This is basically just an experiment. The writing style is a bit different, though it's close to what I've done before, in my Naruto story "Innocent". I have held onto this finished chapter for a few months now, debating with myself how to continue it, or whether or not I should continue it. I really want to make this into something more than what it is now, as it leaves a lot of unanswered questions. So, I just decided to go ahead and post it, just to see what everyone has to say. Any suggestions or ideas anyone has would be greatly welcomed. Criticism too. This story will be AU, and I'm changing quite a bit of canon, but hey, it's just for fun. Just a "what if" kind of thing here. Hopefully it won't be too confusing, and I plan to answer everything in later chapters. If I can ever get them written lol.

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

Warnings: child abuse, death, and dark themes.

"Parseltongue."

"Talking."

'Thinking.'

Someone else's POV or memory.

SsSsS

My Heart Burns

The Prelude

SsSsS

But for corruption, thou hast made an angel of destruction.

SsSsS

Fighting valiantly against tears, the nine-year-old boy worked his small, shaky hands diligently. The beautiful flowers proved a stark contrast to the boy tending them. Flowers; colorful, alive, and sweet. They grew up out of the warm soil, reaching for the bright sun, but the boy was empty and numb. He lived only to work for his relatives, never hoping for something more. Never reaching for the light.

Harry James Potter was a slave. He got by on nothing but bread and water most of the time, while he was forced to cook for his aunt, uncle and cousin. While they slept soundly in their beds every night, Harry lay awake on a hard cot. The cupboard under the stairs was his domicile in a house made a prison.

Harry knew that if he wasn't forced to weed the garden, he would never leave the house at all. Harry knew that if he wasn't forced to cook and clean, he would never leave the cupboard at all.

Harry liked the dark. The dark took away his fears. In the absence of light, he couldn't see the Dursley's faces. Sneering at him, laughing at him, and loathing him.

On this particularly warm May afternoon, Harry was performing his daily chore of gardening. Aunt Petunia made sure she had one of the best gardens on Privet Drive, even though she never bothered doing it herself. She had Harry for that.

So here he was again. On his hands and knees, weeding Petunia's petunias. Harry usually found a bit of solace among the plants. He knew what each flower liked, and what it didn't like. He knew the hyacinth, the begonias, the forget-me-nots, the roses. The colors served a slight purpose in his meaningless life. Only they showed him compassion.

But not this day. Today, Harry was just in too much pain to care.

Yesterday had been one of the worst days in his short life. Aunt Petunia had decided to cut Harry's unruly hair. She had told him it looked like a rat's nest and took the scissors to it. Harry flinched with every snip, fearing he'd lose an ear. He sat resigned and defeated when he thought she had finished, but to his surprise, she kept cutting. And kept cutting. And kept cutting some more.

His aunt, while snipping, mumbled something inaudible, so Harry smarted off about how his hair apparently didn't want to be cut. But Aunt Petunia had heard the remark, and it earned him a smack to the head and more hair cutting. It was later that day, after the horse-faced woman had given up on cutting the hair that refused to be cut, that he'd gotten one of his worst beatings yet.

As Harry finished washing the dishes left from the Dursley's dinner, he heard Petunia complaining to Vernon about "the freak's" hair. The freak, of course, was Harry. All three of the Dursleys had their pet names for him, and freak was one of the nicer ones. But, as Harry turned to leave the kitchen and escape to his dark cupboard, Vernon stopped him.

"Boy, why won't you let your aunt cut your hair? It's a damn mess!"

Harry no longer had much patience with the stupidity of his family. Couldn't they see it wasn't his fault? It's not like he was the one who couldn't even cut a kid's hair properly.

And with the heavy blow to Harry's cheek, followed by painful words spit from his uncle's mouth like venom, Harry knew he'd accidentally said that last thought out loud.

The warm sunlight on his back ached. It burned into his gashes, right through his over-sized shirt. With each move Harry made, he could feel the slowly healing wounds pull apart, reawakening the fresh agony. Last night's abuse was the first time Uncle Vernon had used his belt on exposed flesh.

The young boy worked the dirt, but his mind was focused solely on the horrible memory. He was crumpled on the kitchen floor; crying, bleeding. The insults and vicious sounds the belt made as it slapped against his back were washed away, flooded in Harry's own fear as he looked up into his uncle's face. Time stopped for the nine-year-old that moment. A face frozen in rage, was framed by eyes alight with blood-curdling pleasure.

A tremor ran through Harry's body. Vernon had enjoyed hurting him. The fat man looked like he couldn't wait to do it again. Harry knew that he needed to be extra careful now that he knew what his uncle was capable of.

Harry hadn't spoken a word to anyone the rest of the day. He just couldn't risk it. He dared not even think. Only the image of Uncle Vernon's rage induced delight plagued his mind. Harry had finished gardening, went straight to his cupboard, and stayed until it was time for him to cook. When the boy was finally free to sleep that night, he couldn't. He struggled with his discomfort, but his body just couldn't forget the pain. Something was building in Harry's young mind, and with one last stab of searing pain, everything he had been pushing deep down into his soul broke to the surface.

"Why?" he cried. Hot, salty tears burst from his green eyes as he finally succumbed to the weight on his bony shoulders. "What did I do? Why do they hate me…"

Harry trembled violently. An unknown feeling rose from his chest, mingling itself in the fear and pain that had been long pushed aside until this very moment. The darkness seemed to cuddle the child as he wept.

"I don't want this anymore! I'm scared! Why did my parents have to die? Why…."

Choked sobs erupted on their own from Harry's throat. He felt so raw and sore now, and despite the pain in his back, he drew knobby knees into his chest and held on tight as everything came crashing down around him. He saw darkness swirl around him through blurry vision and he had to close his eyes to keep from reeling out of control.

"Isn't there anyone there? Can't someone help me? Anyone! I don't care who…just please help me!"

Desperate pleas from a broken child continued long into the night, heard by no human ears.

sSsSs

Again, day after day, the same thing. "Get up, freak!" The Dursleys eat breakfast while Harry Potter eats nothing. Flowers, dirt, sunlight. Pain. Fear. Harry Potter says nothing. The Dursleys eat dinner. Harry Potter eats nothing. Harry Potter feels everything.

The night brings his tears. Vernon snores, and Harry cries.

"Anyone…please…please…help me."

Broken, alone and helpless, the child cradles his legs in the dark gloom and falls into a sleep riddled with screams and green light.

sSsSs

The warm days have gone by in blur now. Harry's mind cannot grasp anything in particular. All of the uncontrollable feelings wash everything away, until he knows of nothing else. He tries to focus on the deep violet of the hyacinth, he feels nothing with his hands. The sun beats down on him with a warm fist.

A shadow covers him. At first he doesn't even notice. But as it lingers, it grows. Harry suddenly stops all movement. He sees the ground around him has grown dark, very dark. It seems as if someone was standing over him, but when he looks, no one is near. No one but the shadow. A brief, slight flicker of hope jumps into in heart, but he pushes it away.

'It was just a cloud passing over…'

sSsSs

Careful not to actually run, Harry flees the kitchen. Vernon continues his mindless frenzy about drills. For once, Harry isn't the brunt of the large man's anger. But staying away is key to the boy's survival. He realizes how lucky he is that the Dursleys believe in 'out of sight, out of mind.' His uncle's yelling is finally replaced by snoring that night.

sSsSs

Harry Hunting has begun. Dudley can't find Harry, and the chase ends. But Harry is still running. Toward something. But that somethingis always gone when he reaches it. A shadow from nowhere. A whisper on the breeze. It taunts Harry playfully, like it wants him to catch it. It wants to be found. A small smile creeps onto Harry's face for the first time in…

sSsSs

Aunt Petunia looks so frightened. Harry could almost feel sorry for the woman. Almost. Vernon is so angry with her, and over nothing. The small boy forces away a smirk at hearing his dear aunt yelp in surprise as Vernon yells at her. Dudley takes a cue from Harry and disappears. Green eyes shine in barely concealed mirth that night in his cupboard. Now, he's not the only one in this house who lays in the dark and cries. His cousin's sobs can just be heard over the loud roaring of the boy's father. Harry smiles. He is pleased. The dark closes in around him and it feels right. A warmth fills him as sleep creeps in, a soft whisper promises redemption.

Harry wakes up. He's groggy, as if there's a mist covering his thoughts. But he can remember the dream. Like pieces in a puzzle, they show him a story. A woman pleads. A high-pitched laughter. The woman screams, and it all ends in green. He's seen this many times before. Nearly every time Harry has slept, he has seen it. The cold laughter chills him. But that green isn't so bad. No. Harry likes the green. It reminds him of his eyes, and he likes his eyes.

sSsSs

The shadow has stayed longer with him this time. Harry works outside, spraying a fine mist of water on the blooms. The shadow stands beside his own. Harry feels happy. Now he knows. Harry is no longer alone. Something has heard his crying and has finally come.

The happy feeling doesn't last long, though. As soon as Vernon Dursley enters his own home, a feeling of dread follows. All three of the weaker beings cower at his presence. He erupts into a fury once again. And again, it's about absolutely nothing. After dinner, the large man consumes more alcohol than Harry has ever seen him drink before. Petunia has fed her husband the brandy like it was candy. And Vernon drinks like a fish.

Soon, the anger turns into a slurred disorientation and a quiet darkness follows. No snores tonight, no crying. But the clawing at the front door keeps Harry awake for a while. The green-eyed youth can't for the life of him figure out why anything would want to come into this house. If you can even call it a house anymore. It is Hell.

sSsSs

Sweat, dirt and blood clung to Harry now that Vernon had finished. The poor boy had been caught unawares as his uncle noticed him outside, working in Petunia's prized flowers. The man had come home from work early that day. No one knew why really.

Never before had Vernon taken a risk like today. Harry had been beaten right there in the yard. In the middle of the day. But there was no yelling, only a silent rage fueled by some kind of new hatred. And then, it ended as soon as it had begun.

"Hurry and go wash yourself, you little freak. And don't you dare think about using any hot water, or I will give you something to cry about."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

The water burned into Harry's skin like ice. He always took cold showers, because hot water would be wasted on him. But with the bruises and gashes covering his frail body, the cold water was a punishment. Harry had to limp down the stairs, but he managed to do so quickly. He had practice.

Once in the relative safety of his dark cupboard, Harry curled up with his thin excuse for a blanket. But it was the warm breath on his face that helped. Not only could he feel it wash over him, but he could hear it. A raspy, heated whisper meant just for him.

Harry didn't stay cold for long.

sSsSs

The nine-year-old stared at the dead flowers with a new realization: life is short. Life is frail.

The heat in Britain had risen to new heights that June. The sun sent its sweltering rays toward the earth in a fierce show of dominance over the planet. Sweat trickled down Harry's face, and he trudged back into the relatively cool house. Is there really no such thing as safety? We are all just playing along with life, until the end. Harry honestly believed this would be the end.

The end of something.

Vernon lounged comfortably in the living room, while Petunia eyed some interesting thing out the front window. Harry finished his glass of refreshing tap water before putting the dirty dish back where it had been in the cabinet. Smirking, he returned to his dark closet as quietly as possible.

Bloody Sunday. That is what Harry had remembered this day as. A Bloody Sunday.

The breathing was louder than before. Harry listened closer, trying to make out the words. All he could hear were the shrill complaints of the woman in the living room. Harry felt a panicky fear trickle through his veins, chilling him despite the heat. Did the woman not know how to keep her mouth shut? She will only anger the resting beast formerly known as Vernon Dursley, and that will not bode well for any of the household.

Harry reveled in the deep, harsh whispering just out reach, all the while keeping an ear open for threats from outside. The invisible companion was vying for Harry's full attention, and easily got it with an assertive gust of heat. Even though the boy was drenched in sweat, the warmth felt good. It fluttered across his skin, touching every inch of his body, in spite of clothing. Seeping into his very pores, the force flowed through Harry's veins, easing his sore muscles, his aching bones. It seeped into him like a virus, filling him with pure joy.

The sudden flash of light jolted Harry from his peace, as the door to his cupboard was flung open. And there Vernon stood, eyes full to the brim with something Harry had never seen before.

Absolute. Hateful. Lust.

All feeling drained out of the small boy, leaving him numb with terror. A large meaty hand was suddenly clasped around a thin neck, as Vernon drug Harry out of the cupboard and into a bright, horrible world. He was held down to the floor with the hand around his throat like a claw while the other gigantic fist turned the boy's face into one raw bruise.

Harry lay as still as he could, trying not to encourage this lunatic by struggling. But it didn't matter. After the fist came the belt. Vernon had no target, but hit Harry in every place he saw. Across the chest, the legs, the arms, and finally his face. It was when Harry saw his own precious blood splatter upon Petunia's perfectly white wall that a high, disturbing shriek pierced the world.

Everything stopped. No one dared breathe.

Never before had Harry cried out in pain. He knew he couldn't make that sound again, no matter how hard he tried. It was the cry that innocence made when it died.

sSsSs

An eerie calm floated around Harry. He was still in shock. The events that had transpired that dark day were dull in his memory. He was shocked that he'd survived. Vernon had obviously been quelled by Harry's painful shout, as the man had stopped all violence and lifelessly ascended the stairs. No one saw or spoke to him for the rest of that day or the next. But Harry had been cornered by his aunt that night. She just knew this was all Harry's fault. He was a freak, and this is the kind of trickery that freaks like him are good at. But Harry didn't need to hear his aunt's threat to know that he would be dead if Vernon wasn't 'fixed' soon.

Harry knew in his tiny, broken heart that his uncle meant to kill him. And no one knew why.

Heat and breath circled around the boy now like a storm. A single voice spoke in the darkness from many different places all at once, all together but separate. A compulsion overtook Harry, and he gave in. He uttered the words like a mantra, never having wanted to say them but knowing he had to.

"He's going to kill me."

The voice stopped abruptly and a silence hung in the air. Harry could no longer breathe. A smothering blaze of heat engulfed the small cupboard. Harry could feel the foreign emotion of the intense warmth rolling over him in an infernal tidal wave. It was angry.

The seething heat collapsed when a knock came at the front door. Someone answered. Harry heard the worry in Mrs. Figg's voice when she inquired about the family. Aunt Petunia assured her that all was well, but the old cat lover specifically asked about Harry then. Petunia choked out a pitiful lie, and the house was soon plunged into silence once again.

sSsSs

The unbearable heat of the long day was disturbed by the crisp, cold darkness of night.

Harry lay, just on the edge of sleep. It may have been cold that night, but the boy didn't shiver. He was being kept warm by the presence that grazed over his small frame, emitting a warmth that could rival fire itself.

Harry could never see what it was that had joined him in his lonely life, only a shadow in passing. But he didn't care. As long as it stayed with him, warming him, soothing him with a whispered nothing.

"Mmmm…. Who are you?"

The mumbled question was layered in a haze of exhaustion. Harry was in so much pain, and he was so very tired, that in this moment, he had no idea where he was. All he knew to be real was the comfort from the unknown being above him. It was caressing him, loving him.

Harry slipped deep into sleep that night, recalling no nightmare. Only a green haze filled his mind, while the memory of a low, husky chuckle invaded his senses all night long.

sSsSs

No car crash?

No. Harry's parents hadn't died in some tragic accident. He knew that now. They had been hunted down and killed. The Dursley's had kept this truth from him his whole life, but that didn't really surprise the boy. What did surprise him was that on the evening after that last bloody beating, Vernon had told him the truth.

The man had called Harry into the living room, and told the boy to sit on the floor beside the chair that Vernon had been occupying. Scared, Harry obeyed silently. Petunia and Dudley were told to stay where they were, both perched nervously on the couch. Harry sat on the floor beside the large chair that housed the man. He tried not to show fear, tried not to tremble when Vernon put a large, thick hand on top of his head. Harry fought the urge to flinch away when Vernon began to gently stroke his messy hair. The gesture was almost loving, but the touch, along with Vernon's glazed over face, frightened Harry more than anything.

The large man was like a bow, pulled taught and ready to release that killer arrow at the slightest moment.

And it was there, in that fear saturated room, that Vernon told Harry how the Potters had met their end.

"A man, I don't know his name…must be a good man… just snuck right in the house. Your good-for-nothing father tried to stop him then, I'll bet."

Fat fingers twirled locks of black hair. Vernon hummed to himself gleefully. No sound, no movement came from the other three.

"I suppose your mother was next. Ah, Lily Potter. Was she lovely, my dear Petunia? Is that why you hated her so? No, no that wasn't it... Ah, I remember. She had a gift that you wanted for yourself."

Harry would give anything to be able to laugh this situation away, especially upon seeing his aunt's face pass from fear to anger and back to fear again. A kid with a light switch.

"Then, it was your turn. He did whatever he did, what your kind do, but you just wouldn't die. Would you, boy?"

The contradiction of Vernon's touch to his words was astounding. A gentle, soothing pet, punctuated by chilling truth. Harry was frozen, never daring to move. He couldn't speak, was too afraid to even think. Irrational, Harry suspected his uncle could read his thoughts. A chant had begun in Harry's head. A never-ending beg for mercy, a plea for help.

'Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. I don't want to die…'

The two smaller Dursleys tensed back into the couch when Vernon suddenly stood from his chair, bid them all goodnight, and disappeared up the stairs. Harry heaved a sigh of relief, and all but ran to the cupboard. Petunia glared at her retreating nephew.

sSsSs

I am Wild. I am free. Born of the Earth, out of time and space, I am his gift. Unleashed out of the fear, I gather power, awaiting my return.

The land gives its strength so easily. Time flows by in a harsh flood. The trees, the animals, the Earth itself, is all yours now.

All for you, my little one.

Nature itself has control now. And it is I, a wild force that had gained freedom from his repressed magical core, that grows in power as the world gives me her love.

The fragile colors had been the last to die.

But something has happened; something I did not intend. Another has come. A being not unlike myself, whose only purpose is to protect. I have seen him, and he is strong. He will be your savior and your saboteur.

Please… forgive me, dear child. I only meant to save you, to heal you.

It is time to return. I will undo the wrongs placed upon you, all the while condemning you.

This is all for you, Harry.

sSsSs

"…out…"

Harry jolted awake at the voice. It was so clear, so defined now. It couldn't have been the whisper, it's not possible. But he couldn't recall his dream, or if he'd even been dreaming at all. He laid his head back down, only to sit straight up, eyes wide in the dark. Searching. Looking desperately for the person who had just spoken in a commanding tone.

"Get…OUT."

There was no heat, no breathy whisper teasing him. Jumping out from his covers, Harry tried opening the cupboard door. It was unlocked? He eased it open. The quiet hallway unnerved him. But the silence was broken by a creak; a door somewhere to his right opened. The kitchen. The back door leading out of the kitchen had just swung on its hinges unaided.

Harry shrank back into his dark room upon hearing heavy, firm footsteps walking on the tiled floor. Not breathing, not moving, Harry only listened. And waited. Is this it?

Is this the end?

Cold unknown crept into his rapidly beating heart. The sound of someone walking had been replaced with the sound of someone hissing. The scratchy voice spoke: "Sssssssso cold. Ssssssssso bright. Musssssssst make heat."

Harry's overworked mind only processed one thought; 'I like the heat too.'

Poking his head shyly out into the moonlit hall, Harry found the source of the hissing voice. A thin, pale grey snake. It slithered along a trail of light powder. If snakes could mumble, then that's what this snake was doing. Over and over. "Dark. Heat."

Compulsion drove Harry over the edge, and with a bated breath, he spoke to the small serpent:

"Hello? Are you lossssst?"

Red eyes locked on to green. Harry watched the snake slithering toward him with a renewed purpose. No more hissing. The creature made it's way right past the boy, straight into the dark cupboard. Harry was captivated by the snake. It had spoken to him, and he understood it. He had spoken to it, and as far as he could tell, it had heard him. The animal may have even understood him, as well. He wasn't sure, but he wanted to know. He needed to know.

"What are you doing, little ssssnake? Can you hear me?"

Curling around itself, the snake had completed its quest. "Musssssst make heat. Yessssss…"

Harry watched, enthralled by it's purpose. It was undulating, coiling, writhing. Emerald green eyes never left the serpent once, and soon, four small, red eggs glowed in the darkness like dying embers. The heat was filling the cupboard again, but this time, the source was the eggs. Harry realized with a burning pain that he had neglected to blink. The heat from the eggs dried his eyes, and he had to back away quickly, else his face would be covered in burns.

Back against the opposite wall, a rustling called for his attention. Indeed, the back door was open wide. But it was not the door that had Harry's heart leaping into his throat in shock. No, it was the shadow. It was standing in the middle of the deceased flowers. More a man than shadow, it was beckoning to Harry with a long, dark arm. But the boy was frozen on the spot, and his mind could not force action from his body.

Until he noticed the fire now blazing in the cupboard before him.

Desperate. There was no more snake. Only a ring of that same odd powder in the hall circled the quickly growing flames. Horror swept through Harry's blood. The house was on fire! The blaze engulfed the tiny space in mere seconds, eating away at Harry's former life with something akin to vengeance. The poor boy had backed into the kitchen, where he could feel the cool night air on his back. He wanted to run, to get away. But Harry just couldn't look away from the amazing sight. It was power incomparable to anything he ever imagined. Pure destructive fury at it's finest.

The fire ate everything. Down the hall. Through the living room. Up the stairs. Harry thought briefly about the Dursleys. They were trapped. They would soon be devoured by the inferno, burning forever in Harry heart. But this was the end. There was nothing left now, it was all over. Harry turned around and fled through the open door.

A tower of fire now lit up the sky in a wrathful revenge. Harry stood transfixed. The wilted beauties at his feet seemed to cry for him. The life of the flowers had been cut short by rage, foreshadowing demise. The fate of three human beings had been dealt out with no mercy. The painful screams echoed into the world. Their pain punctured Harry's enflamed heart. Tears flowed like a river down the boy's face as he watched his prison crumble in on itself.

This was never meant to be the end. This was only the beginning…

Sirens wailed closer and closer. The shrill sound cried out in urgency. But they would be too late. Too late for Uncle Vernon. Too late for Aunt Petunia. Too late for Dudley. Harry felt a great sadness, not for his family, but for the loss of something he never even had. Dreams burned down with the Dursley's home in an angry torrent of lies and deceit.

"Burn, filth."

The voice was smooth and loud at Harry's ear. It released a brutal laugh into the night. Green eyes fluttered, and the young body sank slowly to the ground, as if he could only move in a dream-like trance. The shadow was all around the boy now, stalking like a predator. Flames licked at the darkness in the background of Harry's vision, but the shadow, with it's deep, sweet voice thick like molasses, was the only thing he knew. It was at the very forefront of his mind, his soul yearned to feel the darkness.

The shadow is within his reach now, a dark void in the clasp of his consciousness. Warm breath on his neck, creeping up to dry his tear-soaked cheeks. Harry's eyes close gently, and the warmth caresses him on the outside, filling him with its power. A sudden gasp escapes the boy one last time, as an electric force pushes into his mind, fully invading him. Darkness pulls him under, and the last thing Harry hears before drowning in unconsciousness is that lovely voice resounding through his entire being like an echo.

"My heart burns…"

SsSsS

So there it is. Should I continue this? Is it interesting enough? Please let me know what you think. I beg you. Also, I was unsure about the rating. I'm paranoid that it may not be high enough for this. I'm bad at judging that lol.