to break the bonds chaining him to the heavy oaken chair. The man casts a curse and I see him immediately writhe in anguish as he falls on the floor. The scared man in the chairs seems surprised despite himself and unhurt. "Splendid", I say and break into laughter that reminds me of the spider cavern in the forbidden forest, when the 8 legged horrors gave chase to Ron and myself. I feel great pain and I wake up. My scar hurts, and I remember fragments of my dream. I look at the clock and it informs me it's morning, and I should get up. I do so and my vision blurs, followed swiftly by a wave of pain. I refuse to let it vanquish me and so I walk another step towards the door of my room just as my uncle barges in. He seems to be in a good mood and he tells me to come down as fast as I can for breakfast. I mumble something through the veil of pain and sluggishly go to my dresser. I pick a random pair of pants some shirt, sloppily putting them on. I look up at my uncles worried face I gather all my will and manage to voice a coherent sentence "I ha... have a ter... ter... bad headache". He seems worried but he asks no more of me. I see him run down the stairs as fast as he can. He can't. I feel a sudden and sharp fear as he looses his footing only to regain it a moment later, stop and then continue his hasty descend. I walk slowly to the bathroom, barefooted, as I hear the refrigerators door open and then close a few moments later, and my aunts high pitched voice soon follows. I do not hear what she is saying, I am in the bathroom and my raise my eyes to the mirror. I see an unwashed horror in front of myself, it's hair a sticky unkempt pile on top of it's scarred head and I vaguely recognize myself. I open the water valve and the chilling stream envelops my hand. The cold does wonders to my headache and I feel the pain slowly leaving. I raise my hand and put it on my forehead, letting the clear drops slide down on my cheeks and chin, melodically falling back to the sink. I begin to wash my face, removing the dirt that found its way there in the past few days, of which I remember naught. As I finish brushing my teeth my Uncle walks into the room and offers my a glass of what seems at first as murky water. I look at it distrustfully and lift my eyes to my uncle, as if in question. "It's for the head, Harry, it will do you good", he says and I pick up the cup and drown it in one gulp. It has a sweet flavor which I find reassuring though slightly nauseating, and I thank him for the drug. He seems satisfied as he takes the cup and leaves the small bathroom, closing the white wooden door behind him. The cool water and the fast acting drug combine forces and I feel amazingly relieved. I sprinkle a few drops of water on my hair and move the brush through it. When the brush gets stuck I decide it's futile and lower my dirty head into the sink. When I'm all dry and done, I get my slippers from my room and walk downstairs and catch a seat next to my cousin, who seems surprised by my sudden appearance. If he feels anything about it, he keeps it to himself, and we sit there quietly, waiting for the food.