Disclaimer: As I've said before, I do not own Harry Potter. I am just borrowing them to conduct a few experiments on. But, as I've said before, they will be returned to J.K.R. in time for the sixth book. But I cannot guarantee what state their minds will be in. After all, the mind is a fragile thing...
/--/ means italics
'--' means thoughts
"--" means speech
"We tell lies when we are afraid... afraid of what we don't know, afraid of what others will think, afraid of what will be found out about us. But every time we tell a lie, the thing that we fear grows stronger." - Tad Williams
Emeralds of Ice
--The Summer Before Sixth Year--
It was beautiful night out. All the stars were shining, and the full moon was especially bright. Everything seemed to be at peace.
All the houses on Privet Drive seemed normal, and they were. Except for one.
In all the other houses, its occupants were sleeping, dreaming. But in number 4, one of its four occupants was not asleep. In fact, he was trying /not/ to sleep. Because for him, sleep meant dreams. And his dreams weren't just dreams, they were reality. Not to mention that if he dreamt, his dreams could take control of him. And he did not want that to happen.
So Harry Potter sat on his unmade bed, trying his best not to fall to sleep. Not that he'd be able to fall asleep with the pain that spasmed through his entire body.
Uncle Vernon had been terrible this summer. Worse than he ever had before. Sure, he had hit Harry before. Several times before. But this summer was the worst. He had lost his job at Grunnings. And, of course, uncle Vernon blamed it on Harry and his 'abnormality'. So, as soon as Harry had walked in the door, Vernon had punched him right in the eye and had thrown him into the wall. Then he had taken his trunk and stuffed it in the cupboard under the stairs, saying that he wouldn't see any of his 'freak' things for the entire summer.
Luckily, Harry had given Ron Hedwig this summer to take care of. He didn't know why he did it, he just had this terrible sense of foreboding. Now, he was glad he had, since he didn't even want to think about what uncle Vernon might have done to her.
It had only been two weeks since he had returned to Number 4, Privet Drive, but he was already more than anxious to return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He missed his friends, his dorm, everything. He even missed /Snape/, if that was even possible.
Sure, Harry could have told someone about what was happening to him. It would have been all too easy. After all, he did have at least one witch or wizard watching his house at all times. But he didn't tell any of them. He didn't breathe a word of it. Whenever he spoke to one of them, he always said that he was 'fine'.
Sure, he regretted lying to them.
Sure, he didn't want to be beaten.
But, the one emotion that won out was...shame.
Harry Potter, a.k.a., the-boy-who-lived, was ashamed.
After all, he had defeated the dark lord when he was one-year old. He had confronted him almost every year since he had begun Hogwarts. And survived every encounter. He was the champion of the Tri Wizard Tournament. /The-bloody-boy-who-bloody-lived/!
And yet, he couldn't stop his own relatives, /muggles/, from beating him.
So, Harry Potter sat on his bed, alone, ashamed, beaten, and quietly crying himself into a fitful sleep.
And no one in the world, not even his closest friends, knew.
--TBC
--A/N-- sorry about the long wait. I had the first half written in a day, but I came to a road block. I've never written /anything/ with abuse in it, so I got kind of stuck. Anyway, here it is. I hope you liked it. It took me under, I dunno, fifteen, twenty minutes to write the rest. Well, there you go.
Thanks to all of my reviewers! They really make my day!
/--/ means italics
'--' means thoughts
"--" means speech
"We tell lies when we are afraid... afraid of what we don't know, afraid of what others will think, afraid of what will be found out about us. But every time we tell a lie, the thing that we fear grows stronger." - Tad Williams
Emeralds of Ice
--The Summer Before Sixth Year--
It was beautiful night out. All the stars were shining, and the full moon was especially bright. Everything seemed to be at peace.
All the houses on Privet Drive seemed normal, and they were. Except for one.
In all the other houses, its occupants were sleeping, dreaming. But in number 4, one of its four occupants was not asleep. In fact, he was trying /not/ to sleep. Because for him, sleep meant dreams. And his dreams weren't just dreams, they were reality. Not to mention that if he dreamt, his dreams could take control of him. And he did not want that to happen.
So Harry Potter sat on his unmade bed, trying his best not to fall to sleep. Not that he'd be able to fall asleep with the pain that spasmed through his entire body.
Uncle Vernon had been terrible this summer. Worse than he ever had before. Sure, he had hit Harry before. Several times before. But this summer was the worst. He had lost his job at Grunnings. And, of course, uncle Vernon blamed it on Harry and his 'abnormality'. So, as soon as Harry had walked in the door, Vernon had punched him right in the eye and had thrown him into the wall. Then he had taken his trunk and stuffed it in the cupboard under the stairs, saying that he wouldn't see any of his 'freak' things for the entire summer.
Luckily, Harry had given Ron Hedwig this summer to take care of. He didn't know why he did it, he just had this terrible sense of foreboding. Now, he was glad he had, since he didn't even want to think about what uncle Vernon might have done to her.
It had only been two weeks since he had returned to Number 4, Privet Drive, but he was already more than anxious to return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He missed his friends, his dorm, everything. He even missed /Snape/, if that was even possible.
Sure, Harry could have told someone about what was happening to him. It would have been all too easy. After all, he did have at least one witch or wizard watching his house at all times. But he didn't tell any of them. He didn't breathe a word of it. Whenever he spoke to one of them, he always said that he was 'fine'.
Sure, he regretted lying to them.
Sure, he didn't want to be beaten.
But, the one emotion that won out was...shame.
Harry Potter, a.k.a., the-boy-who-lived, was ashamed.
After all, he had defeated the dark lord when he was one-year old. He had confronted him almost every year since he had begun Hogwarts. And survived every encounter. He was the champion of the Tri Wizard Tournament. /The-bloody-boy-who-bloody-lived/!
And yet, he couldn't stop his own relatives, /muggles/, from beating him.
So, Harry Potter sat on his bed, alone, ashamed, beaten, and quietly crying himself into a fitful sleep.
And no one in the world, not even his closest friends, knew.
--TBC
--A/N-- sorry about the long wait. I had the first half written in a day, but I came to a road block. I've never written /anything/ with abuse in it, so I got kind of stuck. Anyway, here it is. I hope you liked it. It took me under, I dunno, fifteen, twenty minutes to write the rest. Well, there you go.
Thanks to all of my reviewers! They really make my day!