A/N: This was supposed to be a rewrite of 'Knowledge is Power'. However, somewhere along the way the plot deviated completely from the original. And now, only a few scenes and ideas remain. Nontheless, I hope you'll enjoy!
A huge thanks to Solthebookaddictfor helping me!
When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.
øØø
12.02.1944
20:26
The Kitchen Table
Time runs together with us as we age. A companion through life as we wake, walk and wither. Fates are discovered. We know nothing of our future. Years, hours and seconds from now are something to be uncover. As it should be.
All in due time.
No one knows.
No one, but death.
We progress with time, while death has no concept of time whatsoever. It does not exist as we do. It just is.
The past, present and future are of no importance.
If a title has been acquired once, it can never be lost, because somethings are meant to happen.
And some lives must end early. For another to begin.
øØø
1937
February had been unusually cold. A thin layer of snow was covering the rooftops and the streets were dusted in frost. Stars had migrated down onto the streets and were shimmering in the darkness.
Harrison could see his breath. Soft clouds of white smoke, an indication of his beating heart.
The streets were shrouded in darkness, lit up only by the light pouring out of several windows. Soft and yellow in their heat, an uncomfortable contrast to the white surroundings on the streets.
His hands were numb from the cold and his bare feet trembling in thin shoes. The piercing wind blowing through had no sympathy for his pitiful state.
Harrison brought his quivering hands up to his mouth in a futile attempt on breathing life to them. Warm, soft breath never quite reaching his pale fingertips. Only the chilling vapor biting into delicate skin.
A quiet 'click' and the window above him was shoved open. Then laughter flowed out along with the faint sound of Schubert's Ganymede. The one and only song, his mother owned. Harrison knew it by heart.
He stared silently up at the open window, pursing his lips in self-pity and stubbornness. Soon now, a few minutes and he would be able to heat up his frozen body.
And just as predicted, after another layer of frost, the front door swung open with a piercing squeak. Forest green eyes glancing up from his crouching position, Harrison observed the foreign man lean in to give his mother a final lingering touch and a couple of shillings. The metal cut through the darkness like a knife.
The elderly man stepped back and hurried down the front steps, only sliding a quick look at the young boy beside the door, before disappearing into a side alley.
Harrison pulled his knees closer to his chest, jaw tightening and teeth gnashing. His mother sighed loudly and he looked back at her just as she lightened a cigarette. A deep, rasping inhale and a smokey exhale followed by light coughing. Her lungs grinding against crumbling walls.
"Get inside, precious…" a quiet murmur, eyes drifting down the street. "It's cold outside." Her greying skin was covered in goosebumps. The brown scarf hanging over her bare shoulders doing little to keep the heat she had acquired minutes earlier.
His mother had been beautiful once. Even now, with her skeletal frame and chaotic, coal-black hair framing a picture of continual sorrow, she was stunning.
Fascinating and intriguing; drawing people in much like a particularly gruesome murder scene.
øØø
Their apartment was shrouded in a constant mist of cigarette smoke and burned food. It clung to the walls and furniture, itching itself into the skin.
Consisting only of a clustered kitchen and a living room, with a bed and a deteriorating couch, it was no place for a child. Floorboards creaked, moulding pillows itched and the kitchen was drowning in dirty dishes, it was the only home Harrison had ever known. A painful couch was always better than the unforgiving streets.
"Dear, are you hungry?" She grinned widely, brown teeth gnashing against each other. Harrison looked away quickly, nodding silently in reply as he sat down by the kitchen table.
The table was a castle of dirty dishes and old newspapers. Towering over Harrison and leaving little space for eating. It seemed to increase in height every time Harrison washed something; an illustration of his decomposing house. He'd never be able to dig his way out of the dirt.
Harrison pushed at a pile of outdated newspapers, trying to make space. The push disturbed the fragile balance on the table and another pile of papers and some dishes crashed to the floor. He winced, shoulders lifting at the awful sound. Glancing up at his mother revealed her standing unbothered in front of the oven, cigarette in hand. A soft melody between her lips.
Sighing, his eyes glided over the tower of garbage and down on the piles of newspapers. And for some peculiar reason, one text caught his eye. Like a moth to a flame: a compulsion. Harrison leaned forward, eyes furrowing in confusion. As he focused at the article, he noticed another odd thing. Just underneath it was a completely clean, white envelope. It stood out like a sore thumb.
Harrison swallowed as he carefully pulled the envelope out from the pile. No one they knew would or could send a letter of such quality. Had it been sent to the wrong address?
Turning the letter over, he saw green lines on the front:
Harrison Law
The Kitchen Table
London
Licking his lips, he glanced around in uncertainty. No one had ever sent him a letter before.
"Here you go," a cracked plate was placed in front of him and his eyes flickered up to his mother, sharp and unyielding. Her wretched eyes met his. "What do you have there, dear? Something for me? Something desirable? Shiny even? A necklace or a ring?" Years of poverty had made her avaricious. She was never able to quench the growing hole in her life. It could only be filled with things she could never have. Things they could never have.
"I was just cleaning the table…" he smiled faintly as he let the letter fall from his fingers. It fell down to the floor, mingling with old papers and broken dishes.
"Really? 'Cause that looks precious…" She was about to crouch down for it when Harrison's hand shot out, catching her elbow.
"Mom, what did you make for me today?"
It was like a switch. Her interest lost and regained. "It's porridge, darling! Pure deliciousness, yes, you'll love it. It is your favorite dish, isn't it?" Her thin hands were brushed past his chin into his hair. Tugging painfully at it as she brought him into an uncomfortable embrace. She smelled of burned porridge, cigarette and decay.
She pulled away, smiling, before strolling out of the kitchen.
Harrison bit his lips, bitterness hot in his chest. The porridge was pitch black. And so was the beautiful white letter when he finally picked it up from the floor.
øØø
It wasn't before midnight that Harrison dared bring out the letter again. The couch frame was digging itself into his skin. Hard and unyielding as he tried to make himself comfortable, the letter heavy in his hand.
Forest green eyes glanced at his mother, who was deep asleep. Dark circles beneath her eyes and a raspy breath disturbing the silence. The smoke from her last cigarette still lingering in the air.
Harrison exhaled loudly as he carefully ripped paper. An attempt at disguising the sound of tearing paper. Afraid that the silent noise will awaken the unknown.
He closed his eyes and drew out the letter inside. The paper was thick and smooth.
Then after letting the silence bath him, he glanced down, eyes focusing in the night:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster
Armando Dippet
Dear Mr. Law,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. Because of your blood status as Muggleborn, we will send a representative teacher to inform you further.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Deputy Headmaster
He stared down at the paper in disbelief for a moment before his mouth twisted in anger. A cruel trick. Clearly, sent to make fun of him.
Here he was, rotting away in the slums with his decaying mother and someone saw it fit to send him a letter filled to the brim with fairy tails and dreams. Such a cruel, heartless trick. The anger was hot in his chest.
The worst part was: it didn't matter if he believed it or not. No, he had read it and now his childish mind had taken control. Imagination gone wild, traveling over mountains and seas, away from everything he knew. A foolish, hopeful part of his subconsciousness already believing it to be real.
It cut deeper than any knife could.
No dream would ever help him on his way out of the rotting pit of garbage he had grown up in. It would only hinder him.
Harrison stared heatedly down at the letter, then crumbled it forcibly. Somethings were better to be forgotten. The more he thought about it the more it would infest his mind. Like a disease.
Throwing it away, he saw it bump into the wall before landing between two, greying pillows. He'd throw it away in the morning, maybe even burn it. Burn the entire house down with it.
He turned around, pulling the thin blanket over his shoulders.
"I'll get out of here, I will…" A whisper: a quiet promise to the darkness.
The darkness would remember.
Even if no one else did.
To be continued