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Alexandra Lloyd · 12-25-2010, 01:08 AM

Thanks guys for the positive feedback

Here's the second part of the story.
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When Harry woke up, he saw nothing but darkness and was all alone. As his eyes adapted he realized that he was in his room, lying fully clothed uncomfortably on top of his bed.

“Oh no,” he croaked, “Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.” His bright green eyes filled with tears. “I ruined it didn’t I? I absolutely ruined it. Uncle Vernon is gonna be so mad at me. He’s . . . he’s gonna. . . ” Harry tried to sit up but couldn’t. His head hurt more than it already did when he tried, and he lay back down, resting his head on his pillow. He put one hand on his sweaty forehead and the other on his stomach which ached as he did and Harry felt nauseous once again.

“Please, no more.” begged Harry and coincidentally the pain receded and the nausea faded. Very slowly, Harry sat up and rose from his bed, took off his clothing and tucked himself into bed without even putting on pyjamas. “I want my mum.” he said as he turned over. Though it was relatively comfortable concerning the temperature of the room, Harry was freezing and sweating at the same time. He slept in a small cupboard under the stairs with no heat and only a thin blanket to keep him warm.

“I-I want my mummy…” Harry repeated and suddenly the door opened and Harry saw a pretty, pale, skinny woman entered Harry’s bedroom.

“Mum!” squeaked Harry, propping himself up on the pillows. She had jet black hair and loud green eyes, similar to Harry’s.

“Harry, I heard you crying and I came as fast as I could.” she said sitting on the end of Harry’s bed and putting a comforting hand on his leg. “What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”

“No,” answered Harry, “I… I just… I don’t feel well. Actually I feel really, really sick.” Harry was shaking more fiercely than ever. His mother moved up closer on the bed.

“It’s okay sweetheart, we’ll get through this. Would you like me to stay with you, until you feel better at least?” Harry didn’t answer but continued to shake and since his mother was neither really there, nor alive and was simply a figment of his imagination, she understood that it meant yes.

Harry lay on his stomach, still shaking and wincing in pain, as his mother sat next to him on an imaginary stool, unable to do anything but occasionally touch him comfortingly, which made Harry feel more secure. He really wanted her to sing to him, to hug him, to cuddle with him or at least show him some kind of physical appreciation, but Harry was rubbish at singing and had never experienced a warm hug or a cosy cuddle and couldn’t even imagine it in his dreams.

After about twenty minutes of Harry shuddering and still getting sicker his father came into the small cupboard. He was tall and muscular and handsome with dark hair and green eyes that were exactly like Harry’s.

“What happened? You left about twenty minutes ago! Is Harry all right?” he asked.

“No, he’s in a terrible state, he might even die!” his mother replied in a worried tone similar to the one Aunt Petunia used with Dudley.

“Maybe I should stay with you two, to protect you from anything scary.” His father stood over by the tiny cupboard doorway both feet mounted on the ground, looking like a bouncer at an exclusive club.

Harry smiled faintly at this vision. His parents loved him so much that his mum would stay up with him as long as it took for him to fall asleep, even if that meant almost all night and his father would stand in front of the door protecting him from monsters, even though Harry knew grownups didn’t believe in monsters. And it worked; Harry was slowly able to calm himself down numbing all the pain in every part of his body enough that he could relax and almost fall asleep, until his father spoke up.

“Harry?”

“Mmhmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying… to sleep.” Harry yawned.

“No, I mean what are you doing concerning us?”

Harry paused. “What do you mean?” He asked opening his eyes.

“I mean, we’re not really here and you know that. We both died in a car accident five years ago. You’ve never even seen us before. For all you know we might not even look like this.”

Harry, who had only just begun to relax, was now breathing deeply, as though he was going to cry. “W-why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” he said more seriously this time, “You can't keep doing this. You're getting big now, it's time to grow up and realize what's real and what's not. If you don't... you'll be mad as a hatter when you’re older, and I just can't let that happen.” He helped Harry’s mother up from her stool and they stood together in front of the doorway, ready to leave.

“No… no wait… wait!” yelled Harry. But it was no use. His father had already left the room.

“Sorry, Harry, but it’s for your own good.” his mother said as she followed her husband.

Harry sat in his bed confused and in shock. What the hell was wrong with him? Did he really hate himself so much inside that he couldn’t even pretend to have someone be there for him be there with him when he really needed? Eventually the shock wore off and Harry just felt like crying. And he did. He began to cry hysterically, to the point of no control. He could hardly breathe, and his head was pounding hard again.

“M-mummy! D-daddy! P-please come b-back! I n-need you! P-p-please!” Harry cried. He focused hard and tried to re-imagine them back in his room, but after what his father said to him it was very difficult.

But Harry refused to give up. He tried and tried again and finally he heard a soft and very real voice from outside his door say, “Harry?”

Harry sat up and opened his eyes. “Yes?” he answered, hoping with all his heart that it was someone who heard his cries and came to help.

“Stop making all of that noise.” said the shrill voice of Aunt Petunia, “You’ll wake Dudley.”

“But Aunt Petunia, I’m sick, really sick, and I need someone to help me… Aunt Petunia?” But just like every other time Harry tried to talk to anyone in this family Aunt Petunia walked away, assuming that Harry understood the message she was trying to come across and didn’t care about anything else.

Harry grabbed his pillow and squeezed it hard to prevent himself from screaming. Now, in addition to being very sick and depressed that his parents had left him perhaps forever, Harry felt frustrated that nobody cared and nobody wanted to help him. He gave up, and tried to go back to sleep.

12-25-2010, 01:08 AM	#4 (permalink)
Alexandra Lloyd Murtlap Join Date: Nov 2010 Location: New York, USA Posts: 59 Hogwarts RPG Name: Natasha Ofelia Santos First Year	Thanks guys for the positive feedback Here's the second part of the story. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ When Harry woke up, he saw nothing but darkness and was all alone. As his eyes adapted he realized that he was in his room, lying fully clothed uncomfortably on top of his bed. “Oh no,” he croaked, “Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.” His bright green eyes filled with tears. “I ruined it didn’t I? I absolutely ruined it. Uncle Vernon is gonna be so mad at me. He’s . . . he’s gonna. . . ” Harry tried to sit up but couldn’t. His head hurt more than it already did when he tried, and he lay back down, resting his head on his pillow. He put one hand on his sweaty forehead and the other on his stomach which ached as he did and Harry felt nauseous once again. “Please, no more.” begged Harry and coincidentally the pain receded and the nausea faded. Very slowly, Harry sat up and rose from his bed, took off his clothing and tucked himself into bed without even putting on pyjamas. “I want my mum.” he said as he turned over. Though it was relatively comfortable concerning the temperature of the room, Harry was freezing and sweating at the same time. He slept in a small cupboard under the stairs with no heat and only a thin blanket to keep him warm. “I-I want my mummy…” Harry repeated and suddenly the door opened and Harry saw a pretty, pale, skinny woman entered Harry’s bedroom. “Mum!” squeaked Harry, propping himself up on the pillows. She had jet black hair and loud green eyes, similar to Harry’s. “Harry, I heard you crying and I came as fast as I could.” she said sitting on the end of Harry’s bed and putting a comforting hand on his leg. “What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?” “No,” answered Harry, “I… I just… I don’t feel well. Actually I feel really, really sick.” Harry was shaking more fiercely than ever. His mother moved up closer on the bed. “It’s okay sweetheart, we’ll get through this. Would you like me to stay with you, until you feel better at least?” Harry didn’t answer but continued to shake and since his mother was neither really there, nor alive and was simply a figment of his imagination, she understood that it meant yes. Harry lay on his stomach, still shaking and wincing in pain, as his mother sat next to him on an imaginary stool, unable to do anything but occasionally touch him comfortingly, which made Harry feel more secure. He really wanted her to sing to him, to hug him, to cuddle with him or at least show him some kind of physical appreciation, but Harry was rubbish at singing and had never experienced a warm hug or a cosy cuddle and couldn’t even imagine it in his dreams. After about twenty minutes of Harry shuddering and still getting sicker his father came into the small cupboard. He was tall and muscular and handsome with dark hair and green eyes that were exactly like Harry’s. “What happened? You left about twenty minutes ago! Is Harry all right?” he asked. “No, he’s in a terrible state, he might even die!” his mother replied in a worried tone similar to the one Aunt Petunia used with Dudley. “Maybe I should stay with you two, to protect you from anything scary.” His father stood over by the tiny cupboard doorway both feet mounted on the ground, looking like a bouncer at an exclusive club. Harry smiled faintly at this vision. His parents loved him so much that his mum would stay up with him as long as it took for him to fall asleep, even if that meant almost all night and his father would stand in front of the door protecting him from monsters, even though Harry knew grownups didn’t believe in monsters. And it worked; Harry was slowly able to calm himself down numbing all the pain in every part of his body enough that he could relax and almost fall asleep, until his father spoke up. “Harry?” “Mmhmm?” “What are you doing?” “Trying… to sleep.” Harry yawned. “No, I mean what are you doing concerning us?” Harry paused. “What do you mean?” He asked opening his eyes. “I mean, we’re not really here and you know that. We both died in a car accident five years ago. You’ve never even seen us before. For all you know we might not even look like this.” Harry, who had only just begun to relax, was now breathing deeply, as though he was going to cry. “W-why are you telling me this?” “Because,” he said more seriously this time, “You can't keep doing this. You're getting big now, it's time to grow up and realize what's real and what's not. If you don't... you'll be mad as a hatter when you’re older, and I just can't let that happen.” He helped Harry’s mother up from her stool and they stood together in front of the doorway, ready to leave. “No… no wait… wait!” yelled Harry. But it was no use. His father had already left the room. “Sorry, Harry, but it’s for your own good.” his mother said as she followed her husband. Harry sat in his bed confused and in shock. What the hell was wrong with him? Did he really hate himself so much inside that he couldn’t even pretend to have someone be there for him be there with him when he really needed? Eventually the shock wore off and Harry just felt like crying. And he did. He began to cry hysterically, to the point of no control. He could hardly breathe, and his head was pounding hard again. “M-mummy! D-daddy! P-please come b-back! I n-need you! P-p-please!” Harry cried. He focused hard and tried to re-imagine them back in his room, but after what his father said to him it was very difficult. But Harry refused to give up. He tried and tried again and finally he heard a soft and very real voice from outside his door say, “Harry?” Harry sat up and opened his eyes. “Yes?” he answered, hoping with all his heart that it was someone who heard his cries and came to help. “Stop making all of that noise.” said the shrill voice of Aunt Petunia, “You’ll wake Dudley.” “But Aunt Petunia, I’m sick, really sick, and I need someone to help me… Aunt Petunia?” But just like every other time Harry tried to talk to anyone in this family Aunt Petunia walked away, assuming that Harry understood the message she was trying to come across and didn’t care about anything else. Harry grabbed his pillow and squeezed it hard to prevent himself from screaming. Now, in addition to being very sick and depressed that his parents had left him perhaps forever, Harry felt frustrated that nobody cared and nobody wanted to help him. He gave up, and tried to go back to sleep.