Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. All I own is my original characters and settings that will come up later is the story.

I am rewriting/adding parts of this story to improve it and get rid of inconsistencies. If you see any let me know.

Guys, there are so many inconsistencies in this story that it's not even funny. Why didn't anyone tell me? Oh well. More have been erased at this point. Tell me if you still find some in these rewritten chapters.

Another chapter rewritten and much improved if I do say so myself. Go me. Tell me if it's improved if you've read it before. And if you're a 'virgin' ,so to speak, just drop a line and tell me how it's going.

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Harry flung himself from his bed, tripping over the cover and twisting into the corner. They could see him here. They could get him. He scrambled across the floor, dragging his blanket with his hand. He squeezed into the gap between the dresser and the wall. He pulled the blanket over him. He couldn't stop shaking. The cold from the stone had seeped into his bones. He rubbed his wrists. The skin was dry and red. It had rubbed raw against the chains. He couldn't get away. He scrubbed at his neck. He could still feel it. The hair. Black hair. It was Snape. He was there. He was-- Harry dropped his head to his knees and curled up as tight as he could. "It's a dream. It's a dream. It's a dream." The wood floor blurred and shifted.

Harry smacked his head against the wall. It's a dream. He dug his fingernails into his palm. It's not real. The half-moon indents were purple. Maybe they weren't real either. Maybe this wasn't really his skin.

"Boy! What are you doing?" The door bounced off the wall. Uncle Vernon charged in. Turning around as he searched the room. His eyes narrowed as he moved toward the dresser. "Get out of there now!"

Harry clenched his fingers but his hands still shook. It smelled like cookies. Harry clamped his hands over his mouth as his stomach shifted.

Vernon backed up. "Are you sick?" He scowled. "You will stay in here. I will not have you infecting my family." He stalked out and slammed the door. All his keys clinking together sounded like a wind chime. "Petunia, where are the locks?" His feet pounded down the stairs.

The shadows on the floor stretched out toward the bed. "What's wrong with you?" Dudley pushed against the dresser and it slid a foot farther from the wall.

Harry moved closer to the wall. "Nothing. Go away." Dudley's chocolate covered mouth stunk up the room.

"Oh, of course. Because it's normal to spend all day crammed into a corner." Dudley smirked and moved closer. "What? Did your boyfriend dump you? Not even those freaks would want someone as worthless as you." Dudley snorted and headed for the door. "Don't think that my father will let you get away with this again. After all, why would he keep a useless little orphan boy around?"

The door clicked shut and the vibrations settled. "Because he doesn't have a choice." The shadows surrounded him, growing darker, closer. Harry shoved the blanket away from him. He pushed him palms flat against the wall and pushed down, lifting himself from the floor. He pulled his feet under him and stood, wincing. He pulled his pajamas off and tossed them toward his trunk. He slunk toward the door and rested his ear against it. Dudley and Vernon were snoring away. He inched the door open, peaking around the inch wide opening. The lights were out. He opened the door and squeezed through pulling it shut behind him. He rolled his eyes before slipping back in and grabbing his shoes sitting next to the door. He avoided the squeaky stair and sat on the floor by the front door. He pulled the shoes on and stared up at the full moon. Moony was in full form tonight. He twisted the lock slowly and opened the door inch by inch. Vernon's snores continued uninterrupted. He pulled the door closed as he scanned the street. All the houses were dark. Harry's footsteps echoed down the street. The streetlights sent shadows streaking from the circles of light they created. He squinted up at the street sign but the name was too blurred to make out. He wrapped his arms around his chest, turned left, and kept walking. He slipped through the gap in the fence and walked across the grass toward the swing that Dudley and his gang couldn't, or no longer wanted to, destroy. The cold wind blew across his neck and he jumped. He pulled the sweatshirt up higher and pulled his hands into it as far as he could while still holding onto the chains. He barely moved his legs, the swing rocking slowly back and forth. He leaned his head against the chain. A line of ants inched forward, carrying supplies toward the anthill by the downed tree branch by the fence. They worked so hard. They built their home, carried supplies immense distances to it, they worked so hard to survive, to help each other survive, and in the end they get squashed into a bloody swath on the ground by careless humans and animals that don't even recognize that they have just murdered someone who wanted nothing more in their life than to survive another day.

"Potter."

Harry smacked into the ground. The swing rocked violently and he ducked and scrambled back to avoid it. His pant leg scrunched up to his knee.

Black robes brushed his leg as long fingers clamped onto his arm. "Potter. What--"

Harry pulled, throwing his weight backwards and pushing against the hands, but the fingers just clamped onto his other arm. He couldn't move, he couldn't--those eyes staring at him. It was happening. He had to get away. "Not again. I can't-- Not again." He forced his arm up against the weight of the hands holding him and raked his fingers across Snape's cheek.

Snape let go, swearing, and clamped a hand to his face.

Harry bolted. He sprinted across the grass and vaulted over the branch. He slammed into the fence and pulled at the metal before he could find the gap and struggle through. The streetlights were too bright. Everything was too light. There were no shadows to hide in. Snape could follow him. He stood sucking in breaths as his eyes darted around. The alleyway was right there it had to be right there. He threw himself forward and slammed into the brick. He scrambled through the entrance and toppled over an overturned garbage can. He caught himself with his hand, a piece of glass slicing his palm as he pushed himself back to his feet and kept running. Number four had to be close. He couldn't stop the sobbing breaths that escaped. All the houses looked the same. He ran up to the door. Number two. No! He ran across the lawns, his sneakers throwing up dirt from flowerbeds. Number four! He pushed open the door and remembered just in time not to slam it. Death Eater couldn't get to the house. What if Snape were exempt from the wards? He wrenched the lock closed and jumped up the stairs as quickly and silently as he could. The bedroom door clicked shut behind him. He slid down the door and dropped his head to his knees. The sweat from his forehead soaked into his jeans. Death eaters can't hurt me here. He interlocked his fingers over the back of his neck. He's a death eater. He squeezed his eyes shut. He can't get me here. He wiped his cheek against his jeans. I'm ok.
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Review and let me know if you see any problems. I would really like to know any thoughts you have. I have fiction 1 workshop in a few months and I really need to get used to hearing critisim again. Thanks.