Shattered Images

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; I'm just borrowing it for a little while

Art Credit: I couldn't find the artist, but of you know who it is, let me know and I'll give them credit :)

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Sweat trickled down 5-year-old Harry's back as he weeded his aunt's flower beds. He'd been working in the yard for the past 3 hours, but had yet to take a break, except for quick, sneaked drinks from the hose. Rising and twisting his back to work out the kinks, Harry made his way to the back door so he could start on dinner.

Just as he reached his hand out to grasp the doorknob, the door flew open with enough force to throw him back onto the ground.

"Boy! Stop lazing there on the ground and get in here, your uncle will be home soon," Aunt Petunia's shrill voice pierced through the air.

"Yes'm," Harry mumbled before clambering to his feet and shuffling inside, his sense of self-preservation keeping him from talking back and causing himself more problems.

Harry had been charged with cooking the family's meals since he turned five. He knew the routine by heart after 3 months of cooking an obscene amount of food, portioning it out to his family members, and waiting to eat his meager portion until after the rest had finished. After seasoning and heating the canned tomato sauce, Harry boiled water for pasta and went to set the table.

As he walked to the dining room, Harry saw his aunt pulling a bundle of money from a large envelope, shortly followed by a thick letter. He watched as she tore open the letter, scanned it, then tossed it into the fireplace.

Petunia then turned towards him and started, before snarling "What're you looking at, freak?"

"Nothing, Aunt Petunia," he responded, turning towards the table to set out the three placements. He would eat in the kitchen.

At six-o'clock Vernon Dursley thundered through the front door, bringing with him a whale-like Dudley who he had picked up from a friend's house.

"Dinner on the table, boy?" Vernon demanded as he gruffly shoved his coat into his nephew's arms.

Carefully schooling his face into a neutral expression which he knew was the safest choice when dealing with his uncle, Harry nodded in affirmation. Vernon grunted before ambling into the dining room, Dudley waddling behind without a glance at his cousin. After four years of dealing with his uncle, Harry knew better than to seek appreciation or, the thought was almost laughable, pride in response to his achievements, but the cold dismissal still stung, nonetheless.

Harry stared out the kitchen window as he waited the family to finish their supper so he could do the washing up. He imagined a savior coming out of the shadows to take him away from his relatives, and he jumped when he detected movement in the very spot he had just been staring. He had known he could make things he wanted happen since he was four, but to wish a whole person into existence was simply ludicrous. Continuing to stare into the darkness, his green eyes narrowed in confusion. Whatever he had been so sure to have seen a moment ago seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Just then he heard the Dursleys getting up from the table and went to go clear the dishes, all thoughts of the mysterious figure fleeing as he cleaned and then ate his own dinner.

Three hours later Harry had been shoved into his cupboard for the night. He fell asleep to thoughts of freedom from his loveless home and a mysterious figure shrouded in shadows.

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Lord Voldemort sat in his high backed, throne-like chair at the front of the hall, his most trusted Death Eaters arranged in front of him.