Hi to all!
First one, i don't own any thing of my story.
Then second, i know i haven't updated for looooooooong time, sorry about it. I have been really busy. I'm actually learning even more english than i already know, so this pause will be for your advantage to get better next chapter then. Then my next chapter will be much of better because i can write so much better english. Though i admit this studing take much of my time. Talking of english is my worst area, i have practised it now for three weeks. And i'm getting better and better slowly. Of course i have learned many new words and much of grammar too. But now go to read my newest chapter!
Little bit of peace!
Harry had fallen into somewhere dark and he could see nothing. He couldn't really move, his muscles would no longer cooperate with him. He was laying down with his eyes shut, the scar on his forehead burning more painfully than ever. It felt like hell. Pain was cruising around his head nonstop, making him feel really sick. His surroundings felt like water, making it feel like he was floating. But every move made him feel seasick. He could not even think about why it was like that. Even simple thinking was too much to ask. When he tried to think, the pain in his head started to feel even worse. He wouldn't think that that would be possible, but apparently it was. Nothing made any sense to him.
He had very little strength left, and he used it to lift his hands to his forehead in an attempt to relieve the pain. He felt something inside him lessen a little because of the pressure, so he pressed even harder. It gave a little more pain to his forehead, but something was better during it. He couldn't think of what it was, but it didn't matter. He was just lying there on his stomach, pressing his forehead when the ground underneath him was swinging. The pressure gave him some sense of something in the place he was in, something that didn't hover around him. All that he could to see was darkness, he couldn't even to know if his eyes were open or not. It was too much to even try to realize that one little thing.
He couldn't hear anything, though he knew for sure that he had heard something only a moment ago. He knew that someone was talking about something but that was all, he couldn't make himself think more about who was talking or what they were talking about.He did his best to be as comfortable as possible, but nothing helped. He tried to move into a better position, but that was a hopeless search. He couldn't seem to move properly wherever he was lying down; it was too hard to move. But he still tried his best. Suddenly, he felt someone turning him onto his back. He tried to protest, but he couldn't make himself do it, because he was too damn weak. He knew of how defenseless he was, but there was nothing he could do to change that. So he was only waited for it to end.
All of this time his scar was prickling and felt odd somehow... It was wet for some reason. He instinctively tried to press his hand against it, like he'd often done before in similar situations. He was greatly annoyed when someone started to pull his hands away from his forehead. Someone strong, too strong for him to fight. But he struggled anyway, trying to get the pressure back on his forehead, to no results. He had no more strength to try. After a while he felt something wet leaking onto his face and wondered if it
was rain. Perhaps he should get away from the rain... But when he tried to stand up his body failed to respond. Forget standing up, he couldn't even open his eyes!
Someone was wiping his forehead, he could feel it, and it amazed him. He couldn't remember anyone ever having done that before. Why was someone doing it now? He couldn't understand it; it had to just be rainwater what dropped to his forehead, so why to wipe it away...
Besides, wasn't he at number four Privet Drive now? No one living under that roof would do such a thing for him. He was glad when the wiping stopped, he didn't like it. His damn scar was there, and he didn't want anyone to ever see it. And he especially didn't want anyone to touch it! That was disgusting. So he was happy when it ended, but now the rainwater was leaking onto his face again. Still, it was better this way.
Without meaning to he released a sigh of relief. But the relief didn't last for long, for that sigh drew the attention of the mystery person, and they quickly put a hand to his forehead. Then they started talking to him. He froze when he heard whose voice it was. It simply wasn't possible! Uncle Vernon has never done anything like this to him before. He couldn't understand what his uncle was talking about, but he knew that the voice was his uncle's. It didn't make any sense. Why was Uncle Vernon pressing on his forehead?
When he was much younger, he had always hoped for something like this. He had always wanted his uncle and aunts affection so badly. But sixteen years after being left on their doorstep, the thought seemed odd, dangerously so. That was why he was even more cautious about this situation. Vernon Dursley would never willingly be nice to him. Then he realized what had happened. There was only one possible explanation.
Someone had forced his uncle to act like this, to be nice to him. He knew better than to think it was someone from the Order doing this, he knew his uncle too well. Dursley would be even nastier to him, but he hadn't been. So it had to be something else... Plus, if it were someone from the Order, they would have taken him to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing already. Therefore, it wasn't someone from the Order of the Phoenix. So who could have forced Vernon to act like this?
Suddenly he stopped thinking about Uncle Vernon, because he heard something that wasn't odd; Aunt Petunia was shrieking. He sighed when he felt the pressure on his forehead stop. It had actually felt nice, to know that that his uncle was doing that for him. And now the rain was leaking onto his face again, and his forehead hurt more, as it made him feel more of the odd pain that he had almost forgotten a moment ago. It was prickling now for some reason. He didn't know why, but he knew Uncle Vernon had been doing something about it only moment ago.
Because Uncle Vernon had stopped just after Aunt Petunia started shrieking, he knew that there couldn't be anyone else around them. Otherwise they would have, or at least could have, disturbed his uncle's work, like his aunt had. But he still couldn't understand why Uncle Vernon was doing it. It was too odd for the him, almost wrong. He remembered, all too well, what kind of touch Uncle Vernon had always had for him. It had never been a good thing. Usually the only time his uncle would touch him was to grab him by the neck and throw him to his cupboard for days.
Now he could hear Aunt Petunia speaking, apparently talking to her husband. She sounded frightened. He didn't know what she was talking about, but he knew the voice too well. They often talked to each other like that, and to Dudley too, but never to him. And now was no different. He heard Uncle Vernon respond, and he too sounded frightened now at this time. Then both were silent.
They stayed silent for an oddly long amount of time, and he couldn't help but wonder why. Were they talking about him? That was confirmed after a short time when his aunt said something very quickly, but even more hatefully. And then he heard her say the same thing again, her voice now full of venom. Yeah, they were definitely talking about him...
He slowly became aware of how quickly his strength was leaving him. It was leaving faster now. Apparently because nobody was pressing on his forehead anymore. Even his hearing was almost gone now; all of the voices he was hearing were more distant. Though this feeling shouldn't have been good, what it brought felt very good. His sore body didn't feel so bad anymore, and his head felt a little better. He could still hear Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia talking, but he couldn't
designate what tone they using anymore. All was dimmer but it felt good. All the feelings that had been bothering him all the time went back. And as the world slowly grew dimmer, he started to feel better. He was finally getting a little bit of peace.
Suddenly something disturbed his peaceful state. He was annoyed as he felt that hand come back to his forehead, firmer then before. He'd been drifting off into sleep when it'd come back, and he hoped that it would end quickly. But no, the world was come back into focus, slowly but steadily. Just when everything was finally going to be nice and leave him in peace, it was prevented, again. Sadly, he thought, nobody wanted him to be in peace.
All of the voices were coming back into focus and he really tried to forget it, but it was impossible now. He was angry with this person, who would not let him sleep. He didn't even know who it really was anymore.
But then the yelling started. He could hear his uncle yelling something about death. Was someone dying? He wondered. He couldn't understand how it was connected to him. His uncle was waking him up with the pressure of his hand on his forehead. But all he wanted was to sleep, and for some reason his uncle would not allow that. And now he was listening when his aunt was talking in her own, tight way, which he already knew so well. It meant that she was thinking about every word she said, very carefully, before saying it. This was how she talked about most things that she considered important. She never used that particular tone about anything unnecessary.
He wished that he could have known what she was saying, but when he tried to focus in order to hear better his head started to ache fiercely once again. So he stopped, waiting for whatever was coming.
Some time went by with nothing happening, so he was startled when his uncle when picked him up, slipping his big hand underneath Harry's body, though Harry still felt the Vernon's annoying hand on his forehead. He wasn't used to anyone touching his scar. And certainly not when said someone was his uncle, Vernon Dursley! How often had some picked him like a little child?
Harry didn't want anyone to treat him like that. He couldn't stand the thought. His uncle had never done that to him, so why bother starting now? But he could not do anything when he felt his uncle carrying him, the man was moving slowly, and cautiously. He couldn't help but feel helpless while Vernon was carring him for first time in his life. It was so confusing. Vernon couldn't even stand the mere sight of him. Always. And he'd certainly never carry him. For any reason!
Moreover, why the hell was he so damn weak at the moment? It was so embarrassing! He was supposed to be strong and beyond all other control. Harry had never been with any caring person. Of course, there had been Sirius, his godfather, but there had never really been a chance for him to look after Harry. Only two years after discovering his godfather's existence and meeting the wizard in person, Harry had been so damn weak and stupid that he had led his own godfather to his death.
And now he was alone again. All of the people who were close to him were doomed to death, so there was no chance of new friends and/or family anymore. They'd only end up as victims of fate. Vernon Dursley was one of Harry's only relations, and if Vernon was actually going to start caring about him, then he would be next on Voldemorts "kill" list.
Something cut off his train of thought, and he realized, after a moment's consideration, that Uncle Vernon had stopped moving. The reason was presented as Aunt Petunia snapped something from his side, again. After a long pause, Uncle Vernon turned and walked slowly forward. Harry felt the muggle stop his movement occasionally, but he always kept going. Though he thought that they were moving slower now, for some reason.
It was making him sleepy, and the nice blackness was coming back to his mind. No more pains, no more painful thinking. Only nothingness, and he was grateful for that. Finally he might be allowed some small amount of peace. All he wanted was to sleep, and nothing was more important at the moment. He only dimly realized that the voices that were talking were growing dimmer, again. He didn't know where he was, but it felt faintly familiar somehow. He couldn't think of who it was, but someone was lowering him onto something soft and short. Someone moved his legs onto their sides, to shift him out of the uncomfortable position he'd been in.
The place felt vaguely familiar somehow, but his tired brain could not work out why. The last thing he felt was someone moving his head and settling something soft around and under it. He was glad the pain and the hurt were finally ending. Breathing was difficult now, but it didn't matter. All the pain was ending and all of his body felt completely numb. He could faintly feel something heavy settle on his chest, and started when it started to rain again. And then there was nothing, except, finally, peace.