Written by: Ie-maru
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, that lucky rich lady does. Any other connection to any other owned copyrighted source I do not claim, so please don't sue.
Note: To my good online friend AquaRias, the reason I haven't yet mailed you with the chapter of my other fanfiction-in-work is that my mother found out and disapproved…she forbid me access to the internet and forbid me to contact you or anyone else I do not know in person. My apologies for not getting this to you sooner, but I know you have me on author alert and this was the safest way to go.
To readers, I am slightly psychotic. I am not diagnosed with any mental disease, though my brother is diagnosed with a type that makes his control over his own emotions irregular; because of this I have a lot of repressed emotion. That and I enjoy writing characters who are insane, in a way, and seeing how I come up with everyone's reactions to them. If my characters repulse anyone, in any way, I would like you to either leave a POLITE review or ignore what you read and look forward to the next chapter. Thank you.
Any one-shot here I may make into a full story, depending on reader's reactions or my own desire to. I would appreciate if people would refrain from copyright, and would also appreciate if any reader finding a work copied from mine or anyone else to report it and inform the original author of the discretion. Thank you.
"Hello"- regular speech
"Hello"- Language of Tongues a.k.a. the magical ability to speak and be understood by many different peoples at once.
"Hello"- stressed words, may be yelling
Note: this is a key to be shared by most of my stories, and in this series of one-shots it will not be repeated.
Uncle Vernon was yelling again. His voice was loud and grating on the ears. His face was puce and spittle was flying from his mouth onto a very uncomfortable little boy's face.
The little boy was Harry Potter, but he didn't know his name. All he knew was that he was called many things, and from the way they said them he knew none of them were nice words.
Little Harry was eight years old, but he didn't know his age. All he knew was that he was young, possibly around his cousin's age. His birthday was never celebrated. He didn't even know the date of which he was born.
Harry was very scrawny, but he didn't know he wasn't supposed to be. All he knew was that it gave advantage to everyone else who wanted to hurt him. All he knew was that if he ate too much he felt upset in his stomach.
Harry often had bruises where no one could see, but he didn't know he didn't deserve them. All he knew was that they hurt, and they'd be gone the next day, only to be replaced.
That replacing procedure was happening now as his uncle brought down his meaty hand against his frail fresh with every bellow that sent spittle flying. After his uncle would finish with this daily procedure of coloring his skin he would be thrown into his cupboard. His safe haven in which he could not be harmed and the pain vanished as he slept. The safe haven where the spiders would give him company, and wind beautiful patterns above him as he slowly drifted off. The spiders were always there for him, catching the other bothersome insects that would bite him and seek to harm or bother him from his healing slumber. They would crawl over him and tickle him with their legs, making him laugh for the few times in his life, though it was always soft enough to avoid bringing Vernon back and hounding for his blood.
Harry Potter was special, but he didn't know. His relatives always told him magic wasn't real, and hurt him if he'd even say the word. He was told he was a freak, and who was he to argue? He just didn't know.
The spiders in his closet knew. They'd been there his whole life. They felt his magic work it's wonders, and even felt it run through their veins. It was his magic that kept them alive this long, and even now it ran through the veins of their offspring. It was Harry's desire not to lose his only friends that made this magic work; the spiders knew what their charge had done for them, and they planned to pay him back. They would protect their master against these disgusting apes. Their offspring were spread throughout the house in waiting. At the signal they would litter the apes' bodies and fill them with enough poison to ensure that they would never wake again. Master would be pleased to never see these cretins again.
When Harry awoke the next morn he wondered how early it must be, for his aunt hadn't yet called him to make their morning meal. Lying on his cot he watched happily as the spiders wove their intricate web above his head.
After an unsettling amount of time in which there was silence, Harry opened the door and was horrified to find that it was noon. The spiders covering the walls didn't bother him, he was flattered at their company, but his aunt would have made a fuss by now. Harry wondered at this, and checked to see that the car was still pulled into the driveway. It was there, in all its ugly metallic glory. He walked up the stairs, and regrettable had to push by some of the spiders' webs to get to the top. He apologized to his friends and went to his cousin's room to cautiously peek in. His cousin was unmoving, and spiders fed off of what they could. Harry was unmoved; often his cousin would join his uncle to color his frail body. Turning around he ventured to his uncle's room, and found his aunt and uncle there, much like their son.
For the first time Harry laughed loudly, his smile reaching ear to ear. The spiders watched with their eight beady eyes, their eight legs holding them to the walls or the unmoving bodies, and they knew that they made their master happy, even as he sank to the floor and cried out his past anguishes as he was denied for so long.
No one would question the Dursley's disappearance, thinking they were on vacation, until eight weeks had past. Harry was declared missing, as they never found him. It would be pondered on for weeks afterward why the house was filled with spider's silk.
Harry wouldn't be found for three more years, when his Hogwarts letter reached him.
A/N: There is a high chance of me continuing this, but tell me what you think. Regular flamer reviewers will be told this now:
Your method of reviewing is unappreciated. Telling someone to get the fk off this site does not help them become better writers. If you have something against how people write then don't read their work; keep in mind some people do enjoy their works and insulting someone's story also insults them for having an interest in it. Constructive criticism, delivered in a polite and direct manner, is much more effective in helping fix errors.
Other than that I will be happy to hear what you think of this one-shot. I'm sorry if updating is slow but I'm on vacation away from home and my computer.
If AquaRias is reading this, be sure you read the note at the top and I wish you good luck in your own work. Kung-lou, I can't wait for the next chapter of A Matter of Perception, I really enjoyed it.