This is my first attempt to write a Harry Potter fan fiction, and post it,
so I should mention I don't mind flames. Judgment is judgment. Hope you
enjoy, thanks.
I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters or anything of the story,
thats J.k. Rowlings doings.
In two days Harry would once again return to Hogwarts for another school year. But unlike all the other years he had attended the school, this year he hadn't been looking forward to it. It was a place where his despair and pain would charge at him head on like a semi truck in the middle of the night, blazing down a dark cold, lightless empty road. The Dursely family, had left Harry well enough alone after finding out about Sirius Black fully. No longer was there a lock on his bedroom door, of did his Uncle or Aunt stare at him with disgust or hate. But now Harry wished that they only would.
Aunt Petunia would come upstairs to Harry's room, gently knock on the door around dinner time, and poke her head in slowly. Usually Harry would be laying on his bed staring at the ceiling, or watching the tube( a gift from Uncle Vernon).
She would say, "Harry, it's erm time for dinner. Would you like to eat with us tonight, or would you rather sit up here and eat? I can bring you a plate?"
Harry wouldn't even turn to her, and reply, "I'll be down in a minute to fetch my plate."
She would stare at him with concerned eyes and begin to shut the door, once in her life understanding the pain that her nephew was going through. It took Petunia long enough to understand Harry's situation, and realize herself, Harry never asked to be the son of the Potters, he never asked to be hunted down by the wicked Dark Wizard of the wizard world. And he never asked to be a Wizard himself. Petunia actually looked in at her nephew once more every time she was near him and grieved for him. He was so young. He'd have to face a death once again.
Harry on the other hand did not grieve for himself, and he didn't sympathize his situation. He hadn't even come to a point where he could think about it, to bring forth his acceptance, something he soon had to face. But he only stared at the ground and wished for death. For himself, so no longer would anyone around him have to suffer. What was happening was his prophecy, his darkness, his evil. No one should have to share such pure agony with him. He crossed the line by even giving them a lick of the darkness of his life. It wasn't his evil to spread around. He did know one thing though. He knew that he was going to face Voldemort head on, and when he did, he would gut the evil man of his insides. And if he did not succeed he would never beg mercy, or for death, he would simply smile into the face of him.
On a warm afternoon, a owl swooped through Harry's bedroom window dropping a letter on a pile of unopened letters on his nightstand beside his bed. The letters were piled on top of the nightstand, pouring down onto the floor where many letter sprawled out on the blue carpet. They were all addressed to Harry Potter, from Ron, Hermione, Remus Lupin, and Dumbledore. Not a single flap of a single letter had been opened, not even the one from Hogwarts, containing the list of material that Harry would need for his sixth year at The school of witch craft and wizardry. The white bedroom room door opened slowly, but not by its owner, it was Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. They walked qiuetly into the room, and Petunia pointed towards the pile of letters all over the floor.
"He's not speaking to anyone Vernon." Petunia muttered as she placed his long knobby fingers on her chest and stood in front of his night stand.
"Well, maybe he's er come to his senses. Maybe he doesn't want anything to do with that freak show." Vernon suggested as he set some letters in his lap as he sat onto Harry's bed, making it tilt dangerously in his direction.
"Listen Vernon, I know how much you despise the world our nephew comes from, because darling I loath it same as you. But that world is Harry's world. His godfather died Vernon. You know how it felt when your father died when you turned 10." Petunia sighed as she took hold of her husbands large hand.
"It was a nightmare." Vernon sighed looking up at the ceiling.
"But its not just the letters I'm worried about, not just the way he's cutting himself off from the world. I think...I think he might be hurting himself Vernon." Petunia shuttered as she spoke these words. Remembering how Harry's sleeve had been soaked in blood when she did the laundry. But she had been to afraid to confront him.
"You think he's what?!?" Vernon gasped.
"I've found shirts with blood stains, and I've found first aid wrapping drenched in blood in the trash. Usually they have toilet paper wrapped well around them, but... Vernon he can't stay here. He's not happy, and he can't get happy here. I think it would be smart if we got in contact with his headmaster at school, or, or that bloody Weasely family that he likes so much. He has to get out of here." Petunia looked her husband in the eye for support. But she didn't need to he had already nodded. And looked at Hedwig. Now they had to figure out how they were going to make this work.
Harry stood outside his bedroom door listening to the two talking and looked down at the ground, as he held his grocery bag full of some more first aid wrapping. They knew what he was doing to himself. And they were going to send him away. He lifted his sleeve up and looked at his arm. Deep cuts still lay upon his darker than usual skin, irritated, and red. All he could do was think about Sirius and the curtain, all he could imagine. Hermione lying lifeless on the floor. He couldn't think about Hermione. Not now. He wasn't ready to think about how he could have gotten the Wizard worlds most intelligent witch killed. He couldn't think about their deaths. But he sure could think of his own.
In two days Harry would once again return to Hogwarts for another school year. But unlike all the other years he had attended the school, this year he hadn't been looking forward to it. It was a place where his despair and pain would charge at him head on like a semi truck in the middle of the night, blazing down a dark cold, lightless empty road. The Dursely family, had left Harry well enough alone after finding out about Sirius Black fully. No longer was there a lock on his bedroom door, of did his Uncle or Aunt stare at him with disgust or hate. But now Harry wished that they only would.
Aunt Petunia would come upstairs to Harry's room, gently knock on the door around dinner time, and poke her head in slowly. Usually Harry would be laying on his bed staring at the ceiling, or watching the tube( a gift from Uncle Vernon).
She would say, "Harry, it's erm time for dinner. Would you like to eat with us tonight, or would you rather sit up here and eat? I can bring you a plate?"
Harry wouldn't even turn to her, and reply, "I'll be down in a minute to fetch my plate."
She would stare at him with concerned eyes and begin to shut the door, once in her life understanding the pain that her nephew was going through. It took Petunia long enough to understand Harry's situation, and realize herself, Harry never asked to be the son of the Potters, he never asked to be hunted down by the wicked Dark Wizard of the wizard world. And he never asked to be a Wizard himself. Petunia actually looked in at her nephew once more every time she was near him and grieved for him. He was so young. He'd have to face a death once again.
Harry on the other hand did not grieve for himself, and he didn't sympathize his situation. He hadn't even come to a point where he could think about it, to bring forth his acceptance, something he soon had to face. But he only stared at the ground and wished for death. For himself, so no longer would anyone around him have to suffer. What was happening was his prophecy, his darkness, his evil. No one should have to share such pure agony with him. He crossed the line by even giving them a lick of the darkness of his life. It wasn't his evil to spread around. He did know one thing though. He knew that he was going to face Voldemort head on, and when he did, he would gut the evil man of his insides. And if he did not succeed he would never beg mercy, or for death, he would simply smile into the face of him.
On a warm afternoon, a owl swooped through Harry's bedroom window dropping a letter on a pile of unopened letters on his nightstand beside his bed. The letters were piled on top of the nightstand, pouring down onto the floor where many letter sprawled out on the blue carpet. They were all addressed to Harry Potter, from Ron, Hermione, Remus Lupin, and Dumbledore. Not a single flap of a single letter had been opened, not even the one from Hogwarts, containing the list of material that Harry would need for his sixth year at The school of witch craft and wizardry. The white bedroom room door opened slowly, but not by its owner, it was Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. They walked qiuetly into the room, and Petunia pointed towards the pile of letters all over the floor.
"He's not speaking to anyone Vernon." Petunia muttered as she placed his long knobby fingers on her chest and stood in front of his night stand.
"Well, maybe he's er come to his senses. Maybe he doesn't want anything to do with that freak show." Vernon suggested as he set some letters in his lap as he sat onto Harry's bed, making it tilt dangerously in his direction.
"Listen Vernon, I know how much you despise the world our nephew comes from, because darling I loath it same as you. But that world is Harry's world. His godfather died Vernon. You know how it felt when your father died when you turned 10." Petunia sighed as she took hold of her husbands large hand.
"It was a nightmare." Vernon sighed looking up at the ceiling.
"But its not just the letters I'm worried about, not just the way he's cutting himself off from the world. I think...I think he might be hurting himself Vernon." Petunia shuttered as she spoke these words. Remembering how Harry's sleeve had been soaked in blood when she did the laundry. But she had been to afraid to confront him.
"You think he's what?!?" Vernon gasped.
"I've found shirts with blood stains, and I've found first aid wrapping drenched in blood in the trash. Usually they have toilet paper wrapped well around them, but... Vernon he can't stay here. He's not happy, and he can't get happy here. I think it would be smart if we got in contact with his headmaster at school, or, or that bloody Weasely family that he likes so much. He has to get out of here." Petunia looked her husband in the eye for support. But she didn't need to he had already nodded. And looked at Hedwig. Now they had to figure out how they were going to make this work.
Harry stood outside his bedroom door listening to the two talking and looked down at the ground, as he held his grocery bag full of some more first aid wrapping. They knew what he was doing to himself. And they were going to send him away. He lifted his sleeve up and looked at his arm. Deep cuts still lay upon his darker than usual skin, irritated, and red. All he could do was think about Sirius and the curtain, all he could imagine. Hermione lying lifeless on the floor. He couldn't think about Hermione. Not now. He wasn't ready to think about how he could have gotten the Wizard worlds most intelligent witch killed. He couldn't think about their deaths. But he sure could think of his own.