Disclaimer: the golden rule of fanfics: don't own, don't sue(A/N: I don't even own this disclaimer)
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The pain... it was intense, awakening, got his mind off his other problems, and even...enjoyable? Yes, he decided. It was enjoyable. He sat there, letting the pain seep into him, his senses more alert than that had been in weeks. Eventually, though, the pain subsided, and Harry was back to being his miserable, tired, tortured self.
***********************************************
The next morning came with the Dursleys having made no notice of Harry's birthday, no word from either Hagrid or Sirius, and Harry managing to stay awake the entire night.
Yawning, he went downstairs. He was completely and utterly exhausted, which, given the circumstances, was completely understandable. He held onto the railing so as to not fall down the stairs.
"Stop yawning!" nagged Aunt Petunia as Harry sat at the breakfast table, yawning consistently. Dudley looked eagerly at Harry's grapefruit quarter, but Harry did not give it to him today. Dudley looked sulky as he went upstairs to play video games after breakfast. Vernon kissed Petunia and went to work, and before Harry could escape upstairs Aunt Petunia was on him, hands on her hips.
"Oh, no, you don't!" she said, as Harry yawned. "You're going to mow the front lawn. I have nothing else for you to do." she tutted, obviously thinking this a disgrace of some sort.
Harry went into the garage and got the lawnmower. *No, I must stay awake* Harry told himself. He wanted more than anything to sleep, yet feared it so much also.
Harry clumsily pushed the lawnmower over the grass in the front yard, not really paying attention, simply focusing on staying awake. He would die for some dreamless sleep potion, or just to stay awake.
*I could get dreamless sleep if I died,* mused Harry. *That would be *wonderful.**
He put away the lawnmower, and clumsily walked up the stairs to his room, tripping a bit occasionally. He drank the cold coffee he had been keeping up there since before breakfast. It didn't do much to wake him up, unfortunately.
Harry at last gave in and stretched out on his bed, placing the sock once more in his mouth so as not to scream, as he inevitably would. And, 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?"
"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?
The scene changed, and Harry was watching a figure sitting in a high-backed chair, with someone in robes kneeling before him. Harry instantly recognized the figure in the chair to be Voldemort.
"So," said Voldemort, in his high, evil voice, "you have failed me yet again, Goyle."
Goyle started a studdering speech, but Voldemort cut him off.
"I trust it will not happen again?" he said coldly.
"N-n-no, my lord..." began Goyle.
"We are to operate in secret, it is most helpful for that dingbat Cornelius Fudge to keep denying our activity. By your error -"
"My lord, it will not happen again..."
"Perhaps you need a little *reminder* of what happens to my followers when they make mistakes?" said Voldemort in his high, cold voice, and Harry's scar exploded with pain.
"Cru-"
A loud noise woke Harry with a start, and he sat up. His bedroom door had been banged open, and a livid-looking Uncle Vernon was standing in the doorway.
*Oh, joy,* thought Harry sarcastically. *What have I done now?*
"BOY!" roared Uncle Vernon, and immediately Dudley appeared in the hallway, eager to see Harry be bullied by Uncle Vernon.
"Wot?" said Harry irritably, leaning his head to one side. He didn't really care what happened to him anymore.
Uncle Vernon breathed in a furious breath, and roughly grabbed Harry by the back of his neck.
"Let go of me!" he protested, kicking.
Uncle Vernon shoved him down the stairs and out onto the front porch.
"*Look at this,*" he hissed. "Petunia tells me *you* mowed the lawn today."
*Hmm,* Harry thought. *Guess I *really* wasn't paying attention, now, was I?*
He could see why Uncle Vernon was so upset. He wanted everything to be perfect, and the front lawn was anything but. It wasn't mowed in straight lines, but rather crooked ones, and parts of the lawn weren't even mowed at all. Harry looked and saw he *had* however mowed down some of Petunia's flowerbeds. It was rather funny, really.
Harry chuckled.
Vernon spun him around, his eyes wide, his face red, that vein throbbing in his temple.
"FUNNY! YOU THINK THIS IS *FUNNY*!" he roared. "I'LL SHOW YOU WHAT'S FUNNY!" And he roughly pushed Harry inside and kicked him, hard, in the shins. Harry fell to the floor. Vernon roughly picked him up and tossed him into the cupboard under the stairs. All the while Harry tried to say something about "My godfather..." but it didn't quite come out, because he was in such pain and because he was yawning at the same time. Harry heard the cupboard being locked.
Dudley laughed, and Vernon muttered something that sounded like "if the house catches fire we're leaving him in there" and walked away.
Harry felt into his pocket and felt the pocketknife Sirius had given him.
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The pain... it was intense, awakening, got his mind off his other problems, and even...enjoyable? Yes, he decided. It was enjoyable. He sat there, letting the pain seep into him, his senses more alert than that had been in weeks. Eventually, though, the pain subsided, and Harry was back to being his miserable, tired, tortured self.
***********************************************
The next morning came with the Dursleys having made no notice of Harry's birthday, no word from either Hagrid or Sirius, and Harry managing to stay awake the entire night.
Yawning, he went downstairs. He was completely and utterly exhausted, which, given the circumstances, was completely understandable. He held onto the railing so as to not fall down the stairs.
"Stop yawning!" nagged Aunt Petunia as Harry sat at the breakfast table, yawning consistently. Dudley looked eagerly at Harry's grapefruit quarter, but Harry did not give it to him today. Dudley looked sulky as he went upstairs to play video games after breakfast. Vernon kissed Petunia and went to work, and before Harry could escape upstairs Aunt Petunia was on him, hands on her hips.
"Oh, no, you don't!" she said, as Harry yawned. "You're going to mow the front lawn. I have nothing else for you to do." she tutted, obviously thinking this a disgrace of some sort.
Harry went into the garage and got the lawnmower. *No, I must stay awake* Harry told himself. He wanted more than anything to sleep, yet feared it so much also.
Harry clumsily pushed the lawnmower over the grass in the front yard, not really paying attention, simply focusing on staying awake. He would die for some dreamless sleep potion, or just to stay awake.
*I could get dreamless sleep if I died,* mused Harry. *That would be *wonderful.**
He put away the lawnmower, and clumsily walked up the stairs to his room, tripping a bit occasionally. He drank the cold coffee he had been keeping up there since before breakfast. It didn't do much to wake him up, unfortunately.
Harry at last gave in and stretched out on his bed, placing the sock once more in his mouth so as not to scream, as he inevitably would. And, 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?"
"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?
The scene changed, and Harry was watching a figure sitting in a high-backed chair, with someone in robes kneeling before him. Harry instantly recognized the figure in the chair to be Voldemort.
"So," said Voldemort, in his high, evil voice, "you have failed me yet again, Goyle."
Goyle started a studdering speech, but Voldemort cut him off.
"I trust it will not happen again?" he said coldly.
"N-n-no, my lord..." began Goyle.
"We are to operate in secret, it is most helpful for that dingbat Cornelius Fudge to keep denying our activity. By your error -"
"My lord, it will not happen again..."
"Perhaps you need a little *reminder* of what happens to my followers when they make mistakes?" said Voldemort in his high, cold voice, and Harry's scar exploded with pain.
"Cru-"
A loud noise woke Harry with a start, and he sat up. His bedroom door had been banged open, and a livid-looking Uncle Vernon was standing in the doorway.
*Oh, joy,* thought Harry sarcastically. *What have I done now?*
"BOY!" roared Uncle Vernon, and immediately Dudley appeared in the hallway, eager to see Harry be bullied by Uncle Vernon.
"Wot?" said Harry irritably, leaning his head to one side. He didn't really care what happened to him anymore.
Uncle Vernon breathed in a furious breath, and roughly grabbed Harry by the back of his neck.
"Let go of me!" he protested, kicking.
Uncle Vernon shoved him down the stairs and out onto the front porch.
"*Look at this,*" he hissed. "Petunia tells me *you* mowed the lawn today."
*Hmm,* Harry thought. *Guess I *really* wasn't paying attention, now, was I?*
He could see why Uncle Vernon was so upset. He wanted everything to be perfect, and the front lawn was anything but. It wasn't mowed in straight lines, but rather crooked ones, and parts of the lawn weren't even mowed at all. Harry looked and saw he *had* however mowed down some of Petunia's flowerbeds. It was rather funny, really.
Harry chuckled.
Vernon spun him around, his eyes wide, his face red, that vein throbbing in his temple.
"FUNNY! YOU THINK THIS IS *FUNNY*!" he roared. "I'LL SHOW YOU WHAT'S FUNNY!" And he roughly pushed Harry inside and kicked him, hard, in the shins. Harry fell to the floor. Vernon roughly picked him up and tossed him into the cupboard under the stairs. All the while Harry tried to say something about "My godfather..." but it didn't quite come out, because he was in such pain and because he was yawning at the same time. Harry heard the cupboard being locked.
Dudley laughed, and Vernon muttered something that sounded like "if the house catches fire we're leaving him in there" and walked away.
Harry felt into his pocket and felt the pocketknife Sirius had given him.