Cecity
Chapter One
Harry sat silently in the darkness, resting cross legged on his bed in the tiny broom cupboard that was his bedroom. He was always in darkness, for as long back as he could remember. His earliest memories lay shrouded in it, as he stumbled through infancy. Now he spent his time waiting in the darkness of his abode, in preparation of the next day.
He was reminded of a spider, grown fat and lazy over the years, content to lie in its web and keep careful track of everything going on around it. His cupboard was the center of his web, its limits just reaching the edges of the Dursley's house.
He listened to his web and learned all of its rhythms. He learned to keep track of footsteps, to keep a mental marker for each individual in the house. Patterns that dictated their life became apparent, controlling individual actions that appeared random and sudden in the chaos of human choice, letting him predict his family's actions before they had even started moving. Sound, sound was the key. Often ignored in in place of the much more valued sight. Harry had no such luxury, and so he learned how important it was to listen. Harry learned much more from listening then he ever would have with his now absent vision.
He deciphered voices and gauged their footsteps, determining where people were going and what they were feeling. It was so easy to tell what they were thinking nowadays. They didn't seem to like that too much. Another demonstration of freakishness they agreed. His cupboard rattled with vibrations. Loud, thudding footsteps descended the step overhead before quickly turning and heading to his door. The pace was quick and the footsteps slammed into the ground with loud slaps. He was in a hurry tonight.
"Petunia and I are taking Dudley out to celebrate his birthday." The man started. "You are to stay in your room the whole time we are out. If we find any evidence of you using anything but the bathroom you won't get dinner tomorrow." The mere thought of Harry touching something of his seemed to disgust the man, and he seemed to be working himself up into a temper despite the fact that no such offense had happened yet.
"What about dinner tonight sir?" Harry asked, wishing he could go back to his previous solitude. He colored his tone with a sliver of childlike worry, but he held no hope that it would prove to be effective.
The man snorted as if affronted. "You should be thankful enough that we give you a place to stay. We aren't your bloody servants, we won't drop what we're doing and cook you a meal. Perhaps if Dudley is feeling generous he won't eat all of his second dinner. You might be able to finish it when we come home."
Harry rolled his eyes internally. The day Dudley didn't finish all of his food would be the day Harry became King of England. Honestly how could one person consume so much food in one day. He was sure he had never heard of seven square meals a day before despite it being a popular phrase in this household.
"Just don't go snooping for our food." The man blustered "We don't want to run up a huge electrical bill because the little freak couldn't tell that the fridge light was on."
Harry stiffened at the words. Just as quick as it came his anger seeped back away, down into the pit of his stomach.
"Daddy I'm hungry!" came the call from the main hall interrupting Vernon's rant. His glare never left Harry.
"Don't leave. Don't touch. Don't eat." Once more he was enveloped in darkness as the door swung short. As the heavy footsteps receded into the distance Harry slowly reined in the waves of anger emanating from his core, and submerged himself into an icy calm.
Harry had a brief respite before he was interrupted again by a burning lance of malice searing through his mind, a projection of such passionate hate it left a trail of broken thoughts and smoldering memories in its wake. Harry quickly left the cupboard, sinking his consciousness back into the depths of his mind. The lance's momentum had not lessened and it held strong as it blazed into his mind. Harry desperately backpedaled, leaving clusters of nonsensical daydreams and useless thoughts as fodder for the assault. The attack barreled through all of the mental debris and slammed into his hastily erected shields. The barrier proved useless as it shattered into shards that resounded painfully inside of his head. Pulses of agony traced the path between his temples and his eyes.
As he continued to use stalling tactics on the powerful onslaught, Harry focused on the periphery of his mind where he sensed enemy probes testing the path the mental spear had hacked through his defenses. He created a few floating mines, packages containing troubling puzzles and some of his more traumatic experiences disguised as important memories. He carefully released them out into the chaos of his mindscape where his opponent had been wreaking havoc on every available emotion, thought, or memory it could find hoping to disrupt them enough that he could dispel the attack.
A small nudge directed his attention to a probe that was testing his defenses. He swiftly and without hesitation severed its connection to its host and led it deeper into his mind. Harry was reminded of a cartoon he once saw when a character was led around by a carrot hung from a stick. The probe was baited deeper into what appeared to be his inner mind, never let to move too quickly, but fast enough to keep it interested in traveling through the passage he created. The probe got braver as its progress was not halted as it continued past his mental shields, assuming the original attack had disoriented Harry enough to miss its intrusion. When a second and third tendril tried to sneak into his mind they were immediately incinerated by a crushing wave of anger. The original scout paused at this but it was too late for it to turn back.
He blanketed it in a memory of him stealing some food from Petunia's garden and the rush of elation it gave him before jettisoning it out of his carefully constructed tunnel with no small amount of force. The rampaging fire in his mind quickly latched onto the fast moving memory sensing its positive association. It ate through the garden memory like an actual fire in Petunia's garden (she was awful at remembering to water them, and didn't let Harry do it after the previously mentioned incident) and reached the portion that contained a part of its own mind.
The sensation of incinerating one of one's own mental appendages is rather akin to waking up and thinking your arm was an intruder, but instead of moving it away you pour gasoline into your mouth, drop in a match, and attempt to chew off the offending limb.
The mental shriek reverberated through Harry's mind almost breaking his concentration on his shields. The incursion faltered and the lingering mental extensions lying just outside of his mind backed off as his adversary tried to collect themselves. He slammed his outer mental walls shut and put his shields in place. The tendrils came back quickly and tried to squeeze back in through the gaps in his mental defenses. He made another wall using a hazy memory of flashing green lights and intense fear. The gambit worked better than he could have hoped as the intruders backed off radiating a type of confusion. This allowed him to calm his overworking mind and sink into a more tranquil state, which in turn sealed off his mind with a shimmering wall of calm determination.
The main force was now stuck in a prison of Harry's making. With its access to its creator tenuous, and it still being disoriented in a pain filled daze from its earlier blunder Harry focused in on it. It suddenly moved, attempting to penetrate as deep as it could before dissipating. Harry tried his hardest to keep it contained, allowing it to wear itself away on his walls which prevented it from doing any real damage. All of a sudden the lances of pain that had previously beat against his cranium abated as the attacking force dove directly into one of his more powerful traps.
It became stuck in a clever little paradox that he had created on one of his days long meditations in between meals that had become frequent after the world went dark. Instead of pausing for a second and exiting the thought or thinking around it, the mental spear pushed forward with singular determination intent on burning through it with pure power of thought. The attack was twisted in circles on itself as it pushed through the paths the thought created. Harry poised ready at the exterior waiting him to break through, but it seemed content to keep circling inside the thought convinced it would work its way through eventually.
Finally realizing its situation, the attacker burst from the prison, but much weaker and robbed of all momentum. It fled wildly through his mind desperately trying to find an opening and led itself directly into another trap.
This trap was the most potent of any Harry had created over the years of mental warfare, and the first time that it had ever been activated. An emotion drawn from the past condensed into a single moment exploded into his adversary's mind as soon as he triggered the memory. A wave of crushing loneliness poured into the area, a sense of complete and utter solitude. Harry shared the emptiness of missing a single friend, family, or acquaintances and the soul crushing weight of having years of no human contact but insults. Harry poured the sense of hollowness into his mind, woven from the darkness he lived in.
The powerful emotion disoriented the attack and made it slowly unravel, leaving it vulnerable. Sensing their precarious hold on their mental probe start to falter, Harry's adversary drove the splinters of their force as deep as they could into Harry's mind before being completely forced from his mind. The last remnants of aggression sunk deep into his mind and his defenses proved little more than strainers, sifting out parts but letting most of the force through tiny cracks in his defenses. Exhausted by the battle and the powerful emotions he called upon Harry feebly swatted at the splinters with paper like barriers, slowing them down but being easily pierced.
A vibration resounded from his scar and Harry could feel a powerful well of energy gather behind it. When the mental shrapnel of the assault reached dangerously deep levels of Harry's psyche the scar retaliated. The ball of energy pushed from deep down in his core and exploded outwards like a supernova, expanding throughout his body and incinerating any remaining hostile particles. As quickly as it expanded the heat contracted back on itself, till it was nothing more than a throbbing in his scar.
Harry let out a sigh of relief and fell back against his bed. His head throbbed horribly and he could hear his heartbeat as it shoved blood past his temples. When he reached up to touch his face he found it was covered in blood. He traced his fingers carefully across his features finding the sources of the bleeding. It had slowed to a trickle out of his nose and ears, barely moving. His eyes still bled, red streams pouring down his face like tears. His scar tinged painfully and he hissed loudly when he touched it. It had split again and added its own tribute to the blood dripping off of his face.
He settled back in and went over the spoils of his efforts. He couldn't remember a time when there weren't attacks. They had become part of his routine. When he was younger he didn't know how to fight them. The mental spears pierced his brain and would have destroyed him but for his scar. Back then it was his scar versus the aggressor, after all of his recent memories had been destroyed and his emotions had been rearranged. He was able to provide a small amount of help, focusing with singular determination to gave his scar the edge, and it had always been successful in thwarting the assaults. He wasn't sure what his scar was but he knew it was powerful, and sometimes when he still maintained some of his focus through a battle he would notice startling similarities between it and the attacker.
As he got older he had learned more and more about the art of mental warfare, and was soon standing his ground against the attacks. However, as he got older and more skilled, so did his foe become more powerful. Every day they battled, always growing their power, always coming up with new strategies. Harry was always able to emerge victorious in the end because of the added edge of whatever was in his scar coming out and defending him whenever he was perilously close to failing.
Every weapon in the arsenal of a mental warrior consisted of something, whether it be an emotion or memory. Harry was often able to pluck some of these from his enemy's mind after quelling an attack. Glimpses into their past, faces of old acquaintances, rushes of powerful emotions, and slowly he pieced together a picture of his adversary. The image most frequent in his mental burglaries was of a massive castle, resonating with ancient history and filled with people performing marvels on a daily basis.
He also witnessed clips of a childhood not dissimilar to his own, a boy friendless and bullied, stuck in putrid nest of violence. He yearned for his own day when the old man would come and rescue him, drag him from his abyss and into a world of magic and adventure. Once he had asked Petunia about the castle and she had gone silent for complete minute before locking him in the cupboard for the rest of the day. He swore he had heard her crying outside the door. Hope had blossomed in his chest after Petunia's unintentional certification of its existence. He sunk his consciousness into the floating particles foreign to his mind, kept captive by his powerful shields. The sound of scales scraping against stone reverberated in his head. The scene quickly shifted and glowing lights streaked around him, shrapnel streaking past his ears. Screams pierced his eardrums, as the bodies in front of him writhed in agony.
Now he advanced through a doorway blasting everything out of his path.
He was late to class.
The man tried to stop him.
He knew the old man didn't trust him; he could feel his wary gaze following him about, laced with barbs of accusation.
A quick green flash and the man was removed from the earth.
As he sat down one of the girls near him sent him a wink.
The woman put up less fight than her husband.
She started following him as he left the classroom.
He advanced on the last living being in the building.
He went down the tunnel. She saw him. She mustn't know. No one can know.
Green eyes stared up at him.
Kill.
Kill.
Slowly and methodically Harry raised himself up into a sitting position on the bloody mattress. He felt rivulets of sweat trickle down his body gluing his shirt to his back. The cupboard was next to the furnace and had no air conditioning, creating sweltering temperatures inside hot enough to cook an egg. The house was silent. Harry listened careful for a few minutes but the peaceful silence continued uninterrupted. It was not uncommon for the Dursleys to stay out overnight without notice, deciding that not having to deal with him was a crucial part of a celebration.
Pulling himself into a standing position, Harry let out a deep sigh and sunk into an icy calm. His vision was still shrouded in an obsidian shroud, but faint outlines of his surroundings wavered in his mind. The world around him was displayed as vibrations in his mind, a phantom sense of what was around him. It was similar to the feeling of when someone is watching you from behind. You obviously didn't see the observer, but nevertheless you know they are there. When asked Harry couldn't tell you the color of the door or what pattern was engraved on it, but he could tell you exactly where it was and that it opened up into a hallway and exactly how many picture frames were on the left side.
Vernon hadn't bothered to lock the door again before he left, assuming Harry's blindness would prove an effective barrier to him leaving. Exiting the cramped prison, Harry was assaulted by some sort of large, agitated avian. It finally ceased its assault and perched on his shoulder, clenching painfully with its talons. A rustle of paper reached his ears and the sharp edge of an envelope poked into the side of his cheek. His hand grasped for a second before it finally closed on the package and pulled it from the talons holding it. He was given a quick bite on his ear before the bird took flight and soared off down the hallway.
The paper crinkled and opened with its own power, releasing a sheet of paper that stood hovering in front of his head. A monotone voice rang from the sheet, sounding as if it was talking from a distance and being squeezed through a small metal pole.
"Dear Mr. Potter, 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. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall (Deputy Headmistress)"
The paper spun in the air and started broadcasting from the opposite side. As Harry listened he realized that it was a supply list for a school year. "This is it!" He whispered to himself. He finally had gotten confirmation of the other world, the magical world he had dreamed of for years. The giddiness subsided momentarily as he came to a realization. 'The old man didn't come for me. Do they not do that anymore? How am I supposed to get robes and books?' He wondered. An image of a long street covered in garish displays appeared in his mind. An even scarier thought appeared in his mind. 'What if they don't know about my eyes. I can't write a letter and I don't have an owl. They won't let me into the school!' His breath got shorter and his chest heaved as the fear of losing this world so soon after gaining access gripped him.
His meltdown was interrupted when the letter started vibrating again. It started slowly revolving in place and he noticed an agitation of the air around it. He felt whispers of power wash against skin and he instinctively raised his shields. The tendrils wrapped around him but didn't attempt to enter his mind like the ones he was used to. Slowly they retracted back into the letter and it slowed its revolutions till it was still in the air in front of him.
"Grasp the paper tightly with both thumbs touching this face when you are willing to start." the metallic voice rang out at him. He quickly grabbed the sheet and pressed his thumbs into the paper. The magic returned and washed over his hands. "Name: Harry Potter. Status: Blind." There was a brief pause underscored by a whirring coming from the paper. "The chime signals the beginning of transcription. Say 'finish' when you are completed. Please state your response." There was a brief silence before the ring of a small bell sounded out.
"uh, hello Miss Headmistress." Harry stopped, feeling a bit ridiculous speaking to a piece of paper. "I accept the invitation but, uh, I don't know how to get the supplies for the school year. Could you send a teacher to come and show me how to get those things and how to get to the school? Sincerely Harry Potter. Finish." Another chime rang and the paper rolled itself up. The bird that had arrived with the letter flew back down the hallway, and snatched the letter out of Harry's hands. It made a startling quick turn and shot back past Harry, headed towards a window. The window burst open right before it was hit and the bird sailed out into the night.
Harry sunk back into his cupboard and laid down on his bloodstained mattress. Taking deep breaths, he calmed his racing heart. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would finally enter the world he had been dreaming about for years.