A/N: Hello! This is my first Harry Potter story that I decided to write. This is the introduction and all chapters will be longer. This is just to see what yall think about the idea. ENJOY
If you like PJO, then check out my story for that!
Harry sat on his bed, his fists clenching and unclenching in sync. His eyes were emerald disks atop of white eggs. His face was as pale as freshly fallen snow and his hair was a coal black.
His face was marred by bruises and cuts of all shapes and sizes. Dried blood littered his frail body. His clothes hung off his frame like a flag on a windless day, limp and loose. He was emotionless, a mask of a blank page. He gave away nothing.
This was normal for Harry. He had never known the joy of tossing a ball with friends. He had never been shown love by the ones he was closest to. Affection was a word that Harry had never experienced. He was a broken toy, abused by the caretakers that were supposed to be his greatest support. Alone.
Nobody knew, nobody cared. He never attempted to tell at school. His Aunt and Uncle would just tell the school it was his delinquency acting up. Then he would get an even worse beating.
Harry stared at nothingness. This was his life most of the time. School. Chores. Beating. Emptiness.
He had done the school, chores, and the beating. He was currently on emptiness. It helped dull the pain if he went a bit numb.
If he hadn't been numb, he would've been crying in pain. His shoulder was dislocated, several ribs were fractured, there were innumerable bruises littering his body, dried blood was hard on his skin (he would scrub that off in the morning before school), and this was just the physical damage.
Emotionally, he was much worse. He couldn't begin to explain to somebody what he felt. He was apathetic towards the beatings now, mainly believing that he deserved them. Everything else however, he was unsure.
His six-year-old mind wasn't mature enough to process the information yet. It probably never would be.
Harry's hands clenched in the only blanket he had ever had. It was knitted and had a name embroidered on the corner in green. Harry James Potter. This was the way that he had learned his name. His uncle merely said 'boy' while Aunt Petunia merely grunted at him or said 'you.' Dudley called him freak.
His eyelids began to droop and he prepared to sleep. He leaned down on the floor, taking the blanket with him so that he may not become too cold. It was an unrelenting winter and there wasn't very good heating in Harry's cupboard.
Harry peered through the crack of the door and the floor, staring at the sliver of yellow light. He wasn't aloud to turn on the light in his cupboard. It apparently made them remember that he was living there. Then they would beat him again.
Soon after Harry's head had hit the ground, his eyes were snapped shut and his mind was off in the realm of dreams and nightmares.
Tonight it was a dream.
He was comfortable. He felt safe. He was enveloped in warmth by a strange source. He was being hugged. Harry James Potter, the boy who had never known affection, was being hugged.
Strong arms gently pulled away and Harry saw warm, black eyes and a hooked nose staring back at him in the most inviting way possible.
He smiled. A genuine smile that could make the most severe man coo.
The man smiled back and the dream dissolved into nothingness.
Harry woke up and stared at the pitch black crack between the cupboard door and the floor. He smiled the same smile that he had smiled in his wonderful dream. It felt nice to be loved. He hoped he would be able to feel it again soon.
Aunt Petunia hugged Dudley. He would scream and push her off though. She still loved him.
Harry didn't scream or yell. He was just empty. If he was better than Dudley, then why did Dudley get so much love while Harry had nothing?
His facade slipped away and a tear drop formed at the corner of Harry's eye. He blinked furiously, but that just made it slide down his cheek.
The pain of what he had been through came back and he felt every lash, every punch, every crunch that he had ever been given.
Tears were pouring out of Harry's eyes, streaming down his once again expressionless face.
He could always mask his outside, but sometimes his inner mask broke, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Severus Snape sat in his chair in bewilderment. He had just woken up from a dream after he had fallen asleep while grading papers in his comfy leather chair.
In his dream, Severus had been hugging somebody, a child. It had felt so warm and right. It was a soft contrast to his usually severe self. It was... nice.
Severus had gently pulled back after a couple minutes and stared into the eyes of a green-eyed boy.
A boy with jet black, unruly hair. A boy with a lighting scar carved onto his forehead. A boy with innocence and fear etched on his face.
A boy with bruises engulfing his body, who winced at any slight movement he made.
A broken boy who was in need of a guardian angel. In need of a savior to take him away from the house meant to be his strongest protection. The boy that Severus had sworn to despise only because of who his father was.
This was a boy that he was meant to hate, but looking into the pain-filled eyes of the meant to be six-year-old, he only saw himself as a child. Bruised and abused and in need of a person to take him in and coddle him and heal all of the scars and pain that he had been through.
He saw a broken Harry Potter.
A/N: What do you think? Should I continue? Should I not? Review/PM me please! If I get some attention for this, I will post more this weekend. THANKS! -Jojo