Disclaimer: You know the drill: everything Potter belongs to the brilliant Ms Rowling.
If I Don't Tell You Now
Chapter 1: The House
Harry Potter stood outside the little country house and stared up at it, running his hand through his eternally messy mop of black hair. He adjusted his glasses, trying desperately to find the courage to go up and knock on the plain, crimson door, feeling both anxious and afraid of who lay beyond it.
This house had become like a whipping boy to Harry. He had known the pain caused by what lay inside the house, long before he knew the house itself. But ever since he was made aware of it's presence, the house became the focal point of his suffering. It was easier that way, easier to direct his feelings of anger and sorrow at a house, than to deal with them properly. But for Harry, these feelings were becoming evermore unbearable.
At first he'd ignored the pain. He'd lied to himself about what he felt, and tried to move on with his life. For a time, it had almost worked; he'd almost believed that lie himself. But, all too soon for Harry's liking, the indelible truth began to slowly make its presence felt, thereby crushing that lie until Harry couldn't even comprehend how he could have fooled himself with it in the first place. Having to face the reality came as a real blow to Harry. That lie was the only thing that offered him respite from the pain that had long since become the only constant in his life.
But Harry, who had known far more than his fair share of hardships in his twenty-seven years, felt that he could deal with his suffering, as he had dealt with every hurdle that had come his way. Except that Harry had never before had to deal with his problems on his own. For his whole life, for he truly believed that his life only began when he came to Hogwarts, he had had two people who meant the world to him. They had helped and guided him through every trial he'd ever faced. They were as vital to him as the air that he breathed.
However this pain that he felt was not something he could share with them. In fact, they were inadvertently and unknowingly the cause for his suffering. And, slowly but surely, it had caused him to retreat into himself, and pull away from their friendship, causing Harry to feel as though he were drowning, but had no voice with which to cry out for help.
He shivered at the thought, and hugged his robe tighter to him in a vein attempt to ease the cold he felt that came not from the cool evening, but from within himself. Suddenly and painfully, Harry felt not as though he were standing in front of that brick house on a chilly Devonshire evening, but rather that he was back in Privet Drive, in a small cupboard under the stairs.
He took a step toward the house and paused, subconsciously gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow. He shook his head, slightly embarrassed at his cowardice, and sighed. Then he slowly made his way towards the door of 7 Trafford Lane, and knocked.