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...
-------
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.
