It was in the kitchen that Harry was to be found the next morning. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was paler than usual. He was sitting at the table, slowly sipping a cup of coffee and eating a breakfast he had made for himself. He currently was mulling over the nightmare he had last night in his head. The details were as clear as day.
Two figures loomed in the distance, almost impossible to distinguish from the night. Their cloaks were black; as was everything else they were wearing. They were like living, breathing shadows. They were communicating to each other in hisses, and sometimes large serpents would slither up to them, listen to their will, and then disappear. They were in a graveyard, where rotting corpses were unearthed from their graves. Everywhere there were serpents, some even in the eye sockets of the fleshless bones. There was a stench of death.
But then the dream changed.
Voldemort was torturing someone. Someone who looked very familiar, with jet-black hair and green eyes hidden behind swollen eye sockets. It was himself that was being tortured. And when Harry realized what was happening, Voldemort discovered Harry was there, and in an instant Harry was feeling all the pain of his torture…
"Harry, what are you doing up this early! It's five o'clock!" Mr. Granger asked, bewildered.
"Actually I've been up for a few hours already, I don't sleep very well. But don't worry, I'm used to it now," Harry asked while idly examining the last drops of coffee in the bottom of his cup.
Mr. Granger stared at Harry, his head swimming with this new fact. I'm used to it, again he said that! How many things like this was he used to? Instead of pursuing the matter further, his pushed the phrase to the back of his mind and went about getting himself some toast.
Mrs. Granger joined them shortly after, and she too, asked what Harry was doing up so early. Mr. Granger caught her eye and she understood to just drop it.
A half hour later found Mr. and Mrs. Granger gone, off to their dental practice, leaving Harry and Hermione alone. Hermione was still asleep, and Harry had no plan on waking her. She deserved her sleep, he didn't. Not after the way he had spoken to her last night. She was trying to give him comfort, and he threw it in her face.
He made up his mind. When she came down from her room, he would have a nice meal prepared, and he would apologize for his actions. He set to work immediately.
***
It was a surprise for Hermione to find Harry standing humbly before her when she came down from her room.
"Err….sorry about last night Hermione. You were just trying to comfort me and I hurt your feelings, which is unacceptable," Harry said while looking down at his feet, ashamed.
She reached out and placed a finger underneath his chin, slowly raising his eyes to meet hers. She looked deeply into his green eyes and spoke softly, "You had a right to be angry. Bad things have happened to you, you need to be able to vent your anger. You don't want it to control you. You have nothing to be ashamed of."
A small smile broke out on his face as he heard these words, and he spaced out for a few seconds, in pure emotional bliss.
Hermione suddenly realized that there was a large feast waiting for her on the table. "Did-did you make this for me?" she inquired as she edged closer to the table.
Harry came back to, and looked around to see what she was talking about. The food he had prepared was sitting on the table. "Umm…oh yeah, yeah I did."
"You know how to cook?"
"Yeah, I've been cooking since I was old enough to memorize directions. I always cook the Dursleys breakfast," he said absentmindedly.
Hermione's expression darkened. "What do you mean?"
"I mean…just forget it, okay Hermione. Please?" he pleaded. She nodded hesitantly in consent.
There was a long pause. "I'm," Harry started speaking to break the eerie silence, "I'm going to go take a shower. Er….see you in a bit." He took off up the stairs.
Hermione leaned against the counter and closed her eyes, remembering everything that had happened since she had come down for breakfast. She saw in her mind how hesitant and strange Harry acted. A solitary tear made it down her face.
***
Harry stood there as the water ran over him. The warm water felt good. He could not help but recall the conversations he had had the past couple of days. They were all going to find out. They were going to find out what happened to him. He did not want them too.
Then don't let them.
Harry's heart stopped. He knew that voice well. It was not Voldemort's; it was the voice of the manifest of the Dark. The supernatural force that had plagued him all summer.
And then it happened. The Dark sprung out at him in his moment of fear, and tried to get control of his body. He could feel it flooding through his veins; it burned like the fires of Hell. His mind was going numb, his legs were turning to jelly, and his stomach felt ready to burst. He fell to his knees, and vomited up the contents of his stomach. The Dark was almost there.
"Harry are you okay?" Hermione spoke through the door, "you've been in the shower for a long time."
Her voice, so gentle and soft, spread over him, and the Dark was driven back. Once again it had been thwarted.
Taking deep breaths, and trying not to vomit again, Harry stood up, called back an "I'm fine," and got his pants on. As the moments passed where Hermione did not speak again, he felt the Dark reaching out towards him. The nausea overwhelmed him, causing him to vomit in the toilet. He began to lose consciousness.
***
Hermione had just turned around when she heard the unmistakable sounds of someone getting sick. Her concern for her friend overcame her senses and she rushed into the bathroom, only to find him throwing up and about to faint. She rushed towards him to try and comfort him.
She glanced into the toilet and immediately wished she hadn't. Mixed with the bile was a thick, red liquid. Oh no! He's coughing up blood!
"Harry!" She whispered into his ear, "I'm going to go call my parents. They'll know what to do."
"No," he said hoarsely, "Nobody needs to know about this."
"Yes they do!" Hermione said, aghast. "You're coughing up blood, there's something seriously wrong!"
"There isn't," Harry said forcefully, "Nothing is wrong. This happens all the time."
Hermione looked at him in horror. This happens all the time.
"W-what do you mean by it happens all the time?"
"I mean that this is not the first time something like this has happened."
He stood up, and unsteadily made his way to the door. And that was when Hermione noticed them. His body…littered with scars of all shapes and sizes. Long ones crisscrossed all the way down his back, several coursed down his arms. His right arm, scared from the burn she knew he had obtained. Small, round shaped scars all around his midsection from where his crushed ribs pierced his skin.
"H-H-Harry?"
He froze. She could hear him whispering to himself.
"Harry?"
"What?" he asked softly.
"T-the scars," she whispered. He looked down at himself, at his scar littered body. They had always been a normal part of his appearance; he had grown used to them.
"What about them?" he asked.
"H-how did you g-get them?" She sounded as if on the verge of tears.
"How? How did I get these scars?" he asked incredulously. He then laughed; a bitter, cruel laugh. His voice changed. "These scars are physical marks of my experiences. I got them from many places. And I get new ones every year."
Hermione began to sob. She just realized how horrible of a life he had had. To have so many scars, was unbelievable. She stood up and hesitantly walked towards him, reaching out and tracing her fingers across several lines of his marred flesh. She felt him tense up.
"How do you live like this?" she whispered gently into his ear as her eyes filled with more tears.
"I live like this because I have been forced to, believe me, it was no choice of mine."
She looked up into his eyes, and took a step backward. They were not the eyes she knew. These eyes were malicious, and full of anger. It was like some ethereal force had taken him over for that moment. Which raised a question in her mind.
"Harry-what happened this summer? At the Dursleys."
His mood changed and his body tensed up so fast she couldn't even see a blur. It was instantaneous.
"Why do you want to know?" he snarled.
She was taken aback by his sudden anger. "I-I care about you Harry, I'm here to talk."
"I don't need to talk to anybody." Hermione could actually feel Harry's anger pulsating throughout the room. It was feeling she did not like at all.
"You do," she said, surprised at her ability to speak to him when he was this angry.
"And why do I," he spat.
Hermione faltered. She just stood there looking at Harry, her lip trembling, trying to find something to counter with. Her resolve failed. She looked fearfully up at Harry: at his glowing eyes that rested in shadow, and his angry face that taunted her.
Seeing she had nothing to say, Harry smirked. He had won. The Dark laughed in his mind, drawing away its influence over Harry's actions. Harry, free of the Dark again, looked at Hermione. The sight he saw was heart wrenching. She was….afraid of him. How could he have let this happen? He took a step back, his eyes returning to their normal color, and stumbled.
"No, no, no, no," he whispered hoarsely. Leave me alone!
You're weak, the Dark laughed at Harry.
I said, Leave. Me. ALONE!
Hermione lifted up her head just in time to see a bright flash of light as Harry grit his teeth together in a painful expression. She screamed as his eyes flashed with that bright red, and then died out. She watched as he passed out.
He came to a few minutes later. Hermione was grasping his arm, trembling, her face pale.
"Harry?"
"H-Hermione….there's something wrong with me."
***
I am very, very sorry that this has taken so long. I'm not so good with all of the emotions and stuff, so it was kind of difficult. I like to write awesome badass fight scenes and parts about a Harry who's gone insane with power. Hopefully I'll put those parts up soon....
Anyway, I'm still playing World of Warcraft, so that also has kept me behind. That game is too fun :D
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