Disclaimer: I don't not, repeat, do NOT own Harry Potter. The characters I'm using belong to J.K. Rowling
Chapter 1
Harry looked around his small bedroom. It was full of happy childhood memories that were not his. Broken objects and childrens' books littered the shelves.
He sighed and looked out the window, which was, by the way, fitted with the ever-hated bars once again. Oh, no, not the same bars as last time, Harry assumed those were sitting somewhere in the Weasleys' garage. Nope, these were new ones, apparently the Dursleys' hadn't quite forgiven him for the...incident last summer. coughTonguecough
This summer promised to be one of the very worst yet, his family seemed to have a lot of pent up rage, and who better to take it out on then Harry?
Sure, they would hit him, maybe a cuff on the back of the head, a sharp slap, even a kick or two. Now, the thing about the Dursleys is, they're like an animal. A caged up, feral, haven't-been-fed-in-weeks, animal. They just waited for an excuse, any excuse, just waiting for him to mess up.
They usually didn't have to wait long. Harry, was always kind of awkward (it happens to kids when they're never excepted their entire life.) And with his mind haunted by visions of Cedric and Voldemort...well, usually he got distracted. It could be small things, spilling some tea on the floor, forgetting to vaccum a section of the living room, when the Dursleys' just glared and sent him to his room without dinner before...well...it kind of...got worse.
A broken plate, spilled paint, mowing down the begonias...
He winced at the thought, his throbbing arm was a reminder, he didn't know if it was broken, but he was hoping it was just a twist and some heavy bruising, and not a fractured bone. He should have been paying more attention. But it was kind of hard when you've only slept a handful of hours in a week.
Yup, Harry Mr. Look-at-me-I-killed-the-freakin'-Dark-Lord Potter was terrified of nightmares. But he was sure these weren't just nightmares, they were from hell itself, they were Satanic lullibies. Mr. Potter wouldn't be scared of just nightmares...
He licked his dry cracked lips, he made a note to himself to drink more water from the tap in the bathroom when he was let out. The house was very quiet, what day was it again...? Ah, it must be Thursday, that was when Vernon and family were planning to celebrate Dudley's somewhat succsessful passing (by whichever miracle) of his year at Smeltings.
He snorted, Hedwig looked at him from the corner of her eye, if she were human he was positive she would have been raising her eyebrow at him. His amusement died down as he eyed the lock on her cage. He unfolded his legs from their crossing position and crawled over the end of the bed, mindful of his arm.
I'm sorry girl. I'd let you out in a second if I could, but...no wand, see? he held out his hands to her, she hooted softly, almost saying The same goes for you, buddy.' He smiled sadly and turned his head to the bolted door.
Yeah, yeah. I know you would. Wouldn't it be nice if tomorrow we woke up, and it was September already? she wasn't looking at him, rather out the bars of the window mournfully.
It wasn't fair to Hedwig. It wasn't her fault he was her master, and it wasn't her fault her master had a crappy home life. I was his fault his beautiful owl was trapped in a cage. Guilt bubbled in his stomach. The wheels in his brain clicked and turned. She didn't deserve this.
I'm busting you out of here... he furrowed his brow in consintration, looking about the room. Now, where did Dudley keep...ah, there it is.
He stumbled off the bed, making it squeak slightly. Hedwig ruffled her feathers, sensing the dreary mood in the room changing. He walked to the corner of the room, looking up at the miniature bowling ball, from Dudleys very breif dream of becoming a major league bowler, right before he got the inkling to become an artist.
Harry got up on his tip toes-- he had always been half the size he should have been, do to the neglect of food he got at his home...and probably the fact he had grown accustomed to the size of his cuboard.-- and with his good arm, reached up and carefully pulled it down. He had to hold it with both hands (which jarred his sholder uncomfortably), he wasn't up to his usual standard in strength.
His arm and sholder gave a particularly heavy throb, causing him to pause mid step, biting his lower lip and breathing out slowly through his nose. He really, realllly should have payed more attention to what her was doing...
He felt nausea creep up his throat, but shoved it back down impatiently, this was not the time to get sick.
He walked back to his desk, on which Hedwig's cage was perched.
Okay, here's what we're gonna do, he cleared his throat and thought of the absurdity of what he looked like. A skinny, messy haired teenage boy, talking to a large owl trapped in a cage, not to metion the fact that the said teenage boy was holding a bowling ball...
I'm going to knock the padlock off, by swinging this bowling ball against it...alright Hedwig? She was looking at him in her owlish way, that plainly stated that he belonged in St. Mungo's.
Dont worry! he grinned at her with what he hoped was a reasuring smile. He braced his bad arm against the cage, holding it steady, ignoring the pain. Hedwig ruffled, he heaved the heavy object over his head, she squaked and beat her wings against the bars.
Okay, on, one...two...three! He swung the ball down with as much force as he could muster. Hoping to Merlin he had good aim. He heard the satisfying sound of crunching metal.
The lock crashed to the floor and skidded under the bed, Harry toppled over ( the law of gravity...and heavy swinging objects of course...), the bowling ball rolled to the side and hit to wall with a thud.
The cage door swung open with a squeak. He raised his head up and grinned, dropping it back to the floor. Hedwig gave a joyful hoot and sailed around the room. He laughed out loud...until he realized another problem.
How was she supposed to leave the room? He raised his eyes to the door. He could...he gulped. There were only a handful of times in his life when his Uncle Vernon had been so mad at him, he had forgotten all about the wizarding world and it's love for Harry Potter, and beat him so bad he had been aching for months afterward. One time he didn't wake up for three days, and the Dursleys were forced to take him to a hospital...
If he did this...he could make it a sure bet that tonight would be one of those times.
He snuck a quick glance at Hedwig, and sighed. His Uncle didn't like him, he'd go as far as to say hate'. But his Uncle was never really one to give Harry a big thrashing unless he though he really deserved it. Sure he had an explosive temper, and okay, he did blame outrageous things that Harry couldn't posibly have done on him, but...
He didn't really understand it when he was younger, the spark in his Uncles eyes saying he'd like nothing better that to beat his nephew into next week, but there was always an ever present flicker of fear in his violent gaze.
He understood it perfectly now, his Uncle Vernon feared wizards. Feared for his family, that was the main reason he didn't leave many permenent marks on his body. The times when his Uncle have forgotten his silent promise were the times of Harry's younger and unexplaned freakishness'. He was refuring, of course, to the time when he ended up on the roof of the school, or how he had made plates fly into the wall, of when the turned Dudleys new toy truck into a small badger. The thing Vernon feared more than the wizards themselves, was the thought of anyone finding out that he was connected to such things. Abnormalities, shall we say...
But, it was one of those times to stand up and face what was coming, like a man, like James would have done...even if his Uncle made sure he'd never grow up to be one. He gazed into his snowy owls eyes.
Okay Hedwig, ho're we going to pull this off? Hmmm?
He let his eyes trail around the room, darting from object to object, tapping his chin thoughtfully. His eyelids were heavy, putting a half veil of darkness over his vision. Okay, got to consintrate.' He focused his eyes back to the task at hand.
Frowning, he dropped his head with a dull thud to the hardwood floor.
Ça va mal la téte... he murmered to himself.
He rolled his head lazily to the side, what could he use? What could he...
His almost cat like green eyes narrowed in satisfaction, as he caught the sharp glint of an old nail file.
Okay, okay, I KNOW lots of you are pissed about me not updating my stories...but I'm half way done the next chapter to Whisper the Silence as we...err...speak! Haha! I am back from the FREAKIN' dead!
M-ann
P.S. I've had this story written in my notebook for like...ever.