Disclaimer: JK owns Harry Potter, not me.
There's a place in the world for the angry young man.
-
Screaming. Thrashing. Jerking. Blood. So much blood. On his Harry's stomach and his legs, in his head. Uncle Vernon has a wicked grin on his face and his fists are large and pound into his gut ten times harder than the boys at school.
He likes the way the boy writhes and slithers about on the ground because he's too hurt, too numb to move properly. To try to escape.
Harry rolls and burns on the rough carpet below him, breathing, breathing and still alive.
-
Dudley leaves his toy soldiers behind in the dirt sometimes. If Harry's lucky enough when Aunt Petunia sends him out to garden he'll find one or two and slip them into his pocket. He hides them under broken planks in the floor boards of the cupboard.
No one's found them yet. And Dudley has so many he hasn't noticed any were missing. Harry would notice if he had toys like that, he'd give every single one a name and a place in his mind.
He's named the four under his floor boards. Each carefully thought out.
Cyrus because Aunt Petunia once said she would've loved to have a boyfriend by such a name, she claimed it sounded exotic and found the meaning, sun, to be very meaningful. Harry chose it for the one that melted a bit under the hot ultraviolet rays.
George because it was a solid, good name. He wished his name was solid. Good. Worth something.
Riley because the way it sounded on his tongue was smooth and cute. Like a good child should be.
James because it was his father's name. His voice grew deeper, like Uncle Vernon's and he tried to act the part of an angry drunk. That was all he knew of his father.
But the other three like James, anyway. Harry knows he would.
-
He still rolls and burns and he's still alive.
Wait –
"Harry." Someone is in his cupboard? How can they fit? He turns, lips parted and trembling to face this someone. The first thing he really notices about Cordelia is her eyes. They're large, the first ring of her iris is gold, powerful and bright and the inner ring is apple green, knowledgeable and just slightly haunted.
At first glance he's scared but he likes her and knows her. She's safe. She must be.
"Who are you?" He asks, too loud because his ear drums are a little broken. The woman comes forward and gives him a soft smile,
"I'm going to get you out."
Ohhhh. Harry doesn't thrash when she grabs his hand and tugs him along. He just follows.
-
Cordelia teaches him many things in her slowest voice, brushing the hair off his face and staring deep, deep into his soul. She doesn't coddle him like a baby and she leaves him on his own. This is necessary for survival, he's realized.
Besides the fact that she's often busy what with her being something of a goddess in most creatures' eyes. Yes, there are creatures. Yes, there is magic. This he's been taught. And Cordelia is the center of the universe. La Reina.
-
At night Cordelia holds him and whispers meaningless words into his ear, stroking his wild hair. But (of course) she is gone in the morning and Harry takes care of himself.
Maybe he likes it that way.
He makes himself breakfast each time, nothing big. His stomach can't take it. It's only grown to the size of a small rubber ball, maybe cream or peach-colored like the organs he's seen in books.
Then, he promptly falls back asleep. When he wakes up there's someone beside him, rocking him back and forth and smiling. Slowly, slowly his voice begins to clear. Cordy has him read (sometimes, even aloud) – and he likes to.
So much, he runs to the library after breakfast sometimes. After the beginning. He reads. And so he learns more.
-
He begins to understand after a while. And it makes him hate himself even more, those fits in his sleep. Harry loves Cordelia more than life – but she says he must love himself first.
He is six when she first teaches him the rules of survival, her hand cupping his chin so he can feel that even her bony digits fluctuate with power.
And he understands a lot of things most children should not. Harry knows abuse, hurt, mistrust and starvation. They used to be his closest friends. If he learns anything, though, he learns to survive.
-
"Now, Harry – remember you're very unique. You have powers beyond that of the Wizards."
The wizards. He's a wizard and he doesn't like it, he doesn't like them. But he'll use it to his advantage. Wizards are so contained in their stick-wielding world they don't realize how intelligent and inventive mortals (or do they call them muggles?) are. Nuclear and hydrogen bombs, pistols, telephones and computers.
Harry knows mortals. They have their own magic.
Cordelia says he's different from the other wizards. That he's not "just a wizard". But she doesn't explain until his seventh birthday.
-
"Blood magic."
He blinks up at his guardian's marble face, furrowing his black brows in question. "I don't understand. What's blood magic?"
"You. You are blood magic." Cordelia grabs his arm and flips it up so he can see the inky purple veins by his wrist. "You're what we call a minuomancer – someone who has the power to create magic through his blood. At first you will need access to your own blood, carrying a dagger and the like. But after you get the hang of it you'll be able to perform your magic without mutilating yourself at all."
Harry stares past her. "A minuomancer?" She nods.
"How do I replenish my blood, Cordy? What if I don't have any left?" A bad feeling swam in the pit of his stomach.
"Hmmm. You just use your magic to replenish it." She answered simply with a twitch of her lips. "Now, let's go into the city."
She takes him down the road from the castle. Their castle. He likes thinking like that in his head.
They stop at a strange-looking shop and find their way inside. Cordy's eyes dart back and forth. "Here." She reaches forward to pick up an emerald snake with black triangles down its spine.
He blinks, confused when she drops the creature in his small hands. But then when the snake slithers upright in front of his face he knows. The too light eyes of the animal look right through him.
"Minuomancer." The snake hisses quietly.
"I –" Harry turns to Cordelia. "Parstlemouth? Minumancer?" She nods. "Try snake-speaker. Most wizard terms make snakes uncomfortable."
He smirks, "So you're a reptile?"
\ Cordelia smacks the top of his head. Then, she pays for the snake. "Name him. You're going to be bonded with him after all."
"Bonded? Why?" She shrugs. "I don't know. It's the only way blood magic works, though."
Harry stares at the snake and it's emerald and black scales. "Noir. Noir…e. Noire." He says softly. Noire seems to frown. "Thank you, minuomancer, for that wonderful mispronunciation." The wizard rolls his eyes.
-
Author's notes: This is going to be a multi-chapter fic. I'm guessing oh, say 30 chapters with a sequel (or three)? It may be moving pretty fast now but that's because this is just to explain Harry's early life to you. He'll go to Hogwarts eventually, third year or so, I'm thinking. Don't worry, I've already got the story planned out in my head.
He will become stronger than any wizard although, certainly not all creatures. For those of you who don't like Superpower!Harry.
Oh and, you pronounce Noire – No-Are-Ay
And Minuomancer – Min-yo-man-sir.
: D Review, please?