Harry was not as old as the numbers of fingers on his left hand, but not by much. It was silly. He couldn't count past three, but he knew his left from right.
He only knew right from left because Aunt 'Tuni didn't like it when he put the bowls in the cabinet to the left of the sink rather than the right. And he knew the number three because that's how many plates should be on the table.
Harry did know what the other numbers looked like, but not how to say them. Dudders had thrown a book at Harry with all the numbers in it. Dudders and his parents didn't notice that Harry had hidden it away in his cupboard.
At his age of above three, but less than all the fingers on one hand, Harry was a very busy boy. He was never sure when he fell asleep, but was woken every morning by his uncle toddling down the stairs, each step a crash of thunder. He never heard his aunt though—until she slid the bolt open to his cupboard then it was, "Wake up, you ungrateful wretch!" The same words every time followed by any combination of orders.
Harry went through making breakfast in a haze. He was too short to reach the counters or stove so he constantly had to move a wooden stool around the kitchen to just get the utensils—He dragged the splintering steps once and received a firm shaking for 'scratching the floor'.
He made breakfast, mouth watering bacon and sausage for Dudders and Uncle Vernon with toast sopped in butter. Juicy fruit diced into uniform pieces with a side of thick vanilla yogurt for Aunt 'Tuni.
And Harry had his own decadent breakfast, one he imagined while scrubbing dishes, clumps of fat clinging onto his skin in the tepid soap water, his fingers pruning as he clutched onto the metal scrubber. It was nearly up to his elbows. Then the inevitable splash of dishes dropped into the water by his aunt. He always made sure to keep his eyes closed when that happened, not wanting the soap to sting his eyes again.
Then it was one impossible task after another, cleaning between the slats of wooden floor with a toothpick, pushing a vacuum that was taller than him, trying to prune roses with sheers he could barely lift.
It was another hot summer day. Outside was sweltering, but there he had a chance to drink from the spigot. Inside the house was pleasantly cool, but he wasn't allowed even a sip of water under Aunt 'Tuni's watchful eyes.
There was one thing about being outside that Harry liked, but dared not even think of it. He was already called freak enough as is. If the Durseys found out…
He was forced, though he put up no fight, to work in the garden. Today he was going to eat. But first he'd have to wait for his aunt to stop watching him. He wasn't sure how he knew she was watching him. But it was an instinct that he trusted wholeheartedly.
It only took her fifteen minutes to lose interest. Harry carefully went behind the shed where all the gardening equipment and other knickknacks were held. He hissed out a, "Hello," and was greeted by three different snakes.
Each one was carrying a squirming rat.
Harry let out a sigh of relief, his stomach clenching in anticipation.
More snakes appeared, but carried nothing.
"Speaker," Meeko, the oldest of the brown snakes said, "we bring offerings and hope for your blessing in return."
"May your knowledge overflow, prey cross your paths, and life lived many years," he recited. There were hisses of pleasure, scales quivering, snakes coiling as a faint light enveloped them. Harry didn't understand why it made them so happy. He only knew about the promise from a traveling snake whose name he couldn't remember. He was just happy that it made the snakes his friends and more likely to help him.
Harry wasted no time digging up the little pocket knife behind the shed. It was in a little baggy. Beside it was another baggy of wetwipes that he had carefully collected to clean up with later on.
He took a squirming rat from the first snake and expertly killed and cleaned it. He held the meat in his hands, concentrating hard. Soon the rat was cooked, smelling like a feast. Harry ate slowly, savoring every bite. Tears escaped his eyes, gratitude warming him. Best of all there were two more rats waiting for him.
He let the cleaned bones down and just like the snakes had done to the rat's innards and fur, they ate it to leave no trace behind.
Before he could start on the second rat another snake appeared carrying a plant in its mouth. It dropped it before Harry. "An herb, speaker." It bobbed its head at him and slithered backwards respectfully. Harry reached out and touched the snake, repeating the blessing again, his throat feeling tight.
He loved the snakes beyond measure, and if being able to talk to them made him a freak, then so be it.
Sirius was a rare type of pureblooded wizard. He was actually interested in the muggle world. The only other person like him was Arthur Weasely. The pair weren't exactly friends. In fact, Sirius had no friends. Well, he had friends—past tense. He didn't have any now.
Remus had run tail between legs from Britain when he learned of Peter's betrayal, unable handle it. Sirius barely heard a word from him, but the yearly slip of a letter thanking Sirius for funding his wolfsbane potions. As much as that rankled Sirius, he didn't stop giving what was more or less an allowance to the grown man.
It was strange that Remus had been the mature one growing up, yet refused to face one friend's betrayal when he could have stayed and been with two friends.
And James Potter… Sirius always thought Lily would be the voice of reason, and yet…
Sirius gathered up two newspapers, off to do his Sunday evening ritual. He checked his appearance as he passed a mirror and found everything to be in order. Reaching the floo he called out, "St Mungos".
It was easy to find his way to the Janus Thickery Ward. No one stopped him, though Sirius did pause to flirt with a mediwitch. It was idle banter though. Despite his cousin Dromeda's nagging he didn't want to settle down.
In the ward he found Alice and Frank Longbottom, faces slack and eyes unseeing. Sirius was already hardened his heart to the sight. On the nightstand between them was fresh flowers and a tin with Sirius' name on it. He opened the tin and ate one of the biscuits from it. A gift from Augusta Longbottom. She called it a bribe and he didn't try to argue with her.
Sirius settled next to Frank, opening up the Daily Prophet. It was a bunch of rubbish, but he read it aloud from front to back.
"Bloody runes puzzle." Sirius folded the newspaper so that the puzzle was face up. He placed it in Frank's lap, trying not to remember how he once finished them with glee. Now he didn't even notice it. One of the attendants stopped by to give him tea. "Thanks love," he said softly.
Sirius took a moment to enjoy his tea, his eyes flitting around idly. A scribbled drawing in crayon. His heart ached. He knew it was made by little Neville, but he couldn't help thinking of another little boy.
And it also made his anger flare.
Such a noxious combination that he felt even now. He was so angry at James and Lily. Sirius was supposed to be Harry's godparent, the one to watch over him. Instead the pair decided to dump Harry who knows where. Their logic was shite and the only reason he ever talked to James was because he was a fellow Auror.
It was a job he held more out of spite than an actual desire to hunt down the idiot muggle-baiters and dark artifacts. He made sure James saw him, saw the hate, and how he could so easily put an end to it by just bringing Harry back.
Sirius set aside his half-finished tea and picked up the second newspaper he'd brought, a muggle one.
"You'll like this one, Alice," he said goodheartedly. "A muggle grew a radish that is bigger than your head!" He chuckled.
Sirius continued through the paper, peppering it with anecdotes and dry observations.
But it was on the third page that he felt the air knocked out of him.
Child from Surrey Still Missing
He scanned the article, every breath feeling tighter than the last. It was Harry, his little pup.
He stood and apparated in one motion.
Appearing in front of Lily and James' home, he was prepared to destroy any wards that surrounded the place, but with a sneer realized they were still attuned to him. A house elf opened the front door, greeting Sirius. It was smart enough to move out of his way when it saw the look on his face.
It wasn't hard to find James. He was eating lunch with Lily. The pair looked up at him with wide eyes. James stood—and was properly knocked to the ground by a swift sucker punch. James had sent Harry to the muggles, Sirius was going to do this the muggle way.
Sirius knocked the wand out of Lily's hand and punched her in the stomach, fair was fair after all. This was half her fault. His fury was still pulled to James though. He'd been his best mate and felt even more betrayed than with Peter.
He stomped on James' wand arm. He felt it give under his foot.
The beating went on, a red haze, until Lily tackled him to the side. She was shouting at him. He didn't listen. He shoved her off and grabbed the newspaper he'd dropped at some point. Wands were pointed at him, but he didn't care. He shoved the article into James' blood mug.
"This is what you did! If you didn't think you couldn't protect Harry, then you should have given him to me!" And tears were in Sirius' eyes, but he didn't care. All his anger had been spent, leaving only sadness and fear. "You did this!"
James took the paper, reading it, eyes hurrying across the page.
Lily grabbed her wand, holding it in a white knuckled grip. She didn't turn her attention away from Sirius. "James?" she asked.
He took in a shaky breath, wounds forgotten. "Lily-flower, Harry's missing."
Her concentration was broken. "What?"
"Vernon is dead and Harry's missing." He handed the paper to Lily. "I'm going to gather some Aurors and Dumbledore." He disapparated.
Lily's breathing started to quicken, hands trembling.
"Where in Surrey? I need to start looking." She didn't seem to hear him. "Lily!" She flinched bodily.
She held out her arm wordlessly, tears in her eyes. He grabbed it, side-along-apparating to a neighborhood with tiny houses that he knew weren't bigger on the inside. They were uniform in an unnatural way. Beige, white, and occasionally pale blue. Grass strangely short and plants more for beauty than function. He'd been in muggle neighborhoods before, but those had felt alive. This one felt cold.
This time, Lily grabbed his arm, pulling him through wards that would have otherwise chewed him up and spit him out. Lily didn't bother knocking, unlocking the door with a wordless spell. He followed Lily down the too clean hallway until they reached a living room.
"You!" a shrill voice screeched. A bird like woman stood. Though he knew she was Lily's sister he found that hard to believe. The pair looked completely different at first, but then he noticed they were both skinny. Unhealthily skinny. "This is your freak's fault!" She jumped Lily, her claw like fingers dug into Lily's neck, a child started crying in the background.
Sirius perked up, leaving the sisters to themselves. He found the child and he deflated. This fat child, this butterball was not Harry. It took less than a second for him to ascertain that. He wished he had a calming draught so he could properly question the child.
He left the round thing, going back to Lily and her sister.
The pair was perfectly still, Lily peering into Petunia's eyes unwaveringly. Illegal legilimens, not that Sirius would report her. He would have done it if Lily hadn't beaten him to it.
Lily broke away, dropping to her hands and knees and vomiting all over Petunia's feet.
Petunia shrieked, stumbling backwards and into a wall, knocking down a pastel painting. "Filthy animal! Get out! Get out!"
Lily stood, her face chalky with a sheen of sweat over it. She raised her wand, Avada—Sirius didn't let her finish the unforgivable spell. He pulled her away, trying to save her from going to Azkaban. Even Lily didn't deserve that.
She broke down in his arms, a sobbing mess. Dread settled in Sirius chest. Petunia was still shouting, moving to threats. She made to a phone, but Sirius stunned her. "Get it together, Lily. Where is Harry?"
"I don't—I don't know!" she sobbed, clutching at him painfully. "Merlin, they abused him! They starved and beat him!" Sirius froze. "And a bloody snake—some giant constrictor killed Vernon and probably killed and ate Harry!"
The butterball came in, blubbering as he spotted his mother. "Mum! Mum, where's daddy?" He asked the question over and over, shaking her unconscious form.
Sirius wasn't going to waste any time comforting Lily. He had to find Harry. "Which one is Harry's room?" That only made Lily weep harder. He shook her. "Which one, Lily!"
She pointed to the stairs. He headed towards them, but when he took the first step up, Lily made another noise. "No, no below the stairs, in the cupboard."
Sirius clenched his teeth and nearly shattered them when he saw an array of locks on the tiny cupboard door. With he flick of his wand the door flew off its hinges and embedded it in the far wall.
The faint scent of piss hit him when he got on his hands and knees to get in. A jar of urine pushed to the side. A blanket so thin it was sheer, a pile of grey and brown clothes balled up in a facsimile of a pillow, and a single book—bright colored with large font. And there was a bare lightbulb hanging down, blown and unable to light up the cross of a dungeon and coffin, yet worse in many ways.
He emptied the cupboard frantically, searching for one wit of happiness, something to prove this was all some joke, some sick joke, but now he understood why she'd vomited. He was dangerously close to doing the same.
He hadn't heard Lily sitting by the cupboard, crying silently and clutching her wand to her chest. Sirius ignored her.
He took in a deep breath and cost a spell, Point me Harry! But his wand didn't even twitch. That meant nothing, or at least he hoped he was just too far away for it to work.
He turned towards the strewn guts of the cupboard.
Curare Harry!
But none of the items lit up. They were the things that made up Harry's room. But Harry didn't hold any of the items dear enough for him to leave a mark.
Curare Harry!
Curare Harry!
Curare Harry!
But nothing glowed with warmth—there was nothing that warmed Harry's heart in this hell house.
"Try the garden," Lily whispered, her eyes locked on to the blanket. He heard others arrived and recognized James' voice. He ignored them.
The garden was beautiful, yet looked like it hadn't been cared for in a week—the exact amount of time Harry had been gone.
He pointed at the shed, Curare Harry! Nothing.
He broke open the shed and tried to spell on the equipment in there. Nothing.
Desperation clutched him. He threw the spell around at everything he saw, unconcerned for any muggle that might see him.
And finally, just the barest glimmer, a patch of dirt behind the shed. He nearly wept. He touched the dirt with one hand and balanced his wand on the palm of his other hand. Curare ad cor!
His wand twitched, but gave him no direction. The air was punched out of him and he heard hollowed words of comfort from one of his fellow Aurors. He tried again and again with the same results.
Sirius only stopped when Dumbledore gently pulled him back, "Let me try, my boy." His words were soft. Sirius looked at him with tear blurred eyes. He stumbled backwards as Dumbledore sat down. He hmm-ed and hummed. Sirius nearly tackled him when he dug into the dirt, but then Dumbledore found something. Two things.
Dumbledore said softly, but with power, Curare Harry. The bagged, folded knife lit up and so did Sirius. Others gathered around them, bated breath. Dumbledore held the knife in one hand and his wand on his palm.
Curare ad cor.
His wand jerked to the left—then to the right, every movement a flicker of hope. But then it started spinning in all and no direction. Minutes passed, hope dying.
With the care and heart Harry had placed in that little knife, the powerful tracking spell should have easily pointed them in Harry's direction, no matter how far, but it didn't.
No one wanted Dumbledore to stop the spell, but it had been too long. He was the strongest wizard in Britain and debatably the world. But the spell was leading them nowhere.
Finite incantatum. His wand stilled and there was more than one stifled sob.
Because the only reason the spell wouldn't point the way was if his heart was gone, dead, and no longer recognizable.