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Even when he drifted off the trauma to his brain was worse than being awake. He could see him all over again, his uncle coming to his room, his massive hand around his throat to prevent him from screaming as he beat him black and blue with the other. Then he was awake again, breathing hard. How could he drift off to some peaceful slumber when all it did was to make the reality even worse? He envied those who slept with peace. Every night for him was a battle of sleeplessness, a torment that absolutely had be endured rather than a rest to be savoured before morning came and reinforced his miserable existence.
He stared up at the ceiling and fisted the sheets as his body ached from last night's beating. The walk should have worn him out, he should have passed out but it hadn't. Instead, it had left his mind filled with images of what could be inside the Manor. He absolutely hated his brain sometimes. He had to stop thinking about it. He was never going there again. But some part of him desperately wanted to see the insides of the Manor. He cursed that part and closed his eyes again trying to get some rest before morning arrived and he had to get up.
He absolutely despised his life. His years at St. Brutus's had been better than this and that was saying something because they had been incredibly violent to say the least. He turned to his side with a wince and stared at the barred-up window.
His uncle had barred it up because he'd thought that he sneaked out at night. He did sneak out but he used the front door. The idea to run away tempted him once again but he couldn't…not without taking the money that rightfully belonged to him. The money his parents had left him. The money his uncle would be forced to pay him as soon as he turned legal. If he ran away, he wouldn't be allowed access to it so he had to endure all this torment till then. Just three more months. Three more months of this prison and then he'd be free.
He daydreamed about all the things he would be able to do with the money. He could go to college, get a degree, get a job. He could travel. He could get everything he'd ever wanted. He was really looking forward to his independence. The excitement made him giddy and he smiled.
The next morning, he stood in front of the stove, making breakfast for his relatives despite how much his body was aching. His uncle was talking animatedly about some deal that was in the works while his aunt listened. Dudley, his cousin was in the living room watching TV with the volume cranked up. He could feel a migraine coming on and desperately wished for the silence of the night. He served up breakfast silently while his uncle continued talking. His relatives usually ignored him during the day. His uncle only noticed him when he was drunk. He was nothing more than a convenient punching bag for him to take out his daily frustration.
While his relatives ate, he leaned against the counter and once again, his mind drifted back to Riddle Manor. Would it have a kitchen? Damn it! There truly was no other way to stop thinking about the place other than to sat his craving and take a look inside. What if the door's locked? Well he could always sneak in through a window.
He thought about it the rest of the day, his mind conjuring up various images of what it would look like. Whether there really were ghosts in there. People said that whoever went in, never came out. They were lies though. People were too scared to go near it, let alone in it. But even if there was some truth in it, he really wasn't afraid of going missing. It wasn't like his relatives cared about him. His stomach ached and he wondered if he should take a painkiller. He only had three pills left in his secret stash and he decided to save them for the days when his uncle decided to really get rough with him and brought out the brass walking stick. He shuddered involuntarily as the memory of the last time he'd been beaten with it, played in front of his eyes. He shook away his thoughts and focused on the task at hand, which was to neatly fold all his uncle's freshly laundered shirts.
He thanked the heavens when his uncle talked about how good his day had been. That meant no beating tonight. He hadn't quite recovered from yesterday's yet. After doing the dishes, he silently returned to his room and locked the door, not that it hindered his uncle but it gave him a false sense of security.
When the clock on his bedside showed eleven. He pulled the key to the front door from under the mattress, snuck the torch into his hoodie pocket, took off his sneakers and picked them up before unlocking the door to his room and tiptoeing down the stairs. His uncle was snoring loudly on the couch where he had undoubtedly passed out. He unlocked the front door, opened it as silently as possible and stepped out before closing it and locking it again. Once outside, he pulled on his sneakers and jogged down the block. From there, he slowed down his pace and started making his way to the Manor.
This was incredibly stupid but he really couldn't contain his excitement. He felt like every fibre of his being was vibrating with anticipation. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins. The excitement wired his body like he was plugged into the mains. He felt like his brain was on fast-forward and there was no off switch. He tingled from his head to his toes, bounced on his flexing feet and rubbed his hands together. This was either going to very good or very bad. Maybe he should go back while he had the chance. No bloody way. He wasn't a coward and besides he had to purge himself of his curiosity once and for all.
The wind howled, like the tormented cries of a tortured man. It blew across him and chilled the tips of his bones; he had no gloves and it was a freezing winter night. Towering in front of him stood the decrepit Manor which let out a negative vibe that engulfed his excitement. He could feel evilness oozing out of every crack and crevice of the dismal stone walls of the house. The tenebrous sky only added to the frightening atmosphere.
The heavy oak double doors looked far more intimidating now. He pushed, expecting them to be closed but was mildly surprised when they opened Harry's ears resonated with the quiet squeal of the hinges as the entrance hall of the Manor became visible. He peered through the darkness, but couldn't see anything, making his stomach knot as wave of uncertainty crashed over him. He tried hard to walk away from it, but it was if another force was controlling him. He steeled himself and turned on the torch. The focused beam showed him that the entrance hall was roomy and eerie. An uneasy breeze blew down and grasped him with its chilly touch. Its fingers circled around his body, tenderly fondling every inch of him, pulling his shoulder's tight together as he huddled into himself for warmth. A staircase leading upwards caught his attention but he decided to explore the ground floor first. He raised an unsteady leg and stepped through the doors, partially closing it but his hand wouldn't let him push it hard against the latch
His mind told him not to move, but his body dragged him forward. Every step he took was met by a discordant shriek from the worm rotted floor boards. The floor got dustier, the floor boards got creakier and there was torn paint everywhere he looked. The vintage furniture was broken, chairs without legs and cabinets without doors - like a body with no soul. The air smelt as if it hadn't moved in years, festering like a stagnant pool of water. Harry shone his beam around, the only movement being the dust his sneakers had dislodged. He explored the ground floor. It was dim and uninviting. The furniture dusty and old, looking as if it would crumble to dust if he touched it. Mould ate away at the walls and flooring, and cobwebs laced the boarded-up windows and the walls. He discovered a staircase that probably led to the basement but decided to explore it after the first floor.
Tentatively, he walked up the crumbling stairs. He was afraid they might give way whilst he was still climbing up them. He could almost feel the presence of ghosts surrounding him and a cold tingle ran down his spine as the threadbare curtains he could just about see in the corner of his eye rustled softly. He was absolutely petrified although he reassured himself that it was only the wind, however a part of him didn't quite believe that was right.
As he arrived upstairs he saw many medieval artefacts that didn't make much sense to him but he didn't dare touch them though. He made his way through a crepuscular hallway to a room which smelt like a rotting carcass. The smell instantly made him feel nauseous and he felt as if he would throw up at any moment. He instantly backed out and checked the other rooms. He discovered a huge library covered in dust and cobwebs but the tomes looked mighty expensive.
Taking a deep breath, he made his way downstairs. The basement was pitch black and the torch light did nothing to improve his sight. Carefully he made his way down the wooden steps and found himself in a huge space. The basement was actually a wine cellar. Harry read the labels with the torch light and realized that the most exclusive vintages of Europe were shelved in these wooden racks, trusted to the natural refrigeration of the soil behind the dense stone walls. Wine that would no doubt be extremely expensive. Wine his uncle would probably die to get a taste of. There were ancient brackets for candles every few feet, but it had been so long since they were used that there wasn't even any wax residue on them. Without any circulation of air, the stagnant aroma made it dungeonesque and the unsoftened echo of Harry's feet brought on a claustrophobic feeling.
There was a door at the end of the wine cellar and every sane part of Harry's body screamed at him not to go in. He ignored it and pushed it open. The small space was dark and extremely cold. In the center of the space was something he couldn't make out, not even with the torchlight. He stepped closer and when his gaze took in what it was, he silently screamed and ran.