Disclaimer: I own nothing! Everything related to Harry Potter belongs to almighty and wonderful J.K. Rowling and publishers of her books. The world of Chrestomanci belongs to awesome Diana Wynne Jones and publishers of her books.
Chapter 1, Burning Whale
(5,000 words)
"Boy!"
He could hear the fury in his Uncle's voice even through the closed door. At once, he knew he had somehow gotten himself in deep trouble. Or more likely, Dudley had found a way to get him into trouble.
His teeth clenched at the thought of his cousin. He couldn't help it, he didn't like the fat boy at all. And, no, he didn't say fat to be rude, for Dudley was thrice the size of himself and they were still the same age.
Dudley Dursley. Actually, he could go as far as saying he very much hated that son of a whale. Not that he ever really would say it, but there was a certain satisfaction of being able to think it so clearly and the Dursleys would never know.
Although, he was sure that they in fact did know already, just like he knew that he himself was the very bane of their existence. Had they not been related, and had they not been paid for taking care of him, then his Uncle and Aunt would have left him at the orphanage the same day he appeared on their doorstep.
"Boy! You get in here this moment, or I will show you the proper way of using a kitchen knife!" came the rumble of Uncle Vernon's not so sweet voice. He could almost feel the floor vibrating from the force of it.
He hurriedly marked the page of the book he was reading and hid it under the filthy mattress. The small door came open when he lifted the hasp and he crawled out awkwardly. The cupboard he'd slept and lived in for as long as he could remember was getting much too small for him, and he suspected it was affecting the way he grew. Having to lay crawled up to fit the small space several hours of the day would be a good way to explain how short he was. Of course, that could also be blamed on years of malnutrition and hard work around his relatives' house.
He approached the kitchen warily, as he always did when nearing his Uncle. As he set foot on the light grey tiles, the enormous mass of meat that was a man fixed him with a narrow glare.
"Boy", grumbled Uncle Vernon, mustache bobbing up and down as he spoke. "What took you so bloody long?"
"Nothing, sir", he answered quickly, not wanting to increase the man's impatience. He quickly regretted this, though, as his Uncle's face turned thunderous.
"Nothing? You mean to tell me that the delay was because of you lazing around? Huh? Answer me!" he shouted, spit flying like lava from a volcano.
He knew his Uncle was close to crossing the line now. Out of instinct, his body started to curl in on itself at the harsh tone. He knew very well that the threat about the kitchen knife from earlier had been real. If he didn't do anything to satisfy Uncle Vernon now, he'd soon have a few additional scars to his impressive collection.
"That's not what I meant, sir", he said hastily, hearing how his voice trembled slightly despite trying to keep it steady. "I'm a stupid boy, and I, er, got tangled up in my bedsheet when I heard you call. Forgive me, sir."
He looked down at the floor, showing submission. If he looked Uncle Vernon in the eye now, it would be taken as disrespect or rebellion.
"Hm", came a grunt. "If you're too incompetent to handle even the sheets, then I will be forced to take them away. From now on, you will be sleeping on the mattress and the pillow." A look of satisfaction swept over the fat face before he turned stern again. "You hear that, boy? Useless freaks don't deserve sheets. Be happy we let you sleep in the house and don't throw you out in the garden."
He felt like crying with despair, but bit back the tears of unfairness and nodded. Now his own stupidness had lost him the one source of warmth he had in his small cupboard. What was wrong with him? If he had just put the book down sooner, then this would never had happened. Stupid, stupid, him.
"I asked if you hear me! Answer when I speak to you, freak!"
He swallowed thickly and nodded, murmuring a quick "Yes, sir, forgive me."
Through his lashes, he watched Uncle Vernon stand from his poor chair with a screech and walked up to stand right before him. The fat on the man's body kind of moved around as he walked, as if it had a life of its own. He could imagine it had. Maybe there was an extra brain somewhere in there that only controlled the fat's movement.
Wasn't that an odd thought?
Before he could think further of the fat-brain, though, a loud crack echoed through the house and he wasn't seeing his Uncle's swollen belly anymore. Instead, his head was tilted sideways and… his cheek hurt.
It took a while to realise his Uncle had slapped him. Again. It took a few seconds longer to notice he was hyperventilating.
"Shut up, freak", ordered Uncle Vernon coldly, making him twitch. "That was for taking so long."
"Yes, sir", he whispered, afraid to move or speak too loudly. It wasn't often that his Uncle or Dudley hit him in the face, because the bruises would cause suspicion in the neighbourhood. Aunt Petunia didn't like bad rumours circling about their family and since she was such a gossiper herself, she knew how bad it could get. Privet Drive was like paradise for people like her. People like the Dursleys.
He hated it.
"Now", he heard Uncle Vernon saying. He was standing too close for his comfort. He could almost feel the man's sticky breath attaching itself to his skin and sticking there like cancer. He shuddered. Vernon continued, "Dudley will be back from Hogwarts in a couple of hours. Your Aunt and I will be getting him at around five. By then, I want the house to be perfect for my son. You will clean his room and cook dinner and dessert. Make it good, or I will let him curse you for the whole weekend."
"Of course, sir. I will be done before five. Anything else?" he asked, careful to not grit his teeth when Uncle Vernon spoke of his damn lucky cousin.
"No. Leave now, and keep out of my sight." He stood still, waiting for the man to take a step back so he didn't have to press up to the wall to get away. His Uncle didn't like this. He roared, "Are you both brainless and deaf? I told you to leave!"
He nodded jerkily and almost crawled out from the small space between his Uncle and the wall. When he was out, he rushed away from the kitchen and made it upstairs before he couldn't control his breathing anymore. For several minutes, which felt like hours, he took deep, calming breaths.
Weak. He knew he was. So awfully weak he couldn't stand up to the man he feared and the cousin he hated. Weak in body, weak in mind, weak in magic…
Oh yes, magic. The one thing Dudley excelled at like no one else in his family line, and the one thing he had never had.
While Dudley got to go to Hogwarts ever week, he had to stay at the Dursley's house and work until his body felt numb. When Dudley had gone to Diagon Alley with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to purchase a wand, he had been locked up in his cupboard, still hopeful that his Hogwarts letter would come.
That was five years ago. Dudley was now in his sixth year at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry and grew for every year that passed by, both in size, ego, and magical ability. He was cuddled by the teachers, looked upon by his classmates, and the Headmaster absolutely adored him. He knew neither teachers nor the Headmaster, namely Albus Dumbledore, were supposed to have favourites and he loathed how beloved his cousin was while he… well, he was loved by no one.
But who loved a squib, anyway?
He would do anything to go to Hogwarts and to have even the tiniest ounce of magic. As a child he had dreamt of the day he'd be free from the Dursleys and the magic school would welcome him with open arms and tell him he belonged there.
But no. As a matter of fact, he had never attended any school. Ever. The Dursleys had always been set on keeping him a dirty family secret, and that meant no exposure to the world outside of Number Four, Privet Drive. The only time he ever went out was when he had chores to do in the garden or the house needed painting. If the neighbours wondered what he was doing there, Aunt Petunia would explain in her shrill voice that he was a hired gardener and that he was older than he looked. The Dursleys did not involve themselves in child labor, thank you very much.
He sighed and pushed himself away from the wall he'd been leaning against. The room closest to him belonged to Dudley. It was his cousin's second room, since the fat boy had too many toys to fit in his bedroom. One could think that the amount of toys would decrease after Dudley reached his teens, but oh no, the pile had kept building. The whole thing was like a Hydra. Chop off one head and two new grew; throw away one broken toy and two new would soon replace it.
He passed by the toy room and the rest of the house's residents' bedrooms on his way to the small broom closet at the end of the narrow hallway. He proceeded to drag out the tools he needed and went to clean the two rooms.
As he worked, he could hear his Uncle turning on the television downstairs and casting an Accio Beer.
All the Dursley's were magical, but both Vernon and Petunia Dursley were below average when it came to their magical strength. That was why Dudley was such a wonderchild, because he was very much over average wizards and witches. Almost everyone in the magical regions of Sussex knew who Dudley was. They all wanted to tutor the fantastic boy in both music and art during the weekends; two subjects that were not taught at Hogwarts, though could still be used magically. Especially music. There were certain spells and rituals where music had to be involved for the magic to work.
Unfortunately, he had heard Dudley singing. He never wanted to undergo that torture ever again. If his cousin's voice had been unattractive before, it was nothing compared to how he sounded once he attempted those higher tones.
Singing was the single thing he could do better than Dudley, if one didn't count cooking and cleaning. He'd discovered the ability many years ago on Dudley's birthday. The Dursley's had left him locked up in his cupboard for hours while they had their fun at a muggle amusement park. As soon as the door had closed and the house stood in total silence, he noticed he could still hear the television going in the living room, which was luckily only just across the hall.
The volume was loud. He could hear every word that was spoken and not too soon a show about muggle food switched to a show about a singing competition. He had sat on his thin, soggy mattress with his ear pressed against the bars on the door and listened to songs he had heard before on Aunt Petunia's small radio in the kitchen. He even knew the lyrics to some songs.
He'd started to sing along and was surprised at how wonderful he found the experience to be. Never before had he felt so delighted over something and he sang with the artist for as long as he could, until the show ended. He'd hummed to himself happily for the next coming hours as he'd waited for the Dursleys to return home. He'd felt truly content.
Without really noticing, he started humming a tune as he vacuumed Dudley's bedroom. He did so quietly so that Uncle Vernon would not hear him and come barging in yelling about useless freaks and how they never did as they were told.
He was afraid that would end with worse than just a raised voice. He avoided beatings if he could.
And one did not intervene with Vernon Dursley's beer time. Not if one valued one's life.
~/Nine\\~
He was back in the kitchen when the front door slammed open at exactly five thirty in the afternoon. The food stood ready and steaming on the kitchen table, made for three, and there were currently two pies being baked in the oven. One pie wouldn't satisfy Dudley alone, so he'd made an extra.
Speaking of the troll, his cousin came waddling from the hall with a proud face and head held high, though this did nothing to lessen the size of his multiple chins.
Dudley, who was a somewhat smaller replica of his father, headed straight for his chair at the table. His plate was soon full of food and he was shoving it into his mouth like it was the only thing he'd ever learned properly.
When his Aunt and Uncle entered the kitchen, Dudley was halfway through the mountain in front of him, and that was only his first portion.
Aunt Petunia - the very opposite of her son and husband when it came to size - immediately went to coo her wonderful little boy as if they hadn't just seen each other seconds ago.
Dudley waved her away with a grunt and returned to his steak. The rest of the Dursleys settled down and started having a pleasant family meal while he stood by the kitchen counter and watched them.
Petunia chirped, "Dudley, dear, how was your week at school?"
"Cool. Hufflepuff's still in the lead for the House Cup, just like always." He smirked smugly. "I get the most points, of course."
Petunia beamed at her son, showing perfect teeth that didn't look so good on her.
"That's wonderful, love. Have the Slytherins been any trouble lately?" she asked worriedly, putting down her cutlery so that she could focus solely on Dudley. As if Dudley even noticed, with his head buried in the potatoes like that.
"Yeah", mumbled his cousin through a mouth stuffed with food. "That Parkinson hag and her bodyguards are just too dumb to be real. I think Crabbe and Goyle are the illegitimate children of Hagrid or something." Illegitimate? Dudley must've heard that from someone else, because he couldn't imagine such a difficult word having any place in his cousin's vocabulary. "Anyway", Dudley continued, "I'm glad the Malfoy brat switched schools all those years ago. I don't think I could've stopped myself from using a very complicated hex on him otherwise."
At this, Uncle Vernon laughed heartily. It was a kind of deep, yet oddly wet sound as if he was gurgling water.
"That's my boy! Don't ever let anyone get to you", he said and received a saucy smile from Dudley.
He had noticed how some words could mean the same thing while at the same time have two completely different meanings.
Like the word 'boy'. When Uncle Vernon spoke to Dudley and called him boy, it was because he was proud Dudley was his son and that he loved him. But when Uncle Vernon called him boy, it was because he was a freak and to show he wasn't worth anything.
This used to confuse him when he was smaller. He had thought that boy was only a word for children that had been very bad, and that maybe Dudley had also been bad when Uncle Vernon called him that. But then Uncle Vernon said that his Dudley was never bad and that he would never be angry at his little boy.
He thought Uncle Vernon said strange things sometimes. It was difficult to always understand.
"Speaking of young Mr. Malfoy, dear, I heard from Professor McGonagall that his father was over at Hogwarts this week", said Aunt Petunia. She had that glint in her eye that said she was ready to suck up every bit of gossip she could get.
Dudley's face brightened up suddenly and he actually left his plate to speak to his mother.
"Yes, Lucius Malfoy came to tell us about politics in case anyone was interested in going into that business after school, but really we just talked about Chrestomanci. It was awesome." Dudley looked thoughtful for a moment before stating, "I want to meet him someday."
"Chrestomanci?" pressed Aunt Petunia, looking as excited as a child put in front of a lollipop. "What did he say?"
Dudley cleared his throat and took on an expression of importance; a slight failure because of the sauce smeared all over his face.
"You see, mother, Lucius Malfoy, or Lord Malfoy, revealed that he was Chrestomanci's secretary. You wouldn't believe the things he told us."
"Oh, do go on, Duddykins! Tell us more", encouraged his mother.
Dudley went on with rambling endless details about how Lord Malfoy had told them Chrestomanci lived in a castle hidden where no one could find it unless Chrestomanci wanted them to, and how you had to go there by carriage, because only Chrestomanci could apparated or use portkey inside the wards, and how the carriage looked and that it was made in Switzerland or Sweden or somewhere else and it was blue.
He thought it sounded magnificent. He listened as if he was bewitched to every word that Dudley spoke, every simple description that he struggled to get right with his uncomplicated words. Still, he could not stop listening.
He knew who Chrestomanci was. Everyone knew who Chrestomanci was. He was the King of all wizards and witches and magical creatures in all the worlds. Chrestomanci was the most powerful wizard of all, even more than Dudley. It was said he was so powerful, he was immortal.
He admired Chrestomanci with all that he was. If he could see, just get a glimpse, of the man, then he was sure he'd be happy for the rest of his life no matter what the Dursleys did to him.
The family around the table went on to speaking about their plans for the weekend, much to his disappointment, and he stood listening to Dudley whining about how he had to take lessons in music and art even on his free time. After a while, they went quiet again and just ate.
He had to stay there, in case one of his relatives would ask for something. Like now, for example, when his cousin lifted his face from the plate to snap his head up and look at him.
"Freak", he spat, pieces of meat sailing to the floor from his mouth. "Where's the dessert?"
"In the oven", he said politely.
Dudley sniffed, as if he was a pig looking for fruit. He nearly snorted. As if Dudley would ever eat a fruit.
When his cousin couldn't smell what the dessert was, he demanded, "What is it? How much is it?"
"Bakewell tart, two of them."
"Bakewell tart?" asked Dudley, nose wrinkling with irritation and confusion. "I don't think I've eaten that before. I don't think I'll like it."
He fidgeted nervously with the hem of his hand-me-down shirt. "It's kind of like a pie with-"
"Mum, I don't like the food Freak made today. It's disgusting", stated the fat boy, although he had just gladly eaten of the steak he'd made.
Aunt Petunia gave her son a sympathetic look and then turned angry eyes on him. Her lips were pressed together, causing her to make that face that meant he was in trouble.
"Look what you've done, boy. Can't even cook like a normal person, that's how much of a freak you are. Wasn't enough for you to be a squib already, you just had to sink even lower. Now my dear Duddykins will be hungry because you messed it all up."
They were all glaring at him now. He stood there stiffly, waiting for one of them to explode; most likely Uncle Vernon or Dudley.
Surprisingly, none of them did anything worse than Uncle Vernon turning purple. The fat man bit out, "Go to your cupboard, and stay there. We're going out for dinner tonight."
He wasn't about to complain. He offered a quick "Yes, sir", and hurried to the safety of his cupboard.
He only hoped the day would end like this.
~/Nine\\~
Aunt Petunia left the kitchen soon after to 'powder her nose' in the bathroom on the second floor. He had heard how Uncle Vernon had firecalled a place called The Leaky Cauldron in London to book a table. He wondered if the restaurant was perhaps nearby Diagon Alley. Not that he had the faintest clue what Diagon Alley really was, except for being a part of the magic community, but Dudley had bragged about it when he'd come home with a wand when they were eleven.
The door to the bathroom upstairs closed with a bang and then went quiet. Aunt Petunia was sensitive about her privacy and always put up both locking charms on the door and several layers of silencing spells. He figured she'd be staying up there with her makeup for a good while.
He dug out his book from under the mattress and curled up under his sheet, wanting to savour the feel of it while he still had it. Chances were small that Uncle Vernon would forget about his promise and take it away.
A hand came up to his cheek to touch where his Uncle has slapped him. It wouldn't bruise, after all. Just turn red for a while. He was sure Uncle Vernon had done so on purpose so he could still work outside in the garden.
He let it go and switched on the naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling and opened to the page he'd been on. The book would chase away thoughts of his relatives.
He wasn't supposed to be able to read, much less have a book in his possession. He'd only learned because he'd eavesdropped on Dudley and Aunt Petunia when his cousin had been taught to read. Sometimes, he'd been able to sneak a few of the easy books into his cupboard before nightfall when the Dursleys were too tired to notice anything was gone.
This had led to his love for books and his need for learning everything he could remember. At that moment in time, he was devoting his free time to books of history. He'd snagged a book on the subject from Dudley's bag. The boy had only assumed he'd lost in at Hogwarts and Uncle Vernon had bought him a new.
He was reading peacefully about ancient Rome when suddenly the small door to his cupboard slammed open and was replaced by a walrus… he meant Uncle Vernon.
"Now, about that sh-" The words seemed to clog themselves together in that fat throat with a choking sound. Those blueish eyes widened comically when they settled on the history book in his lap.
He immediately felt something akin to panic rise inside him. He didn't know what else to do then hide his treasure again before Uncle Vernon could react and take it away from him. His hands trembled as he twisted to push it in under his mattress, and it just went under when meaty hands grabbed his arms and threw him out of his cupboard.
Uncle Vernon slammed him up against the wall next to the small door, making sure his head knocked back hard. He moaned pitifully.
"Where did you get that?!" roared his Uncle, face close to his. He thought he might go deaf for real this time.
"I- I didn't-"
"You fucking stole it, didn't you, freak?! You took it from Dudley!" He was slammed back again. Stars appeared before his eyes, making Uncle Vernon blurry even though he had his glasses on.
"I'm sorry", he gasped. "I will never do it again."
"Like hell you'll never do it again, scum. When will you bloody understand that you're not worth anything?" Uncle Vernon spat.
A hand closed around his throat tightly. He tried to swallow but found he couldn't. Vernon stared him in the eye as he slowly choked him.
"Please… sir", he croaked out, pleading with his eyes. He couldn't breath.
Uncle Vernon sneered ugly, but released his hold. He fell to the ground, coughing so hard his ribs hurt. It felt like he had breathed in nails and they had embedded themselves in his throat and lungs.
While he was doing his best to catch his breath, he caught sight of Uncle Vernon turning to his cupboard. With dawning realization, he understood what was going to happen next.
"No!" he wheezed out hoarsely. He was going to take away his book!
"Shut up, freak! If you value your life, you stay out of this." His Uncle bent down and halfway disappeared into the small space under the stairs. He heard noises of Uncle Vernon trying to dig out the book from underneath the mattress.
"Don't!" he rasped and fought to get up to his feet. He staggered to his Uncle and tried to grip the man's shirt to pull him out.
Uncle Vernon growled and reached behind him to push him away. He knocked into the doorframe to the living room and saw red.
In the same moment that Uncle Vernon let out a triumphant "Ah!" and started to crawl out, there was a loud sound of glass breaking from within the cupboard. The enormous man let out a surprised shout and made to stand straight, but hit the back of his head against upper edge of the doorway and fell to the floor with a loud thud.
He stood unsure for several seconds, just looking at the unconscious body of Vernon Dursley. It would've probably been a lot longer before he moved if it hadn't been for the small fire that was now eating up his sheets and mattress.
The lightbulb had exploded, sending sparks everywhere and igniting whatever they reached.
He wasn't planning on standing there any longer if the flames were going to spread. The history book was in Uncle Vernon's slack hand. He reached forwards and snagged it quickly to save it from the fire. Then, he hid it under his too big T-shirt and ran to the base of the stairs.
He was about to call for Aunt Petunia when he remembered that she had charms placed on the door. She wouldn't hear him anyway. Instead, he recalled Dudley placing himself in front of the television and went there. He had to step over Uncle Vernon to get there.
"Dudley", he called out, not sure if his cousin would hear over the volume. Taking a look over his shoulder, he saw that the flames were steadily growing. They were very close to Uncle Vernon's head now.
Dudley grunted. That was technically a yes in his language.
"There's a fire! We have to get out, now!"
Another grunt, a nod, and nothing else was his answer. Whale Jr. didn't move from his spot on the couch. He stared at his cousin disbelievingly. Behind him, smoke began to billow out in dark grey clouds. They had to leave the house soon if they didn't want to choke to death.
"Dudley, I mean it! Get your fat arse out of the bloody sofa before I leave without you", he screamed, surprising himself. He couldn't remember using words like that out loud.
Thankfully, Dudley finally snapped out of it. He twisted around to stare at him open-mouthed with the television still going in the background, showing a childish cartoon.
Dudley's gaze shifted to the burning flight of stairs. If it was possible, his eyes grew larger. An indignant squeak escaped his cousin and he was on his feet with surprising speed, racing for the back door leading to the garden. The hallway to the front entrance was too filled with fire and fainted Vernon for either of them to pass through there.
He followed his cousin as the boy ran out and threw himself dramatically on the grass as if he had just escaped a dragon. He guessed that wasn't too far from the truth.
Dudley was panting heavily from his little run when he came out from the house, having walked calmly. He had… forgotten about trying to drag out Uncle Vernon from the cupboard, but as he turned back to look through the windows of the perfectly clean kitchen, he caught sight of the big body starting to move in the hallway.
It was too late for Vernon Dursley, he decided when his Uncle sat up and his hair was on fire.
He turned away from the sight.
Fire had spread everywhere within seconds. He couldn't deny being scared; the heat of the flames burned against his skin and a pillar of smoke rose towards the innocently blue sky, staining it. But, he found when analysing the feeling, the fear was not for his two relatives still in the house. Later, he would face guilt for being so emotionless at the knowledge of their deaths. After all, they had raised him.
He was only scared of the fire, though, and as he watched the flames climb high, he clutched his history book tightly against his chest and listened to Dudley snivelling on the grass and the screaming of a burning whale inside a house he would never return to ever again.