Disclaimer: I don't own it, don't you know it
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Harry sat watching as the time on his alarm clock became 12:00. It was his birthday. Harry yawned deeply and struggled to stay awake. He leaned out his window and breathed in deeply the fresh summer air. Listening intently, he knew the Dursleys were asleep. Leaving his window open in case Hedwig came back, or someone sent him a birthday gift(as they did have the tendancy to arrive in the middle of the night), he crept out of his room.
Harry yawned again and crept downstairs, holding the glass he had kept in his room the past few weeks. He paused, listening, hearing nothing. Quietly he crept into the kitchen and filled the glass with ice. He took an ice cube and rubbed it on the back of his neck, sending chills down his spine. It did keep him awake, though. If he kept it up, he might make it through the night. Silently he crept back upstairs.
Sure enough, there were owls with packages in his room. Pig started hooting shrilly at the sight of Harry, and he heard Uncle Vernon stir in the next room. Harry caught the tiny owl quickly and fiercly in his right hand. Pig had helped to deliver a package and a card, so Harry threw him out the window and closed it so the Dursleys wouldn't wake up. Errol was drinking water from Hedwig's cage, and she was perched silently on top of it.
Harry then noticed the a couple of presents lying on his bed. Yawning, he started to open them.
The first thing he opened was a card from Ron. It had *Happy Birthday Harry* written on the front in neat handwriting Harry recognized as Mrs. Weasley's that changed colors, like the banner his friends had made for him during his first ever Quidditch match.
Harry-
Happy birthday! Mum made the front for me cos I can't do magic in the summers, do you like it? I hope you enjoy your presents. Don't eat the cupcakes, by the way, I'm pretty sure Fred and George did something to them. Could make you turn into a pigeon for all I know. There's also some fudge from my mum that's ok, and from me is a Danger Detector. The smoke will turn yellow if there's danger coming soon. If floats, see? Percy says it's just a cheap gimmick, cos it kept turning yellow when it was near him. We'll see what happens to him after it's sent. Anyway, enjoy!
-Ron
Harry picked up the package and unwrapped it. Inside the box were half a dozen chocolate cupcakes, some homemade fudge from Mrs. Weasley, and from Ron, a small glass sphere with swirling gray smoke inside. Thankfully, it stayed that color.
He opened the other package.
Dear Harry,
Happy birthday! I hope it's good. Thankfully, Hedwig turned up so I could get you your present. I hope you enjoy it.
Love from,
Hermione
Hmm, that was an unusually short letter. Harry unwrapped the package and found a heavy leatherbound book. Harry ran his fingers over the title. *1001 Useful Everyday Charms*
There was nothing from Hagrid. Harry felt sad and worried as he reliased this.
Harry flipped through the book. After a few minutes, he stopped, remembering that he wasn't allowed to do magic over the holidays.
Harry took some more ice and ran it over his forehead, giving him chills. He ran it over the back of his neck, his wrists, the front of his neck, anywhere that would make him really cold really fast. Anything to keep awake. He winced, the cold of the ice burning his hand, but still he kept doing it.
*********************
Harry heard the Dursleys starting to get up, so Harry went downstairs. He made two pots of coffee. The first, he drank some and quietly brought the rest to his room, the second pot he made for Uncle Vernon like he had been doing ever since he started using coffee to wake himself up. Uncle Vernon didn't mind.
--------------------------
Vernon came downstairs and sat down to his pitiful breakfast. No need to complain, Petunia gets mad at me if I complain, and besides, I'm going to the bakery soon anyway.
Harry made me coffee again, nice and hot. It's the least he can do, us taking him in. Could have sent him to an orphanage years ago.
He's not looking very well lately. Pale, skinny little brat, but he's looking more so lately. And *tired.* Well, it's his fault if he's not sleeping enough. Lord knows Petunia and I give him more than enough time to himself. We like him out of our way, but he could at least be put to *some* use.
He hasn't been screaming out in his sleep anymore. Maybe that's because he hasn't been sleeping, that might explain how tired he looks. Or maybe whatever nightmares he's been having have stopped. His fault they were brought about, I'm sure. He always was no good.
"Oh my," said Petunia.
It was a story on the television. A whole family killed up north. No suspects, not even a cause of death. Been happening every now and then for about a month now.
Vernon shook his head, muttering something about incompetence. That was strange, and he didn't like to think of anything strange.
-----------------------------
After breakfast Harry immediately went up to his room and gulped down the rest of the coffee. He was SO tired.
A few minutes later Aunt Petunia called him down with a list of chores to do, which he did, without protest.
---------------------------
Boy's doing chores again. As he should. He doesn't do nearly enough. He doesn't even complain about them anymore. Of course, I won't let him do *some* things. Like tidying up Dudley-kins's room. *I'm* the only one to be trusted with that. Dudley mustn't be interrupted from his television and video games, and he most *certainly* wouldn't want Harry there. I can't wait until he's gone, back at that school of his, when I won't have to deal with him *being* here, or look into those eyes which have aquired a deadened look to them....
-----------------------
After finishing his chores, Harry went back upstairs to his bedroom. He was *so* exhausted. He decided he'd better risk it and sleep. Better sleep now, in the day when Voldemort and the Death Eaters aren't active....
Harry took a clean sock and put it into his mouth so that he couldn't scream, and fell asleep. As he knew he would, he dreamed.
*Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.
"Where are we?" he said.
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.
They were standing in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry.
"Did anyone tell *you* the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.
"Nope," said Harry. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"
*Oh no it's not* thought Harry, preparing for what he knew would come.
"I dunno," said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"
"Yeah," said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him.
They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.
"Someone's coming," he said suddenly.
They watched the figure drawing nearer. From the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying looked like a baby...or was it merely a bundle of robes?
Harry lowered his want slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure.
It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them.
And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. His knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open.
From far away, above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say, *"Kill the spare."*
*Oh, no, oh, no,* thought Harry frantically in his sleep.
A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: *"Avada Kedarva!"**
Harry woke with a start. He took the sock out of his mouth, breathing hard, covered in sweat. He looked at his clock. He had been asleep for two and a half hours.
Harry sat up and shook his head with frustration. He felt exhausted from the dream.
He looked out his bedroom window and saw some children playing and laughing below. No cares, no worries, no nightmares, no Voldemort...
I'd like that. And I could have it, too... if I died.
Harry sighed looked around his room. Lots of Dudley's old broken things, a lamp, alarm clock, closed, desk, shelves of dusty books, his trunk...
Harry opened his trunk. His books, wand, some money, robes, invisibility cloak, broom...
Harry opened up another compartment. The pocketknife Sirius had given him last year.
Of course. The pocket knife. How could I have been so stupid.
He picked up the knife interestedly, and opened it up. He looked intently at its shining blade. He ran his thumb down the sharp side. The blade was sharp, and sliced his thumb, making it bleed.
"Ow!" said Harry, not loud enough to disturb any of the Dursleys, and stuck his injured thumb in his mouth, nursing it with his eyes closed, rocking back and forth slightly.
He suddenly stopped rocking and opened his eyes, the pain seeping into him.
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Harry sat watching as the time on his alarm clock became 12:00. It was his birthday. Harry yawned deeply and struggled to stay awake. He leaned out his window and breathed in deeply the fresh summer air. Listening intently, he knew the Dursleys were asleep. Leaving his window open in case Hedwig came back, or someone sent him a birthday gift(as they did have the tendancy to arrive in the middle of the night), he crept out of his room.
Harry yawned again and crept downstairs, holding the glass he had kept in his room the past few weeks. He paused, listening, hearing nothing. Quietly he crept into the kitchen and filled the glass with ice. He took an ice cube and rubbed it on the back of his neck, sending chills down his spine. It did keep him awake, though. If he kept it up, he might make it through the night. Silently he crept back upstairs.
Sure enough, there were owls with packages in his room. Pig started hooting shrilly at the sight of Harry, and he heard Uncle Vernon stir in the next room. Harry caught the tiny owl quickly and fiercly in his right hand. Pig had helped to deliver a package and a card, so Harry threw him out the window and closed it so the Dursleys wouldn't wake up. Errol was drinking water from Hedwig's cage, and she was perched silently on top of it.
Harry then noticed the a couple of presents lying on his bed. Yawning, he started to open them.
The first thing he opened was a card from Ron. It had *Happy Birthday Harry* written on the front in neat handwriting Harry recognized as Mrs. Weasley's that changed colors, like the banner his friends had made for him during his first ever Quidditch match.
Harry-
Happy birthday! Mum made the front for me cos I can't do magic in the summers, do you like it? I hope you enjoy your presents. Don't eat the cupcakes, by the way, I'm pretty sure Fred and George did something to them. Could make you turn into a pigeon for all I know. There's also some fudge from my mum that's ok, and from me is a Danger Detector. The smoke will turn yellow if there's danger coming soon. If floats, see? Percy says it's just a cheap gimmick, cos it kept turning yellow when it was near him. We'll see what happens to him after it's sent. Anyway, enjoy!
-Ron
Harry picked up the package and unwrapped it. Inside the box were half a dozen chocolate cupcakes, some homemade fudge from Mrs. Weasley, and from Ron, a small glass sphere with swirling gray smoke inside. Thankfully, it stayed that color.
He opened the other package.
Dear Harry,
Happy birthday! I hope it's good. Thankfully, Hedwig turned up so I could get you your present. I hope you enjoy it.
Love from,
Hermione
Hmm, that was an unusually short letter. Harry unwrapped the package and found a heavy leatherbound book. Harry ran his fingers over the title. *1001 Useful Everyday Charms*
There was nothing from Hagrid. Harry felt sad and worried as he reliased this.
Harry flipped through the book. After a few minutes, he stopped, remembering that he wasn't allowed to do magic over the holidays.
Harry took some more ice and ran it over his forehead, giving him chills. He ran it over the back of his neck, his wrists, the front of his neck, anywhere that would make him really cold really fast. Anything to keep awake. He winced, the cold of the ice burning his hand, but still he kept doing it.
*********************
Harry heard the Dursleys starting to get up, so Harry went downstairs. He made two pots of coffee. The first, he drank some and quietly brought the rest to his room, the second pot he made for Uncle Vernon like he had been doing ever since he started using coffee to wake himself up. Uncle Vernon didn't mind.
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Vernon came downstairs and sat down to his pitiful breakfast. No need to complain, Petunia gets mad at me if I complain, and besides, I'm going to the bakery soon anyway.
Harry made me coffee again, nice and hot. It's the least he can do, us taking him in. Could have sent him to an orphanage years ago.
He's not looking very well lately. Pale, skinny little brat, but he's looking more so lately. And *tired.* Well, it's his fault if he's not sleeping enough. Lord knows Petunia and I give him more than enough time to himself. We like him out of our way, but he could at least be put to *some* use.
He hasn't been screaming out in his sleep anymore. Maybe that's because he hasn't been sleeping, that might explain how tired he looks. Or maybe whatever nightmares he's been having have stopped. His fault they were brought about, I'm sure. He always was no good.
"Oh my," said Petunia.
It was a story on the television. A whole family killed up north. No suspects, not even a cause of death. Been happening every now and then for about a month now.
Vernon shook his head, muttering something about incompetence. That was strange, and he didn't like to think of anything strange.
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After breakfast Harry immediately went up to his room and gulped down the rest of the coffee. He was SO tired.
A few minutes later Aunt Petunia called him down with a list of chores to do, which he did, without protest.
---------------------------
Boy's doing chores again. As he should. He doesn't do nearly enough. He doesn't even complain about them anymore. Of course, I won't let him do *some* things. Like tidying up Dudley-kins's room. *I'm* the only one to be trusted with that. Dudley mustn't be interrupted from his television and video games, and he most *certainly* wouldn't want Harry there. I can't wait until he's gone, back at that school of his, when I won't have to deal with him *being* here, or look into those eyes which have aquired a deadened look to them....
-----------------------
After finishing his chores, Harry went back upstairs to his bedroom. He was *so* exhausted. He decided he'd better risk it and sleep. Better sleep now, in the day when Voldemort and the Death Eaters aren't active....
Harry took a clean sock and put it into his mouth so that he couldn't scream, and fell asleep. As he knew he would, he dreamed.
*Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.
"Where are we?" he said.
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.
They were standing in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry.
"Did anyone tell *you* the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.
"Nope," said Harry. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"
*Oh no it's not* thought Harry, preparing for what he knew would come.
"I dunno," said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"
"Yeah," said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him.
They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.
"Someone's coming," he said suddenly.
They watched the figure drawing nearer. From the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying looked like a baby...or was it merely a bundle of robes?
Harry lowered his want slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure.
It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them.
And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. His knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open.
From far away, above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say, *"Kill the spare."*
*Oh, no, oh, no,* thought Harry frantically in his sleep.
A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: *"Avada Kedarva!"**
Harry woke with a start. He took the sock out of his mouth, breathing hard, covered in sweat. He looked at his clock. He had been asleep for two and a half hours.
Harry sat up and shook his head with frustration. He felt exhausted from the dream.
He looked out his bedroom window and saw some children playing and laughing below. No cares, no worries, no nightmares, no Voldemort...
I'd like that. And I could have it, too... if I died.
Harry sighed looked around his room. Lots of Dudley's old broken things, a lamp, alarm clock, closed, desk, shelves of dusty books, his trunk...
Harry opened his trunk. His books, wand, some money, robes, invisibility cloak, broom...
Harry opened up another compartment. The pocketknife Sirius had given him last year.
Of course. The pocket knife. How could I have been so stupid.
He picked up the knife interestedly, and opened it up. He looked intently at its shining blade. He ran his thumb down the sharp side. The blade was sharp, and sliced his thumb, making it bleed.
"Ow!" said Harry, not loud enough to disturb any of the Dursleys, and stuck his injured thumb in his mouth, nursing it with his eyes closed, rocking back and forth slightly.
He suddenly stopped rocking and opened his eyes, the pain seeping into him.