Disclaimer: '''This is a Harry Potter Fan Fiction, I do not own anything
to do with Harry Potter, that honour belongs to the very talented JKR ;D
Warnings: Now I'm only gonna say this once: THIS will be A SLASH FIC!! If you don't know what that is LEAVE NOW! So don't flame me[for that at least] Later this fic will most definately be rated R and will contain SLASH of the Snape/Harry variety. So if this squicks you...see above...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Shadow of Voldemort
Chapter 1
:Stop the Rain:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry James Potter, only son of the late Lilly and James Potter, The Boy- Who-Lived, and so called Savior of the Wizarding World, stood silently by the only window in the smallest bedroom of number 4 Privet Drive.
He had been 'home' for a mere seven days and he was already bored out of his very skull. Apparently the not-so-subtle threat issued from Moody at the end of his fifth year had been taken quite seriously by the Dursleys. He was no longer laden down with endless tasks. No more weeding the garden, no more cooking, no more washing dishes, no more housework or any other little tasks that would normally be assigned to him. In fact, should Harry even come near his relatives without being summoned, he would be glared, screamed, or have various objects thrown at him; which he'd learned quite suddenly when he'd been trying to sneak into the kitchen and nick a biscuit. Aunt Petunia had a good arm
At first all the freedom to do whatever he pleased was like a blessing. But he soon realised that it left him with far too much time to think. Endless thoughts about Sirius' death, Voldemort and the Deatheaters. About Dumbledore, the prophecy and what seemed sure to be a bleak future, with all the death, pain, blood, and agony promised soon to come.
Harry watched the rivulets of water running down his window occasionally tracing one with his finger. He was fighting in vain to keep the thoughts from his mind.
His nightmares still plagued him. Forced nightly to watch his remaining friends and loved ones suffer at the hands of The Dark Lord. He could do no more than scream and plead for their lives, bound by invisible chains. Sometimes Avada Kedavra would be the weapon of choice, or even a knife spilling their crimson blood to the ground.
Though the most common occurance was that room in The Department of Mysteries. The dais on which the veiled arch stands. The place where he had gotten Sirius killed. The guilt, frustration and constant agony from the actual event was horrible. But to have to relive it time and time again was killing him. Slowly.
The young man watched idly as the black sky slowly brightened to the familiar early morning grey. Evidently the storm just didn't want to break.
It was strange how appropriately the weather reflected his feelings. It was as if it had acclimated to his very heart. The very same that had bled so, throughout that fated night. The same battered heart that was now reinforced with walls of steel.
Though the clouds could grow heavy and dark with water untill they eventually burst open at the seams, showering the lands with their burden. Harry could not. Would not.
People were depending on him, and whether that dependance was founded or not, he could not comprehend failure. He was not allowed to fail. Not allowed to be weak.
Because when he was weak people died.
Like Sirius had died.
And it would be all his fault...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N- Okay I just rewrote this and ch 2. Hopefully it sounds better now...:S But I still don't know how to use bold and italic on ffnet! Help! Please...?*begs*
Thanks
-Karis
Warnings: Now I'm only gonna say this once: THIS will be A SLASH FIC!! If you don't know what that is LEAVE NOW! So don't flame me[for that at least] Later this fic will most definately be rated R and will contain SLASH of the Snape/Harry variety. So if this squicks you...see above...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Shadow of Voldemort
Chapter 1
:Stop the Rain:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry James Potter, only son of the late Lilly and James Potter, The Boy- Who-Lived, and so called Savior of the Wizarding World, stood silently by the only window in the smallest bedroom of number 4 Privet Drive.
He had been 'home' for a mere seven days and he was already bored out of his very skull. Apparently the not-so-subtle threat issued from Moody at the end of his fifth year had been taken quite seriously by the Dursleys. He was no longer laden down with endless tasks. No more weeding the garden, no more cooking, no more washing dishes, no more housework or any other little tasks that would normally be assigned to him. In fact, should Harry even come near his relatives without being summoned, he would be glared, screamed, or have various objects thrown at him; which he'd learned quite suddenly when he'd been trying to sneak into the kitchen and nick a biscuit. Aunt Petunia had a good arm
At first all the freedom to do whatever he pleased was like a blessing. But he soon realised that it left him with far too much time to think. Endless thoughts about Sirius' death, Voldemort and the Deatheaters. About Dumbledore, the prophecy and what seemed sure to be a bleak future, with all the death, pain, blood, and agony promised soon to come.
Harry watched the rivulets of water running down his window occasionally tracing one with his finger. He was fighting in vain to keep the thoughts from his mind.
His nightmares still plagued him. Forced nightly to watch his remaining friends and loved ones suffer at the hands of The Dark Lord. He could do no more than scream and plead for their lives, bound by invisible chains. Sometimes Avada Kedavra would be the weapon of choice, or even a knife spilling their crimson blood to the ground.
Though the most common occurance was that room in The Department of Mysteries. The dais on which the veiled arch stands. The place where he had gotten Sirius killed. The guilt, frustration and constant agony from the actual event was horrible. But to have to relive it time and time again was killing him. Slowly.
The young man watched idly as the black sky slowly brightened to the familiar early morning grey. Evidently the storm just didn't want to break.
It was strange how appropriately the weather reflected his feelings. It was as if it had acclimated to his very heart. The very same that had bled so, throughout that fated night. The same battered heart that was now reinforced with walls of steel.
Though the clouds could grow heavy and dark with water untill they eventually burst open at the seams, showering the lands with their burden. Harry could not. Would not.
People were depending on him, and whether that dependance was founded or not, he could not comprehend failure. He was not allowed to fail. Not allowed to be weak.
Because when he was weak people died.
Like Sirius had died.
And it would be all his fault...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N- Okay I just rewrote this and ch 2. Hopefully it sounds better now...:S But I still don't know how to use bold and italic on ffnet! Help! Please...?*begs*
Thanks
-Karis