A/N

Here is chapter 2. Enjoy and please review. Posted earlier than I intended, I thought since it was done best to get it out of the way before I forget.

Last chapter: Harry had detention, narrowly avoided Dudley's gang only to get caught later while distracted watching Halloween party preparations.

Harry wasn't too pleased with how the afternoon was turning out, a veritable disaster really. The boy with the vice grip around him turned out to be Barry. Dudley, just to make sure that he wouldn't get away, landed a few more punches on him. Harry knew that by the end of the night he'd have bruises all over and be tender for days.

He was dragged out of the main building and into the sports shed by the oval. Football practice had finished around half an hour ago, and normally the shed would be locked up by now. Knowing the gang as well as he did, Harry suspected that Richard had come up with some sort of plausible lie to tell the coach to keep the shed open later than usual. The shed was a large metal structure, which was used predominantly for storing sporting equipment. It was newer addition, the green corrugated steel structure having replaced an older and smaller rusting shed that had failed a safety inspection.

Barry manhandled Harry roughly and shoved him to the concrete ground in the shed. The gang had moved a few storage containers filled with balls off the side to make more space in the centre of the cramped shed. Bats and balls were all in containers (mostly big bins) by the wall, large nets for tennis and volleyball were rolled up and stacked in the corner. On the old wooden shelving units were various coloured cones, pips, and plain buckets with smaller odds and ends inside like gloves, padding, and paddles.

Harry groaned and sat up, but Ellis had been waiting for him and immediately sprang into action. His hands were grabbed roughly and he felt some weird plasticy material against his skin. He was being tied up.

Ellis came around to tie up his legs, and Harry tried to kick him away, but was ultimately unsuccessful. Ellis was fast and dodged the ungraceful kick with ease, delivering one his own to Harry's ribs in revenge.
Harry whimpered as his legs were bound with skipping ropes, the smooth plastic digging into his skin with how tightly it had been wrapped around him.

Fear pulsed through his veins, and he concentrated on working his hands free. The knots were tight and strong despite the unorthodox material that had been used. Harry vaguely remembered that Ellis had once spent a year in the boy scouts, but was expelled after one too many violent outbursts. It was rather unfortunate for Harry that the lessons had stuck so well. Skipping ropes were hardly ideal for tying people up, but against all odds Ellis succeeded in his quest.

When Ellis was done, he stepped back and joined Dudley and Barry. The three boys were mirthful as they watched Harry squirming in his bonds.

"Ready to be a sacrifice, four-eyes?" taunted Dudley. Harry was momentarily confused. "It's real blood you know."
"W-what?" Harry choked out. Blood? What blood? Whose blood?
"The circle, you nit!" Ellis snapped.

Harry glanced around, reluctant to take his eyes off the three boys. The tension in the room sharpened and the panic and fear in Harry escalated dramatically. He was in the centre of a circle, painted in red. Is it really blood? Harry thought. Some of it was smeared on his clothes from when Barry had pushed him roughly to the ground. Bile rose in his throat, he was going to be sick. It wasn't just a normal circle, he was in the middle of a big five-pointed star, and lots of little scribbles and shapes were drawn along the outside and in the spaces between the lines. He didn't recognise any of the scribbles that looked like words. A few of the shapes looked like crudely drawn animals a wolf or a fox maybe? There was definitely a snake, and something with antlers. He twisted to look behind him, but the movement aggravated the bruising on his ribs and he winced, aborting the action. The three boys snickered at his clear pain. For some reason, the design looked familiar to Harry, he was sure he had seen it before, but couldn't place when or where that had been.

His deliberations were interrupted with the entry of Piers into the shed. Harry to paled in horror when he saw what Piers was holding – three dead foxes. They all appeared very squashed, road kill probably, and they were in varying states of decay with one looking particularly fresh. Piers came over and dropped a fox at three of the points of the star, two in front of Harry on his left and his right, and one directly behind him. The scent of rotting flesh reached his nose, making him gag and fight to hold down his growing nausea. It was disgusting and sick. The boys were about to sacrifice him to Satan in some twisted ritual.

Dudley, Piers, and Ellis took their places around the circle and began to chant in a language that sounded like Latin, or maybe it actually was Latin, Harry didn't know.

"Satanas sum Domine si vocare te," they began clumsily and out of synch, "educam exercitum vestru, egrediatur conquer mortale realm," Did he just hear something about conquering a realm? It was hard to tell, each of the boys had ridiculously different pronunciation, and Barry seemed to be struggling the most – he was holding a piece of paper in front of him and reading off it.
"Satanas Domino sum primus," Dudley was moving forward, a malicious smile on his face and a shining knife in his hand. "Venite ad hoc planum!" The boys shouted the last part, causing the windows to begin rattling in their frames and for one of the ball bins to explode, sending tennis balls bouncing across the room. Dudley swung his knife down and Harry screamed in pure terror, a warm wetness spreading across his trousers.

But the knife never made contact, Dudley had never meant to strike him with it. The boys were howling with laughter. Harry could hear Richard's uncontrollable guffawing from outside, he had been rattling the windows. The tennis ball explosion had been the result of Finley lying in wait in the ball bin to jump out at the right moment.

"I can't believe he actually pissed himself!" Ellis choked out in between laughs.

Harry's terror rapidly turned to shame and humiliation, he could feel the blood rushing to his face, and he shivered as the wetness in his trousers turned cold.

"What a total loser!" Dudley said to his friends.

A sharp feeling lanced through his body, igniting his anger. "SHUT UP!" Harry shouted at his tormentors, hot blood pounding through his head and turning his vision red.

"I think he still needs lesson." said Richard as he entered the shed. He had a cruel smile on his face, and Harry could see that the boy still had more planned.

Harry tried to wriggle away as Richard came toward, but could do nothing to avoid being lifted by his collar and being punched in the face. His round wire-rimmed glasses went flying, and were crushed under Ellis's foot. Finley climbed out of the tennis ball bin behind him, and aimed a kick at his back where his arms were tied. Harry tried to curl into himself to protect is his front, but it was difficult with his arms still tied behind his back. He arms were aching and the smell of urine only seemed to exaggerate the existing smell of rotting flesh. He could do nothing as the cruel bullies stomped on his legs, kicked his arms and chest, and lifted him up to punch him across the face.

The pain was everywhere, and he could do nothing to defend against the attacks and taunting jeers. He just had to hold on, and eventually they would get tired. They always did. The damage they inflicted upon Harry wasn't severe enough to warrant a trip to the hospital, but it would take over a week to fully heal.

When Harry was starting to feel like he was going to throw up, they stopped.

"Come on, this place stinks. Let's go get something to drink." said one of the boys.

He didn't know which one had spoken, he was too exhausted to care. Relief at finally being left alone flooded his body. The door to shed slammed shut as the boys left, and he was content to just lie on the floor and gather his energy. Blood was dripping from his nose and he could feel bruises forming all along his body. Dudley and his gang were ruthless and had no remorse. Harry wondered if they even understood right and wrong, or maybe they just didn't care.

He gingerly took stock of his injuries. His arms and legs were worst off, the boys had also gotten in a few good kicks to his chest and tummy. His arms ached from the uncomfortable position they were in, tied behind him. His arms had protected his back, but he had strained against the bonds as his instincts demanded he bring his arms up to shield his head. He had taken a few solid punches to the face, and hoped that his nose wasn't broken. If it was, it would just have to heal on its own, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hated taking him to the hospital. It raised too many questions from the nurses and doctors, and it was exactly the type of attention the Dursley's desperately wanted to avoid.

Harry took his time with freeing his arms for the skipping ropes around his wrists. The knot had loosened during the beating, and he wriggled his hands carefully, he didn't want to hurt himself any more than he already was. After a few minutes of straining and twisting his left hand was free, and he used his nimble fingers to loosen the knot further, encouraging the thick plastic to release his second hand. When they were free he whimpered in pain as he brought his arms to his chest. His shoulders were sore and stiff from behind tied behind him, and were bruised from the kicks aimed at his back.

He gave himself a few more minutes of rest before sitting up, the movement sending jolts of pain across his torso. Untying his legs was far easier, but was hindered by the shaking of his hands. Harry gently rubbed the marks on his wrists and legs. The bindings had been extremely tight and had restricted the blood flow to his extremities. Feeling as good as he possibly could after such a vicious beating, he braced himself to stand up. The result of his efforts was a wave of dizziness so intense that it momentarily overcame him, sending him sprawling across the floor once more. A harsh tingling feeling swept over his skin, the most painful and electric pins and needles he had ever experienced. The sensation was overwhelming, almost physical in the way that it leached out of his pores, skittering and jolting across his skin like invisible sparks.

A chattering noise filled the room, a twisted parody of laughter that sounding eerily familiar to the sounds Mrs Figg's cats made when they spot a bird through the window. Looking up to find the source of noise, Harry was frozen in shock and fright to find the fox corpses were standing up. The chattering noise was coming from them, accompanied by occasional yips. The dead creatures were dancing around the edges of the circle, deformed and decaying limbs jerking in a poor facsimile of life. The chattering and yipping creating a rhythmic disturbing chant. The yellow glow of their eyes was unnatural and sinister, bright enough to be a source of light to contrast against the dancing shadows which they cast.

Suddenly, a fierce wind blew through the room. It was incredibly strong, creating a whistling noise that was grew steadily to a fever pitch. The equipment in the storage shed was picked up by the wind, the lightest of the objects being the first to be sent spinning around the room, the red circle the centre of a massive hurricane. Everything in the room became airborne within moments, even the heavy bins and shelving units scraped across the ground before launching into the vortex. Harry was utterly terrified, and if he hadn't already soiled himself, he would surely have done so again.

The whole shed began to shake violently, the windows smashing and sending glass into the deadly winds, steel walls and beams creaking under the assault of the maelstrom. Curling into himself, Harry shut his eyes as tight as he could, his hands pressing painfully against his ears to block out the sound.
"It's not real." he whispered to himself, over and over again. But the storm didn't listen, the whistling becoming more demanding, louder, faster, more violent than before, attempting to pull the boy into its grasp.

An icy chill pervaded the room, so heavy and thick that the entire room froze in time.

The wind stopped.

Harry's breathing and mumbling was the only sound in the silent room. He glanced up momentarily, taking in the room.

Sparkling glass shards and battered sporting equipment was suspended in mid-air. The rising crescendo of chattering and yipping from the foxes was gone, the corpses collapsed on the ground like puppets with their strings cut.

He closed his eyes, wishing for the room to go back to normal.

The temperature in the room continued to drop, and the icy chill creeped closer to Harry. He could hear a creature, its rough rattling breath coming closer. But Harry refused to open his eyes, and concentrated on his mantra. He was too scared, no, too terrified to do anything but lie there and wish for it to stop. Then he felt it, a hand colder than anything he had ever felt in his life, colder than the darkest corner of the universe.

It brushed lightly against his forehead.

His eyes flew open, a scream poised at the back of his throat, but there was nothing there. No freezing monster, no ice, the room was still. There was no wind, no fox corpses, no red circle, no broken glass. Everything was where it should be, perfectly organised and clean.

His panting breath came out in small puffs of mist.

He ran.

Please review, critiques welcome. Opinions on story direction also valued.

7-11-17: Light editing and additions to improve flow