Disclaimer- JK owns everything, lucky cow :) I'm just using the characters to give you lot a second chapter :D
Yepp thats right chapter 2! Sorry it took a while, ive been busy busy busy
Hope you enjoy it kids :)
He sat scrunched up with his arms around his bony knees feeling the spray of the water against his bare back. His eyes flickered back to the razor that was resting in the plughole, the blood still being washed away by the stream of water. This immense feeling was euphoric and gave Harry a purpose. It was something that got him through his days, something that gave him control, something that smashed into his numbness and allowed him to feel. He lay back enjoying this momentary pleasure but knowing it would be only too long before he reached out, wanting to feel again. The throb in his arm was fresh and he held it up under the running shower. The light of the bathroom bounced off the thin scars so that they showed white; the deeper ones, purple and the most recent ones, crimson. The blood flowed from his forearm to slither away down the plug and out of sight.
Harry was proud. He had realised that he had learned not to take this too far but still gain the sense that he was somehow alive inside. The cuts were deep, yes, but not so that his life would slowly ebb away. "Yes," thought Harry, "I'm in control." He knew how ridiculous he must sound but this did not prevent him from feeling that he was finally in control of his life. By now the blood had stopped flowing and the broken skin on his arm was all that was left, along with a familiar, comforting sting Harry was sure would last him most of the day, possibly even till tomorrow, that was, if his Aunt, Uncle or cousin would leave him alone.
He dried his body and roughly, his hair before putting on a clean pair of boxers and jeans. He draped his towel over his arm for one simple reason; to cover his scars and cuts as he walked to his bedroom.
A fresh slice of grapefruit lay on a plate on the floor. This was his breakfast and realising he hadn't eaten anything since the half a banana yesterday morning, Harry picked it up and brought it to his lips. The taste brought a lump to his throat and a queasiness to his stomach that was nothing to do with the bitterness. He felt weakened and with the anger that was caused by this, he hurled the fruit out of his open window with all the strength he could from his frail body.
"BOY!" He heard from the kitchen. It was his uncle and he was enraged, as usual. Harry could see that purple vein that always stuck out whenever his uncle was angry even now. He was past caring what he had supposed to have done, past caring why his new name was all of a sudden 'boy', past caring why that that word was always followed by shouting, screaming, punching...
He threw on a top and jacket and walked carelessly down the stairs, dragging his feet as if this would prevent what was about to unfold. He paused to take a breath when he reached the bottom and looking at the family portrait of Vernon, Petunia and Dudley with disgust he entered the kitchen.
"Yes?" Harry asked; his voice lacked emotion and this angered Vernon further.
"Yes what?" He spat.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" was Harry's reply, he emphasised the name as if it was something distasteful in his mouth.
"It's about time you learned some respect boy, you treat this place like a hotel after we feed you and clothe you! It's absolutely disgraceful and I will not stand for it, you hear?" He was edging closer to Harry all the time, bringing up past arguments so as to have more of a reason to be angry with him.
"Yes Uncle Vernon, I hear, what did you want?"
"You mean to tell me you don't know what you've done? You have some nerve boy, waltzing down here with that guilt in your eyes and then lying to my face!" His hand grabbed the hood of Harry's jacket whilst the other one was curled into a fist and shoved right up in his face. Vernon let go for a moment before hitting him with all his might. The pain seared in Harry's right shoulder; he'd never felt pain like it, he winced and this was enough satisfaction for Vernon to start shouting again.
"Well I'll tell you what you've done! That bloody bird of yours is gone! Nowhere to be seen, and the shed door? Just left swinging open! Are you that stupid to set the pigeon free and think to yourself, 'Oh, I'll just leave the door wide open, that way they'll never know!' What were you thinking?" His fist was back in Harry's face again but, Harry, being familiar with this act spoke smoothly and firmly.
"I have no idea what you are going on about Vernon, I haven't seen Hedwig since you locked her up in there and if my owl has gone then I'm going to do everything in my power to get her back."
By now Vernon was seething and spit sprayed into Harry's face. His grip tightened on Harry's shoulder until his fingernails were digging right into the bone but still Harry maintained a straight face, he was used to physical pain and in a way it didn't bother him. Vernon pulled Harry towards him and shouted, "LIAR!" before throwing him against the wall. Harry's head banged into the door frame and the last thing he saw was Vernon slamming the back door shut and leaving him there. He felt a trickle of blood run down his forehead before his eyes gave up all together and blackness overtook him.
..................................................................................................................................................................
He awoke several hours later with the daylight from the kitchen window lighting up his face. He squinted in the brightness and felt the dried blood crack on his forehead. Every muscle in his body was aching and he fell back on his first attempt at standing up. Once he was stood he felt the throb of his fresh bruises and the dull pain in his head. This had happened more times than he could count, the only difference this time was, Harry genuinely didn't have a clue what Vernon had been saying about. He reflected on the argument in confusion, his head distracting him from logical thought until he remembered Hedwig was missing and somehow that was his fault even though they clearly knew where he had been and when for the past 19 days.
He leant on the table top, ignoring the pain this movement caused in his shoulder and neck. The house was eerily quiet, as if it had been unoccupied for days on end, however the atmosphere was still thick with tension and anguish. He walked over to the living room window and peered out to find the car gone. A house to himself?! The relief was momentary but adrenalin flooded through his veins at the thought. This was it, his chance to break free from all of this and escape the clutches of number 4 Privet Drive. He didn't have long.
He was halfway up the stairs before dread and realisation hit him. He couldn't get out of the house, and he definitely wasn't going to jeopardise his place at Hogwarts by using magic to open the bolts on every door and window. Still, in this rare, hopeful mood it couldn't hurt to try the doors. He did remember Vernon slamming the back door but he couldn't recall him actually locking it. Maybe just this once he had forgotten. Walking slowly so as to cherish this burning desire within him, something he hadn't felt in a long time for the reason that he just didn't feel at all much anymore, he reached the back door. With a sigh he turned the handle. It was then that the most amazing sound reached his ears, the awaited clicking of the door as it swung open.
The breeze was gentle on his face and he breathed in the rich oxygen realising that this was the first time he had been outside in nearly three weeks. His hair ruffled slightly in the wind and he stepped out and walked lazily towards the shed, the door still wide open. He was aware that the whole cage had been taken, nothing else, so Hedwig hadn't been set free at all but was still in her cage somewhere. He hoped that someone he knew had taken her; Harry knew that the order were watching the house day and night and it wouldn't have surprised him if they had overheard Vernon shouting at his confused being.
With these thoughts running through his mind he ran in the house and up the stairs. He dragged his trunk out from under the bed and started piling everything he owned into it; clothes, robes, shoes, bags, books, wand etc. After he was satisfied he had everything he ran into the bathroom and grabbed his wash bag and trusty razor, not forgetting to splash water on his face to clean away the dried blood. Once everything was in place and his razor was tucked into a side pocket of a pair of old jeans, he shut his trunk and locked it. It banged on every stair on his way back into the garden and he ran back into the shed once more, picked up his broomstick and went back to sit on his trunk to think through how he was going to do this.
Darkness was fast approaching with the evening and the sun was setting low over the clouds. The Dursley's could be back at any moment so he had to be quick, despite the knock to his head causing much confusion still. The Knight Bus was always an option and it looked as though that was going to have to be the answer; he could think of no other way right now and his head was aching.
He stood up arching his back and carried his trunk and broom over to the back gate at the bottom of the garden. Placing his possessions over the gate he climbed up and over and felt the relief wash through him. He was blazing inside and he had never felt so energised, except, perhaps at the beginning of a quidditch match. He smiled as he walked, trailing his trunk with his broomstick under one arm, thinking of quidditch and Hogwarts.
He sat on the pavement trying to remember the wrist movement for calling upon the Knight Bus when he heard a rustling in the trees behind him. Fear swamped his body as he turned his head but what met his eyes only surprised him. The silhouette of a man with long, black hair and a hooked nose.
"Potter."
A/N: Hope that was ok for you :D A bit dark and drastic eh? Tell me what you thought, maybe I'm putting too much into it? Any feedback is good feedback but no flames please :)
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