He was diving... down down down, wind rushing past his ears, a roaring surrounding him. His blood pumped too hard and his heart pounded too quickly. He couldn't help but grin as he dived. Almost like flying-
Falling.
-and it was better than anything he had ever done before.
Harry landed on the ground, remembrall in his hand, and smiled at the amazed first years around him. He saw Ron, his first ever friend, grinning at him wildly. Draco Malfoy, the awful boy that reminded him of his cousin, was pouting like a five year old. Griffindor was cheering, so loudly, so loudly, and he felt proud of himself.
He walked over to his newest friend, heart still beating wildly as he exclaimed how 'wicked that was, that he was amazing'.
Harry simply grinned, eyes shining with unspoken happiness.
"HARRY POTTER!"
-0-0-0-
He was on the Quidditch team. Amazing. And he couldn't wait to be just like his dad. There was training the following morning, and McGonagall hadn't even taken any points off!
As Harry felt himself walking to the infirmary he paused, face slightly confused.
He didn't remember going here before.
He blinked for a second, thinking that the world might have tilted on its axis, before shaking his head and walking inside.
The smell of antiseptic filled his nose, where was he?
Harry felt his legs stop moving. He hadn't been here. He hadn't. But, as he looked around, he couldn't help but wince slightly, as if in pain, as he watched Neville lying on the bed. The boy reminded him of himself, so stoic and impassive, as if used to it, and Harry had to cock his head to the side in confusion.
Since when was he used to this?
He called out softly,
"Neville."
Only for the other boy to tense. He watched as he gripped the white sheets of the bed with his hands, they were healed, and then forced himself to relax. Something ached in Harry's chest, and he didn't know what it was.
"Harry?"
The chubby boy sat up, turned to him, still sitting on the bed. There were tear streaks down his face, almost dried, and Harry couldn't help but feel angry at the other boy.
Why can he cry when I can't?
What. That didn't make sense. Since when was he not allowed to cry? Harry should feel sorry -pity never helps- for Neville, not this sense of... of... rage.
Harry didn't really get angry. He liked to think he was a very calm child.
Hitting a wall until his knuckles bled. "Why me! Why? Why? Why!" The boy wasn't crying, he wasn't. He wasn't allowed to cry.
"Harry?"
Neville's unfamiliar voice broke him out of his daze. He blinked, watching the other boy through wary eyes, and said quietly,
"Malfoy stole your remembrall so I stole it back."
Harry couldn't really remember what a remembrall was for. The information seemed... fuzzy. His brain seemed to be swirling around and around, making emotions he just didn't feel roil up inside of him.
The other boy stared in shock. Looking at the glass ball in his hand, before his brow furrowed.
"Harry, thank you- Wait. Why is it red?"
He didn't stutter. Didn't Neville usually stutter?
The boy stuttered, blushing terribly, as the teacher scorned him. He shouldn't have to be embarrassed but he was. Of course they wouldn't believe him! How could he have been so stupid?
Harry glanced down at the ball in his grip. Sure enough, red smoke was filling it angrily. His palm heated slightly with magic- how do I know what magic feels like?- and he stared at it.
He looked back at Neville who had stood up. Harry asked softly, feeling less bold than he did before,
"Is it supposed to do that?"
Neville blinked,
"My gran gave it to me, a family heirloom. I... don't remember exactly what it is for. Wait! Memories, that's it, if you put it in your hand and it turns red it means you've forgotten something and... Oh..."
As Neville's face scrunched up Harry thought the object was a bit stupid. It doesn't tell what you've forgetten anything? Being told there is something you have forgotten doesn't help much.
His throat went dry as he saw the smoke change to black.
He sat on the park bench, it was night, dark, and he was glad for the lamp light. They couldn't find him here, couldn't find him and steal his books. He could read as much as he wanted.
Remembrall- is a magical object. Modern day remembralls tell a person when they have forgotten something, whereas olden day remembralls have the ability to restore memories that have been hidden.
Harry... Harry... didn't remember that happening.
What was happening?
His eyes glazed and he fell to the ground, he felt like his eyes were going to close, and something in the back of his mind was screaming for him to get away. That he was unsafe there. That they would simply retake the remembrall and his memories and he was hyperventilating. The world was spinning. And Neville was frightened too.
"I've never seen it turn black before. I'll get Madame Pomphrey."
And Harry gasped for breath, memories... so many, clouding his mind and he... and he...
There was a boy, he couldn't be much older than five years old, and he was cowering down behind a familiar man.
"Freak."
The man said. The boy tried to hide more. Tried to hide. Tried to forget. But he couldn't, and he screamed, as the man striked him right across the face. Blood, crimson like the red sun, fell from his nose, and he whimpered.
The boy, much older than before, almost eight, he was so proud. So proud. He was so old now. Old enough to take care of himself. The boy, the uncle, he had hit him for the first time that night. And ti was enough to push him over the edge, he felt the energy, his freakishness, and he pushed back. He felt like he had done it before but he did. He pushed back and his uncle fell and he was free.
The boy, only nine, felt rage he had never felt bubble beneath the surface as he found a trunk in the attic. Burnt pictures that barely showed his parents. And he tried, tried to breath, but he couldn't. He couldn't move. And his eyes felt ripped open as he stared at the cold darkness of the cupboard. He felt like he was drowning. And that night, as his uncle, hit him for the first time, he ran. He ran as far and as fast as he could.
Whispered curses of 'Freak.' and 'Get back here' and hate followed him down the road he ran. And he ran. As fast as his too little legs could carry him. He didn't know where to go but he knew he needed to break free or he would never be free. Anger pooled like super powers in his gut, and for a split second in time Harry believed he would finally be free. He held that feeling close to his heart and screamed out his cursed fate that followed him wherever he went.
He cried that "I WILL BE FREE" and he let go of everything that had been holding him back. He ran. And maybe he ran far enough. And maybe now he was remembering as things disloged and the figure with a long grey beard and a wand was thrown to the forefront of his mind.
And he saw that man. Staring down at him. With large blue eyes, twinkling. But he knew that man was angry, the man he couldn't remember, because he was angry too.
And Harry screamed.
Years coming back.
And his eyes were wide and manic and crazy and mad.
And he held up his hand.
Pooled his freakishness super powers MAGIC and...
-0-0-0-
Harry laughed off the uneasy feeling in his chest as he returned to the common room with Neville that night. He had the strange compulsion that he didn't want to talk to Neville. That Neville was...
Not Harry.
And when Seamus asked, eyes perking with excitement at what had happened that flying lesson, about a remembrall.
Harry simply stared, cogs not clicking together, and took the reprieve when Ron gave it.
"Mate, want to play a game of chess?"
He looked away from the shy boy in the common room, focused on his game, and never realised the dazed look Neville had was the same as his own.
-0-0-0-