Disclaimer: Owning things is for people with money, like that J.K. Rowling lady, I hear she's pretty rich. She owns Harry Potter, which I do not in fact own. For a further list of things I do not own consult my craigslist ads.
(-)
Harry had just finished the gauntlet of traps and obstacles meant to delay intruders. It was not without cost however as both Hermione and Ron had made sacrifices to get him this far. Small or large, they had paid a price to get him this far. One he wasn't willing to waste simply because he was scared of what lied ahead.
If he had to die so such a dangerous artifact stayed with its owners, so be it. He knew his life held little value beyond what he could do for others. It was a lesson he'd learned at a young age. The sky was blue, grass was green, and he only mattered as much as he could be useful. The only time anyone would give him the time of day was when they needed something from him. 'Boy do mow lawn' 'Freak go do the laundry' 'Freak get over here and let me sock you'
This would make him matter. Everyone would understand just how useful he was, no longer would he be relegated to hours alone. People would care, they'd ask how he was doing, if he was alright. Even if he died here, they'd mourn his loss. The loss of someone so useful, would definitely sadden people. Sure he'd miss Hermione and Ron, but they understand. They helped him get here after all.
He was glad it was him in the end, who had to face death. Who better to survive it. He had a secret so freakish, he was sure even wizards would be horrified. For as long as he remember nothing had been able to hurt him. Belt loops didn't even dent his skin when they struck. Dudley's fist could not bruise him. Kitchen knives couldn't pierce his skin. Even his hair was the same to a lesser effect. When cut it simply regrew to its previous length, ever unchanging. If any could survive what lay ahead it was him.
Stepping into a room with a dias and a mirror, Harry was shocked to see a head covered in a turban rather than an expectant mop of greasy hair. Torches flickered upon his arrival. The rooms only occupant twitched and turned around, massive grin stretched across his tan face.
"Quirrel? I.. I'd thought Snape... but... why?" Harry wasn't that confused he just felt the need to play it up, buy some time to look for accomplices and ways to apprehend a man twice his size.
It wasn't hard to guess what drew a man to covet unlimited wealth and eternal life. He too had thoughts of taking the stone for himself. He just didn't know how to use it and would surely get caught by some magic he didn't know existed. If they could find him on a small rock in the middle of the channel, they could find him anywhere.
Quirrel's grin twitched even wider as his arm rose wand poised to strike. Just as he was going to open his mouth to speak a sibilant hiss broke through the air. "We don't... have time... for thisss... Kill the boy!"
Not taking a moment to think over his new orders Quirrel's wand shot forward and he shouted "Avada Kedavra"
Harry wasn't certain what that spell was, but it sounded awfully familiar. He couldn't take the chance that the spell would disable and prevent him from stopping Quirrel, so he dived to the left. Right in the way of a red spell. Luckily it was absorbed into his skin like sunlight.
Harry was surprised wizards could cast spells without talking. He really shouldn't have been, he'd seen some of his teachers do it. It just didn't really register at the time, and even if it had. This was stuttering Quirrel, a man afraid of his own shadow. It was counter intuitive to expect competence from him.
Harry stood as quickly as he could from the dive he took earlier, just as another Avada Kedavra was heading for him. Using agility honed from years of experience dodging fists and Iron balls alike. He tried to tilt his head far enough that he would dodge it. Only he couldn't move quick enough. The green curse slammed into his forehead, then bounced off. The wall where it landed exploded in a shower of stone.
In all his years of people trying to harm him, Harry had never felt this sensation. Pain was entirely new to him. It reminded him a lot of shame and loneliness. Only entirely different and new. The small bump on his forehead hurt, but not overwhelmingly so.
This was the first time anyone had ever managed to hurt him. Quirrel was dangerous. He needed to end this fast. it was do or die, fight or fall.
He ran at Quirrel, who only stood their jaw hanging loose. If he failed, Harry was content to know he'd managed to wipe that smile off Quirrel. Harry considered himself a very fast 11 year old. Years of being chased by Dudley and his school friends, made sure of it. Harry hunting may not hurt but no one likes to be pinned down.
Sadly despite his speed he didn't make it across the entirety of the room before Quirrel started firing the painful green spells again. They came en mass, a field of green. There was no way to dodge the quickly approaching spells, so Harry didn't. Teeth clenched, eyes shut, he pushed through the pain.
Quirrel was panting now, very loudly. Almost as much as his uncle Vernon, when the man climbed upstairs. Harry had never seen an adult wizard get exhausted from casting spells. He had assumed they could cast forever.
Only Quirrel was slowing and sweating now. The torrent of green curses slowed to a trickle. The room was filled with rubble from misfired curses.
This was his chance. Harry no longer slowed by the constant green spells rushed forward and tackled Quirrel's bent over form. He warped his small hands around Quirrel's throat, attempting to choke the life out of him the same way his uncle used to try. It wasn't working very well his hands were too small to get a very good grip. he'd have to find some other way of detaining Quirrel.
Quirrel grit his teeth as he raised his wand. He jabbed it in Harrys eye, screaming "Die!". Before he cast one final green curse, directly into Harry's eye. The curse bounced right back at Quirrel's prone form, striking him in the face. Quirrel instantly went still in Harry's hands.
Harry was confused, at the sudden change. He'd only been attempting to apprehend Quirrel, Tie him up at best, knock him out at worst. This... This was unexpected. Harry knew why that curse was so familiar now. It was the one he was famous for surviving. Quirrel was dead.
He stood up taking in the partially collapsed room. The once solid steps up the dias was now a gravel path. The pillars through out the room were crumbling heaps of their former marble glory. The mirror that had once stood grandly on the dias had shattered and collapsed.
Quirrel's body started smoking. At first a small mist of smoke rising, before it began to billow thick black plumes of smoke. Harry wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Could Quirrel have some sort of back up plan in case he got caught? One that would transfigure him into smoke and bring him somewhere safe. Harry didn't know enough to tell.
"What the hell..."
In his uncertainty, he found certainty that caution was the best approach to the unknown. Harry took several steps back. The smoke formed into a man, one who's form was ever changing. The man looked toward harry and snarled. Then he charged him, flying through the air faster than Harry had seen anything move.
It slammed into him with the force of moderately windy day. Harry began to chuckle in relief, at the stupidity of worrying about smoke hurting him.
As soon as his mouth opened, the smoke went down his throat, into his ears, up his noise. It was invading him, and not just on a physical level. Harry could feel it, in his mind. The smoke was trying to wrest control from him.
Harry scared, but more than that he was angry. He didn't know what he could do, what he should do, so he did what he did whenever something threatened him whether it be troll, unicorn eating vampire, or Quirrel himself. He fought back with only his instinct driving him. He didn't know how to stop the smoke, so he resorted to mentally screaming at it, flailing his body against the floor, banging his head against the stone. Anything to get the smoke out of him. He threw everything he had at the incorporeal creature. Even as he darkness started taking hold of his vision, he fought on.
~(-)~
Dumbledore waited patiently for his student to awaken from his slumber. He'd arrived as soon as Madame Pomfrey had taken him off the sleeping draught. Normally, he would've let students recover from magical exhaustion on their own, but Harry was of such grand importance not just to him, but the very fate of Britain itself.
He made sure Madame Pomfrey was aware that no chances should be taken with Harry's recovery. The boy was known for taking extreme risks, often disregarding Madame Pomfreys advice outright. It was no surprise the she recommended an induced coma recovery.
Eyes began to stir beneath eye-lids before they shot open frantic and fearful. Dumbledore allowed him to take in his surroundings, eyeing the large pile of sweets and get well cards. There was even a toilet seat wrapped with a bow. Dumbledore wasn't sure he understood the joke there, each passing generation got harder and harder to understand. He wasn't certain if it was the children changing or himself.
"Good morning, Harry. May I offer you a bertie botts bean? I myself can't stand them, ever since I had the vomit flavored one. However, I'm certain you'll have more luck." Dumbledore didn't want to chastise a student who had just recovered, but a subtle jab at how he was lucky to survive might make him reconsider such plans of action in the future.
"Uhm, no thank you sir. Is Ron alright? and What happened with the stone?" Harry asked nervously. He was such a selfless soul to concern himself with the fate of others even after he himself had just recovered.
Dumbledore held up a hand. "Mr. Weasley is in good health, in fact I believe you'll find a card with his name on it. As for the stone, it was destroyed. Its owners have accepted that the world might be better off without its presence. They of course, have enough elixir of life to get their affairs in order." Not entirely false. The decoy stone was destroyed, and the Flamels have more than enough Elixir. It was unfortunate that he had to lie so blatantly, but the walls have ears after all. It would be better if no one knew the stone still existed.
"I... see, and sir? What happened to me? What was that thing?" Harry asked his voice tinged with panic.
Dumbledore understood immediately what Harry was referencing, by thing. The wards gave him an idea of what had happened during his midnight broom ride. However instead of explaining what he could conclude through his readings, he decided to let Harry talk through it. Talking often helped people work through trauma, and even if that didn't work he had always ascribed to the Aristotle school of teaching.
"I think you more than anyone, are most capable of answering those questions. What do you believe happened?" Dumbledore spoke soothingly, hoping to calm the boy.
"Well Quirrel was after the stone, there was another voice... I think he wasn't working alone. I think someone was talking to him remotely. They didn't want any delays, so Quirrel tried to... kill me. None of his spells could hurt me though!" Harry got more passionate by the end of his tirade.
Well, this was certainly news to Dumbledore. He'd known that a wraith escaped that room where none had entered, he knew the room was filled with dark magic, he knew Quirrels wand had fired a multitude of killing curses before his demise, he knew the wraith attempted to possess Harry and failed. He had not known Harry was immune to Quirrels magic. He'd had a working theory as to what happened, this however... This changed things.
He had set the trap, hoping to lure who ever was after the stone. They were more persistent than anyone had been in centuries. He wished it didn't have to be at the school, but the Flamels insisted it be here, as no one would believe he would hide the real stone anywhere less secure. He could not deny them, he owed them a life debt after all. A bond made in blood.
This new fact pointed to one thing. There was only one person who's magic had a history of failing against Harry. What ever magic Lily Potter invoked a decade ago still held strong to this day. The wraith must not have been Quirrel's as he originally suspected, but instead Voldemort escaping his host.
Dumbldore looked into the curious eyes of thee eleven year old before him. Patiently waiting to be told what occurred in the third floor chamber. Dumbldore couldn't bare to tell the poor child that his family's killer was alive and well, perhaps even plotting his demise as they spoke. He could give him part of the truth, the boy deserved to know the sacrifice his parents made, but he couldn't outright give an eleven year old his death sentence. He'd sent enough children to their deaths for one lifetime...
"Not too dissimilar from another instance of a spell failing to harm you, wouldn't you say?" Dumbledore led him to the obvious conclusion.
"I'm immune to killing curses!?" Harry cried out. Not quite the conclusion Dumbledore was hoping for.
"Perhaps... I would not wish to test such a thing. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is providence. I would still ask you not to go jumping in front of deadly curses, or one day you might find they have the intended result." Whatever magic Lily performed was likely fading, if not faded by now. Human sacrifice is powerful, but not without its limits.
Harry nodded, even as he rolled his eyes at such obvious advice. "But why? Why doesn't the killing curse effect me? Why me and no one else?"
"No one can say for certain what happened to you, all those years ago when Voldemort came for you. As there were only four people there that night, and only you lived to talk about it. I do however have a theory. Would you like to hear it?" Dumbledore asked, it wasn't often he had captive audience to talk about magic with. He really did miss being a teacher.
Harry nodded, hoping to finally get a straight answer. "Yes, lets hear it."
"There is magic inherent in every symbolic act. Acts of heroism, of kindness, of love, they all have a magic to them. When your mother gave her life for you, I believe she invoked such a magic. A magic more powerful than any spell, more potent than the greatest potion. She invoked magic unconstrained by intention or will. Her loving sacrifice is what allowed you to survive that night, and it is my belief her love still persists to this day." A much better story than one about a mother who accidentally, ritualistically sacrificed her life to protect her sons. Still, It's sort of true in odd sort of light. Dumbledore had yet to find evidence that the ritual was invoked intentionally, even though it would be much easier to believe than Lily stumbling into just the precise method to sacrifice her life in exchange for magical protection. Although such coincidences tend to occur when prophesy is involved. The universe tends to bend over backwards to achieve them, afterall.
Harrys eyes gleamed with unshed tears, it was just what any orphan wanted to hear. He didn't cry, not out of a childish desire to put on airs. No, he staid his tears because he still had unanswered questions. "If it was my moms love that saved me... Why was this so special. Surely other children's mothers love them?"
Dumbledore had done many rituals in his time, and knew the answer was one that plagued every practitioner. "As you'll discover when learning magic. Feelings are important to every spell, even accidental ones. A man who casts the levitation spell in a foul mood might find the object he desired to levitate, crushed as it rises. An angry man might find his disarming spell banish his opponent away. Magic is a fickle thing, and your mother must've been in just the right mindset of love, protection, and most importantly self sacrifice. A scenario I doubt I'll ever see recreated in my life time, or at least I hope such a situation never occurs again." He nodded sagely. That was probably more than enough on that grim subject. As much as he enjoyed teaching, he would have to be the most irresponsible teacher in the world to start giving ritual advice to an eleven year old.
"Now before I leave you to your rest, do you have anything to tell me? Anything at all?" He felt a little guilty for leaving the boy after dropping this bombshell, but he needed to dissect his new theory on what occurred in the 3rd floor corridor.
"Uhm... well sir... It's about the Durselys..." Harry paused for a moment.
A moment too long. "Yes?" Dumbledore asked.
"I was hoping that I wouldn't have to go back? I could stay here? Or anywhere really..." Harry was looking away, his cheeks red.
If Dumbledore had a sickle for every time a student asked to stay at Hogwarts year round, he'd be Malfoy rich. Just the Ravenclaws alone would buy him a beach house. It was a magical castle, he could understand the desire. That was why he taught here after all. Sadly it isn't healthy for a boy to spend all his time away from his family.
He'd had his doubts about the Durselys at first, but they'd done a fine job. Harry came to school without a scratch on him. Why, he'd never talked to a more polite boy.
Mrs. Figg said they make him do a lot of chores. Clearly they'd read his memoires. Dumbledore himself had to work 6 hours a day on the farm he grew up on. Discipline is good for the mind after all.
They had welcomed him as one of their own so well, in fact, that they wanted to keep him from Hogwarts. They wanted him to live as a muggle. It was almost heartwarming to hear how well Harry had integrated into their life style.
Dumbledore felt guilty, but he needed to hold to his standard. No students over break, or the castle would be filled year long.
"I'm sorry Harry, but you need to spend some time with your family. School is important, but family is more so. You don't know how much you'll miss it... when it's gone." Dumbledore was saddened by the thought of the family he used to have. The family he could have still had... An image of Ariana knitting a pair of wool socks flashed through his aged mind. His cheeks felt wet. He couldn't let anyone see him like this, so he quickly strode away.
~(-)~
Harry exited platform 9 3/4 in silence. His friends had all happily waved goodbye when they left, promising to write. He wasn't even sure if his aunt and uncle were here. The platform was fairly crowded, but that was par for course in London.
Harry hadn't told his friend what had happened in the final room of the third floor corridor. It would open himself up to questions, questions he didn't want to answer, Like how was he alive. It felt too personal, to tell them about his mother sacrifice.
Harry was disappointed Dumbledore wouldn't let him leave the Dursleys. The mans reasons didn't even make sense, surely he'd seen his letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs. Didn't Hagrid tell him how they were? He'd met them... Why would he want to spend time with people like that?
He might even be angry with Dumbledore, had he not got him out of the bind in his house. They had been fairly upset with him for missing the last Quidditch match. The outcome of which, made them lose the Quiditch Cup. Harry being the star seeker they'd spent all year training, made it seem like he let them down.
However, all the points Dumbledore had awarded for their misadventure in the 3rd floor corridor, had more than made up for it in the eyes of his housemates. It allowed them to win the house cup. Though not the quidditch cup, was almost as good.
He saw his uncle approaching with his aunt. They looked angry just being here, eyeing everyone in the crowd as if they were a potential freak. Harry shook his head sadly, didn't they know freaks just teleported away?
"C'mon boy! I wont stand here all day, just because you're slow and useless." His uncle shouted at him with a smack to the head.
Because his uncle knew no matter what he did, he couldn't hurt Harry, hitting had become habit. Even though the blows didn't do anything permanent, the weight and force behind them was annoying to Harry. They would knock him off course or to the ground, usually to the general amusement of the whole Dursley household. At least his uncle was gentle in public. He didn't even fall over.
Harry shoved his school trunk into what he saw was a new car, and sat carefully in the backseat. making sure not to close the door too loudly lest he set his uncle off, or worse his aunt. His uncle would only try and hurt him. His aunt had a tongue so sharp she made people sob by accident.
His aunt had been eyeing him the entire time.
"So, how did you pay for all your freakish school things? That trunk looked nice. Mahogany, must've cost a pretty penny." His aunt asked 'sweetly' while maintaining eye contact in the rear view mirror. She had seen his trunk back in august, so it had taken her 10 months to realize it cost money?
It was so obvious where this was going that it hurt. Still, even with her obvious intentions, Harry couldn't resist the chance to refute everything his aunt and uncle had ever said about his parents. They weren't worthless layabouts! They were well off, and they were great people, who had died for him. Harry didn't see any harm in informing them. It wasn't like they could get to his money, even if they were willing to wade into the den of freaks.
"I've been told my parents were modestly wealthy..." Harry hoped that was enough of answer without seeming to flaunt or lie. They always knew when he lied somehow.
"That is just like my sister, to keep all that money to herself, when I'm forced to cover the cost of your burden. Shouldn't the freaks know how expensive it is to raise children!? Always forced to feed them and clothe them. Well, we'll get this sorted out swiftly. When will we be getting our first payment?" She raised her eyebrow in the mirror, letting Harry know there was only one right way to answer this question.
"Payment?" Harry asked incredulously. He didn't think his relatives were owed anything, if anything they owed him for being forced to put up with them.
That was obviously not the answer she wanted. "Yes payment, try and keep up. When will it be arriving. I believe we're owed for 10 years worth of service. Keeping your lazy bum fed has kept us behind quite a bit, Not to mention cleaning up after your freakish episodes." Petunia spoke harshly.
"I guess you'd have to sort that out with the wizarding government?" Harry responded, hoping that would end this conversation.
"Hmph, I have a better idea. You say your worthless parents left you something? Well we're in London right now. I'll drop you off. You go empty out whatever they left you, from whatever you freaks use as banks. Then you hand it over. Children shouldn't be handling their own finances anyway. Better left in the hands of adults who know what they're doing. Who better suited than us? I manage the accounts at Grunnings after all." Vernon raised his voice in the front seat.
Harry froze at the very Idea of losing all that was left of his parents to his aunt and uncles greed. Harry doubted he could convince them to let this go, and who knows how they'd react to outright defiance. He needed a plan, anything to get out of this mess.
"Oh, thats a wonderful Idea, dear! You're so smart." Petunia swooned in a high pitched voice.
"I didn't get to marry the most beautiful woman in England because of my looks." Vernon smirked.
They began to eskimo kiss in a way that made Harry contemplate the merits of blindness. Harry forced himself to look away from the whale nuzzling a giraffe and instead looked at a far more appealing sight, one of the more shady areas of London. Homeless flocked the garbage covered streets. No one made eye contact. everyone kept their hands securely in their pockets, where if you looked close enough you could make the outline of weapons. Luckily the leaky cauldron, though not a nice looking building, was in the nicer part of London. So he wouldn't have to go near this.
He wouldn't let them get their grubby hands on his inheritance. Even if they had been the greatest caretakers, people he had loved and adored, he would never give up his vault. It was one of the few things he had to remember his parents by. A book of pictures, an invisibility cloak, and whatever he inherited in his vault.
It was just a matter of figuring out how to get them to back off. He could bring back a few galleons, and pretend that was it. No wait, he already said they were well off. Maybe pretend like thats a lot of money, they already thought he was stupid. It wouldn't be that much of a stretch for him to have misconceptions of the value of money.
The trick would be lying without talking. He didn't know how they did it, he must have a tell or something, but they always knew when he lied. He might even say it was magical, if he wanted to be locked in his new room all summer.
Vernon pulled the car to a stop, and turned around to stare down his nephew. "Alright freak, go grab our things and get back here. If I have to wait longer than 10 minutes its back in the cupboard with you." Apparently he'd lost whatever paranoia he'd had over that, when there were no repercussions even after Hagrid had come and gone.
"I need my key to get my money... it's in my trunk." Harry spoke meekly, hoping that someway out of this would present itself. Maybe some form of divine intervention would strike his relatives down.
Harry's aunt looked at him for a few minutes, likely trying to figure out if he was up to anything, before she shrugged. "Alright open the boot, dear." Vernon grunted in reply. Petunias eyes narrowed as she said "But your bird stays with us while you go in."
Harry nodded quickly. "Sure." It was just like them to take hostages. She likely thought that if he left with all his possessions he wouldn't return, a tempting idea. No amount of money was worth Hedwigs life though. Harry took Hedwigs cage and brought it to Vernon in front of the trunk of the car.
Vernon was panting in a way that reminded Harry of Quirrel, before he had died. Harry had tackled the man to the floor. Unexpectedly applied force prevented him from compensating. Applied in just the right area, and Harry had toppled a full grown adult. Vernon was unsteady on his feet at the best of times. Harry knew just what he needed to do. They really shouldn't have tried to threaten Hedwig.
As Vernon clicked the trunk of the car open, Harry opened Hedwigs cage and let her free. Before Vernon could fully turn around at the noise, Harry bashed the cage into the back of Vernon's head. Vernon nearly fell face forward into the road, but caught himself on the car. Vernon grabbed the back of his head and started swearing.
Harry seeing this as the opportune moment to strike. Harry reached past his uncle grabbed his trunk and jerked it out. Even as his uncle turned around with a purple face, and fists clenched, Harry was already beginning to sprint away.
Harry could hear Vernon yelling behind him, but there was no way the overweight man could catch up through the crowded London streets. Harry ducked and dived past pedestrians traveling in the opposite direction. All the while his bird flew right above watching. Harry didn't stop running until he was certain he couldn't hear his uncles voice. Even then, Harry walked briskly, eyeing the road warily for his Aunts new car.
By the time he felt he was safe the sun was close to setting. The streets were near empty and Harry had no where to go.
He thought about sending one of his friends a letter asking if he could stay with them, but then a picture of them smiling as they reunited with their family's entered his mind. Harry couldn't ruin that. For all his talk of them being friends, the truth was he barely knew them for more than a year. He wasn't sure if they'd take him in for the summer, even if he was willing to intrude.
Then it hit him. Harry wasn't certain why he thought he needed anyone to take care of him. Sure he was only eleven, but he was a magical eleven year old. He may not be able to use his wand out of school, but he had a whole host of options.
Opening his trunk in a deserted alleyway, he surveyed his salvation. His trunk contained all the potion ingredients he didn't bother using throughout the year. Why bother practicing if your just going to fail anyways? He may not be an expert at potion making, or even good, but he had all summer to learn the skill enough to survive the harsh London streets.
Next to all his potion supply's was his invisibility cloak, a priceless artifact. Not just because of its sentimental value, but its inherent utility. He could spend the entire summer under it and live where ever he wanted.
Looking around at all the high rise apartments in downtown London, Harry couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face.
Wandering into one of the nicest apartment buildings he could find under his cloak wasn't hard. It was keeping his trunk from making too much noise as he dragged it. It was too large and heavy for him to carry, but he could drag it with one hand. luckily the grinding noise of wood on cement stopped as he brought into the carpeted lounge of the building.
The security looked up as the door chimed open without anyone opening it. However when nothing happened he just shrugged and went back to reading his magazine.
Harry's arm ached from dragging his trunk for hours. He was tempted to use the elevator, but the idea of being trapped in a small box with someone was nauseating. He took the stairs no matter how noisy it was when his trunk banged against every step. Getting to the second floor Harry decided it was good enough.
Harry stepped out into a well lit hallway. The walls were covered in beige wallpaper and the floors carpet was brown. Harry spotted a blonde teenage girl smoking a cigarette in the hallway with her door hanging open. She was young maybe 14 or 15, far too young to be smoking. Her eyes held that blank/bored look that all annoying teenage girls seem capable of. She was dressed very lightly, but that might because of the summer weather (Not that you could feel it inside the air conditioned apartment building).
Deciding he wouldn't get a better chance of getting into an apartment unnoticed, Harry walked past her inside. If he had to describe the apartment in one word, he would use clean. It was new, with marble counters in the kitchen and a balcony off the living room. The lack of mess or even very much in the way of decoration, just made it feel un-lived in. Harry decided who ever lived here had just moved in, hopefully they wouldn't mind a guest.
Harry found a room to hide his trunk in. The closet was filled with clothes and to top it off, the room had a pile of dirty clothes half his height in the corner. Harry figured no one would notice his trunk if he left it under a pile of clothes in the closet. The room very obviously belonged to a girl, with purple walls and jewelry hanging from the ceiling fan. Normally living in a girls room would bother him, but the other two rooms were far too neat, almost obsessively so. Who organizes their socks by length?
Harry pulled out his potion book in the corner and got to work reading. His cloak was nice, but having something to fall back on would make him feel better.
As the day passed and night came, Harry found out a great deal about his hosts. The apartment was home to two people, a teenage girl named Marissa, and her father Jon. Jon came home an hour or so after Harry had arrived. He was an obsessive control freak, who had in fact noticed Harry having moved his socks, and blamed Marissa for it. 'They were a centimeter to the left!'. Marissa was a rebellious teenage girl, who looked used to and exasperated by Jon's antics.
Harry may have learned a lot about his new roommates, but the same could not be said of potions. As it turns out learning from books could only take you so far, no matter how many times you reread the first year potion book. Harry needed practice and for that he needed privacy.
Harry waited until the dead of night, wasting most of his time snacking on whatever was in the fridge. After he'd finished the last of their yogurt he made sure to add it to the list they kept on the fridge door, he wasn't a heathen after all.
Once all the lights were out and doors safely shut, Harry began his preparations. Grabbing his cauldron and ingredients from Marissa's room wasn't a problem, apparently teenage girls sleep like the dead. Harry filled his cauldron with water and set in the stove. He propped open his potion book and looked through it for something easy, to get his feet wet as it were.
He found the Boil removal cream. It was the first thing they'd practiced that year. It actually worked on all zits, boils, warts, ect. As it was more of a paste than a potion, Harry dumped out most of his water.
Creating the potion in the silence of the night, in the privacy of the kitchen, was actually fairly easy. No students attempting to sabotage his work. No noisy ambiance of children chattering. Just a boy and his cauldron. Finally he stirred in the final ingredient, crushed slug guts. He had a white creamy sludge when he was done. It was the same color and consistency as described in the book, it even smelled like it should.
He couldn't be certain it worked though. He needed a test subject, sadly as a prepubescent boy, he was lacking in zits and boils. However he had noticed some black heads on Marissa. She wasn't exactly covered in blemishes, but she had some as every teenager does.
A quick search through the bathroom revealed a product designed for acne treatment. His first test would require careful observation. He replaced the cream in the bottle with the paste he had created. They didn't look even slightly similar, Harry hoped she wouldn't notice.
Being useful again, felt nice. Perhaps when he got good enough, he'd help his hosts with other things.
~(-)~
Draco was crying in his room, if anything taught him to hate mudbloods it was this pain. Father had the audacity to take his brooms! As if that wasn't enough he wasn't allowed to leave the house either. He might as well be dead. His friends would probably think he was, when they don't see him all sumer
All this horrific punishment because some disgusting mudblood scored higher than him on the finals. He had tried his best, he really did. Granger was just such a stupid know-it-all. How could he compete with someone who lived in the library? There was just no way, it couldn't be done.
Father said if he didn't fix this, he just might disinherit him. It wouldn't be the first time he used that threat to motivate or punish him. However this was the first time father brought home the papers to do just that. Father had screamed the threat at him in a frothing rage, before he went to go drink with his friends.
Someone knocked twice on his bedroom door. Draco tried to stifle his sobs, at the cruelty of the world. Rubbing the tears out of his eyes probably didn't make him any more presentable, but it was the best he could do on such short notice. He forlornly walked to the door past piles of discarded toys, and the tray filled with ice cream the house elf had yet to take away.
Opening the door he was surprised at seeing who it was. Draco had thought she was at her book club today.
"Mother?"
She was smiling sadly down at him. If it didn't make him feel so much better, he'd be angry at such a condescending action. She swiftly embraced him upon seeing the state he was in.
"Oh sweety, are you alright?" She spoke while rubbing circles into his back.
"No! Father took my brooms and he said I can't leave the house... He even told the house elves not to let me leave!"
"I know darling, I know." She hugged him tightly as he cried.
As draco finally calmed down, his mother released him. She stood next to him in silence for a few minutes while Draco got ahold of himself.
"How would you like to learn the family magics?" She asked soothingly.
"Really!? Father said I had to earn it before he would teach me any spells!" Draco was shocked, he would finally learn some dark arts. Then he would teach that mudblood not to mess with him again. All the other Slytherins would do what he said. Maybe he wouldn't have to bring up father to gain respect anymore? ...Nah, people needd to know what a noble lineage he hailed from.
"Not just any spells, the family magics, they're special. Every family has ways of prolonging and preserving life." She paused and made a face. "Well the good ones anyways. These methods are kept secret, kept hidden, only passed down when a child is deemed ready. I don't know the Malfoy magics, but I was taught the Blacks family magic when I was just a young girl. I think I was just about your age when I first started learning."
Draco was disappointed he wouldn't be learning dark arts, or the Malfoy family magics, but learning the Black family magics might be fun. The Blacks weren't as noble and distinguished as the Malfoys, but they were ancient and pure. He would have to settle for learning the second best family magics. It wasn't like he had anything else to do, now that he was trapped at home.
"Alright, when do we start?" He replied happily.
She smiled brightly at his enthusiasm. "Why, right now if you wish." Her grin took on a more malevolent appearance. The shadows seemed to coalesce as if drawn to her presence. "Now... What do you know of Necromancy?"
~(-)~
Days had come and gone. The humid weather of early summer had faded into the dry heat of late summer. Harry had yet to get any postage from his friends. He had even sent Hedwig out with letters, yet she had come back withe empty talons.
Aside from the lack of word from his friends, Harry was having the best summer by far. He was eating well courtesy of a well stocked fridge, and when they didn't have what he liked he could always go check someone else's fridge.
He hadn't talked to anyone in weeks. This might upset some people, humans being social creatures and all. To Harry however it just reminded him of the better parts of his childhood.
That isn't to say he wasn't learning anything about socialising. Marissa and her father had a dynamic that Harry had never seen before. They constantly insulted each other and fought, but the way they would look at each other made it seem like they were happy about it. They had more tender moments interspersed between the jabs at each others faults, hugs as they got home, smiles as they greeted one another. It was endearing, and sweet. It was something Harry hadn't seen before, he wanted it for himself.
Harry had spent most of his time learning the intricacies of basic potion making. He could brew a mean calming elixir. He knew because Marissa and Jon had been so calm on movie night, they fell asleep during the opening credits. He had learned several things about potioneering over the summer, but by far the most important was that potions had a drastically exaggerated effect on muggles. A potion that might make him more resistant to the summer heat, would make a muggle inflammable. He had no clue as to why, and it was mind boggling.
That was another first for Harry, he had never been allowed near the television at the Dursleys. Now he had access to whole wide array of shows and movies. Whole concepts and ideas , he had never thought twice about, now brought to life before him. His only regret being he couldn't change the channel to what he wanted to watch, forced to sit invisibly nearby as someone constantly changed the station mid program.
It was another late dinner of pasta with gross cheese sauce. Harry was disgusted by the bits broccoli the family had put in it, but forced himself to put some on the plate under his cloak, or he wouldn't get to eat until everyone was out of sight.
Jon had just returned form whatever job he went during the day, and was talking to Marissa about her social life. A topic Harry wish he knew less about. He could care less which teenage girl was dating the dreamboat that is Tom Hardy, but Jon seemed to give it his undivided attention.
Harry was content to idly eat his pasta on the floor. Content to luxuriate in the idle chatter of two people, who he might say he had grown fond of. When someone knocked on the door. Marissa and Jon both paused in their talk, silent for a few moments, they just stared at each other. Until the knocking came again. Jon got up silently and went to the door.
In the weeks Harry had lived here, no one had ever knocked on the door. no one had visited, came over, tried to sell something. For all Marissa's social life, she had gone out to her friends. It was almost as if no one knew they lived here. Harry didn't know why they would want that though. It was a nice apartment if Harry was any judge, and considering all the apartments he'd visited this summer, he was. He didn't see any reason they should be embarrassed about it.
Harry could see Jon cautiously open the door out of the corner of his eye. After pulling the chain off and, opening the door slightly he asked "Hello...?"
The only reply he received being the door kicked into him and three armed men entering. The men were all wearing suits and wielding pistols with silencers attached to the end. The silencers looked to be taped on. The men grabbed Jon's flailing form and dragged him into the kitchen.
Harry was just as shocked as Marissa. His mouth gaping, pasta fell back out onto the plate. A home invasion? he wondered.
"You thought you could get away with it, eh? Skimming off the top. You thought we wouldn't notice. Probably thought we was stupid... Didn't you Jon? Well whose stupid now!?" One of the men yelled as they slammed Jon onto the table.
Harry absently watch as Marissa's plate fell to the floor and shattered. Marissa herself had fled to the corner and hunched in on herself crying. That upset Harry greatly. This was the girl he would watch Saturday morning cartoons with. The girl who would laugh at the same stupid jokes, he silently chuckled at. The girl who didn't whine when he constantly stole her icecream, whenever she looked away. A girl who should not be crying.
Jon Held his hands up in a pleading motion, even as the men held him still. "Marcus, I don't know what you're talking about, but Giovonni's going to be pissed when he finds out about this. Assaulting his book-"
The man named Marcus slammed his hands onto the table. "SHUT UP! Who do you think sent us here!? Giovonni knows all about the game you've been playin, and he sends his regards."
Jon lowered his hands at this new information, the light leaving his eyes. "You don't have to do this. We can work out a deal... Let me talk to Giovonni."
"You'll talk alright, but not to the boss. He doesn't even want to look at you... Now where's the money?" Marcus yelled.
Harry had heard enough. This was just like Quirrel. A man who wanted wealth and didn't who got hurt on his path to taking it. If he had learned anything from Quirrel it's that men like that wont stop until they're dead. Harry didn't want to kill these men. He had come to terms with the fact that he had to kill Quirrel, it was necessary. He could probably come to terms with what he was about to do to these men as well.
Harry's hand slipped out of his cloak and grabbed a kitchen knife in a practiced motion, just barely appearing before it and the item were gone. Anyone who had blinked wouldn't have seen it. Weeks of attempting to stay hidden had made his footsteps light and quiet. No one heard him walk behind one of the men holding Jon on the table. They heard what happened next though. Slipping the knife out of his cloak as quickly as his hands could move, Harry drove the knife into the mans lower back with both hands.
"ARGH!" His head head reared up as he screamed. The man tried to reach behind his back, but was so heavily muscled he couldn't get his hands far enough to reach the handle. The wound was already bleeding profusely, staining the nice suit brown.
Harry stepped away before the man could reach behind him. He needn't have worried no one even suspected another occupant was in the room.
"Rick whats wrong? You hav'n a heart attack?" The man across him asked, his face actually showing concern for his partner.
"There's something in my back." Rick sobbed out as he turned around trying to show his partner.
As the man turned around and bent slightly over, Harry was already back from the kitchen counter. Even as the other men gasped at the sight of the knife protruding from Rick's lower back, Harry was striking. Harry rose up both hands behind the handle of the falay knife. Harry drove it directly into the Rick's throat.
With a gurgle he fell backwards onto Jon, who tried to scramble away from rick. Jon was held on too tightly by the other man for him to make any progress.
"What the fuck! What the FUCK!" Marcus yelled out.
Harry was certain there were more knives somewhere, but all he could see in the dish rack was butter knives. All well, they were probably in a drawer. Harry walked up to the table and reached for the knife embedded in Rick's throat. It came out with a spout of blood, luckily Harry didn't get any on his fathers cloak.
~(-)~
Marcus was frozen at the sight of his left hand man dying on the table. Seeing a small childish hand appear from thin air and jerk the knife out, ended any hesitation he might have had. he pulled up his pistol and fired at whatever was on the other side of the table. He emptied his entire clip at the wall before finally hitting something. A small boy, maybe 9 or 10 years old, fell out of a silvery blanket. The boy's eyes popped open and he scrambled for the blanket.
"Alan grab him before he gets away!" Marcus shouted at Alan, there was no way he was going near that thing. Alan nodded in reply. Marcus could tell he was shaken from how white his face was. Rick had been his partner for more than 3 years.
Alan gripped the boys wrist and slapped the knife out of the other hand, before he started punching the kid repeatedly. Marcus's first instinct was to stop him, he didn't like child abusers, but seeing the kids handiwork out of the corner of his eye made him forget that.
There was a loud popping noise from the table and a squeaky voice that followed it "Harry Potter! Dobby has comes to warn... you..." Marcus looked over and saw a green midget with pointed ears staring at Alan with wide eyes. The abnormally giant eyes suddenly narrowed in obvious anger and then began to glow. Marcus didn't know what went wrong, he had just wanted to make a warning out of a rat and thief. What was so hard about that?
"YOUSE WILL NOT TOUCH HARRY POTTER!" The green midget screamed shrilly, before snapping his fingers.
Chairs began to rise. Drawer and cupoard doors slammed open and closed, as all manner of silverware and cooking utensils rose in the air. The very room seemed to tilt on its axis, Marcus had to grab the floor just to avoid sliding down to the wall. The room shook with an explosion of air. Marcus could see the microwave and fridge had blown up in a shower of metal and plastic. The lights above were flickering, before they too exploded in a shower of glass and sparks.
Finally, mere moments later, when the world seemed to calm again Marcus looked up. His eyes widened at the sight, his stomach clenched from what he was processing. He'd seen torture scenes more gentle than what happened to Alan. Alan was stuck to the wall by the silverware embedded in him. Not an inch of his skin could be seen behind all the kitchen utensils driven into him. His corpse twitched sporadically to hint at the fact that Alan could still be aware enough to experience this.
Marcus looked away, disgusted at the sight. He stared at the ground listlessly until a pair of sneakers entered his vision. Looking up he saw the boy from earlier. Creepily pale with green eyes that were glaring at him. Where he should've been covered in bruises from the beating he'd received prior, his skin was unblemished. It was something out of a horror movie.
"My name is Harry Potter, and you will leave or you will die." He spoke softly in a voice that sounded like it hadn't been used in years.
His eyes widened at the chance for living. "Of course, kid. Consider me gone." He stood up quickly and limped out of the apartment as swiftly as he could. Green eyes, both from the wrinkly midget and child, followed his every move. Constantly aware of his exposed back, just waiting for when the horror movie creatures would strike again. One final thought changed his entire outlook on what just occurred.
"The boss needs to hear about this..."
~(-)~
An elf looks upon a boy. An elf can't help but be amazed at the sight of him. He is everything an elf ever thought he would be. A boy is brave, heroic, and noble, just as all the legends described. Even from here an elf can feel a boy's intentions are pure, just as his heart is.
An elf must deliver his warning, but perhaps it wouldn't be too much trouble to simply bask in a boys presence for a mere moment.
"What- Er who are you?" A boy asks politely, not once did a boy threaten him in greeting. Truly a boys nobility knows no bounds.
An elf shakes away the last vestiges of his stupor. An elf must deliver his warning or it may be too late. Time is of the essence, so an elf formulates his reply so as to best be understood by the less enlightened. A true challenge indeed, but an elf is sure it is a challenge made easier by the wisdom and greatness of a boy.
"Dobby is heres to give the great Harry Potter a warning! Hes must not go back to Hogwarts!" An elf is certain his message is understood. A boy is wise enough to decipher the meaning of the wind, the purpose of the clouds, the journey of the stream. An elves simple message will not last long under a boy's scrutiny.
"Not go back to Hogwarts!? I-I need to-Why?" A boy asks in the native tongue of centaur and men. An elf must attempt again to circumvent the rules. An elf feels the pain returning again at his attempt. An elf persists.
"There is a great danger! Great Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts!" An elf persists. An elf does so, not out of duty, nor for an greater purpose. An elf does so for its self.
An elf stares deeply into the shimmering eyes of a boy. An elf can feel a boys curiosity and generousity. An elf can see a boy is beyond the measure of elves and mer alike. A boy goes deeper than any an elf has gazed into before. An elf has missed what a boy has spoken, An elf feels his cheeks heating up.
"Yes, you've said that. but why?" A boy is not understanding. Perhaps an elf underestimated a boy's insight. No! an elf must not think such things! A boy simply does not know the rules. An elf cannot mention the rules without breaking the rules. An elf is prepared to pay the price, if it helps a boy understand.
"Dobby's family ha-ARkgh!" An elf tried to finish it all, but was overcome by compulsion. An elf must punish its self.
"Stop- hitting yourself! STOP!" Truly an elf could not find a kinder boy. An elf must deliver its warning or lose everything. Looking deeply into a boys eyes, an elf can't help but feel no price is too high.
As an elf opens his mouth to speak he can feel the boy has come to a realization, so an elf waits.
"You can't tell me what it is... and your family sent you here?" An elf nods lest he lead a boy astray with his poor grasp of the tongue of men and centaur. Blessed be the forest king, an elf cannot make himself understood.
An elf knows what he must do. There is no tongue swifter than that of the elves. An elf must take the pain upon himself and form a link. A link could not be misunderstood, even colored in the kindness of a boys thoughts.
An elf stares deeply into a boys eyes, deeper than ever before. An elf falls in, but must go deeper. An elf must find the center, before a link will form. An elf feels it, the center of a boy. The link has formed.
~(-)~
Images flash before an unprepared mind. A pile of dirty blankets in an attic. A small green hand dusting family paintings. Ironing that same small green hand with a hot iron. Eventually the images slow and stop coming to one that flows like a movie.
An aristocratic blonde man is striding in his home office. The man is furious at having been unable to pass a bill in the wizengamot. That isn't quite true. The man is furious he was publicaly called out on the small addendum he had hidden in the bill. An addendum which heavily favoured pure bloods such as himself.
It drew into doubt everything he stood for in the last 10 years. His entire image shattered. No longer was he a wealthy philanthropist politician. No, now all anyone could think or talk about when they heard the name Luscious Malfoy was ex-Deatheater.
It had gotten bad, very bad. So bad in fact that he had heard rumor of a surprise search of his mansion for dark arts artifacts of all things. He had a few trophys and such, from his glory days that might get him in trouble, not that they would ever find such things.
Still it would be better to be rid of them, and who better to take them off his hands than the very man who caused this incident, Albus Dumbledore. No doubt some of these items will cause him trouble, maybe even make him lose political capital.
Pulling out a slim journal from the pile of artifacts, Luscious was overcome by an inexplicable urge to write in it. Recognizing the compulsion for what it was, he disregarded it. He recognized the journal though, it was the same one his old master had referred to as the 'key to the chamber of secrets'. The chamber which had killed a mudblood girl at Hogwarts 50 years ago and led to Headmaster Dippets retirement. No doubt this will cause Dumbledore no end of trouble, he might even be fired. The only question being who to give it t-
Harry jerked at the influx of foreign memorys and thoughts. His head pounded with pain. Every flicker of the overhead light was a stab of pain into his skull. He clenched his eyes shut. This was the second time someone had managed to hurt him. Harry was starting to wonder if magic was decisively not wonderful.
"Dobby, what was that!?" Harry spoke through clenched teeth. Sweat dripped down his brow and onto his scratched and cracked glasses. Dobby was too busy trying to paint the floor with his head to reply.
Eyeing the unconscious Jon, and Marissa who was still huddled in the corner, he realized where his priorities lay. He may have been attempting to help them, but the cuts and bruises on Marissa and the growing purple bump on Jon's head spoke of a different outcome.
Harry looked back to Dobby, who was banging his head on the floor again. "Dobby can you help them?"
He instantly gained the elfs attention. "Does Harry Potter promise not to return to Hogwarts?"
Harry glared at the elf. He may have been grateful for the save, but his gratitude only extended so far. Dobby withholding help from two people who were injured in his outburst was toeing the line.
"Help them, or I'll go to Hogwarts right now." Instead of cowing him like Harry had expected, Dobby was glaring fiercely back at Harry. Even as Dobby kept eye contact, he snapped his fingers. The room righted itself. Utensils flew back into their drawers. The refrigerator and microwave repaired themselves, pieces flowing together seamlessly. Two corpses melted into nothing. All the while Dobby maintained eye contact with his fierce glare. This was clearly a show of force.
Harry wasn't one to be cowed by some parlor tricks however, so he folded his arms and waited. The overhead light repaired itself. The rooms other two occupants floated down the hallway into their respective bedrooms.
The room was pristine once again and still. There was an underlying tension to the room. Two beings more stubborn than the stone they were cut from, were about to come to a head.
Harry was certain what he'd seen earlier were memory's, both Dobbys memory's and Draco's father. Clearly this little creature could read minds. Harry took the warning for what it was, but Harry didn't need to worry as nothing could hurt him... Barring killing curses... and telepathic little green men. Still he needed to be at Hogwarts all his friends were there, and if something deadly was happening at Hogwarts. Then he needed to be there for his friends. Harry just needed Dobby to see it his way.
"Look, Dobby I'm grateful for all your help, but you don't need to worry about me." Harry soothed.
"Dobby Don't? The great and powerful Harry Potter will not return to Hogwarts?" Dobby asked excitedly.
"No, I'm going. You just don't need to worry. I can't be harmed." Harry spoke while picking up his cloak. He needed to get ready to leave. He doubted his hosts would want him to stay after this, and they knew he was here now.
Dobby silently stared at him for a few moments head cocked, probably reading Harry's mind as he spoke. Harry shivered at the thought, and focused on spells failing to harm him, he focused on knives failing to pierce his skin, he focused on the bullet that had merely knocked him over.
"Can't... be harmed? Dobby knew great Harry Potter was powerful, but Dobby was wrong. He's be being the greatest wizard of all time." Dobby nodded ears flapping.
"Good, so you'll leave me alone?" Harry asked hopefully.
The elf shook his head no resolutely. "Dobby can't let Harry Potter go. Something dark and twisted will be at Hogwarts. Something that will see Harry Potter dead."
Harry huffed exasperatedly, at the vague, ominous, and most importantly useless warning. "I guess were at an impasse then."
Dobby pulled a large bundle of letters out of his smock. "Then I guess the great Harry Potter not bes want'n his letters?"
Harrys eyes widened. He had wondered why he wasn't getting post. At first he thought everyone was busy or writing him was too much effort, but when his Hogwarts letter had failed to arrive he thought something was up.
Now he knew, Dobby had been messing with him all summer. Dobby was no longer toeing the line, he'd sprinted past it. "Give me those!" Harry shouted at the elf. Having seen what the elf was capable of, he was reluctant to try and physically take his letters.
"Only if yous promise Dobby." The elf was waving the letters with one hand on his hip, as if he was scolding a child, which admittedly Harry was.
"Dobby I'm going to count to 3 and if I don't have those letters, than I 'promise' you. You. Will. Regret. It." Dobby looked wide eyed at the threat, maybe he was seeing all the imaginative, physically impossible things Harry was imagining doing to Dobby.
"1..." Dobby began shaking. His eyes were darting around, as if looking for an exit.
"2..." Tears began welling up in Dobbys eyes.
"3.-" Before Harry could finish Dobby screamed out in frustration, threw the bundle at him, and teleported away.
~(-)~
AN:
It feels like whatever problem I present Harry is immediately solved through dues ex magica. I had to try and shoehorn tension into these minor inconveniences, it left a bad taste in my mouth. So I thought long and hard on what problems I could present to a partially immortal eleven year old wizard. Out of the 3 conflicts man vs man, man vs nature, and man vs self. I thought, man vs self is just whiny moral bull shit, which has no place in my fan fictions. Man Vs. Nature might be fun, but Harry is finding it easy to coast, so survival is out for now, and I have plans for any monstrous creature that could hurt him. Man vs man is really the only way to go. You get that cliche rivalry going, Sherlock Holmes against Moriarty, David vs Goliath, Batman against the joker. Two people of relatively equal strength forced to outwit each other. So Harry needed a rival, an equal of sorts. Someone who's strengths didn't match up exactly but is still comparable. I thought to myself, doesn't Harry already have a rival? An antagonist who he regularly dukes it out with? It's time to welcome Draco Malfoy to the stage! Aspiring dark lord, and soon to be limitedly immortal.
I don't think I've ever read a Potion! Harry. By that I mean a Harry who's sole strength is potion making. Not a Harry who happens to be good at potions but is held back by cruel teachers. Sort of like Temporal Knights runestone path, but with potions instead of runes.
Eventual pairings! Go ahead and tell me who I should pair people with. Anyones fine. Harry/Griphook, Hermione/Firenze, Ron/Dobby, Pomena/Harry, Harry/Dumbledore/The Grey Lady. Whatever gets the most votes gets written. I have no clue how to set up a poll, so until someone tells me otherwise, send your votes however you like. Alas, nothing will come of it until they're old enough.
Some may say I portray an abused and neglected child poorly. To you I ask, have you read the rest of my fic? I portray everything poorly. Asking me to accurately give a glimpse into the life of an abused child is like asking a new sculptor to sculpt himself. He knows the subject matter well enough. Putting it into form is where it begins to fall apart. As his clumsy inexperienced hands fail to mold the clay accurately, so too do my words fail to form an accurate picture of what I want you to see. It's all right here in my head, I just can't seem to articulate it.
They say it's when you first begin your hobby that all your habits are made. For good or bad, I'm developing all my writing habits right now. I can see myself going down the well paved fanfiction road of writing harem smut due to poor advice, poor form, poor habits. Why don't you help me? Push me off the road. I know, I know, It's rude and stuff, but the best medicine tastes foul. I need a shove off the well tread road I walk, so I can explore the new frontier of writing bad fiction.
Deep in the woods off the side of this road, where no man, dog, or writer has ever walked, there sits an idea so pure and new you can't help but stare deeply into its maddening colors. It leaves you feeling hollow. Every experience you've ever had, every joy and pain, fails to compare to the feelings this idea brings out of you.
Further down, beneath the color that drew you in at first, beneath the emotions it evoked, there sits a grain of wisdom at its heart. It's yours for the taking. This wisdom belongs to you now and no one can take it. You reach out and grasp the single grain. Only for it to flow through your fingers. The grain of wisdom was inside you all along.