Hello, Masterclem4 here! This is the fisrt story that I've decided to publish here, so please be gentle! I got the idea while reading the Brother's war (Yes, I play MTG, deal with it.) and saw the utter badass that is Urza, and decided that there were not enough artificers on FFN! ###ALSO, VERY IMPORTANT#### English is not my native language, so please pardon my few lapses in the Olde tongue.-Hi! This is just to say that I fixed the spacing and paragraphs!
Thanks!
Chapter 1
The night was cold in Surrey, and all were tucked in their bed, warm sheets over their bodies, quietly snoring in their sleep. All but one little boy. Alone, with barely enough place to rest his small body, the boy was sobbing, shivering in the dark. At six years old, Harry Potter could be considered old enough to stop fearing the dark but not all six years old were beaten black and blue by their abusive uncle and cousin. They weren't either starved by their aunt and considered less than human by the collective family that decided that he had no right to live.
And so Harry was alone in the dark, with only his sole toy, an old ceramic doll found in the attic during one of his daily tasks. It was a rather pretty doll, with high cheeks and a shiny gloss. Harry did all in his power so that it could stay that way, cleaning the ceramic daily and hiding the doll from his uncle and cousin who without a doubt would have reduced it to bits before his eyes, just to add salt in the wound. The boy, each night, cried to sleep while hugging the only thing he could ever call his own, thinking about his mother that he never knew, thinking about what it would have been to be with her, her scent, the sound of her voice, anything that could bring him a bit of comfort in his dark reality.
What he did not know was that with his feelings, hopes and hurt, he channelled magic into the doll, charging it with energy, because Harry was no ordinary child : he was a wizard! It could have stopped there and the doll would have been nothing more than an artifact exuding calm and comfort, but the child did much more than that, imagining a personality for the doll and unknowingly charging that personality with magic and channel it trough the doll. From this moment, until the end of the night, magic clashed and interacted in the object, changing its essence, and then it all stopped. And she opened her eyes. ''Get up boy!'' yelled aunt Petunia while hammering the cupboard's door with her small, bony fist. ''Today you're making us breakfast so get up and dress!''
Drowsily, Harry got up from his makeshift bed that once was a shoe rack and groggily reached for his glasses hanging from a loose nail near his head. 'Seriously' he thought, 'How many six years old can even cook?' His back was aching, still sore from yesterday's beating, received for having received a peppermint from an old lady at the corner store and not giving it to Dudley.
He was having some very dark thoughts for a six years old, thinking of many ways of killing his despicable relatives in the most gruesome of ways when, suddenly, it all disappeared and he was filled with warmth and joy, and a sensation of calm he rarely felt before. A sudden cry from the kitchen broke the intense feeling and he scrambled to get his things set and storing his doll. '' I will be with you later 'kay?" he said while exiting the cupboard. In the flurry of his movement, a stray thought hit him : 'I could swear she just blinked!'. He quickly discarded the thought and shook his head : Uncle Vernon has been very thorough about this, magic was not real.
Shuffling to the kitchen, his hairs messy as always, he was welcomed by the traditional ''Fix that crow nest, Boy!'' , and set up to work in front of the stove. Soon, the scent of scrambled eggs and the sound of sizzling bacon filled the room as the youngster applied himself not to burn the dish. 'With some luck, I'll be able to take some without them watching' .
Unfortunately, as he tried to sneak a slice of bacon subtly, his walrus of an uncle spotted him and as his face became a nice puce colour, spittle started flying all over the table. ''You ungrateful freak! We welcome you in our house, feed you and dress you and that's how you thank us? By stealing food for which I worked restlessly so I could provide for my family?'' Vernon was now holding Harry with one hand while holding his head with the other. ''Here's the only thing you deserve, freak!'' At that, he took the boy's head and stuck it on the still flaming hot stove. Harry shrieked and trashed, trying to get his face and left eye off of the scorching surface, but was unable to free himself from his uncle's titanic these events, he lost consciousness and his mind welcomed the darkness as his magic was trying, and failing, to heal the third degree burns on his face, the damage being too extensive for the young boy who just had given life to a toy.
Harry awoke with a splitting headache and some lingering pain on the left side of his face. Like a dam breaking under pression, memories flooded the mind of the young boy as he began sobbing uncontrollably. When he finally got a grip on himself, he started warily a quick assessment of his situation. 'Okay, Uncle Vernon pinned me on the stove and I blacked out from the pain'. Frantically, he looked around for the only reflecting item he owned, a shard of once was a body-length mirror. Gulping down his fear, he braced himself as he finally glanced at what he had become.
With a gasp, a lone tear slid from his last intact eye as he contemplated the charred mess that was now his face, reaching to touch the remnants of his skin. Some parts were still red and swollen, but others were completely charred, giving the skin in these areas a colour and texture similar to charcoal. His eye, at first glance, could have been thought intact, if not for the slightly glassy appearance of it.
His eyelid was now nonexistent, as his eyebrow, both of them devoured by the ravaging heat. 'How could the damage be that extensive, it looks like I have been doused in gasoline before...' suddenly recalling something, Harry swore in his head. 'I used oil to cook the bacon, some of it must have spilled over the stove...'
Continuing his inspection, Harry noted that his hair, surprisingly, had been left untouched by the heat, not even a little damaged. 'Could have grown back...' Harry mused, while recalling all those times when Aunt Petunia tried to give him a haircut. Luckily, it always grew back right away, saving Harry from more humiliations. In reality, Harry was quite proud of his hair, his train of thought being that even if they broke him, they would at least never break his hair.
Looking down to the lower portion of his face, he saw that his cheek looked like you could poke a hole trough it with a finger and part of his chin was charred black as well.
''Well, looks like I'm a real freak now aren't I?'' he said bitterly as he traced the scars that would now follow him for the rest of his life. At this moment, serenity and calm washed over him in waves, like an embrace as two small arms circled his arm, as if trying to hug him. Strangely, he wasn't unnerved, basking in the comforting presence that he never before felt.
Calmly, he looked down on the small thing now attached to him and his breath hitched. Disbelief overruled the serenity aura as he met the eyes of his doll, which was peering at him with so much intensity that one could have thought she was staring straight into their soul. After letting the initial shock wane down a bit, Harry shook his head as is chasing away a stray thought.
''...How...how is it even...po-possible? He stuttered, trying to understand how his precious doll suddenly came alive.
''You made me, Father, using your magic. You created my personality, poured magic into it, poured magic into the doll you used to make my body and bound my personality with the doll, giving birth to me.''
Harry was speechless. His doll talked! It, 'No, it's she now!', she also said he had used magic, which was a forbidden word in the Dursley household. ''Magic?'' Magic isn't real.'' He said mechanically, repeating a lesson that his uncle had taken care to imprint in his head thanks to numerous beatings.
Since he was a brilliant child, no thanks to his teachers who all ate in the Dursley's hands since they were ''Upstanding members of the community'' as they put it, Harry looked at the rational answers to the situation.
Option one : Uncle Vernon's beating was more savage than expected and he died in the cupboard due to his grievous wounds.
Option two : He was now mad, driven insane by the pain.
As he liked neither of the options of rationality, Harry decided to take a leap of fate and use the more occult one. ''Okay, so let me get this right. Magic is real, I can apparently use it and used it to make you is that about it?
The doll only nodded.
Okay, so here's chapter one, please don't forget to R&R, if some of you are sweethearts, please point any of those nasty conjugation mistakes and weird sentence structures since I REPEAT, ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE! I don't think I can ever stress that enough... anyways, if you have any ideas for pairing, feel free to pm me.
