Lightning-Dono: This is fun! =D Please review? I'm not begging you to, but I'm trying to make these chapters interesting for you all and I want feedback from my readers. Thanks for the first batch of reviews, though! It made me happy.
Answers to the Review(s):
Tekvah Ariel - Heh, thanks. Yes, Dudley is idiotic. That's why I put it there. I was kind of thinking more along the lines of him using this to taunt Harry, but you know...
A year later, things got even rougher, even though Uncle Vernon had already had his hair re-dyed to it's original color...Or, atleast, somewhat close to it. Apparently, when he went to get his hair dyed, it also affected his already bad temper. Not even he sounded very pleased with Dudley, which was a sign that things in the Dursley household weren't going to go very well.
"Out!" He growled whenever Harry entered the room when he was working.
"But-," Harry would start every time.
"OUT!" He would shout back, shoving Harry from the room as though he was poison. Harry now spent most of his time sitting in a closet, thinking about his original parents, not that he could remember anything about them. Once in a while he would look up and a green light would flash before his eyes somehow, and whenever this happened, he felt that there was a connection.
"So, Harry-," his cousin started from outside the closet door.
"Quiet," Harry replied with a mature ring to his voice that he liked to hear. It made him feel like he had much more authority. He could hear Dudley blowing a raspberry at him from outside. Harry had the urge to pull open the closet door and start acting tough.
'Tough?' He had thought to himself, his hopes falling as rapidly as his confidence. 'I'm not tough' he realized, suddenly feeling very along in this world.
Loud noised punctured his thoughts.
"Quiet," he repeated, listening to his voice echo in the closet.
"Make me," Dudley retorted; a little bit too boldly, Harry thought. In the past year, he discovered that he could do very strange things with his anger, so he chose not to control it. He enjoyed the time that he had made a stick zoom up and smack Dudley square on the nose, and didn't want to risk losing this fascinating ability. Of course, doing these things led him to a harsh punishment of no meals and other of the sort, yet he didn't want to stop.
"'Member what happened las' time you says that?" Harry asked, laughing quietly. His grammar was slowly improving.
"No." Dudley's voice wavered slightly.
"The stick."
There was a strange sound from outside and then the sound of footsteps.
"HARRY IS TALK ABOUT THE STICK!" He yelled indignantly. Harry felt an unknown jolt of fear. Why should he be afraid of any more dire punishments. The reason why he was crouching in a closet and twidling his thumbs was because he had hit Dudley in the back with a broom. There was no reason to get punished more because of something that happened months before.
Then again, the Dursleys liked to torment Harry by taking past situations and bringing them up against him.
"HARRY!" Uncle Vernon yelled, drawing out the 'a' sound in Harry's name; a warning that he had done something wrong. Harry remained silent. As far as he was concerned, if he didn't say anything, they won't bother him. But, things didn't come that easily.
"Speak to me, boy!"
He sat there in the dark closet, staring at the door he couldn't even see due to lack of light. That was when the closet door was thrust open by his uncle, who was absolutely steaming.
"Don't EVER talk about that again! Do you hear me!?" Spittle flew everywhere as he exploded over Harry, who sat there quietly, absorbing all of this. "Are you deaf, boy!?"
"No."
"Don't EVER talk about it again!"
Harry was quite tired of hearing this repeated statement.
"'Kay." Harry clung onto his other arm very tightly, bracing himself for a smack. But it never came. Uncle Vernon continued to breath repeatedly into his face.
"You'd better not. You'd better not..." He walked away, throwing the door back into place.
That night, Harry crawled back into the confined space that he had for a room. The broom closet downstairs. Aunt Petunia didn't provide him any forms of comfort other than a ragged teddy bear that Dudley had mistreated through the years.
"Wake up early tomorrow," she had snapped at him for no reason, shutting the closet door behind her. She had gotten Harry into an unpleasant routine of waking up at around five o'clock in the morning to do clean-up around the house like a janitor.
Harry gave the cobweb hanging above his head a small nod. Hugging the bear with much passion (although he despised of anything that had been in Dudley's hands before), he fell into a restless sleep.
He had a dream about a green flashing light, for the millionth time, but he didn't understand what it could've been. All he knew was that it was a brief flash of green light and a faint sound that sounded peculiarly like laughter following. Yet something about it all seemed familiar, as though it had some relation to his past.
Waking up with a start, he realized that he was slightly off schedule. The clock read something that looked like a blurry six. Aunt Petunia had decided to get him on an early start for education, fighting against her husband's constant grunts of dissaproval.
"It's never too late to get a start in this world," she had said every time. "And besides, if he's uneducated, he might grow into the moron his parents had." The shut Uncle Vernon up.
"The prince has finally awakened?" Aunt Petunia was sweeping the floor with a broom, her long neck craning her head in another direction to allow her to look out the window at the other neighbors doing their dailies. Harry nodded.
"Yes."
"Well, don't just stand there! Grab a dustpan!" She barked, her forehead dripping with sweat. Did it really take that much work to sweep the floor? Or was she just not accustomed to doing work? "Go on!"
Harry hurried to the other side of the room, grabbed the dustpan, and gave it to his aunt.
"No, no, put it by the pile of dust!"
Harry obeyed, as he knew he always should. Aunt Petunia swept the dust into the dustpan with a huge whack, blowing dust into Harry's face and onto his clothes. She didn't seem to notice as she set the broom down noisily and clammored off to tend to errands. Brushing himself clumsily, he got up, sneezed, and headed into the front room, where he was greeted by a few rounds of yelling.
"Dust! All over you! Get over here!" Uncle Vernon jerked him over by the arm and shook his hands around Harry to brush off the dust. Harry didn't resist, but he found this very uncomfortable as Uncle Vernon hovered his hands above his head and his hair fanned up, uncovering his scar. He had been told that when his parents had died in a car crash when he was one, something scraped him on the head and gave him the scar. As of then, Harry had been thoroughly convinced.
But he had a strange feeling now that his scar was somehow tied to those awful, confusing dreams that he had been having.
Answers to the Review(s):
Tekvah Ariel - Heh, thanks. Yes, Dudley is idiotic. That's why I put it there. I was kind of thinking more along the lines of him using this to taunt Harry, but you know...
A year later, things got even rougher, even though Uncle Vernon had already had his hair re-dyed to it's original color...Or, atleast, somewhat close to it. Apparently, when he went to get his hair dyed, it also affected his already bad temper. Not even he sounded very pleased with Dudley, which was a sign that things in the Dursley household weren't going to go very well.
"Out!" He growled whenever Harry entered the room when he was working.
"But-," Harry would start every time.
"OUT!" He would shout back, shoving Harry from the room as though he was poison. Harry now spent most of his time sitting in a closet, thinking about his original parents, not that he could remember anything about them. Once in a while he would look up and a green light would flash before his eyes somehow, and whenever this happened, he felt that there was a connection.
"So, Harry-," his cousin started from outside the closet door.
"Quiet," Harry replied with a mature ring to his voice that he liked to hear. It made him feel like he had much more authority. He could hear Dudley blowing a raspberry at him from outside. Harry had the urge to pull open the closet door and start acting tough.
'Tough?' He had thought to himself, his hopes falling as rapidly as his confidence. 'I'm not tough' he realized, suddenly feeling very along in this world.
Loud noised punctured his thoughts.
"Quiet," he repeated, listening to his voice echo in the closet.
"Make me," Dudley retorted; a little bit too boldly, Harry thought. In the past year, he discovered that he could do very strange things with his anger, so he chose not to control it. He enjoyed the time that he had made a stick zoom up and smack Dudley square on the nose, and didn't want to risk losing this fascinating ability. Of course, doing these things led him to a harsh punishment of no meals and other of the sort, yet he didn't want to stop.
"'Member what happened las' time you says that?" Harry asked, laughing quietly. His grammar was slowly improving.
"No." Dudley's voice wavered slightly.
"The stick."
There was a strange sound from outside and then the sound of footsteps.
"HARRY IS TALK ABOUT THE STICK!" He yelled indignantly. Harry felt an unknown jolt of fear. Why should he be afraid of any more dire punishments. The reason why he was crouching in a closet and twidling his thumbs was because he had hit Dudley in the back with a broom. There was no reason to get punished more because of something that happened months before.
Then again, the Dursleys liked to torment Harry by taking past situations and bringing them up against him.
"HARRY!" Uncle Vernon yelled, drawing out the 'a' sound in Harry's name; a warning that he had done something wrong. Harry remained silent. As far as he was concerned, if he didn't say anything, they won't bother him. But, things didn't come that easily.
"Speak to me, boy!"
He sat there in the dark closet, staring at the door he couldn't even see due to lack of light. That was when the closet door was thrust open by his uncle, who was absolutely steaming.
"Don't EVER talk about that again! Do you hear me!?" Spittle flew everywhere as he exploded over Harry, who sat there quietly, absorbing all of this. "Are you deaf, boy!?"
"No."
"Don't EVER talk about it again!"
Harry was quite tired of hearing this repeated statement.
"'Kay." Harry clung onto his other arm very tightly, bracing himself for a smack. But it never came. Uncle Vernon continued to breath repeatedly into his face.
"You'd better not. You'd better not..." He walked away, throwing the door back into place.
That night, Harry crawled back into the confined space that he had for a room. The broom closet downstairs. Aunt Petunia didn't provide him any forms of comfort other than a ragged teddy bear that Dudley had mistreated through the years.
"Wake up early tomorrow," she had snapped at him for no reason, shutting the closet door behind her. She had gotten Harry into an unpleasant routine of waking up at around five o'clock in the morning to do clean-up around the house like a janitor.
Harry gave the cobweb hanging above his head a small nod. Hugging the bear with much passion (although he despised of anything that had been in Dudley's hands before), he fell into a restless sleep.
He had a dream about a green flashing light, for the millionth time, but he didn't understand what it could've been. All he knew was that it was a brief flash of green light and a faint sound that sounded peculiarly like laughter following. Yet something about it all seemed familiar, as though it had some relation to his past.
Waking up with a start, he realized that he was slightly off schedule. The clock read something that looked like a blurry six. Aunt Petunia had decided to get him on an early start for education, fighting against her husband's constant grunts of dissaproval.
"It's never too late to get a start in this world," she had said every time. "And besides, if he's uneducated, he might grow into the moron his parents had." The shut Uncle Vernon up.
"The prince has finally awakened?" Aunt Petunia was sweeping the floor with a broom, her long neck craning her head in another direction to allow her to look out the window at the other neighbors doing their dailies. Harry nodded.
"Yes."
"Well, don't just stand there! Grab a dustpan!" She barked, her forehead dripping with sweat. Did it really take that much work to sweep the floor? Or was she just not accustomed to doing work? "Go on!"
Harry hurried to the other side of the room, grabbed the dustpan, and gave it to his aunt.
"No, no, put it by the pile of dust!"
Harry obeyed, as he knew he always should. Aunt Petunia swept the dust into the dustpan with a huge whack, blowing dust into Harry's face and onto his clothes. She didn't seem to notice as she set the broom down noisily and clammored off to tend to errands. Brushing himself clumsily, he got up, sneezed, and headed into the front room, where he was greeted by a few rounds of yelling.
"Dust! All over you! Get over here!" Uncle Vernon jerked him over by the arm and shook his hands around Harry to brush off the dust. Harry didn't resist, but he found this very uncomfortable as Uncle Vernon hovered his hands above his head and his hair fanned up, uncovering his scar. He had been told that when his parents had died in a car crash when he was one, something scraped him on the head and gave him the scar. As of then, Harry had been thoroughly convinced.
But he had a strange feeling now that his scar was somehow tied to those awful, confusing dreams that he had been having.