AN: This is my first story, so I guess this is the part where I ask you to take it easy on me. Then again, you never get anywhere if you have it easy. Please give me your honest opinion, and hopefully it will be constructive. Also, my grammar and punctuation is terrible. English has to be my worst subject. So please, bear with me. Thanks, and R/R.
This WILL be H/Hr. Trust me. =P
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Harry Potter other then those books that I bought, I am in no way, shape, or form affiliated with JK Rowling, so please, if you must sue, don't sue me over this.
"Crucio!" The small woman writhed in agony as the feeling of hot knives assaulted her body. The room was dark, cavernous. It appeared as light hadn't reached the room in a millennia, for in face, it wasn't a room, but instead a cave of sorts. Obsidian stalactites hung from the ceiling, as if they would fall and impale those beneath. The cavern was misty, the salty breeze blowing in turning it foggy, limiting the distance of sight even more. Two piercing slits of red eyes broke the fog though, eyes full of hatred and loathing, eyes that had seen much, and craved yet to see more. A loud chuckle emanated from the cloaked figure that the snake like eyes belonged too.
"Please Master, I beg of you, he's but a foolish boy, he will see that. I have always encouraged him to join under you my Lord, I have never steered him away from you." The woman's small beady eyes moved rapidly back and forth, glancing at her master on one side, and here husband who had sentenced her to this on the other. She worked to keep her anger and hatred towards her Husband in check. If the Dark Lord noticed...
"That's not what Lucius says Narcissa. He believes you have been telling young Draco to resist me and Lucius. You don't understand how important Draco is to my cause; I need to know young Potter's condition. Your son is the key. If I ever find out anything about you diverting him from being a Death Eater you will pay with your life. Trust me. CRUCIO!" His dark laugh reverberated through the cavern.
Lucius stood and watched as his beautiful and enticing wife screamed her throat raw. He almost regretted his decision to tell his Lord. Almost.
Narcissa Malfoy curled up in agony, the pain seemingly never ending. The Dark Lord still stood, his wand in front, continuing the torture. He felt a sick and sadistic pleasure, but as the thick, almost solid mist dissapeared, the Dark Lord came into view, but instead of the twisted face of Tom Riddle laughing, it was the young, not so naive face of a Harry Potter.
Harry Potter, the boy who lived, shot out of bed for the 20th time that week. He reached up and felt his scar, throbbing, as the pain slowly receded. He sighed quietly. 'Why must this always happen? I want one night of sleep, one night!' It was pointless; he would never get sleep, not with Voldemort always in his dreams, or nightmares of Sirius falling through the bloody veil. Visions of Voldemort where preferable to the nightmares, which left him sobbing as he woke.
Harry was confused though. Why did his dreams always end in Voldemort looking like Harry? From the eyes, to the hair, to even the slightness of nose, something changed about Voldemort that was a feature of Harry. This was the first one in which Voldemorts face had taken on the complete appearance of Harry's. What did this mean? Harry shuddered.
He knew he should have gotten better with his Occlumency lessons. But how was he supposed to learn with that slimy bastard Snape attacking his memories constantly. What good was practicing if you didn't learn and only grew to hate more? He needed to be calm before going to bed, but he couldn't. So Voldemort visited often.
Standing up he slowly rubbed his aching neck and forehead, as he prepared for the day. He took a quick glance at his clock, which dully showed a four. Another audible sigh left his lips. He had been with the Dursleys for two weeks, and had probably accumulated a total of three days worth of sleep. Harry was used to it. How could he ever get any sleep with a Dark Lord entering his thoughts every night, or on the days he was merciful instead a dream of your Godfather's death?
He walked into the bathroom; the Dursleys were still blissfully asleep, enjoying the 10 hours of sleep that Harry was deprived of. Turning on the faucet he repeatedly splashed his face with water and wiped his face off. Looking into the mirror a green and blood red eye stared back. The red eye smoldered on the left side of his face, glaring at the mirror in a familiar way. He blinked, and it was gone, replaced with the dull shine of sleepless green eyes. Harry shrugged. The lack of sleep was catching up on him.
Walking down the stairs he grinned slightly, he still had a few hours before the Dursleys got up and he was forced to make breakfast. The tension was palpable between Harry and the Dursleys when they were together. He was afraid that Dumbledore had sent a letter telling of the "unfortunate circumstances" that had befallen Harry's only loving relative. They weren't sympathetic, but maybe they thought they were by acting like he didn't exist. Of course, it was a façade. He couldn't walk into the room without them stiffening. He wasn't sure why they acted that way, had Dumbledore actually have told them the prophecy?
Harry shrugged it off; there was no way Dumbledore would have told them, right? He pulled out Defense Against the Dark Arts Grade Five, and lightly reviewed. He was nervous about his O.W.L.S., he didn't know if he had meet the demanding scores needed for Auror training. Potions and Transfiguration worried him. He was an acceptable student in Potions at most times; let alone an Excellent or Outstanding. After reading another chapter, he realized he had a little over a hour before the Dursleys would wake.
Walking into the kitchen he pulled out a little bit of food for his own breakfast, where he then took it out to the living room and attempted to catch the early news. He had reverted back to his old habits of watching the news for information on Voldemort. Harry was sure now that Voldemort was in the open, or as open as could be, that he would start making moves, restarting his reign of terror. Alas, nothing had happened again, or at least nothing noticed by Muggles. He would have to ask Hermione to send him her Daily Prophets after she had read them. Since they seemed to not be sending him much mail that summer. For a second, he wondered if Ron and her were at Grimmaulds place. The thought of the two together without him fired up his anger, which he tried to stop before he would have to be with the Dursleys again.
As the news ended, he heard the ringing of Uncle Vernon's alarm clock. Grumbling about how unfair it was for the Dursleys to sleep well AND have a breakfast ready for them he walked back into the kitchen. He didn't want to have any confrontations with his Uncle, especially when he was idle. It was much easier when you had something to do and didn't have to look at your object of loathing.
Pulling out half a rasher of Bacon, he slowly fried up some eggs as he heard Vernon walking down the stairs. Vernon walked in, still in his robe and sat down with his newspaper. Aunt Petunia followed, and then 10 minutes later the loud thumping on the stairs heralded the entry of Harry's enormously obese cousin. The diet hadn't slimmed him down, but it had kept him from growing any larger. Grinning from ear to ear he looked over Harry's shoulder and pilfered a piece of bacon. Harry could care less, hopefully some time in the near future Dudley would have a heart attack, and would either die (That option didn't look that bad), or would realize what he had become and would be forced to change his ways.
Setting down the food, Vernon glared at his nephew, not even bothering to conceal his loathing, which didn't surprise Harry one bit. "Why where you up so early boy?" It seemed more like a grunt then a sentence.
"I'm up this early every morning." Dudley smirked knowingly, his eyes gleaming with cruelty.
Vernon grunted again at Harry's answer. "Fine then, why are you up every morning so early?" The question was asked with a hard steel used by Vernon when talking to Harry.
Harry swallowed. His mind couldn't formulate a decent lie, so he decided to tell the truth. "I'm having trouble sleeping, I've had some…nightmares." Harry wanted to either hit Dudley hard enough to wipe off that smirk, or ask what was so amusing. Before Vernon could reply, Dudley finally came out with it.
"Maybe it's that freak of a Godfather of yours. You know, the one that got his lights snuffed out good, the dirty son of a-" He never got the chance to finish that sentence because Harry's fist collided with the smirk, knocking him back and tipping his chair over. Blood gushed from Dudleys large mouth, as well as two teeth, as he screamed like a toddler. Harry wasn't sure if he was more pleased, or mollified. He decided pleased until Vernon looked up, his glare full of hate and smoldering slightly. Harry shrank away.
"YOU!!!" That was all he said as he grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him away. Harry kicked and wiggled, attempting to break free of his Uncles grasp. Dragging him into the hall he opened a latch, and threw Harry inside. Pain blossomed in the back of his head as he realized where he was, the old cupboard under the stairs. His legs where scrunched up against his chest. He had been considerably smaller when he had last visited the cupboard. "You freak! After all we have done, you attack us? It will be a long time before you ever leave this place boy." Vernon stormed away.
Harry sighed. He wasn't sure if it had been worth it then, and now he was sure it hadn't been. Why was he letting his anger control him? Once again his inability to control his emotions had caused him trouble. He understood where all the bottled up anger and stress was coming from. How could he ignore all of it? The prophecy had put stress and pressure on him, something that he already had in large quantities. There was the living with the Dursleys, which always made him tense every summer. For some reason, there was the anger at Ron and Hermione at their closeness, which when he thought of it made his mouth taste of ashes, something he couldn't understand. Of course, who could forget the fact that the only person who had loved him as a family member, that he could remember, had died only weeks earlier?
Slowly tears of sadness, regret, frustration, and every other emotion he could think of slowly trickled down his cheeks. He would have to deal with this later; there was nothing he could do while he was in the cupboard. At first he thought of his surroundings. Would the Order come to check up on him? Or would Vernon find some way to fool the wizard protectors? How long would he be left in here? Would they feed him? Waiting was his only option. Wiggling into a better position, he prepared for the long wait. He wiped his teary face with a small hand towel in the cupboard. He never noticed the red stain that had appeared where he had wiped his face.