EIGHT: Hell's Footsteps

AN: See bottom.

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His gaze was blurred and his head was pounding. As he raised his hand towards the door of the basement, it dropped, unable to find even that much energy. He taunted him with this – Harry knew that there were no locks or bars between him and escape, just his lack of energy. Resting his burning forehead on the cold concrete of the basement floor, he sighed and let a single tear escape. There was little to nothing he could do about it.

After much consideration, he turned and slowly began dragging himself back towards the pitiful heap which was pretending to be his bed. He gently rested on it, holding in his cries when they threatened to escape. He had set that the next noise would be Harry's last, and Harry wasn't keen to know if that was a bluff.

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Harry's eyes shot open as a sharp gasp escaped him. Immediately afterwards, he clenched his eyes shut as tightly as he could and took a few deep breaths. It had been that dream again, but luckily he had woken up before the true nightmare started. He sighed and rolled onto his side, a rare ability he would take full advantage of. As he watched, his sigh became a puff of misted air floating in front of him. Twirling his finger, he fiddled with the air, forming beautiful shapes and patterns for the few moments before it faded away – just like everything else in his life.

Well, he was in a melodramatic mood, but he supposed that was allowed since he was almost a pre-teenager. He rolled his eyes at his own thoughts after opening them from their clenched position. The darkness just reminded him of that dream – the last time he had almost cried for help. Oh, he wasn't a fool. He could hear the sounds of a housewife during the days when he was at work. The numerous times where he had almost cried out when he was younger weighed upon his mind, but the threat of the wife knowing and not caring stopped him; What is she told him? What if she already knew and started joining in? There were too many what-ifs and Harry was too young at the time to risk it. And then he lost his chance.

He sighed – yet again – and felt for the scars at his throat. The ones from where his 'uncle' had tried to kill him, the ones from where his 'uncle' had permanently silenced him. Every now and then, when he was in a particularly morbid mood, Harry wondered what would happen if he just… let go. Fought and fought with everything he had inside him, the things that nobody else understood. What would happen? Would he escape? If he did, what then? Would he find help on the outside for a mute, emaciated pre-pre-teen? And if he didn't, what more was there that could be taken from him?

Just as that thought crossed his mind, he heard the familiar and dreaded sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs leading to the basement. All that separated them from the rest of the house was two doors and a flight of stairs, but he might as well have been in an entirely different universe for all the difference it made. Curling in on himself, Harry silently whimpered as the pounding came closer and closer.

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AN: I know this is short, but I'm updating twice in as many days. I know that this seems pointless, but the two have completely different settings and etcetera, so I didn't think I could put them in the same chapter. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks to anyone and everyone who's reviewed. Don't forget about my art challenge if anyone's interested, and I'll be back soon. RT Xx