✓ SACRIFICIAL───dark hjp

ONE; THE SUMMER BEFORE

CHAPTER ONE

Harry sat, back leaned against the back of the door to his cupboard, staring up at what he assumed to be the low ceiling as his hands fidgeted with the loose thread from one of the oversized t-shirts he always seemed to wear for as long as he could remember. When it wasn't dark the light would shine through the cracks around the door and barely illuminate the cramped space, casting long shadows that danced in the corners of the tiny space, but now that it had to be well past midnight (he hadn't quite summoned the courage to open the door and check the time for himself for fear of being punished by Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon), all he could see was darkness.

The silence pressed in on him, broken only by the occasional creak of the house settling or the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, none of which were loud enough to shake him out of his thoughts. His mind wandered back to school, where he had been ruthlessly taunted by Dudley and his gang in the corridors or during recess, and how nobody had come to his defense because they were all too scared to.

Harry clutched the thread tighter, his knuckles turning white as he tore the thread off of his shirt. He held it up between his fingers, examining it in the dim light. It was just a small, insignificant piece of fabric—nobody would miss it if it was gone. So, with a flick, he let the thread fall to the floor, where it disappeared into the darkness of the cupboard.

Every once in a while, he found his mind wandering to his parents, who he'd barely known for over a year before the car accident (or that was what Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon claimed it to be) claimed their life and left him alone with the Dursleys.

Still, shouldn't he be grateful that the Dursleys had taken him in? His uncle and aunt had made that part very clear—they could have sent him to an orphanage, where the "freaks" (as they so graciously put it) like him truly belonged, but out of the goodness of their hearts they had graciously taken him in and put food on his plate (the food bit was an understatement, but he refrained from pointing that out), clothes on his back (which were really just the clothes Dudley had overgrown, but he refrained from pointing that out as well), and a roof over his head.

Harry had to bite his tongue to refrain from pointing out that this was the bare minimum.

And plus, in his opinion, the car accident story seemed flimsy, but he had no way to verify it, so he played along. It was a nice fantasy, at least, even if it wasn't the truth.

His gaze hardened as he stared at what he thought were the wooden slats of the floor of his cupboard. He deserved actual love, affection and kindness, didn't he? His aunt and uncle's version of kindness was laced with resentment and disdain, a constant reminder he didn't belong with them. He had allowed his mind to wander into darker thoughts that he didn't know he was capable of thinking about. Perhaps they had wormed into his mind slowly and deliberately over the years. (Or maybe he always had been capable of thinking such thoughts. Perhaps he had just never realized it until now. The latter seemed more likely—and Harry reveled in it.)

He had thought once or twice about lacing the food with lethal poison that he managed to hide whenever Aunt Petunia came in to clean his room, but he had always bit his tongue and sucked it up. One day, he promised himself. He would give the Dursleys a taste of their own medicine, if it was the last thing he ever did.

But for now, he had to bide his time. He couldn't risk angering the Dursleys further or give them any reason to be suspicious of him. If he did that, then he could very well kiss his plans goodbye. So, with a reluctant and resigned sigh, he pushed himself up from the floor and settled onto the thin mattress that served as his bed (a pathetic excuse for one, but he had never voiced his irritation to Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon in an attempt not to draw suspicion to himself). Pulling the worn blanket up around his shoulders, he lay there, staring at the ceiling and trying to push away the tumultuous thoughts that swirled in his mind.