Disclaimer: The only thing I own of this story is the plot. Any characters, names, places, etc. that you might recognize belong to the incredibly talented J.K. Rowling. I don't mean to break any laws and I don't have any money so please don't sue.

Also, if you are an author of fan fiction and you see something in my story that you originally used in one of yours, please know that I did NOT plagiarize and I have come up with everything in my story although many aspects have been used before.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, shall we begin the story?

Green-Eyed TearsNewfound Fears

Harry stared out of the rain-splattered window from his position on the small bed. He watched the raindrops make their way down the smooth glass, joining with others to make thin tracks of water and color. He sighed and averted his eyes to the plain white ceiling above him. His summer had been getting progressively worse ever since he had walked through the door of number four, Privet Drive. He had been having nightmares of Cedric, watching him fall to the ground over and over again. Voldemort's face floated across his subconscious, laughing at him and taunting him, making sleep impossible. And to make matters worse, his uncle had decided to make a change over the summer.


As soon as the door had closed behind Harry, he received a sharp smack across the face from his uncle.

"This summer's going to be very different, boy!" Uncle Vernon yelled. "Your aunt and I have had enough of your abnormality!"

Uncle Vernon threw a punch and hit Harry square in the face, sending his glasses flying off his face and onto the floor. Dudley picked them up with an amused look on his face and crushed them into little, tiny pieces with one, fat fist.

"We're going to knock that nonsense out of you no matter what it takes!" screamed Uncle Vernon, his face going red with rage and the vein in his neck beginning to throb with heated blood.

Harry was kicked and beaten until he could hardly stand. Blood was showing through the back of his shirt where Uncle Vernon had brought the belt down, hard upon his back. Bruises were starting to show on his face and torso. His uncle kept a close eye on him while he dragged his trunk to the cupboard under the stairs and then slowly made his way up the staircase.


That hadn't been the first beating of his life, but what confused him was that when his uncle had hit him before, when he had been younger, it had just been a slap upside the head or a push or a hair pull. Now, however, his uncle beat within an inch of his life and then, when he had healed enough, he came back for another round. Dudley would often join in too, holding Harry down to help his father. Harry didn't know what had caused this sudden change in the Dursleys; he doubted he'd live to see the end of the summer.

He knew that he should probably write to Ron or Hermione and tell them what was going on but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. If they knew that he couldn't stand up to his Muggle relative…well, he didn't know what they would think but they certainly wouldn't be impressed. Asking Sirius for help was out of the question. Sirius would barge into the house like a mad man; he would most likely do something stupid and get himself caught by the ministry. Harry couldn't let that happen. No…all he could do was wait and hope that his uncle didn't go too far.

Harry was jerked roughly from his thoughts as he heard a car door slam. His heart sank like a stone; Uncle Vernon was home. A moment later, the front door was slammed shut and shouting could be heard in the downstairs hallway; Uncle Vernon was arguing with Aunt Petunia over some unknown topic. Harry knew his uncle was drunk and looked around for some means of escape. Uncle Vernon would be stomping up to Harry's room soon in a fit of rage, ready to vent some of his anger on his no-good nephew. He looked toward the window and tried to get up. He winced as the movement sent pain shooting through his body. He decided to give it up as futile; even if he could get off the bed, he wouldn't be able to open the window, let alone find some way down onto the ground.

Suddenly, thundering footsteps sounded through the house. 'Oh no – he's coming' thought Harry in a blind panic 'What if this one kills me – is anyone going to know…is anyone going to care?'

Harry's thoughts stopped abruptly as his bedroom door swung open and hit the wall with a bang. In the doorway stood Uncle Vernon, his eyes bloodshot and glazed over, a murderous look on his face.

"You've really done it this time!" Vernon exclaimed, advancing on Harry, "First you tear apart this family by coming into this house and dragging all sorts of nonsense with you!"

Harry was pulled violently from the bed and thrown to the floor.

"Then you're ungrateful for everything we do for you – we give you food and a place to sleep and what do you do? You have owls flying in and out of the house day and night!"

Vernon began to kick Harry in the abdomen, causing him to whimper in pain. He knew better than to cry out; he would only get hit harder.

"You have freaks like you showing up on the doorstep! And NOW!"

Harry was yanked into a sitting position by his hair and his face was brought close to his uncle's. Harry could smell the alcohol coming from him even before he began speaking.

"You've made me lose my position at the company!" yelled Uncle Vernon, "I'm no longer needed as manager! I'll 'do fine as an assistant'" he said in a mocking tone.

Harry couldn't see why this was such a problem. He was still getting paid, wasn't he? He still had a job. But he knew much better than contradict Uncle Vernon; he just took all of it, soaking up the beatings until Vernon was done.

Vernon threw Harry from him and his head hit the corner of the wood wardrobe, almost knocking him unconscious but just leaving him with blurry vision, made even more so by his lack of glasses. Harry could feel blood running down between his hair, down to his neck. He thought some of his ribs might be broken too; he could hardly breathe.

Vernon gave Harry one last well-placed kick to the back and then left the room, slamming the door so hard on the way out that Harry was surprised it didn't break off the hinges. Harry just lay on the floor, panting and wondering how on earth he was supposed to sit up, let alone stand up or get back to his bed.

For hours, he stayed on the floor, unmoving until he recovered the tiniest bit of strength. His new wounds and old ones that had been reopened had stopped bleeding for the most part, leaving him only with the constant pain in every part of his body. Harry reached for the edge of the bed with one bruised hand. He grabbed the sheets and, with a great effort, scooted closer to the bed. He heaved one leg up and tried to push himself further with the other one. After about fifteen minutes of straining his aching muscles, Harry found himself panting into the pillow at the head of the bed.

Harry pulled his face away from the white linens to find that blood had been smeared across the pillow; his uncle would be furious. With that disconcerting thought, Harry fell into a sea of nightmares that he had become used to but far from comfortable with.

"Ron!" yelled Hermione from the small living room at the Burrow, "Ronald! Get down here!" She and Ginny had been sitting on the floor, playing a game of Exploding Snap. Ginny had gone to use the bathroom.

She heard clumsy footsteps coming down the long and winding staircase. Ron stumbled into the living room not two seconds later. 'Always graceful', thought Hermione with a small smile.

"What is it?" he asked, looking annoyed; Fred and George had stolen his broom for 'testing purposes' and he had been trying to get it back for the past hour and a half.

"I think there might be something wrong," Hermione replied.

"With…?" he asked impatiently.

"Harry, you prat!"

"Why? What's wrong?" Ron said, much more interested now.

"I don't know – I sent Pigwidgeon with a letter for him a couple hours ago and he's just got back. The letter's still attached." She said worriedly.

"M-maybe we should ask someone to check up on him?" Ron suggested.

"Who? Your parents? Lupin? Maybe we should tell Dumbledore," she said, randomly suggesting names.

"I think we should owl Lupin. That way, he can tell Sirius and we can trust him not to overreact if something is wrong."

"Okay…right….Oh, Ron! What if he's not okay! What if something's happened!" Hermione exclaimed, almost in tears.

"Hermione, I'm sure he's fine – he probably just doesn't feel like talking right now because of what happened in June," he suggested, trying to comfort her. He hoped he was right.

Well, there ya go folks! The first chapter of my first-ever fic. So, if you please, press the little purplish button that says 'go' and review, review, REVIEW! No flames, please, but constructive criticism is welcomed!