Thanatos Rising Prologue:
First story, prologue changed since I wasn't happy with the previous one, R and R please.
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry potter would I honestly be writing fanfiction?
Grass- green,lush and scattered with blooming flowers of yellow and white. The sky was a vivid blue, with little fluffy clouds meandering around aimlessly. And the sun, bright and yellow, its ray radiating everywhere, smiling down at them.
A house- not too small, not too big, with two windows, a front door and an angular triangular roof. A neat little cobblestone path led up to it, and standing outside the bright red door they would be standing. The man was bespectacled and tall, with messy black hair. The woman was slender with red hair and brilliant green eyes. Their arms around each other, they both were smiling. Smiling at him.
The small boy smiled sadly at the childish drawing in his hand as he slowly walked along the pavement. He had done it at school today, and the teacher had told them to take it home and show it to their parents, or in his case his 'relatives'. He snorted at the thought. His relatives would probably rip or even burn his work if he dared showed them it. His cousin on the other hand... they would probably coo, celebrate and pin his work on the fridge, never mind the fact that it looked like someone had carelessly vomited onto it. This however… Harry stopped and softly brushed his fingers against the picture. Although aunt Petunia had always told him that his parents were useless drunks and drug addicts, and that she never bothered to take or keep any pictures of them, Harry knew that she was lying. Sometimes, in that realm between sleep and wake, whilst lying in the darkness on his dusty mattress, he would remember. See his father happily throw him into the air whilst laughing, his mother's gentle touch and shining green eyes. His father, mother and him, altogether, in a happier time. Raindrops fell from the sky. Lightly at first, soft and drizzling. Harry winced as one drop fell into his eyes as he gazed up into the ashen sky. Quickly and ever so carefully, he neatly stowed away his drawing into the plastic supermarket bag that carried his school things. He would have to hurry- his aunt had already picked up Dudley straight from school, and Harry would be shouted at for getting the carpet sodden if he was wet, never mind the fact that it would have all been easily avoided if he had been picked up too.
It was pouring now. Rain fell like leaden bullets from the sky, landing in faint thuds as they impacted the dampened ground. Harry rushed the last couple of metres to the porch, seeking shelter under the overhang. Carefully, he tested the front door, and his heart sank as it refused to open. Locked. It was like the Dursley's did this on purpose, waiting for him to beg entrance into the house and then proceed to belittle, shout at, and if he was unlucky, bodily push him into his cupboard and leave him there till morning. Harry looked around frantically. There! The front window had been left open (probably by Dudley – his aunt would have never left it open in this weather), and Harry thought to himself that there was probably enough space for his thin body to slide through. He looked around. Once, twice. It wouldn't do to get in, only to have one of the neighbours tell on him. Fortunately, the heavy rain had discouraged any would be onlookers.
Quickly, he ran to the wall, and using his feet, propelled his body onto the ledge. He quickly dragged his way through, and landed in the smaller living room in a crouch. No sound or exclamation greeted his arrival, and he finally let himself breathe. He slunk his way through the door, making sure beforehand that the hallway was clear. He could hear the muffled sound of his aunt cluttering around in the kitchen, and so he proceeded to where he lived. The door always squeaked, and so he took care to open the door, revealing the small, dusty space within. It was always dark under the stairs, and the closest source of light was the one in the hallway, and so Harry, taking advantage of the light before he went into the darkness, reached into his bag to find the picture.
"MUM! THE FREAK'S BACK AND HE'S GETTING WATER ON THE CARPET! "came the jubilant shrieking as Dudley suddenly jumped out from one of the side rooms, finger pointing gleefully. Harry mentally cursed and whirled around, just as the kitchen door snapped open, revealing the imposing figure of his aunt, heavy metal ladle in hand.
"Well done Dudley! Go into the kitchen now, there's cake and lemonade on the table"
Dudley departed the hallway with one final triumphant smirk at Harry. They both knew what was going to happen. His aunt stepped forward, eyes glinting.
"Well, how do you hope to explain this? You're late and getting my carpet wet with your dirty clothes!"
Harry instinctively took a half step back and raised his hands warily, before letting out a yelp of pain as his aunt sharply smacked his hand with the metal ladle. The picture dropped and floated down to the ground. Harry's heart plummeted as his aunt stopped in her menacing advance and stooped to pick it up.
"What is this?" Her voice was different from the nasal tone it normally took on, and instead was quiet, hard and icy.
Harry watched as her eyes scanned the childish picture, and then narrowed as she took in the details. Red hair. Inky black. Glasses. Green eyes.
"…. How did you know? HOW DO YOU KNOW!"
Harry back pedalled, half confused explanations forming at this sudden rage from her normally composed aunt whose verbal tirade only seemed to grow in size and strength.
"…NO SUCH THING! YOUR MOTHER WAS A WHORE, AND YOUR FATHER WAS A NO-GOOD USELESS DRUNK!"
Dudley, still munching on a generous slice of cake, peeked around from the kitchen door just to see his mother slap Harry with her bare hand. She was a frightful sight, face half flushed and blotchy from anger, and the other half white and pale as if in fright of something. Harry, having been forced to the ground from his aunt's blow was trying to get away from his irate aunt when the front door banged open, revealing an equally irate Vernon Dursley.
"WHAT THE DEVIL IS GOING ON HERE! A MAN COMES HOME FOR FOOD AND REST, NOT THIS… THIS RABBLE!" he shouted as he beheld the dismal scene of his off-colour wife, hand raised above his nephew who was scrambling off the floor.
"Vernon…" came the croaky whisper. "Vernon… I think he knows… he knows what they look like! I think he knows about… IT" She showed the picture to him, which was quickly grabbed by him.
"Boy…" came the growl. "What. Is. This?"
Harry too disoriented and confused about what was going on gave off stammered explanations and apologies as he was bodily lifted off the floor.
"THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS MA… IT DOES NOT EXIST!" Spittle flew from Vernon as he roared at the little boy, before roughly throwing him into the wall. He stooped down low, so his face was level with Harry's face. He raised Harry's picture.
"This… filth DOES NOT EXIST! AND IF YOU DO ANYTHING LIKE THIS AGAIN…"
Harry could feel the hot breath in his face as he stared petrified through his now thoroughly broken glasses, before he let out a gasp of agony as Vernon planted his fist into his emaciated body. From his position on the floor, he could only watch in despair as his uncle took savage joy in ripping the picture in half before crumpling it up and tossing it through the open front door.
"You'll regret it, you little freak." And with that final parting shot, Vernon Dursley dragged Harry across the carpet floor and carelessly kicked him inside with one foot.
In the darkness of the cupboard he laid, thin body wracked in agony, and hot tears streaming across his face. Why? The small boy living under the cupboard was confused, angry and frustrated, desperately hoping that there was something more to life than this. Unknowingly to him, as he closed his eyes in an effort to shut out the pain as well as the world, shimmering strands of essence started to coat his entire body. Suddenly, one tendril leapt out like a writhing snake, and was seemingly absorbed by the dead body of a spider. The spider suddenly twitched.
Outside, in the rain, the picture that he had lovingly drawn was being soaked. The figures of his parents, seemed to cry as water slid and discoloured them, before the whole image melted away as the rain overcame it.