I've come up with a new story! XD
Personally, I think I've done real good this time ;P And this story is going to be longer than my previous two (if I manage to complete it O,o)

So read and (hopefully) ENJOY~

The chains of the swing squeaked eerily in the silence, the sound spreading out over the playground and cutting sharply through the gathering darkness. The warm wind ruffled his hair and made the empty swing beside him move a bit, its chains squeaking just as badly. Emerald eyes closed as he moved back and forth through the air that seemed thick and heavy due to the warmth – not even the wind could cool him down. He moved his body in time with the swing, stretching out and bending forward to gain momentum, swinging higher and higher, moving faster and faster.

Moving freely through the air like this felt good, almost like flying. Almost. He silently wished he'd had his broom as he imagined the seat of the swing to be the hard shaft of his broom, his hands gripping the sleek wood instead of the rusty chains. He needed the feeling of freedom it brought, needed to temporarily forget about the fact that he was as good as a prisoner under his own relatives, relatives who hated him and loathed everything he was.

It was harder to accept his imprisonment this year. The other summers he'd at least had the excuse that he would be safe from Voldemort if he stayed, and thinking so made it a little easier to get up every day, a little easier to do the chores around the house, to ignore his growling stomach the days he didn't get enough food. Now, that excuse didn't work anymore. Voldemort had taken his blood to make his own resurrection possible, and as his blood was now running through the veins of the Dark Lord, he really couldn't see how the wards were supposed to protect him anymore. Even so, Dumbledore had insisted he'd return to Privet Drive, for reasons Harry couldn't even begin to phantom. He'd tried to, some of those many hours he'd lain in bed staring at the ceiling, but he just couldn't understand why he had to return to the Dursley's.

The fact that he was pretty much isolated from the rest of the world didn't make it any better. He couldn't write to his friends, just like they couldn't write to him, since Dumbledore had said it would be much too dangerous since someone could track the owl and find Harry's whereabouts. Thus he hadn't heard anything from his friends since they departed from Kings Cross – they hadn't even sent cards or cake like they usually did on his birthday, leaving him feeling utterly abandoned. For the same reasons, he couldn't have a subscription of the Daily Prophet, cutting off all his strings to the wizarding world and leaving him completely in the dark about what was happening. He'd tried to follow the muggle news, searching for any unexplainable catastrophes that could be Voldemort's doing, but there was nothing other than the exceptionally hot weather on the tabloids.

The nights were almost worst and he didn't get enough sleep since he tried to stay awake just to avoid the nightmares. They always came in the end, and every night his scar burned as he watched Volcemort rise from the cauldron. The red eyes pierced through him as the unbearable pain of the cruciatus raged through his body, making him wake screaming and crying as the image of Cederic's lifeless eyes lingered.

It all left him feeling antsy and insecure, unsure of what he was supposed to do. In theory, Voldemort or any of his Death Eaters could jump out from around a corner any second and kill him, and he'd have no means of defending himself as Vernon had locked away his trunk and other things in the cupboard again, forcefully taking his wand from him and throwing it into the dark space before locking with a wide grin that made his chins multiply. A few nights later Harry had tried to break in to get his wand back, but Vernon had caught him and given him a twisted ankle and multiple bleeding bruises as punishment, rendering his foot useless for the next couple of days.

He had stopped moving when caught up in his dark musings, and the swing came to a halt, silence settling over the burnt grass as the squeaking died down. With a heavy sight he leaned his head against the chain, trying hard to forget everything. Forcefully leading his thoughts down another path, he remembered there was only about a month until school started and he'd leave Privet Drive behind for another year at Hogwarts. The thought didn't make him as ecstatic as it usually did, probably caused by the fact that he hadn't heard from his friends. But he would be safe behind the walls and wards of the school, so he wouldn't have to worry about Voldemort.

The sound of distant voices snapped him out of his thoughts and made him look up, catching sight of Dudley and his gang standing in the corner of the park. They bumped fists and said to meet again, maybe already next day, and the absence of his own friends made itself known in the all to well known form of pain. He longingly watched as the guys separated to their respective homes, none of them noticing his presence as if he'd become one with the darkness. As Dudley was left alone and turned to walk home, Harry slowly got up from the swing and followed, knowing they would lock him out if he returned later then his cousin.

Dudley didn't notice him until they walked through the tunnel under a road, where the sound of their steps echoed hollowly against the cement of the graffiti filled walls with the flickering lamps. The fat, blonde boy jumped at the sound and turned around to stare at him, clearly surprised that he was there. Harry walked up to him, not bothering to stop just because the other had, and Dudley scoffed before tuning back around and continuing, now only a few steps before his much smaller cousin. They walked along the abandoned streets in silence, passing lawns burnt by the sun and cars with a layer of dust that normally wouldn't be allowed to be there if it hadn't been for the extreme heat. Light flickered in windows from TVs, a couple ate their late dinner in the kitchen. Normal people, living normal lives under normal circumstances. None of them had to worry about a Dark Lord targeting them, so why did he have to be different?

Because I happen to be the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die, Harry thought mockingly. His whole life was like this because of something that had happened when he was little, too little to even remember it. It was just maddening, especially since no one understood his problem. They all thought he should be happy with being famed and looked upon, but all he wanted was a normal life. If he was given a choice, he'd trade the title of The-Boy-Who-Lived anytime.

He distantly noticed a man in a long, black cloak walking towards them, and Harry wondered why the man wore such heavy clothing in this hot summer. He didn't care much though, as nothing else seemed strange or discouraging about the man. There was no sudden stillness, no unexplainable silence or creeping fear. No feeling of danger as there should have been if anything was off. He still eyed the man wearily for a moment, blaming it on the paranoia of having a Dark Lord targeting him. It wasn't until they came closer to each other he got a better look at the man, and he immediately stopped dead. The cloak he'd mistaken the man for wearing was a robe, long and black.

Memories flashed before his eyes, white masks covering laughing faces, black cloaked figures standing in a ring around him, black fabric hiding their identities. But this man didn't have a hood, there was no white mask to hide his face. There was no way to get a good look of the man's features as they were hidden by the dark of the poorly lit street, and all Harry could make out was that the man was tall with long hair and dark eyes. Who was he? A Death Eater who would take him to Voldemort to be killed? A wizard sent by Dumbledore to finally collect him and bring him to the Burrow? Or, however unlikely it would be, just some random wizard walking down the street, oblivious of who Harry was?

He hadn't realized that Dudley walked up by the man to pass by, when the man suddenly reached out, wand in hand, and blasted Dudley into the wall of a nearby garage with a muttered word, the sound of the blast disturbing the silence and spreading through the night. Harry instinctively reached for the wand that should have been in his back pocket only to grab thin air. The man turned to him, a predatory smile on his lips, and Harry froze in place.

What was he to do? His eyes flickered to Dudley who lay by the wall like a giant heap of fat, a puddle of red slowly spreading over the asphalt by the blondes head. Head injuries always bled much, so it was hard to tell how bad the injury was. Would he be okay if Harry left, ran to save himself from this man, whoever he was and whatever he wanted? Or would he be leaving his cousin to death?

Cederic's gray eyes stared at him, forever empty and unseeing, his face frozen in eternal surprise. Would Dudley die just like him, simply because he'd been in the way when someone targeted Harry? But he had always put an great effort into making Harry's life as miserable as possible, using his as a punching bag when his friends held Harry in place, or dirtying the room Harry had just cleaned, earning him the punishment of a beating and yet another evening without supper. How many nights hadn't Harry wished his cousin to disappear or suddenly die? How many times hadn't he wished he'd had his wand so he could hex his cousin into oblivion? So why should he save him now, instead of trying to save himself?

The man was advancing on him, slowly coming closer as if he wanted to give Harry the chance to run, the wand once again tucked into the arm of the robe and out of sight. The realization that he actually had the chance to run made the decision for him, and Harry turned on his heal and ran. He'd always been fast and agile, the reason to why he made such a good Seeker, caused by the many times he'd run from Dudley's gang. This time he wasn't running from a beating, but from possible death, and the knowledge spurred him on as he sprinted down the street, jumped over a fence to cross someone's lawn and made his way through a hole in someone else's hedge. He threw a glance over his shoulder as he came back out on a street, knowing he'd have shaken off most pursuers with that.

But the man still followed him, a dark gleam in his eyes as the predatory smirk grew wicked. His motions were fluid and fast, and he didn't seem to have any trouble at all in matching Harry's pace. Harry turned back forward just in time to steer clear of a street pole, and he caught sight of a window with the light lit inside. Should he call for help and hope the pursuer wouldn't want to be seen? That the man would give up and leave to avoid the risk of getting caught. He quickly realized how unlikely it was, when thinking back to what the man had done with Dudley.

His blood froze in his veins as he realized he was all alone on this – if he called for help he would only bring death to others. A quick glance proved that the man was still after him, actually coming closer and closer, and he didn't even look strained while Harry's breathing came out in ragged pants and his lunges started burning with the effort to draw breath quick enough, his heart pumping wildly in his chest as fear took him. He couldn't outrun the man, and he wouldn't be able to defend himself without his wand. The pain suddenly shot through his side where Vernon had kicked him earlier that day because he hadn't made enough eggs for breakfast, even though he'd cooked all the eggs they'd had in the fridge. Gritting his teeth against the pain he stumbled, gripping his aching side as he gasped.

The man took the opportunity to end the hunt and jumped Harry from behind, throwing them both to the ground with Harry at the bottom, pressing the air from his lungs as the man landed on him. The man swiftly straddled his back and Harry bucked, trying to throw his assailant off in a desperate attempt to break free. A dark chuckle reached him from above and the man pressed down on him, firmly planting his chest against Harry's back, so close his breath washed over Harry's neck and sent a shiver down his spine. Before he could attempt any more resistance the man grabbed his wrists and gathered them in one of his hands, holding him still with practiced ease, rendering Harry immobile.

Harry felt the man sniff his neck and hum as if he was pleased with something before his free hand came up and stroked black hair from the nape of the neck, smoothly running a finger down the line of the neck.

"Sweet little wizard", he whispered softly before pressing his lips to Harry's neck, sucking on the skin and surely leaving a mark. "Wizards always smell so sweet contrary to those stinking muggles and their filthy blood", the man mumbled, his lips brushing against Harry's skin and making him shudder in repulsion. He turned his head the other way in defiance, making the man snarl angrily. Strong fingers grabbed his chin and forced his head back in the preferred angle, a slimy tongue lapping at his neck as a delighted moan escaped the man.

Harry clenched his eyes shut and tried to wrap his panicked mind around what was happening, trying to understand what was happening and why. The man didn't seem to know who he was and therefore wasn't sent by Voldemort, so why was this happening? Why did it have to happen to him? What was really happening?

Before he could find any answers to the questions the man suddenly bit down, fangs penetrating his skin and drawing blood. Harry shrieked in pain and his watering eyes snapped open, but the man simply grabbed his throat and held him in place as he sucked his blood. The action seemed to arouse the man as Harry could feel him growing hard against his back, and the man started grinding his clothed erection against him while moaning into his neck, the sucking growing more fierce.

The dizziness and disgust made Harry feel sick and the world swam before him as he slowly started drifting off, the pain in his neck dulling to a slight ache. Barely conscious he felt the man grind furiously for a moment before stilling, a lust filled moan sounded and the fangs withdrew, quickly replaced by the tongue that lapped up the leaking blood. A hand combed through his hair and the pressure was lifted from his now limp body and he was flipped over to rest on his back. The hand was back, stroking his hair as fingers threaded through his messy locks, and it felt good. The gentle caresses softly lulled him to sleep, and his body felt numb, his mind so distant. It was cold, and he somehow knew that it shouldn't be, that it should be very warm, but he didn't have the strength to care.

He was tired, so very tired.

"Would be a waste if he died…" The words came drifting from afar, but he couldn't grasp the meaning of them. A thumb separated his lips and opened his mouth, and soon there were a pair of lips pressed against his own and something was flowing into his opened mouth. He choked on the sweet, coppery liquid before his reflexes kicked in and he swallowed, gentle fingers massaging his throat to make the process easier. The lips left his own and he swallowed a last time before consciousness left him, a deep chuckle the last thing he heard.


Harry turned over and groaned into the flat pillow as the dull ache in his body filtered through his hazed mind. Why had Vernon beaten him this time? He frowned as he tried to recall what had caused the punishment, but he couldn't remember doing anything that could have evoked his uncle's fury. Emerald eyes fluttered open and he was met with a small room with white walls, a white bed with white sheets, a white nightstand and a white chair in the corner, all of it illuminated by fluorescent lamps that glared over the room with their sharp light. His first thought was that he was back at Hogwarts and had ended up in the Hospital wing again, but he quickly realized that they didn't have any single rooms there and they certainly didn't have fluorescent lamps.

That's when he saw the metal stand on wheels by his bed, a plastic bag with blood hanging from a hook and a thin tube connecting the bag to his arm. He was in a muggle hospital. Why was he…?

Harry sat up straight as the memories of the passed night flooded him and his eyes widened in shock and fright as his hand flew up to his neck to search for the bite mark that should be there. His fingers stroked lightly over soft skin, but there was nothing there. No mark, no nothing. Harry looked around the room in search for a mirror where he could check if there was really no mark, and his eyes stopped on the nightstand were his glasses lay. He just stared at them incomprehensively, lifting his hand to his face only to find the obvious fact that he did not wear the glasses that lay on the nightstand.

So why did he see clearly? Why wasn't the room a white blur in front of him as it should have been? He slowly sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed before reaching out to grab his glasses, hesitantly putting them on. The world went unfocused before him and he took them off, the world quickly returning to normal again.

"How the fuck…?" he mumbled in puzzlement when it suddenly hit him why he'd looked around in the first place, and he quickly got up and crossed the small room with the stand rattling after him, making his way to one of two doors, hoping it would be the toilet. He was met by white tiles and grey linoleum, and he quickly made his way to the hand basin and the mirror on the wall above it.

His black hair was its usual messy self, his face seemed slightly paler but that was probably from blood loss, and the emerald eyes appeared to be somewhat more vibrant than before. He quickly turned his head from side to side to inspect his neck and throat, but there were no marks, no indication of what had happened. And… the pain in his side was gone. He remembered that the pain had returned when he'd been hunted, that it had been the cause to his capture, but it was all gone now. All that was left was the throbbing ache that made his whole body sore.

Wanting to confirm that the wound actually was there, Harry lifted his T-shirt and stared at his flat stomach with the navel in the middle and the slight musculature from Quidditch training. The large gash that should have marred his side was all gone, as were all the old scratches and blemishes that had littered his body practically from top to toe. He blinked at himself as he stared at his mirror image, the thoughts tumbling over each other in the much too small space of his head.

All his injuries were healed, yet he was sore all over. His eyesight had suddenly been corrected. He'd been attacked and… bitten by someone and yet he looked perfectly fine, except for the slight pallor of his face that could just as well have been caused by his shock…

What happened?

Before he had any chance of answering the question he heard the second door open, and quickly looked out from the toilet. A nurse looked at him in surprise and he quickly dropped his shirt and blushed, making the woman smile in amusement.

"How are you feeling?" she asked politely and gestured for him to sit on the bed as she started picking out things from her pockets and place them on the nightstand by his glasses.

"Uhm… fine, I guess. A bit sore", he answered meekly and the nurse nodded before putting a thermometer in his mouth and go over to the stand with the blood bag to pick the things together while Harry sat with the thermometer in his mouth, brooding on what had happened. The thermometer soon beeped and the nurse took it, frowning slightly at the temperature displayed.

"A bit to cold…", she mumbled and Harry looked worriedly at her. "Oh, don't worry, I'm sure you will be fine in no time", she said with a reassuring smile before taking his blood pressure and press down lightly with her hands on different places of his body to see if it hurt or if he had any other injuries.

She quickly dismissed him as being in good enough shape to return home, told him to take painkillers for a few days against the ache and then proceeded to tell him that his uncle was waiting down in the cafeteria before leaving. Harry frowned as he took his glasses from the nightstand and put them in a pocket before leaving the room and go down the corridor, following the signs in the ceiling pointing towards the cafeteria. Why would uncle Vernon be waiting for him? He stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted the man sitting by a plastic table beside the coffee machine, a mug in his hands and a dark look on his face.

This can not be good, Harry thought with dread when he suddenly remembered what had happened to Dudley. Was he okay? Was that why Vernon looked so grim, because he was worried for his son? Harry certainly hoped so as he slowly made his way over to his uncle.

When Vernon looked up and Harry saw his eyes, he quickly realized that hope wasn't going to help him, and dread filled him as he followed his uncle out to the parking lot, a clouded sky looming over them. It felt as if the temperature had fallen slightly, but when Harry threw a glance at the thermometer displayed on the radio screen, it was unchanged. Not a word was exchanged during the car ride, Harry thought of asking how Dudley was just to break the tense silence, but didn't dare disturb Vernon in any way, worrying for what was to come. As soon as the car came to a stop outside Privet Drive 4 with its perfectly mowed yet dry lawn, Vernon got out and Harry followed his example, only to be grabbed by his neck and pulled through the door that was open in order to let in a nonexistent breeze.

Aunt Petunia looked up from the kitchen zink she was drying as they came in but only watched them silently with hard eyes as Vernon dragged Harry up the stairs and into his bedroom where he threw his nephew on the floor. Harry quickly scrambled to his feet as Vernon locked the door behind him with a final click, and Harry stared at the door that had been his last available way of escape. Not that he had anywhere to go, but it always felt good to know that he had at least some way to get away if things turned really ugly.

Vernon slowly advanced on him, his face twisted in a wicked way, eyes dark with malice. Harry backed away until he had his back pressed against the wall and couldn't back further, his emerald eyes flickering around the room, searching desperately for something that could help him. As Vernon reached out to grab him, he quickly threw himself to the side onto the bed and he scrambled away over the hard mattress in order to put some distance between them. Somehow Vernon managed to grab hold of his ankle and pulled him closer, simply catching Harry's other leg as he tried to kick his uncle.

"You little freak", the man spat furiously, slamming his right leg down over the ribbed bed foot, effectively snapping his ankle. Harry shrieked in agony as pain shot up his leg, clamping his eyes closed as if it would ward off the hurt. "Dudley almost died because of you and you walk off without a scratch!" Vernon roared, spit flying from his mouth as he dragged Harry down on the floor and mercilessly kicking him.

Harry screamed and cried, begging for forgiveness like he never had before, probably because he realized this wouldn't end as one of the normal beatings. He tried his best to protect his head with his arms, curling up in a feral position as the kicks continued coming down on his already hurting body, Vernon's cursing hammering against his ears. He could feel bones breaking under the force of the kicks, and his voice had soon grown hoarse and his breathing grew ragged and strained, each breath painful.

I'm going to die.

The though was fleeting and vague in his pain filled mind, and yet he knew it was true. Vernon would kill him in his rage and there was nothing he could do without his wand since he'd never had any physical strength.

I'm going to die, but I don't want to.

A kick hit him in the chest, driving the air out of him as he felt bones crumbling to splinters, a hoarse whimper escaping him as the world blackened.

I don't want to die!

He wished desperately that someone, anyone, would be there to help him, to stop this, save him.

Please, make it stop, make it stop, he pleaded in his mind and cried with his face pressed against the floorboards, sobs wrecking his broken body as the tears streamed down his face.

Lying there on the floor, crying because his life was to come to an end, was the supposed saviour of the wizarding world, the so called Boy-Who-Lived who had defeated one of the most powerful wizards as a mere newborn.

Okay, that was the first chapter, and I already have chapter 2 and 3 completed (though not checked =,=') so it'll probably take some time before they're up.

So, tell me what you think!
So far this story feels really good for me, so tell me what you think ^^