Disclaimer: Not JRK. Not receiving any money for this.

Chapter One: I've got a Candle

Laying upon the small twin bed, in a house in Surrey, in specific, Little Whinging, Surrey, Privet Drive #4. Lay a certain, very special, very unique young man. Green eyes lay closed at the moment as he rested as he could, the lingering shadows clutched below his eyes, he looked older, than perhaps, he had weeks ago. The tension in the house of Privet Drive had done nothing to ease his pain.

A tap of the door, and his Aunt's voice, almost timid sounding, that too was a change, sounded at his door. "There's a box of books in Dudley's room, please get it and take it to your room. If you don't want them, toss them in the bin." His Aunt was acting like a sparrow half as nervous, half burnt shy. No longer the strident tones, save when he slacked at his chores.

His chore list was smaller, noticed. He'd also noticed the glasses of lemonade left upon the counter. Figuring it for a trick, he didn't drink them at first, until she had stood in the kitchen one late morning and murmured. "They are for you. I didn't poison them." in an almost hurt tone. His eyes opened, the wealth of sorrow lingered in those green depths. The red rimmed eyes, the tear streaks that he cared not, and in the case of most teenage boys, would've been horrified to discover..normally. Normally however, Harry Potter would care.

Now he hurt too much to care. It welled up inside of him, trying to get the gumption to do anything, think anything, he was willing to do anything he decided, to stave off, for one heartbeat, the whirlwind of pain that was his own thoughts and memories.

He hoisted himself off the bed, his dull green eyes glanced around the room, he had treasured what small sleep he could gain, around all the screaming and yelling that had went on through the night. It was unusual too, for his Aunt and Vernon rarely quarreled. He shook the thought away from his head, and moved towards the door, he opened it, glancing up at his Aunt. A puzzled sort of frown touched his lips as he glanced at her. Too much makeup covered her face, but he nodded to her anyways.

Her voice lowered to a hesitant whisper. "Get to Dudley's Room and hurry back to yours, he's in a foul mood today, stay out of his way, he'll hurt you.." he was almost certain she'd been about to add something. Something hung on her lips, lips with just a shade too much color to them, although they looked bloodless behind them. It did nothing to get rid of the horse-faced look to her, although he figured, as best he could, that maybe, his Aunt couldn't help how she looked. He let a breath out, no release from his memories, and nodded to her.

He hurried to do his Aunt's bidding. Stepping carefully down the hallway, listening to the morning shower of his erstwhile Uncle. A cautious glance at the bathroom door signified that his Uncle was still in his shower, and he rapped gently, ever so gently on the door. Dudley opened it a creek first, glancing out, and Harry felt the sense of tension raise. The door opened after Dudley saw it was him, and a hand flew out, and dragged him into the room with something that almost held an air of desperation. Dudley had been oddly quiet on the way home. Oddly not around his father either, and the Harry Hunting, usually early began, hadn't.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the first punch to land, but it never did. Instead, silence. An odd shuffling sound. He opened one eye, a peak, to see the bleached white look on his cousin's face, the rigid pain in what must have been soft blue eyes. His cousin looked...for the first time that Harry had ever seen it. He looked Sorry. He looked almost pained, like a burning man. It was ...awkward. At the very best.

"What do you want?" The words almost hollowed. Harry stared, he'd noticed, of course he'd noticed, the change is his cousin, he was..well ...one would almost say baggy fat now, with an undertone of muscle, as if he really had worked out. But the tension was all in his cousin's face, his form, his face a pasty white, his lips bloodless and tense, with what Harry could call Fear. Fear and Sorrow and as he shook his head, trying to even up what he had known and what he had thought he knew. Fear and Sorrow and Harry thought...Understanding. It made it tense, like a knife could cut through the room like butter.

Dudley shifted, his mouth opened, and he licked his lips, like he was trying to say anything. A sniffle slid out from the bigger boy. His mouth worked and then his head lowered in no, that could not be shame. Dudley had never been ashamed. Not once. Not during Harry Hunting, Not during anything. But it was still an useasy look. Something that boded ill for Harry, certainly.

"Aunt Petunia said to get a Box of Books." he could have been mean and added an insult to it, but with Vernon in a mood, he didn't dare. He was angry, he told himself. But he wasn't, he just felt empty. Empty inside. Anger, even, would feel better than this awful emptiness. Even alarm, would have been better, but he didn't care enough to be worried, not really. It clung to the back of his head though, a teasing, taunting voice that said "Something is NOT right" Dudley nodded his head, he motioned towards the bookcase, but didn't move. He looked shocked, and sad, and...Harry wasn't about to stand there and think about what Dudley looked like. Dudley, it looked like...he might ..you know...Cry...

Brow furrowed, Harry hurried to the box. Glancing inside, he paused, then looked at Dudley's shelves. As if dragging the words out of his lips, trying to distract his cousin. "You better get back to your room." he licked his lips nervously, the words choked out. "You don't want to anger him." there was something there. Something that made his spine tingle with fear. There was fear, fear of Vernon, of the situation that lay in Dudley's eyes. Fear and Sorrow and a Sick Understanding. Understanding that Harry could not tolerate. He opened his mouth..

"Dudley I..." Harry started..and Dudley shook his head.

"Go please...if he catches you in here..it'll be both of us." the words whispered, bloodless from dry lips.

Harry nodded his head, hoisted the box of books up, and made his way out of the room rapidly, confused. Everything was turned around, and he made his room in a hurry as he heard his Uncle's shower stop. Next would be breakfast, and then he'd leave for work. The warning had done something, it had instilled fear into Uncle Vernon, and he left him alone now. No longer would his form bear the brunt of his Uncle's fists or belt. As long as he didn't push his Uncle too far.

Sitting the box down on the floor as he heard the bathroom door open, he froze, stilled, then the thump thump of steps down the stairwell. Minutes passed as he dug inside the box, curious to see what was being tossed out if he didn't want it. Apathetically, he shuffled through the works of Shakespeare, a book of quotes, a diet of the day planner, and various Muggle Superhero comics, Anne of Green Gables, which made Harry gawk a bit, and tuck it to the side just out of curiosity. A book about Unicorns, which made Harry blink. If his Uncle had saw that..well that was no doubt why the box had been foisted off on Harry.

In the bottom of the Box, Harry found a ratty old book, he started to toss it in the bin pile, when he saw in small gold letters, the title of the book. Opening it with curious fingers, his hand traced over a name. Charles Evans. It was not often that he'd gotten to see that name. His breath caught, and he tugged the book to his chest. His mother's father. It carefully went into the keep pile, as he heard the door open downstairs, and then carefully put the bin books back in, and moved the box downstairs towards said Bin, after that he ate the small bowl of Cheerios that his Aunt put out, along with the toast, and juice, which had him stare at her for a moment, but she was busy, making a tray for Dudley which made Harry sigh a bit, and roll his eyes to himself as his Aunt scurried up the stairwell. Harry moved back towards his room, intent on reading the book that his Grandfather had once owned...The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

Hot anger flashed through him for only a second, before numbness crept behind it, and he choked, scrubbing at his eyes. Pain wallowed out from the fresh wound, Grandfather..grandfather sounded an awful lot like Godfather...And for a moment, he heard the sharp bark of a laugh, the curl in the bottom of Sirius's hair, the warm arms around him, and then he was choking, sniveling as he clutched the book to his chest as the hot tears rolled down his cheeks once more. Another person, that Harry Potter was not allowed to know, that he was not able to Love. To care for...To have be there for him.

It was pain and it was fresh, and it blew over him, he dug in the ratty old dresser, pulling out a clean but worn sock, that he had to use as a hanky, as he had none, and blew his nose. Sniffling, he checked the book over, his hands caressing it like it was old, very worn friend. The other car started, and he glanced down to see Petunia and Dudley pulling out. His eyes fell to the book once more, and he opened it, and started to read...Looking for a distraction in anything, and anywhere...