Nowhere Left to Run
Disclaimer: This disclaimer thing is soo stupid. Like I own Harry Potter?!? Puleez, if I did I'd be rich and unfortunately I'm very poor. *sob* SO I DO NOT, I REPEAT I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER!!! duh
Hey peepulz! I guess I must really suck at writing cuz no one reviewed the first chapter of my other story. Maybe I need to write more chapters…..hmmmn, I'll think about it. Well, I've had these ideas for this fic swimming around in my head for like the longest time ever, except I never put them down on paper and since today I have lots of extra time, I might as well! Well, *drums, trumpets, horns* here goes my first chapter!!!!!! J
Chapter 1 : Lord Voldemort is Back!
"You let him escape?" a voice, cold, deadly, hissed.
"My lord, he took off so suddenly, we— " another voice spoke, nervous, shaky.
"You let him escape?" the cold voice repeated, icier than even before.
"My lord, my lord—p-please, forg—"
"Fools! Imbeciles!" the icy voice seethed, "You let him escape! Now he'll go back and report all this to that muggle-loving idiot, Dumbledore!"
"My lord, he was quick, we didn't expect—"
"You didn't expect?! You DIDN"T EXPECT?" the voice crescendoed. The man that was kneeling on the ground, representing them all, visibly flinched. "Tell me, if you will, how a fourteen year old boy escaped so many experienced Death Eaters?!?! Idiots! Now we will have to catch him again somehow! Now he's once again back in the protection of Albus Dumbledore!!!" The man on the ground was trembling now, almost looking like he was vibrating.
"M-my lord, we tried. Please forgive us, my lord." The man crawled across the floor and clutched at his lord's robes, "P-please, m-my lord."
The icy voice laughed, a high, shrill, cruel laugh. "Forgive? Lord Voldemort does not forgive. I expect you all to make up for this blunder. Only then will you be forgiven. But I think now, you need some punishment for letting Harry Potter get away!
"My lord, please my—"
"Crucio!"
The man on the floor writhed in pain. He screamed- a long, shrill scream of pain. It seemed to go on forever, the screaming mingled with the laughter of Lord Voldemort. It was never going to end, never ever—
In his bed at Number 4, Privet Drive, Harry Potter sat up, hands pressed to his forhead, where his scar was searing with pain. Quickly, he grabbed the quill and parchment resting beside his bed and scribbled down everything that he could remember about his dream. Lord Voldemort was talking to his Death Eaters about me, he realized. As soon as he had written down everthing he could recall from the dream that was fastly slipping away, like water in the palm of one's hand, he threw aside the covers and walked to the window, opening it to let in some fresh air.
Well, at least it wasn't as bad as last time, Harry thought gloomily. He'd been having these dreams ever since he'd come back to Privet Drive, ever since Lord Voldemort had risen again. Tonight's dream was different from the others. For once, I didn't dream about the third task, he thought with some relief. Most often, his dreams had been about his fourth year at Hogwarts when, during the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament, his fellow fourth year Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff had been killed by Wormtail, Voldemort's servant. He would once again visit that event, usually waking up with his scar hurting and at the point in the dream where Lord Voldemort had used the Cruciatus Curse on him.
Having gotten enough fresh air, he closed the window and strode over to his desk and wrote another letter to Sirius, telling him about the dream. He knew that Sirius would probably then tell Professor Dumbledore. He closed his eyes and sighed, stretching. He hoped that this would all end soon, that Voldemort would be caught, that his life would return to normal, well, as normal as it ever got at a wizarding school.
His thoughts grew slightly happier as he looked at the three cards standing on his dresser. He had turned fifteen just a few days ago, and his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, and the Hogwars gamekeeper, Hagrid, had all sent him cards with 'cheer up' messages, presents, and cakes, though he didn't touch the one Hagrid sent him. He looked at the clock—it read 5:38. There was no use in trying to sleep anymore; he knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep anyways. So Harry took out his History of Magic essay, which he had been working on last night before bed, and went back to work as dawn began to break.
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"Harry Potter….. You will not escape my clutches this time!"
High shrill laughter bubbled out of someone's throat, a tall skeletal someone, and echoed all around.
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YAY!!!!!!!!!! I'm finally done!!!!!! Now people, please please please please please please please review!!! I'm gonna be so disappointed if no one reviews! PLEASE REVIEW!!! ( and let me know if I should continue J )