Disclaimer- Unfortunately, despite many hours of wishing, hoping and
praying, Harry Potter does not belong to me. Actually, if you wanna get
right down to it, there isn't a lot I do own. I sleep on a couch (which
isn't mine); in a room (that isn't mine), and then I go to school and read
books (which also aren't mine). In fact when you get right down to it, I
don't own much more then a Tommy Shirt. And it has a hole. So it you still
think I'm trying to claim Harry Potter as my own, then you are sorely
mistaken. Sev' however, is a completely different story. But I'll return
him when I'm done *smiles wickedly*
Rated- R!!! This is going to be A VERY, VERY dark, angsty fic! There will also be some Very graphic sex, murder, torture, and all around angry pain! You have been warned! If you disagree with this, then don't read the story. I will post some individual ratings in front of each chapter, to warn you. The ratings will be between PG-13, and NC-17. I am not going to tell you any pairings right now, but by the time the actual chapter comes around you will have figured it out!
Ps. Anyone who can guess two of the pairings coming up will get a cookie, and a dedication in the next chapter!
Dedication- This entire Fanfiction is dedicated to Diagonalist. She is my inspiration, A literary genius, Not to mention my faithful Beta Reader. Everyone, go take a look at her story "Flawed lines" for one of my many sadistic pairings. And read he story too. And her other stories.
A/n- This is my very first Fic, so be gentle when you review until I get the hang of things. The story takes place between year five and six, on Harry's birthday
All flames will be used to burn up Fudges bowler hat!
Fallen Tear Drops By Shivering Angel
Prologue- The Desperate Ache
Hermione Granger sat in the corner of her room. She was huddled in the small space between her bed and the wall. It was cramped, but some how peaceful. It had always been the place she had hid when trivial fears had petrified her as a child. Things like thunderstorms, and angry friends. She laughed bitterly, as she took a drink of Pepsi to wash the taste of vomit from her lips. She stared down at her finger, as though it was still covered in her half digested dinner. It wasn't though. She had washed that away long ago. Now only the memory haunted her, and the bitter taste in her mouth remained. She wasn't sure which was worse.
She hated every second, and knew how dangerous what she was doing was... But she had to do it. How else would she make him want her...? Make him care for her as more then a friend. She looked over the last month with regret, and was determined to stop it. Some one was bound to catch on soon. Hermione had never been a good liar. The last 2 months had been a blur of "missing" lunches, and "Stomach flu's." She had been in denial that there even was a problem, until a week ago. Then she met a girl in the park next to her house. The girl was clearly anorexic.
She had looked happy enough, of course, but she was thin as a rail, and her face was a pale, sickly, yellow color. Hermione looked out from her window at the girl and was shocked. She looked down at herself and realized that if she kept going, then she would end up like the girl in the park. Pale, and sickly. And even more ugly...
So she tried to stop.
She really did too. That night she was able to eat most of her dinner, something she had stopped doing over the last month. But later after she was safely locked in her room, she threw it up again.
It was three days later now, Harry's birthday. She had tried even harder to keep her dinner down that night. Her parents were having a party downstairs, and had been especially hard to get away. After she had finally escaped upstairs, she rocked beck and forth on her bed, for almost fifteen minutes before the taste of bile creped up and the stomach pains racked through her, forcing her to he bathroom.
It had been extremely painful that night, and she had practically convulsed, trying to get it all out of her. That was why she was now sipping Pepsi is her old 'safe place.' The one spot her monsters couldn't reach her.
Finishing the pop with a final gulp she let the can slip from her hand, and clatter to the floor. She shuddered slightly, and rested her head on her knees, closing her eyes.
Picturing Him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Harry Potter awoke on the morning of his 15th birthday with a sharp rap on the cupboard under the stairs. He sat up sharply, only to hit his head, and have spiders rain down around him.
"Get up and make breakfast, you lazy prat!" Aunt Petunia called out. "You slept in!" Harry dragged himself out of the bed and glanced at the clock. It was barely seven o'clock yet, but he knew better then to complain. He had already been throw back in the cupboard, and punched in the eye for saying the word "broomstick" in the house.
He threw on one of Dudley's old sweatshirts which went hung down to his knees, and rolled the sleeves back. He had grown taller over the summer, quickly catching up with Ron. He had also grown his hair out. It almost reached his shoulders in the back, while bangs hung about his eyes, covering his scar.
He walked out of the cupboard, ducking at the door, and made breakfast.
*
After eating, Harry was given his usual list of chores to complete. He looked down at it. The work he was forced to do was endless. He often spent nearly all day working, and it didn't help that he was never allowed enough to eat. When to came down to it, all he had eaten in the past week was the spare bites he had stolen while cooking. He examined the cores he would have to do.
/Chores for July 31/
-wash the dishes from breakfast
-Mop the floors
-Clean up Dudley's second bedroom
-Make lunch
-Clean the kitchen
-Polish the furniture
-Weed the garden
-Prune the roses
- Cook dinner, and serve
You are to Remain in your cupboard for the rest of the night.
The list was signed with flourish, 'Aunt Petunia" With a sigh, he turned to the dishes, counting down the days left until Hogwarts in his head, and wishing he could have a real birthday.
*
About five hours later, Harry wandered out of the kitchen, after preparing the usual feast for Dudley, and then cleaning up for him. Apparently, the whole "diet" thing had been given up on last summer. He grabbed some furniture polish from the supply closet, and went to get started on his next task.
As he kneeled down to scrub the table, he muttered quietly to himself. "They work me like a bloody house elf, the stinking muggles. You'd think some one jammed a wand up there arse."
He was interrupted by Dudley. "I heard that, and I'm telling!" He ran from the room and Harry swore to himself.
A minute later, Vernon walked in. For some one who had apparently been putting on weight to keep up with his son, his pace was a deadly silent stalk. He was reminded of a tiger he had scene at the zoo. Unfortunately, that tiger had been stalking a rather large rabbit at the time.
Harry flinched back at the unbidden rage in his uncle's eyes, but it still came as a shock when the man's meaty fist struck his jaw. He flew back from the force, and collided with the wall. "How. Many. Times. Have. I . Told. You. Never. Mention. ANYTHING. To. Do. With. /Your./ Kind!" He seethed, each word, barely above a whisper. Harry had never seen his uncle so furious. "And! On top of all that, you DARE to insult my family! We clothed you boy! We sheltered you, when we should have just sent you to a bloody orphanage!
With that, Vernon Dursley picked the boy up by his ear, and attempted to drop kick him across the room. He landed with a sickening crack, as his head connected with the wall.
Harry, struggling to breath through shattered ribs, slipped into blessed oblivion.
*
He awoke in the dark. He didn't know where he was. Had Voldemort.? Panic gripped him, and he tried to sit up. Instantly pain ripped through his chest, and he was strangely light headed. He collapsed back down as the events of the day ran through his head, with a clarity and precision that made him flinch. He realized he was probably in his cupboard, and judging from the lack of light coming from under his door, the Dursleys were asleep, and it was about 11:00pm.
He shuddered as another wave of pain washed through him, gripping the ground as a way to remain conscience. His hand touched something wet and sticky on the ground. Bringing his hand close to his face, he whimpered quietly when he saw the blood running down his fingers.
Gingerly, he touched the bleeding welt on the back of his head. As he made contact, his nerves screamed in agony, and he pulled back. Feeling himself slipping away, only one thought crossed his mind;
/Happy Birthday to me.../
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Meanwhile, Harry's best friend since the first year on the train to Hogwarts, Ron Weasley sat in the dark, starring at the door where /he/ had left this parting comment.
/"You won't tell. Will you?"/
No. Of course he wouldn't. He wished he could, wished he could run down to his mother, to tell her everything, all the evil. He wished he could curl up in her arms, like he used to when he was a child, and the twins teased him.
But he couldn't.
Despite his better judgment, he was ashamed. Despite the constant fear that ate away at his nerves when ever /he/ was around, he would never tell. Not until his dying breath.
With a stifled sob, he curled into the fetal position that he had become so used to since the beginning of the summer. Rocking back and forth slightly, aching where he had... Touched him, hurt him.
And, with tears rolling down his cheeks, he starred at the door... Wishing to be saved.
Rated- R!!! This is going to be A VERY, VERY dark, angsty fic! There will also be some Very graphic sex, murder, torture, and all around angry pain! You have been warned! If you disagree with this, then don't read the story. I will post some individual ratings in front of each chapter, to warn you. The ratings will be between PG-13, and NC-17. I am not going to tell you any pairings right now, but by the time the actual chapter comes around you will have figured it out!
Ps. Anyone who can guess two of the pairings coming up will get a cookie, and a dedication in the next chapter!
Dedication- This entire Fanfiction is dedicated to Diagonalist. She is my inspiration, A literary genius, Not to mention my faithful Beta Reader. Everyone, go take a look at her story "Flawed lines" for one of my many sadistic pairings. And read he story too. And her other stories.
A/n- This is my very first Fic, so be gentle when you review until I get the hang of things. The story takes place between year five and six, on Harry's birthday
All flames will be used to burn up Fudges bowler hat!
Fallen Tear Drops By Shivering Angel
Prologue- The Desperate Ache
Hermione Granger sat in the corner of her room. She was huddled in the small space between her bed and the wall. It was cramped, but some how peaceful. It had always been the place she had hid when trivial fears had petrified her as a child. Things like thunderstorms, and angry friends. She laughed bitterly, as she took a drink of Pepsi to wash the taste of vomit from her lips. She stared down at her finger, as though it was still covered in her half digested dinner. It wasn't though. She had washed that away long ago. Now only the memory haunted her, and the bitter taste in her mouth remained. She wasn't sure which was worse.
She hated every second, and knew how dangerous what she was doing was... But she had to do it. How else would she make him want her...? Make him care for her as more then a friend. She looked over the last month with regret, and was determined to stop it. Some one was bound to catch on soon. Hermione had never been a good liar. The last 2 months had been a blur of "missing" lunches, and "Stomach flu's." She had been in denial that there even was a problem, until a week ago. Then she met a girl in the park next to her house. The girl was clearly anorexic.
She had looked happy enough, of course, but she was thin as a rail, and her face was a pale, sickly, yellow color. Hermione looked out from her window at the girl and was shocked. She looked down at herself and realized that if she kept going, then she would end up like the girl in the park. Pale, and sickly. And even more ugly...
So she tried to stop.
She really did too. That night she was able to eat most of her dinner, something she had stopped doing over the last month. But later after she was safely locked in her room, she threw it up again.
It was three days later now, Harry's birthday. She had tried even harder to keep her dinner down that night. Her parents were having a party downstairs, and had been especially hard to get away. After she had finally escaped upstairs, she rocked beck and forth on her bed, for almost fifteen minutes before the taste of bile creped up and the stomach pains racked through her, forcing her to he bathroom.
It had been extremely painful that night, and she had practically convulsed, trying to get it all out of her. That was why she was now sipping Pepsi is her old 'safe place.' The one spot her monsters couldn't reach her.
Finishing the pop with a final gulp she let the can slip from her hand, and clatter to the floor. She shuddered slightly, and rested her head on her knees, closing her eyes.
Picturing Him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Harry Potter awoke on the morning of his 15th birthday with a sharp rap on the cupboard under the stairs. He sat up sharply, only to hit his head, and have spiders rain down around him.
"Get up and make breakfast, you lazy prat!" Aunt Petunia called out. "You slept in!" Harry dragged himself out of the bed and glanced at the clock. It was barely seven o'clock yet, but he knew better then to complain. He had already been throw back in the cupboard, and punched in the eye for saying the word "broomstick" in the house.
He threw on one of Dudley's old sweatshirts which went hung down to his knees, and rolled the sleeves back. He had grown taller over the summer, quickly catching up with Ron. He had also grown his hair out. It almost reached his shoulders in the back, while bangs hung about his eyes, covering his scar.
He walked out of the cupboard, ducking at the door, and made breakfast.
*
After eating, Harry was given his usual list of chores to complete. He looked down at it. The work he was forced to do was endless. He often spent nearly all day working, and it didn't help that he was never allowed enough to eat. When to came down to it, all he had eaten in the past week was the spare bites he had stolen while cooking. He examined the cores he would have to do.
/Chores for July 31/
-wash the dishes from breakfast
-Mop the floors
-Clean up Dudley's second bedroom
-Make lunch
-Clean the kitchen
-Polish the furniture
-Weed the garden
-Prune the roses
- Cook dinner, and serve
You are to Remain in your cupboard for the rest of the night.
The list was signed with flourish, 'Aunt Petunia" With a sigh, he turned to the dishes, counting down the days left until Hogwarts in his head, and wishing he could have a real birthday.
*
About five hours later, Harry wandered out of the kitchen, after preparing the usual feast for Dudley, and then cleaning up for him. Apparently, the whole "diet" thing had been given up on last summer. He grabbed some furniture polish from the supply closet, and went to get started on his next task.
As he kneeled down to scrub the table, he muttered quietly to himself. "They work me like a bloody house elf, the stinking muggles. You'd think some one jammed a wand up there arse."
He was interrupted by Dudley. "I heard that, and I'm telling!" He ran from the room and Harry swore to himself.
A minute later, Vernon walked in. For some one who had apparently been putting on weight to keep up with his son, his pace was a deadly silent stalk. He was reminded of a tiger he had scene at the zoo. Unfortunately, that tiger had been stalking a rather large rabbit at the time.
Harry flinched back at the unbidden rage in his uncle's eyes, but it still came as a shock when the man's meaty fist struck his jaw. He flew back from the force, and collided with the wall. "How. Many. Times. Have. I . Told. You. Never. Mention. ANYTHING. To. Do. With. /Your./ Kind!" He seethed, each word, barely above a whisper. Harry had never seen his uncle so furious. "And! On top of all that, you DARE to insult my family! We clothed you boy! We sheltered you, when we should have just sent you to a bloody orphanage!
With that, Vernon Dursley picked the boy up by his ear, and attempted to drop kick him across the room. He landed with a sickening crack, as his head connected with the wall.
Harry, struggling to breath through shattered ribs, slipped into blessed oblivion.
*
He awoke in the dark. He didn't know where he was. Had Voldemort.? Panic gripped him, and he tried to sit up. Instantly pain ripped through his chest, and he was strangely light headed. He collapsed back down as the events of the day ran through his head, with a clarity and precision that made him flinch. He realized he was probably in his cupboard, and judging from the lack of light coming from under his door, the Dursleys were asleep, and it was about 11:00pm.
He shuddered as another wave of pain washed through him, gripping the ground as a way to remain conscience. His hand touched something wet and sticky on the ground. Bringing his hand close to his face, he whimpered quietly when he saw the blood running down his fingers.
Gingerly, he touched the bleeding welt on the back of his head. As he made contact, his nerves screamed in agony, and he pulled back. Feeling himself slipping away, only one thought crossed his mind;
/Happy Birthday to me.../
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Meanwhile, Harry's best friend since the first year on the train to Hogwarts, Ron Weasley sat in the dark, starring at the door where /he/ had left this parting comment.
/"You won't tell. Will you?"/
No. Of course he wouldn't. He wished he could, wished he could run down to his mother, to tell her everything, all the evil. He wished he could curl up in her arms, like he used to when he was a child, and the twins teased him.
But he couldn't.
Despite his better judgment, he was ashamed. Despite the constant fear that ate away at his nerves when ever /he/ was around, he would never tell. Not until his dying breath.
With a stifled sob, he curled into the fetal position that he had become so used to since the beginning of the summer. Rocking back and forth slightly, aching where he had... Touched him, hurt him.
And, with tears rolling down his cheeks, he starred at the door... Wishing to be saved.