“Kill the spare.”

“Avada Kedavra!”

“CEDRIC!”

The monstrous face of Lord Voldemort was twisted into a sinister sneer as he turned to face the trembling boy tied to a gravestone.

“You see, Harry, no one can escape my clutches. Not even you. Know in your heart and soul, that this boy’s death is on your head.”

“NO!!”

The scene swirled and changed from the glooms of the grey church yard to the oppressing darkness that seems so familiar to him. A dark corridor, one he has walked upon for hundreds of times in his dreams, loomed up in front again. Subconsciously, his feet carried him to a large circular chamber. Stood in the middle of the bare room was a dais, upon it, the dancing Veil stood mocking as ever he remembered, rustling with the whispers of the voices of the Dead.

A jet of red light.

Sirius falling gracefully into the Veil and beyond.

Voldemort’s face sneering at him.

“Don’t you understand Harry? None of them would have died if not for you. Who told Cedric to take the cup with you? Who was Sirius in the Veil Room for? Why aren’t your parents here?”

“It’s all my fault.”

“Of course Harry, and I’m sure they blame you with heir every breath.”

“Yes, I’m to blame.”

The sun had barely peeked through the open curtains of a window in an immaculately cared for house. A boy stood there already, dressed and fully awake, watching the struggling sun with dull emerald eyes. He glanced at his watch, and sighed.

6:30 Am. Well, Happy Birthday to me.

In 30 minutes’ time, a certain bony, horse lipped woman will screech upstairs at him, to make breakfast. 30 minutes to go. Better make good use of it then. He thought. Half an hour to finish my Potions essay, and let’s hope Snape’s gonna give it at least an E, if not O, I’ve spent half of my brain cells on it! Yes, this normal looking boy in this normal looking house is indeed the most abnormal human being there can ever be, Harry Potter, the “Boy-who-bloody-Lived”, as it is in his words. His quill scratched softly on a sheet of yellow parchment. He’ll be starting sixth year in a week, and is already wondering what Voldemort have in store for him this year. Suddenly, a muffled grunt is heard from across the landing, Harry tensed in fear, thinking that his Uncle might have woken up early, rare as that might be. But no, it doesn’t seem so. Letting out a sigh, Harry Potter carried on with his essay, nearly finished. He scratched his chin, brow furrowed in deep concentration. It was not surprising when he jumped two inches into the air when a mighty bellow seemed to explode directly beside his ear, and a large purple hand snatched away his Potions Essay. Soon sounds of tearing parchment reached his ears, and then he was showered by bits of his now non-existent essay. Only one thought went through his mind as Uncle Vernon grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him down the stairs for his daily morning beat, yelling obscenities. And that was:

Busted. Snape’s sooo gonna skin me.

Half an hour later – 7:20am.

“Now you listen to me clearly brat, we, that is to say, Your Aunt Petunia, Dudders, and me, we are going to Dudders’ school for a special meeting. We won’t be back till tomorrow. During our absence, you’ll be sure to make NO noise from your freaking mouth, take NO food from the fridge for your unworthy stomach, TOUCH NOTHING in the house with your dirty claws, and DO NOT let anyone notice that any creature breathed in this house. I will not have my neighbours noticing ANY freakishness from MY house. Understand?”

“Yes Sir.” Came the mute reply.

“I’m sure you do you ungrateful selfish freak of nature.” The large beefy man glanced warningly at the corner of a certain cupboard. “If you don’t, well, we’ll see when we get back. You just might no be going back to that stupid out stinky school of yours with that idiot so called Head teacher of yours.”

Harry felt anger shooting through his blood, how dare he insult Hogwarts and Dumbledore! But he fought the urge to fight. Think of Hedwig. Don’t react, for Hedwig.

The front doors slammed in the distance, he didn’t notice it. He is not going to let go of this one chance to send Hedwig away to safety. He ran full pelt into his room, ignoring a rapidly swelling bruise on the side of his cheek. He reached the hidden floorboard and seized a special unlocking hairpin, given to him by Fred on the way back, and ran back down again. You see, the Dursleys weren’t as idiot as they may look. In fear of being attacked by “that mutated excuse of a man”-namely Alastor Moody, the minute Harry stepped into the house, Hedwig has been snatched from him, and locked into a cupboard by Uncle Vernon. But at least Uncle Vernon was feeding her, if very irregularly. He somehow also managed to catch all the owls which delivered letters to Harry, and forced Harry to write lovely pleasant replies to his friends whilst under death threat of him and Hedwig. He hasn’t been able to send any letters of plea to Ron or Hermione, not even the Order when his Uncle continuously abused him mentally and physically.

The Dursley’s mood hasn’t been great. Dudley’s been reported by the school as having an unbearable personality, and in the summer holidays, was accused of several theft, even drug dealing. And as usual, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia aren’t going to blame Dudley for all these, for how could their “sweet Diddikins” do anything so horrid? Must be the evil Harry Potter, so Harry was beaten, starved, and degraded to a personal slave of the Dursley household. Nothing unusual then.

Ignoring all of Uncle Vernon’s threats of not taking any food from the fridge, Harry, took vegetables and bread out, and fed Hedwig to her heart’s content. She looked a dismay, but to Harry’s surprise, she wasn’t one bit annoyed with him. She seemed to know exactly what has been going on, and nibbled his hand in a way that said: “Never mind, at least I’m alive, I forgive you.” Stroking her feathers gently, Harry walked upstairs back to his room, planning on what who to write a plea to.

Unfortunately for Ronald Weasley, he was the only person in the house when a frantic Hedwig showed up by his window. After reading Harry’s short but devastating letter, he decided to contact the Order at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. After poking his head through the fire and calling out its destination, Ron discovered that perhaps he has chosen the wrong time to call. Severus Snape was sat peacefully at the table, complete with a sheet of greasy hair and a long protruding hooked nose. He was munching a piece of toast whilst reading the Daily Prophet. Ron nearly choked on a mouthful of ash and flame when the dreaded Potions Master looked at the fireplace and glared at his head as if it was the most disgusting object on earth.

“Well, well, well, Mr Weasley. What brings your brainless head here.”

“Ah! Sn-Professor Snape, sir. Um…is anyone here?” Ron nearly cursed himself when he caught himself saying Snape, nearly.

“I believe I am a person Mr Weasley. I assumed your mush of a brain might have worked out this much at least 5 years ago.” He said lazily, enjoying the effect of every word on the red head. “Now I suggest you that you till me the reason for your unwanted presence here, or I can think of numerous ways to make sure that you never venture here again.”

Ronal Weasley shivered at the words, and quickly produced a parchment for him, whilst saying as fast as he can:

“I…I think Harry’s ran away from home, I think the Order should know. You could tell…er…Professor Dumbledore so that he can make sure Harry’s ok.”

To his surprise, Snape acted quickly, by writing a letter to Dumbledore and sending off with it, Harry’s note as well. Then, he returned to the head still sitting in the fire:

“There’s nothing you can do now. Go home and wait for further instructions. If your head stays there any longer, I may be lured into poking it with a pair of fire tongs.” He saw with satisfaction as the head immediately disappeared with a faint pop.