It was the final task in the Triwizard tournament. Cedric was there, just ahead of him. He was about to take the cup. Harry desperately tried to move, to get closer to Cedric, to stop him touching the cup.
Frantically crawling and scrabbling on the ground, wincing all the time from the pain in his leg, Harry tried to get closer. He had to stop Cedric. He had to. His leg was throbbing from when he had been attacked but it didn't stop him. He needed to get to Cedric, but no matter how fast he was going, it didn't seem to matter. He wasn't getting anywhere.
Cedric reached for the cup.
"Nnnnoooooo", screamed Harry, trying desperately to stand on his injured leg to get to Cedric faster, before falling to the ground.
It was too late. Cedric grabbed the cup and although he was nowhere near to the cup, Harry felt the familiar tugging of a portkey behind his navel. He felt like he was spinning for an eternity before the feeling of solid ground came up to meet him and instantly sending him to the floor as his injured leg collapsed beneath him.
He had to get Cedric out of here; he was going to be killed any moment now. He frantically searched around him, seeing neither hide nor hair of him. That was when he heard it. Those familiar haunting words;
"Kill the spare", and he saw Cedric's body fall in front of him, dead. He just stared. How could he have let it happen again. He killed him again.
His nightmares continued that night and the following day before they finally relented, and then it was just black.
It was two days after the incident with uncle Vernon before Harry showed any signs of stirring.
He groggily opened his eyes. He didn't need to move this time to feel any pain, it was already coursing through his body. He was having great difficulty in breathing and his vision was swimming in front of him. Partially due to the fact he was wearing no glasses and partially due to the fact he had a massive headache, so much that he couldn't concentrate properly.
He heard voices close by. He tried to fell around the space he was in, to get his bearings. His hand came across something very sharp and he withdrew his hand very quickly as he felt it cut open his hand, but it had stayed there long enough to realise what it had been. It was the lawn mower.
What was the lawn mower doing in his cupboard? That was when he suddenly realised that he must be in the shed. The voices were coming from the garden.
One, he could definitely tell, belonged to his Aunt. The high-pitched, superior tone could belong to no other. The other voice he could not recognise.
"I am very sorry for being late, as I told you on the phone last night, my sister had to go to hospital, she cut herself quite severely when she was preparing her tea."
Harry realised that his Aunt must be talking to his Uncles guest. Why was he making excuses for being late? Wait, what day was it, how long had he been unconscious?
"Don't worry Mr Grale, it was no problem for us, I just hope your sister is OK."
"She'll be fine and call me Quentin, may I call you Petunia?"
"Of course you can Quentin, here let me show you the rest of the garden otherwise we will be standing her all day."
"I must say Petunia; it looks marvellous. Did you do all this by your self? It seems too much for one person to do."
"Thank you, and yes, I did do it by myself."
Harry started to get angry at this, all that effort and work he had done to make the garden look like it did know, and getting punished my Uncle Vernon when he was told it was not up to standards, and here goes Aunt Petunia to take all of the glory. Why couldn't, for once in their lives give praise to where it is deserved?
Harry tried to get up. As he raised himself by his arm, pain shot through his body making Harry fell like all his nerve endings were on fire. He fell back down to the floor with a loud thump. He would just have to wait for someone to get him, because there was no way he was going to leave this shed by his own accord.
"What was that? It sounded like it came from the shed." Quentin said, obviously responding to Harry's shuffles and thumps.
"Oh, oh, nothing," Petunia started mumbling very hurriedly. "It is probably one of Vernon's shelves falling off the wall. He is so bad at DIY, I don't know why I ever trusted him to put the up in the first place. Nothing to worry about. Come along now, tea will be ready very soon."
Quentin gave a half hearted 'sure' before Harry heard them going back into the house and the backdoor closing.
He relaxed once more, if he was going to get out of here, he needed a plan.
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It was growing dark outside before Harry heard any more movement since earlier that day, he struggled to catch his breath, as he edged further away from the door, frightened of who ever it might be. He heard the back door opening and closing and footsteps carefully making themselves over to the shed.
There was a click of the key turning in the lock on the shed door. Harry had the right to be nervous, as when the door was pulled open, a very furious looking Uncle Vernon stepped into the enclosed space.
He towered over Harry's crumpled body on the floor. On seeing the look on his Uncle's face, Harry frantically tried searching from his position on the floor, for something to help protect himself. However, there was nothing within his reach. His Uncle began to speak.
"You mangy little excuse for a human being!!" Uncle Vernon whispered, although more to do with not wanting unnecessary attention then to be quiet. Harry could tell he was keeping himself from shouting. "We put you in here to keep you out of the way of my guest, and what do you go and do? Hhmm? You try to disturb his time here."
He then kicked Harry very forcefully in the stomach, making Harry roll away, putting more pressure on his lungs. He started wheezing and gasping for breath. He was sure to pass out at any moment.
"And another thing, if I here another peep out of you, you'll regret you were ever born. You will stay in here until Mr Grale departs next week, and then, and only then, will I even consider letting you back into the house."
He then left, mumbling that he would get one meal a day delivered to him in the shed.
The lock of the door clicked back, and Harry, was once more, left alone.
He was desperately trying to get up, to get out of this shed. If he stayed in there, he would surely die. He knew he was in no condition to move, but what else could he do? He could easily tell the extent of the damage done to his body without having to visit any kind of doctor. Muggle or wizarding.
He definitely has several broken bones, he was bruised and swollen all over his body and breathing was becoming increasingly difficult, making Harry certain he had a rib or two puncturing his lung.
He tried again to raise himself off the floor. What was wrong with his legs? He just couldn't move them. He tried pinching them, he didn't even feel it. He tried moving his toes. He was panicking now. He realised what must be wrong with them. He was paralysed. Waist down.
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Thank you to all of my reviewers. I very much appreciate them, especially those that gave me suggestions. Suggestions and ideas are always very welcome, because it is sometimes very hard to think of things for your self. Please review and if you suggest anything I will think about incorporating it into my story.
Also I am looking for a beta reader. Preferably one that will be a very active idea giver. Not one that just checks my spelling.
~ Shadow's Whisper ~