Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.
A/N: PLEASE REVIEW. And excuse me for my grammar. You should really check out the prompt for this story, it's a 3d short horror film titled as 'Alma'. I promise, it will help you through the story.
First Chapter
The Boy-Who-Lived. That's what he calls him. The first ever person who managed to resist the curse. The killing curse. It does not exactly kill its victim, but from what they were experiencing, it was daily torture, very much close to killing you on the inside out. The worst part, it never stops for them. And they thought it never will. Until the unknown boy made a short visit in the shop last week ago.
Being cursed for years, some of them even a hundred, the souls managed to be patient through time. It's pretty much what happens to you if your stuck in your vessel and know that you can never move again once you're trapped.
They were trapped, hopeless, and broken souls.
Draco Malfoy pretty much figured it all out after a long, long time. Being raised as a Malfoy made him conceited, prideful, cunning, and born to follow his father's steps. One thing is for sure, he never gives up.
The killing curse changed his view. He learned to give up, to finally blame himself, and to feel powerless. The cursed changed the person he once was.
When Draco sighted Harry staring before the shop, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for the boy. He look so innocent, vulnerable, and kind, and Draco couldn't help but feel a deep remorse for the boy. Who knows what the future will bring to him if he didn't found this shop. He could have married someone, they could build a future together, in a house with children running and laughing around, and both him and his wife could grow old together. Yet, of all things that could happen to him, he stopped by the haunted shop.
Another victim. Another soul. Another murder.
The boy was about to touch his vessel. He was so close. Almost there.
Draco hoped he could close his eyes, but he couldn't. It was a part of the torture, to see someone falling for the killing curse, it was one of the hardships that the witch wants them to experience.
He would held his breath if he had a heart, but he was now only a soul.
The boy stopped. It was so close. An inch between his finger and the cheek of his doll version. The boy looked hesitant. It was the first time someone reacted like that. Everyone, including him, didn't even think before being lured to their vessel and touching them in amazement.
To his and everyone's amazement, the boy dropped his hand, turned his back to their shelves, walked to the door, and went outside.
Deafening, thick, silence wrapped around the cold, cursed, shop. It was always silent in the shop, but for the first time, there was a reason. Everyone was astonished.
It was a long time before he recovered, he wanted to cry. Hope. Happiness. Relief. Confusion. The emotions were exploding inside of him. He wanted to scream, he wanted to raise his hand and grabbed a handful of the boy, to exclaim that he didn't want him to leave, to cry a question about what just happened, but he couldn't.
He finally found someone who stepped inside the shop and didn't got cursed.
Hope and terror was slowly consuming every bits and pieces of him. Hope that the boy might come back, the boy might be curious about them, and they could make a way to make him notice that there's something wrong in the shop, that they were cursed, and he might help them. Terror, that maybe, just maybe, he might not come back.
What Harry Potter didn't know was a hundred of souls was relying on him, hoping for him to come back, in the shop of what could be more than just a creepy, abandoned place for dolls. A shop in which the lives of a hundred people were cut down. In which a hundred souls were trap.
BSBSBSBSBS
"Freak! Come back here!" Dudley and his friends were chasing him like a predator hungry for its prey. Too bad their weight and the deep snow covering the street was making it much easier for Harry.
When he finally got rid of them as he ran into an alley, all he could do was sigh heavily in relief.
The next thing he did was think about where to stay. Unfortunately, the sky was still dropping its usual snow at winter which was terribly cold if you are just wearing thin layers of clothing. That's when he knew that he would be a dead and cold meat if he stayed outside any longer.
He ran for the first place that he could think of. The shop.
Apparently, while he was making his way to the shop he stepped on what seems like the sign for the shop. He wiped the snow covering the sign off and read it with a tinge of excitement inside of him.
Lestrange.
He was sure that it was a family name from its sound but he never heard of it.
Shrugging carelessly, he threw the sign back to its place and entered the shop. It wasn't that warm, but it was enough to ease up the coldness that was wrapping around him.
The question as to why he hadn't seen the shop before still lingers inside his mind. His feet wandered around stone cold floor until he was facing the shelf again.
Realization dawned on him when he looked closely. The doll that looked exactly like him was gone. He eyes searched frantically for the doll but didn't find it in its shelf. He turned around and jumped back in fear when he saw the doll that he was searching for, it was placed on a small display table, its back turned at him but he recognized it clear as day.
After his reaction, he suddenly heard a cracking noise. A glass breaking. He turned around in an instant to see that he broke a glass doll. He took a step back, panic quickly travelling in his nerves.
He didn't know what to do so he picked the doll up and the pieces of glass that shattered when it fell down.
The owner might still 'exist' since the doll version of himself managed to be there right behind the big glass window that's supposed to display itself to public. And that means that the owner might find out about the doll that he shattered to pieces because of his clumsiness.
A thought crossed his mind and he knew that he should put the doll back together, then maybe there won't be hard feelings between him and the owner, or maybe he could be even luckier than that and the owner might never find out that he even exists once he repair the glass doll.
He quickly made his way outside the shop and it felt like his burden lessened.
He gave the doll a short glance.
He promised that he would put the doll back together. It would be perfect again, like the blonde, pale, with silver eyes, doll that it used to be. But first, he needed to hide the doll from the Dursleys.