Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

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Chapter 6: Flashbacks and Voices

Haze. Nothing but haze. Clouds of billowing fog, surrounding him, choking him, freezing him to the bone. It was dark. So very dark. Harry held his hands out in the mist; eyes open wide and staring into nothingness. Trying to find a place in the emptiness, trying to find somewhere to go.

To belong.

Falling now. Plunging through the screaming winds and clouds, though the darkness onto...

...His bed in Privet Drive.

Harry opened his eyes and was immediately consumed by pain. It blinded him and he clutched at his scar, rocking backwards and forwards slightly under the threadbare blanket on his bed, as though the motion would help stifle the hurt.

Another nightmare. He had been expecting one: he was afraid to sleep lately because of the fear of the visions waiting beyond his consciousness; waiting to play through his mind, to haunt him, to cause him to wake up screaming...and pay the price.

His room was bathed in the eerie orange glow of the streetlights outside. Harry lay, suddenly frozen, his ears perked for any sounds beyond his room. He thought he'd heard something...shuffling...and realized with a stab of horror that he'd probably yelled in his sleep. He watched the shadows that danced around his walls with wide eyes, his breath very quiet...

Footsteps.

He glanced at the luminous hands on his bedside clock before removing his glasses.

2:34 a.m.

Yes, there was definitely noise on the other side of his door. His heart, already hammering wildly, leapt into his throat as his fear overtook him. He couldn't do anything to stop this. Hiding wouldn't work; he'd already tried that two weeks ago.

The bolts began sliding back. Harry curled into a ball. The door opened with a soft creaking noise and his Uncle Vernon stood on the threshold.

"What have I said," the man growled slowly, his voice raspy with sleep. "About waking my family at night with your moaning?" He walked in and slammed the door behind him.

Harry's emerald eyes were wide with terror. He could just make out the blurred, distorted form of his housecoat-swathed uncle who was steadily drawing nearer through the darkness.

"What have I told you about disturbing us, eh? Freak?"

A hand shot out of the gloom that Harry's poor eyesight didn't catch until he was hit on the side of the head so hard that stars erupted in front of his eyes and an odd whamming noise pierced through his ear.

Another hand on Harry's head. "Freak!" And another.

"You worthless piece of shit." More hands, more stars. Harry's head was bursting with pain, which seemed to be swirling around his brain, clutching and pulling at every piece of skin, bone, and vein.

Suddenly he was being pulled out of his bed and was thrown against a wall, knocking Hedwig's cage over onto the floor. The owl was jerked awake and began to scream in fright, flapping her wings madly against the bars. Vernon howled.

Harry was pleading, his uncle was speaking very fast, and the pain was growing.

"Why do you think they dump you here every summer, boy? Because they hate you. You are nothing!"

Harry was thrown against the wall again. His arm gave a particularly horrible burst of pain and the boy yelled. Crumpled to the floor.

The older man was breathing like he'd been forced to run a marathon. He kicked at his nephew with nothing but hatred in his eyes. Caught the boy in the stomach. Kicked him again. And again, and again, and again, and again...dragged the boy up and slapped his face a little more.

"You are not important!"

Sobbing.

Dragging.

Dragging down the stairs. So much pain. Limbs colliding with hardwood railings and steps and bits of wall.

"You will stay in here for the rest of your god-forsaken summer," Vernon hissed, smacking him again. He dug his stubby fingers through Harry's hair and clutched. Drove the boy's head into the wall.

The cupboard under the stairs loomed.

"N-no...please...please!"

Harry was thrown into the small space. The door was slammed shut. More bolts sliding into place. So much blackness. Thumping on the stairs.

Silence.

Haze...nothing but haze...


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Harry awoke, screaming. He fought against the darkness that was all around him, kicking, twisting -- then fell silent, breathing raggedly.

Oh god...Vernon would be back...

The hangings on his four-poster were suddenly ripped back and the space was flooded with light. Ron's alarmed face was before him.

"Oh Merlin...Harry, are you all right?"

Harry's head fell back onto his pillows and he sighed in sweet relief. He wasn't at his aunt and uncle's...he wasn't...it was OK...

"My god, Harry, you're breathing like mad," Seamus observed sleepily from where he was crouched on the end of his own bed. "You're all pale, mate, are you OK?"

Harry found his voice. "Nightmare," he mumbled, feeling very uncomfortable. "About my Uncle Ver --"

Oh shit.

"Your uncle?" Ron asked, suddenly tense.

"It was nothing," Harry answered quickly, plastering a smile onto his face. He checked himself to see if any bare bits of his skin were showing. They weren't. Good. The bruises hadn't even begun to heal yet.

"Dreamt that my uncle thought I was a sandwich and he was chasing me around Snape's dungeons wearing Neville's grandmother's hat..."

Seamus laughed. Neville had already fallen back asleep, though, and it appeared that Dean hadn't even woken up. The candles were extinguished and Seamus crawled back into his bed, but Ron sat on the edge of Harry's and looked at his friend through the dim.The full moon cast its light in through the window, bathing the room in pale, white light.

"What?" Harry asked, his insides clenching with...anger?

"I dunno," Ron replied, looking uneasy. "I mean...you sent us a letter every three days saying you were fine...you were fine though, weren't you Harry?"

Harry couldn't believe it. He allowed his anger to swell inside him, even though a small voice in his head told him that Ron was just trying to help. Whatever. The boy had no idea! Absolutely no idea what it was like...he shouldn't be butting in on Harry's personal life, anyway...

"No!" Harry said. "I mean, yes, I was fine, but no, nothing happened during the summer, Ron. I was OK. Those letters were true, the Dursley's treated me loads better this year because of you guys. It's just...the dream was scary, that's all. Having my uncle chase you would be a terrifying thing, considering...and...well, Snape's dungeons aren't all that appealing, either..."

Ron sat in silence for a minute, but seemed to buy it. He slowly grinned at his friend and shook his head as he crawled back under his covers. "I guess so."

The redhead fell silent and quickly filled the room with snores. Harry was still breathing very fast. He lay with his eyes scrunched tightly shut, his hands kneading his scar, trying desperately to rid the memories of the summer from his head. Of all the false letters he'd had to send the Order, saying he was fine...of the dark. The dark.

The fear of the dark.

"They all hate you, boy! You are worthless! You are nothing!"

Harry's pain escalated inside of him until he felt as though it was being pumped through his veins, crawling over his skin, etching itself into his brain.

"You're nothing but a freak, Potter! Come fight me! Or are you too scared?"

"Boy, clean the kitchen before we get back or you'll wish you'd never been born!"

"Shut up, you stupid boy. Your aunt and uncle were gracious to take you in and act so kindly towards you! You are nothing but a scrounger! A layabout! A dirty and rotten mistake!"

Harry got up from his bed and walked soundlessly out into the dimly lit bathroom's. They were deserted. Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror. Pale. Gaunt. Dark circles under his eyes. Ugly.

A small sob escaped him. There was just so much pain. What was he going to do with so much pain? What would happen the next time someone crossed his path, when he had so much retained anger built up inside of him? He was like a walking volcano.

Harry leaned against the cool stone wall and slowly slid down it until he was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. He closed his eyes. Breathed.

"Breathe...just breathe...it will go away..."

No it won't. Are you stupid?

"No, no I'm not..."

Of course you are. You think this is something that will just vanish if you tell it to? How long has this been going on, Harry? Your whole life. For as long as you can remember. This will never go away. You are nothing.

"Stop it!"

A chuckle. Fool. You are a living, walking pillar of agony. You need release, don't you? You've tried, though. Screaming doesn't help, Harry. Thinking bad thoughts doesn't help either, does it? You cannot help yourself. Or can you?

Harry looked up towards one of the sinks. Someone had left a razor lying on the white porcelain.

That's it, Harry. Very good. You might not be stupid after all. Go on, reach out. Take it. Show yourself some mercy.

Harry stood up shakily. Padded over to the sinks. Such an easy route to take...but did he want to go that far? No, no, of course he didn't. But maybe...just a little bit. Not too serious...

The boy picked up the razor and ran a thumb across the blades. The cut was so quick and clean he didn't even feel the pain. As the crimson bubble appeared, a little bit of the hurt went with it. Harry smiled slightly...

...And continued.

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That one was a little darker...heh heh Thanks to all my lovely reviewers, your comments are really appreciated! Thanks to all. More chapters coming.