A/N: Okay, here's my first story. Hope y'all like it. Any and all comments are appreciated (and I mean any and all). Even flames, I'll accept `em. Just to lay this out now, yes this is a Harry/Hermione piece, although the actual fluff stuff will take a few chapters to get to, for obvious reasons once it gets going. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am merely borrowing and hoping to return the merchandise in roughly the same shape that I found it . . . now on with the show!
Imprisonment
How long Harry spent sitting crammed into the backseat of his Uncle's car, bunched into the corner to make room for his whale of a cousin Dudley, was inconsequential. The ride home could have lasted only half an hour, or it could have taken three. To Harry, it felt like an eternity.
After Mad-Eye Moody's "pep talk" with Vernon and the other Dursleys, all three seemed to have withdrawn from Harry even more than usual. While this was normally a blessing and a godsend, in this instance it gave Harry ample opportunity to be alone with his thoughts, none of which he wished to deal with any more than his relatives. For every thought, no matter how hard he tried, wound its way back to one subject: Sirius. And how Sirius was now . . . no, he would not allow himself to think it. Sirius was merely trapped inside the veil, and Harry would find a way to rescue him.
`You know he's gone, and he's never coming back,' said a voice in the back of his head, oddly familiar, yet he could not quite place to whom it belonged.
`No! I know he's out there somewhere! I will bring him back!'
`Harry . . .'
`NO! I won't listen to you! You don't know for sure if he's . . . He is alive, and I will find him.'
`You know full well that he's not here anymore. Not after falling through the veil. Why do you think they call it the veil of death?' the voice shot back in somewhat bossy, highly familiar yet still unrecognizable tone.
"ARGH! SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE!!"
"ALL RIGHT, BOY! I'VE HAD ENOUGH! I'VE PUT UP WITH ENOUGH OF YOUR GRUMBLING, COMPLAINING, AND THAT, THAT, ABNORMALTY! I'VE HAD IT!" Apparently, Harry had yelled out the last part in his frustration, just as Vernon had begun to say something. Harry, trapped in his own thoughts, had not realized his uncle was talking. And by the looks of it, Uncle Vernon really had had enough. If ever Harry could remember a time when he had seen that face more purple, witnessed a pair of eyes more bulging, or seen as many veins throbbing, he certainly couldn't remember at the moment.
With what appeared to be a great amount self-restraint, Uncle Vernon managed to turn back around, focusing once more upon the task of driving in time to avoid a near collision. Slightly startled, Harry took a quick glance at both his aunt and cousin before retreating back into his thoughts while staring mindlessly out the car window as the scenery rushed by unseen. For the rest of the trip home, Harry neither said anything nor looked at anyone. Unfortunately for him, Harry did not notice the various death glares he was receiving from each of the Dursleys, nor did he notice the maniacal, mad gleam in his Uncle's eyes whenever they lit upon him in the rear-view mirror.
When they arrived at Number Four, Privet Drive, Harry got out like he did every year and started to head for his trunk. He had just reached down to pick his trunk up out of the car when he felt a sharp blow to the side of his head and found himself sprawled face-down on the driveway pavement, his Uncle standing over him, a look of almost feral satisfaction. Head reeling slightly from the impact, Harry began to get up, but his Uncle had other things in mind.
"Oh no you don't, you worthless, vile, disgusting cretin!" Uncle Vernon said as he pressed his foot down on Harry's back, hard, forcing Harry back onto the ground. He then knelt so his large knee was jutting painfully into Harry's back. Leaning close, he spoke in soft but dangerous tones,
"Now you listen here, boy. I'll only say this once, and only once: my patience is up. I've had it. No one, I say, NO ONE, tells me what I can and can't do, especially in my own house! You best be watching your behavior, or things will get rather, unpleasant, for you."
At the word unpleasant Uncle Vernon rested even more weight on his knee, squeezing most of the air out of Harry's lungs. While struggling to draw breath, Harry heard Uncle Vernon's next words in utter disbelief.
"So, if you know what's in your best interests, you'll be wise to do what we say, like the worthless dog you are. Now drag your trash out of my car and inside." Harry had heard many threats before, but most of them seemed idle and enjoyable compared to this most recent assault.
At this, Vernon stood up and looked down at Harry with the utmost contempt and loathing, mixed with a deep satisfaction. For a moment, Harry could only stare in disbelief at his uncle, who had never in all the past years acted with such ferocity. He didn't get long to sit and ponder, however, before he was pulled up roughly by his hair and shoved toward the car.
Trunk and Hedwig's cage in hand, Harry made his way into Number Four, but was stopped as soon as he began to ascend the stairs. "Where do you think you're going with that? Oh no you don't, boy, not this year. We've been far too lenient in the past, but not any more. Into the cupboard it goes!"
"But what about my homework? If I don't do it I'll-" Harry began, but was cut short when Vernon grabbed his shoulders and slammed him against the wall. Pinning him tightly just below his neck, Vernon said,
"Apparently I did not make myself clear, boy. You will do as you are told, or pay the consequences! Now, I said in the cupboard, and I MEAN NOW!! Perhaps you would prefer if I locked you away in there too? Hmmm, that's not actually a bad idea, now is it? Unless you start following orders like a good mutt, you'll wind up in there with the rest of your things!"
And with that, he released Harry, by means of flinging him towards the landing. Harry managed to prevent from falling on the floor, but in the process he ran hard into the wall. Now, not only did the side of his head and his back hurt, he seemed to have gotten a slight bump on the back of his head and his shoulder was starting to throb slightly. Harry narrowly avoided more injury by dodging sideways when his uncle threw the trunk down at him, landing it with a loud thunk right where Harry had been standing moments before. `Thank Merlin for Quidditch training.'
But Harry was tired of this kind of treatment, and after the show in Kings Cross Station, he wasn't about to put up with any more. "No. I won't listen to you. You can't make me do anything I don't want. Otherwise I'll write to the Order and they'll come and hex you all. You haven't forgotten about Mad-Eye's threat, already, have you?" Harry said, figuring the threat of magic still had sway over the Dursleys as it had in the past. Looking at his uncle's fuming, rapidly reddening face, Harry realized that taunting them with this had been a very big mistake.
He was proven correctly when, after taking three very quick strides over to him, his uncle pulled back is arm and landed a very solid punch into Harry's gut. Harry, unable to draw in any air, collapsed to the ground, holding his stomach in pure agony. Vernon then grabbed a hold of Harry's hair and pulled up firmly. When he was sure Harry could hear him, Vernon said in a deathly quite tone, "Can't write to your freak friends without an owl, can you?"
"Y-You . . . wouldn't d-dare." Harry said, pausing in large gaps to try and suck in as much air as his lungs could manage.
"Oh, really? You feel like testing me? Eh, mutt?" Vernon replied with a mad gleam in his eyes, all too obviously daring Harry to challenge him. "You don't know what I'll do!"
With that, Vernon tossed Harry to the side and picked up Hedwig's cage ominously. Fortunately, Harry had released her earlier on the train to stretch her wings, so she was not there at present. "Where are you going with her cage?" Harry demanded.
"Oh, this? Just a little insurance. Realize this here and now, mutt; I'll not hesitate to kill that bloody bird of yours, or you for that matter. I swear, just give me a reason, and so help me . . . I'll be keeping this, and that beast, locked in the parlor, where you will write you damned letters every other day. Under my careful eye, of course."
Harry stood speechless, rooted to the floor, not willing to believe what was happening. He was trapped, and he knew it. He had no way out, no power that he could use to gain an advantage. He was utterly at the mercy of his relatives, and they knew it. So, not wishing to push his luck any further than he already had, he stowed his trunk in the cupboard under the stairs, and made to go up to his room.
"Not so fast, mutt! There is work to be done around here. You've been away a long time, and things seem to have pilled up. For starters, this house is filthy!" At this moment he waved his arms around him, indicating the gleaming walls and floors that, Harry thought, had probably never knew the meaning of dust. "You will mop the all the floors, dust the entire house, vacuum all the carpets, water the plants, and do the laundry. Then there's the manner of the outside. Dreadfully atrocious, I'm afraid. You see, our good lawn mower has broken down, and all we have are these old pair of shears. Guess they'll have to do. Now get to work! And no supper if you're not finished by sundown!"
And so, with a heavy heart and a deep sense of foreboding, Harry set to work. He knew he would never be able to finish in time; he had less than four hours till sundown to begin with, and these chores normally would have taken at least a full day's worth of work. Harry knew it was pointless to try to tackle the lawn, so he focused his energies on cleaning the inside of the "filthy" house. Truth be told, he would most likely have been able to finish the inside if he hadn't been set back so many times. Usually when he had just finished dusting or mopping, one of the Dursleys would come along and drop something, or make a scuff or mark here or there that would constitute as a reason for starting from the beginning and doing the whole thing all over again. Always, Petunia was never satisfied, even though she couldn't have possibly done a better job herself. But the worst part was after he had started a load of laundry and had moved on to vacuuming the family room (for the third time), someone (Dudley, Harry suspected) added in half the box of laundry soap, causing the washer to erupt in a flow of bubbles. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Harry would have found great amusement in the spectacle. Instead all he got was great pain.
"Idiot boy! Buffoon, inane ass! How much soap did you add?" Screeched Petunia when she came upon the scene.
"I only put in one scoop! Honest!"
"One scoop! Does this look like one scoop to you! Do you take me for some kind of fool!"
"No, not at all, I - "
But what Harry was about to say was cut short when his Aunt blew into a whistle shrilly, blasting Harry and almost deafening him. Seconds later, a once again fuming Vernon stood looming over Harry, who was by now quite aware of what a scene like this would mean for him. One look, and Vernon flew into a rage, shouting, gesturing, sputtering, and when it appeared like he would literally burst at the seams, he struck out at Harry, catching him off guard. The blow landed near his left temple, just above his eyebrow, and Harry could tell, through the pain and the wet feeling on his forehead, that he had been cut and was bleeding.
When Vernon was calm enough to speak, he rounded on Harry, grabbed not only his hair, but part of his scalp, and said, "It's back to the cupboard for you! Now clean this up. If I come back and I so much as find one bubble, it'll be the belt for you!"
*********
As Harry lay curled on his side on his cot in his cupboard under the stairs, he wondered how he would survive. True to his word, when Vernon had found several bubbles remaining on the floor before Harry had time to mop them up, he had dragged Harry aside and whipped him with his belt.
With all of the distractions and setbacks, Harry had only managed to do half of Vernon's impossible demands. When he was finally told to finish, Harry at first had been glad, until he found he would then be cooking dinner, a dinner he would not be able to eat. He had briefly thought of sneaking some food, but the voice in the back of his head, the oh-so-familiar voice, told him not to, that it was too big a risk and wasn't worth it. Fortunately he listened, for he had been watched closely by Vernon, and any signs of trying to sneak food would have earned a very grave punishment indeed.
Fearing the worst, Harry had hidden his father's invisibility cloak, the Marauder's Map and (hesitantly) his wand up under the loose floorboards in his old room when he had been dusting earlier. And not a moment too soon, for when he finally made it into the cupboard, he found his school trunk had a huge padlock placed on it, which Harry, despite his best efforts, could not possibly unlock. Hedwig had not yet returned, and Harry hoped that she would stay away for three days so the Order would come and check on him, and then free him from this newest hell.
Shifting on the cot, Harry removed his glasses and placed them next to his alarm clock, which read midnight, and with a threadbare blanket wrapped around him, he tried to find a comfortable sleeping position, a task that had been hard enough when he was younger; almost impossible now he was older and a good foot taller. After finding a position that didn't bother his back or the lumps on his head, Harry started to doze off, terrible visions of the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries already starting to flash before his eyes. And so he slumbered, a prisoner in his house, but even more so in his own mind.
-->