Freedom to the Oppressed
Disclaimer:I do not own the Harry Potter stories, its plot, characters, places, or any recognisable features in this story. Only unrecognisable plot features and characters are (hopefully) mine. This is written purely for entertainment purposes, and I am not benefiting financially from it.
Initial inspiration from 'Snape's Invisible Friend' by Teacherbev, an essay by MamaDeb, and various comments on said essay – here is the link: http:/ mamadeb . livejournal . com/350871. html . (FF .netised, so you'll have to remove the spaces).
Vernon Dursley of Number 4, Privet Drive, was drowning his sorrows in a number of pints of larger. He grumbled furiously under his breath as he gradually got drunker. How dare they fire him? How darethey! He decided it must be that boy's fault. How could it have been his own, after all? It must be all the time and effort that they had to spend looking after that brat. He slammed his pint glass onto the bar, and stormed off home, pausing only to pay for his tab.
xxx
Little Harry Potter was lying wide awake in his cupboard, nursing his bruised head. It was a mid August night, and was terribly hot. He wasn't entirelysure why Uncle Vernon had hit him with the saucepan, but he had, and it really, really hurt now. Harry had wanted to cry and cuddle up in his mummy's arms, like Dudley would do if he was hurt, but Harry had no mummy – he was, you see, and orphan. He wanted someone to kiss it better, but he knew that this would never happen to him. He reached for the edge of his old, holey blanket and squished it between his fingers, something which comforted him, as he struggled not to cry.
xxx
Vernon lay in bed, feeling very satisfied with himself. He had punished the freak for making him lose his job, and punished him well. He'd not be forgetting that blow for some time, he thought. He grinned over at his wife, Petunia, who sat next to him in bed, reading. She returned his grin with a slight grimace, before returning to her book. But then it occurred to Vernon that eventually the pain would fade. Vernon's beer soaked brain turned over sluggishly, gradually making its alcohol-twisted way to a horrid conclusion. The freak would be painless, and Vernon would still be jobless. Well, he'd have to do something about that!
xxx
Harry sat bolt upright in his makeshift bed when he heard something heavy thumping its way down the stairs. The cupboard door swung violently open, and Uncle Vernon, dressed in naught but boxer shorts and a pyjama top, reached a meaty hand in, grabbing Harry by the scruff of the neck. He threw the four year old bodily against the wall, Harry's head snapping backwards, making contact with the edge of the radiator with a sickening crack. Harry landed on the floor with a tiny thump, not being that heavy, and automatically curled into a foetal ball. He shuddered and shivered against the floor as his uncle pulled him up by his hair. Vernon breathed heavily, rancid, alcoholic breath wafting over Harry, and drew is thick fist back.
"No...please," Harry whimpered. Uncle Vernon just laughed. "Help me!" Harry sobbed. He waited for the inevitable blow, but before it did, a loud cracking sound rent the hallway. Harry realised it wasn't his uncle's fist connecting with his head, and opened his eyes as the man released his hair.
"Argh! No! What is that thing?" Uncle Vernon stumbled backwards, his arms flailing. Harry turned his head, and saw, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, what looked like a very small person. It was very thin, and had a big head and long white hair with huge bat-like ears, and big, green eyes to match. Its nose was long, thin and rather pointy, and its mouth was set grimly. It had a white tea-towel wrapped around its narrow frame, and was glaring at Uncle Vernon with something akin to murderous hatred.
It spoke then, with a curiously high pitched and sing-song voice, but one which was overlaid with hostile tones.
"You shall not harm Harry Potter!" It drew back a bony fist, which it clawed, and thrust forward at Uncle Vernon. Another resounding crack echoed through the house, and the large man was hurled backwards alarmingly, colliding with the front door and crumpling to the ground. The small person pulled a triumphant face, and then turned to Harry, its face becoming tender. "Harry Potter, sir," it said, as it held out a hand not much larger than Harry's. "I is Oree. You must come with me." Harry didn't hesitate, and grabbed hold of the little person's hand. He was sure it was safe – the little person had, after all, saved him from Uncle Vernon.
Petunia was dashing down the stairs, gazing hysterically down at the scene which presented itself to her. She gasped as she saw the creature standing in her hallway.
"No…" she breathed, as Harry reached out to it, but not in time. As soon as the long, thin fingers closed around Harry's small hand they vanished with a crack.
For Harry, the hallway disappeared, almost like dust being blown away by a strong wind. It reformed almost instantaneously into a high-ceilinged stone chamber, lit dimly by torches set into brackets on the wall. There were gleaming brass pots and pans stacked high around the walls, and many shining implements hung from hooks, and rested on counters. Four long bare wooden tables stood in a row in the centre of the room, and at the far end was a huge fireplace, in which a rather subdued fire crackled. Herbs and spices were piled in wooden barrels, emitting a pleasant scent, and others hung in bunches from racks around the fireplace. There were many more of the little people standing in the chamber, all wearing tea towels wrapped around themselves like the togas Harry had seen in Dudley's discarded history picture books. When the little people saw Harry and Oree, they clustered around hurriedly, and all began to talk at once, in their strange little voices. A few of them were quite a bit deeper than Oree's, so Harry, with impeccable four year old logic, concluded that Oree must be a lady little person.
"Oree is returned!" One said, its bulbous nose quivering.
"With little Harry Potter," cried another.
"An honour, a great honour…" This one was shaking its head, bat like ears flapping wildly.
The sudden loud noise startled Harry. He began to shiver, and his head throbbed where he had collided with the wall. A little sob escaped him, accompanied by a tiny tear that slid down his cheek.
Oree did a funny little jump, and waved her long hands at the crowd. They quietened down quickly, looking a little sheepish.
"Where is Fenodery? Oree needs to speak with him!" She spoke with a firmness in her voice, but the crowd began to murmur again. Someone at the back said something in a louder voice, and a brief ripple went the crowd. Their ranks parted and a little person, hunched over with age, and completely bald, appeared. He too wore the tea-towel-toga that the others wore, but his was not plain white – it had a hem stitched with blue thread. He bowed low in front of Harry, his ears flopping forward to the floor, before speaking.
"Welcome Harry Potter, sir." His voice was deep and resonant, surprisingly so for someone so small. He turned to the little person who had rescued Harry. "You is doing well, Oree," he said.
Oree's face was grave and serious as she answered the little old man. "Oree is finding Harry Potter in the home of the Muggles when Harry Potter is calling for help. They is not being good people. They is hurting Harry Potter." Her voice rose in volume as she spoke, and she shook her head violently. The faces of the watchers in the crowd widened with shock, and some even began to cry softly. "Oree was wanting very much to hurt those bad Muggles," this was quite vehemently cried, her tiny body shaking with fury, "but she's following Fenodery's orders and leaves with Harry Potter. Oree saw what they did, and she thinks that Harry Potter is needing healing magics soon!" Fenodery's large eyes widened. He put his hand to Harry's head, and it came away slick with blood.
"Come quickly!" He said urgently. He tugged both Harry and Oree towards the back of the huge room, the crowd parting around them, their little faces taught with worry. Fenodery led the way through a small archway next to the massive fireplace, into a small room with only a table and four tiny chairs. A small door led off the room, through which Oree bustled. Fenodery pushed Harry into one of the small chairs, obviously meant for those of their size, although he was small enough for it. His head was pounding, and he could feel blood dripping through his hair.
"Come, Oree, quickly!" Fenodery cried. Oree barged through the door carrying an armful of bandages. She dropped them onto the table, and she and Fenodery spread their long, thin fingers over Harry's head. The closed their huge eyes, and hummed a low note very softly. The pain lessened, and Harry experienced an odd tingling, as the blood dried and his scalp closed. Oree sprang back to the table for the bandages, which she expertly wrapped around Harry's head. "That's it now, Harry. Oree and Fenodery makes it all better." Harry nodded at her with wide eyes.
"What…How…My head…?" Harry stuttered.
A grave look came upon Fenodery's face. "He does not know," he muttered. "Fenodery and Oree must tell him."
"Tell me what?"Demanded Harry in an indignant four year old voice.
"Fenodery and Oree are using magic to heal Harry Potter," said Oree. "We is House Elves, Harry Potter, and you are a wizard."
"Like in Dudley's books? Like Arthur and Merlin and the Round Table?" If possible, Harry's eyes opened even wider. Oree looked confused, but Fenodery nodded.
"Yes, Harry Potter. We is doing magic, and you will learn too."
"You must stay here with us," said Oree, "where it is safe from your nasty relatives."
With a small cry, Harry launched himself at Oree, and hugged her with all his might (which, at his age, wasn't that much).
"Oh, thank you!" he said over and over. He hugged Fenodery too, before asking them "Where is here? Where are we?"
"This is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter." Fenodery said proudly. "You is to come here to learn wizard's magic when you has eleven years." Harry nodded, and Oree spoke.
"But for now, you is to live here with the House Elves. Oree will look after you. In a few weeks, many young wizards will come here to learn. So Oree and Fenodery, and the other house elves, they will teach you to how to avoid them, and not be seen."
Harry grinned – it was like a new game!
xxx
Petunia crouched over her husband, cautiously checking for injuries. Gradually, he stirred to alertness.
"Vernon?" Petunia called. "Vernon, wake up."
"The freak…" hissed Vernon groggily. "What did that freak do?"
"It wasn't him, Vernon," said Petunia anxiously. "There was something else here too."
Vernon seemed to ponder this for a long time, still drink-addled. Then his mouth stretched into a horrid grin.
"He's off our hands. Nothing we could do to save him. Nothing we can do now." He became more and more gleeful with each statement.
"But…" Petunia paused briefly, then ploughed on, knowing she was going to regret it. "Shouldn't we write to… one of them… That Dumbledore man, maybe. They could find him."
Vernon's glee vanished, replaced by purple-faced fury.
"What?" He sat up slowly, glaring daggers at his wife. "We will not be writing to those freaks!"
"But…" Petunia was cut off by a sharp slap to her cheek. He reached for her with his thick hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around the back of her neck.
"Thatisthelasttimewe'llseethatboy," he spat. "Am I clear?" He tightened his grip sharply on the last word. "Otherwise," he continued. "You are aware of the consequences." He glanced up the stairs.
Petunia nodded, terrified. What else could she have done?
xxx
Harry yawned hugely. It was very late, and he'd been through a lot.
"Now, Harry Potter," piped the old House Elf, Fenodery, "Oree and Fenodery will take you to your place to sleep." They led him out of the small chamber and back into the kitchen. The other House Elves had returned to work, but they looked up from their washing or sewing, or whatever they happened to be doing, when the small group entered. They all gathered around again, more cautiously this time. One, a young-looking and sprightly male with particularly striking blue eyes, stepped forward.
"Is Harry Potter all right now?"
"This is Fenodery's son, Witty," said the old House Elf, gesturing at the younger Elf.
"I'm better, thank you Witty," answered Harry, surprisingly maturely.
"Fenodery and Oree are taking him to the dormitory," injected Oree. "He is needing some rest. Everyone may meet him, if he is wishing, but once he has slept."
The two Elves led the little boy across the kitchen and through an archway that Harry hadn't previously noticed. Behind lay a long stone corridor with a vaulted roof like a smaller version of the kitchen's, lit brightly by firelight, with doors leading off at regular intervals. The first one was open, and through this one Oree led Harry, Fenodery remaining outside.
"This can be your bedroom, Harry, for the moment." She gestured around, and Harry had a good look. The room wasn't large, but neither was it a cupboard. A small, perfectly sized bed with plain white sheets stood against the back wall, next to a proportionately-sized bed side table. Harry frowned in confusion.
"This isn't a cupboard," he said.
"Of course not," answered Oree, becoming slightly worried. "Why would Oree give you a cupboard to sleep in?"
"Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia gave me a cupboard," said Harry, matter-of-factly. "People like me sleep in cupboards, they said."
Oree cried out in anger, startling Harry. She stormed out of the room, determined to exact her revenge on those awful people. Fenodery caught her before she could transport herself away, however, and spoke to her quietly, before gesturing back at Harry. The little boy was sitting on the edge of the bed, quietly crying.
Oree gasped, and rushed back in, kneeling before Harry and putting a small hand up to his cheek.
"Don't cry, Harry!" She sat next to him and brought him into a hug. "Oree is not cross with you. She is cross with those people who are supposed to be Harry potter's family. You never have to go back to them, Harry, and you do get to sleep in a proper bedroom!" Harry looked up, sniffed, then nodded. Oree stood up and pulled back the sheet of the little bed, and clicked her fingers. Harry was lifted into the air, gasping and giggling, sorrow forgotten, as Oree placed him between the sheets. His fingers went straight for the hem of the blanket, squishing it between his fingers. When he was settled in, she smiled tenderly at him.
"Good night, Harry Potter," she said.
AN: I hope you like the beginnings of this story. Shall I continue to update it? I know I have unfinished stories, but writing stories actually helps me think of ideas for other ones. Paradoxical, I know.
Anyway, reviews are always appreciated.