Hunter
AN: There is a lot of exposition in this chapter, so get comfy
Lily smiled as she watched Harry summon his stuffed dragon in his sleep, his magic already powerful and very instinctual at such a young age. Harry would be a powerful wizard when he got older, maybe even more so than Dumbledore and Voldemort, and watching him only made Lily's resolve strengthen. She hated living in hiding, unable to even leave the house, and she didn't buy the prophecy Dumbledore had told her and James for a second. She was an Unspeakable for Merlin's sake, prophecies were never that vague, they tended to be scary accurate, and there was supposed to be no potential for self-fulfillment. But the prophecy Dumbledore had told them was just that, vague and entirely self-fulfilling, there wasn't even a specific name or description for who was involved! But it didn't matter if she believed it, Dumbledore and Voldemort both did, and that was enough to scare her and James into hiding.
They had been in hiding for so long that they were going stir crazy, James was never meant to stay still for so long, and Lily hated not even being able to relax in her own backyard! It was even worse for Harry, his skin was far too pale compared to James light tan and her own creamy ivory, and she made sure to sit in the sun coming through the windows as often as she could. Lily treasured her time with Harry, she knew it would not last for much longer, and she did not regret anything she had planned.
Being an Unspeakable gave Lily a rather spectacular advantage over both Dumbledore and Voldemort, she had access to otherwise forgotten and sometimes forbidden magicks that they never would. Lily could be quite persuasive when she wanted to be, and she was a literal genius with spellwork and finding creative ways to use pre-existing magicks, and she had somehow gotten the head Unspeakable on her side. Before her and her family had gone into hiding, she had been granted full access to everything in the Department of Mysteries and released from her oaths, as well as allowed to keep her Unspeakable Tome. The tome was blood-bound so only herself and, in the future, Harry could use it, and it held all the knowledge of the Unspeakables since they had come into existence. It was quite a bit of knowledge too, the Unspeakables had been around long before the Ministry of Magic was even a thought, and it had allowed her to find exactly what she needed to protect her child.
Lily had used her tome to set up all manner of protective spells over Harry, creating a veritable web of magic that was so strong it was a part of him, and it was only fueled by the slow siphoning of her magical core into Harry's. James knew what she was doing, had tried to help her find another way, but this was the only way she was certain would work. Best case scenario, she would survive when Voldemort attacked and be a squib for the rest of her life, worst-case scenario, she would be killed and the release of whatever remained of her magical core at that point would surge into Harry and strengthen the already unbreakable protections. James and Lily were under no illusions that they would live to see Harry grow up, not with the way the war was going, but they would treasure the time they had with him and make the most of it.
It was Halloween when Voldemort finally attacked, the wards falling suddenly, and James had positioned himself in front of the door while Lily rushed Harry upstairs to the nursery. Everything had been prepared for weeks now, every bit of magic Lily possessed had been poured into Harry's room and Harry himself, and she was little more than a squib now. When James fell, his magic would also go to Harry, starting the chain reaction that would ensure their son's survival, and Lily wasted no time setting Harry in his crib and fastening a small collar around his neck. The collar was indestructible and would be glamored until he was old enough to start using his magic freely, it would also glamor the markings on his wrists and ankles that were part of Lily's protection spell until then. Lily didn't like using a collar, but it had been made specifically for her purposes, keyed to Harry's magic so it could be hidden and appear like the markings already on his skin, and every inch of it was covered in minuscule markings and storage runes that held her Unspeakable Tome as well as several personal items and all of hers and James' magical journals.
She felt James fall and she allowed herself a tear as she leaned down to kiss Harry own last time before she had to let him go. "Mommy loves you, Harry, always remember that." Lily let out a strangled laugh as she thought of the image, her bright green eyes glinting with mischief on James' face, and held back the tears through sheer force of will. "We'll always be with you, Harry. We love you so much, so very much."
Lily spun around as the door to Harry's nursery was blown open, Voldemort striding through radiating power, and Lily stood in front of Harry's crib with determination. She would not beg for her life, she had accepted her death, and she would not allow the Dark Lord to touch a single hair on Harry's head. She begged Voldemort to take her instead, surprised by his vehemence for her to stand aside, but she would not move. Lily screamed as the green light hit her, struggling at the last second to turn and smile at her now bawling son before she died, she would not allow his last sight of her to be her pain. Lily Potter was dead before she hit the ground, but as Voldemort turned his wand on the babe, whispering the same words that had just killed his parents, the spell rebounded and the Dark Lord was gone with an inhumane screech.
Lily had protected her child, saving his life, but the killing curse was a powerful spell. The protections and magicks Lily had woven were weakened considerably, having stopped the unstoppable spell. Had Harry been taken to a magical family that night, the magic would have replenished itself quickly, feeding off the ambient magic that was naturally given off by those who could use it alongside Harry's own. Unfortunately, due to the actions of Albus Dumbledore, it would be some time before the magic was strong enough to protect Harry. But magic could, and often would, adapt to such things, easily able to assimilate to the still developing core of the child and offer what protection it was able. Dumbledore had made a grave error that night, unknowing as it was, that would have consequences he never could have imagined. He would later come to regret leaving the boy with his relatives more than he already did, as well meaning as he might have been, and his decision would haunt him for the rest of his life.
It was a peaceful night at #4 Privet Drive, the Dursley family sleeping soundly as it approached midnight. There was only one occupant still awake at such a late hour, unable to sleep, and locked in his cupboard. Little Harry had been lying awake, staring into the darkness above his small cot, trying to fall asleep for he didn't know long. Every time he felt close to falling asleep, something would keep him awake, a restlessness that he didn't understand. There was something stirring inside him, a warmth that was familiar that he hadn't felt since before he could remember.
The closer it got to midnight, the closer the warmth became, growing stronger and larger, and Harry desperately hoped this wasn't a dream he would forget in the morning. Harry was smarter than any other child his own age, much smarter than the Dursleys realized or gave him credit for, and he knew that something was about to happen. He wasn't disappointed, for when the old clock in the nearby family room struck midnight, the warmth Harry felt become an inferno.
After nearly four years, the magicks Harry's mother had woven had finally finished joining the boy's magic and grown strong enough to protect him once more. The lack of magic in the surrounding area, along with the wards feeding off of Harry's magic, had prolonged the process considerably, but it had finally finished. This fusion, possible only due to Harry's young age leaving his magical core still developing and malleable, had the unfortunate side effect of exposing the intricate markings and collar only Harry had ever been able to see before. The Dursleys would be shocked come morning, as would Harry since they had never taken notice of that particular 'freakishness' of his before, but Harry was more concerned with the weight now resting on his small chest and the blackness that had at some point turned to dimness in his 'room.'
Sitting up slowly, Harry grabbed the weight and held it in front of him, surprised to see a journal in his hands. Luckily, Harry had already started school and knew how to read better than the other children in his class. Dudley chased away anyone who tried to be his friend, so Harry spent much of his time reading in the library where his cousin couldn't bother him. The Dursleys didn't care that Harry was technically too young to have started at school already, they had made a generous contribution to get him enrolled early and out of their hair sooner, and Harry liked not doing chores or sitting in his cupboard all day.
When Harry opened the journal curiously, wanting to know what was in it, he was stopped short at the opening page filled with small text. Harry was an amazing reader for his age, but he was still only five with just a year of school. He'd read lots of picture books, and an increasing number of children's chapter books with large print and simple words, but he couldn't understand all the tightly packed and handwritten words staring back at him.
Harry tried to read the page anyway, recognizing his name along with a number of other words. The word 'sorry' appeared a lot, along with quite a few 'if's, and Harry really wanted to know what the journal said. He couldn't ask Aunt 'Tuny, she would just take it away if she found it, but he wasn't in school right now and he didn't want to take anyways in case Dudley got ahold of it and told Unca Vern'n. The large man would want to know where Harry got the book, and then he would punish him for his 'freakishness' again. He hadn't left his cupboard except for bathroom breaks for a week last time, only getting a glass of water and a piece of bread to eat each day, and his stomach had hurt very badly for the first few days.
Thinking as hard as a five year old could, Harry decided to hide the journal in his cupboard. He would hide it until school started, then he would practice his reading and writing before trying again. Harry carefully stood, holding the journal in his arms, and lighted up the worn mattress. There was a small rip in the underside that the journal would just barely slip through, his family would never find it there, and placed the journal inside.
Afterwards, Harry put his cot back together and laid down. The inferno was still burning, making him quite warm in the already warm and cramped space, but it was no longer restless and keeping him awake. With a wide yawn and a tired rub at his eyes, the warmth lulled Harry to sleep, he would have a busy day tomorrow after his relatives saw the 'new' markings on his skin and the collar around his neck. The adults would have a fit, trying everything they could to remove the collar without success, and Harry would get his first brand new clothes in the form of some very form fitting long sleeve shirts and many pairs of special socks to hide the intricate markings. The elegant lines and swirls that covered his wrists and ankles in black could not possibly be explained away as birthmarks, especially since they certainly hadn't been there before despite Harry telling them otherwise, but Harry was nonetheless happy for clothes that hadn't been Dudley's at some point.
Throughout the next day, the inferno would rage, now tethered to Harry's will instead of his mother's. What would have before lashed out at them for the harm they'd caused Harry would no longer attack them unless Harry wished it or they caused him serious harm in the future. It nearly burned Harry to be around his relatives now, but he had no idea what would happen if he let the warmth act on its own, so he just bared with it and continued life with his relatives like before, keeping a tight grip on the inferno inside him and wishing he didn't have to.
After two years of school, Harry knew that his home life was not normal, as much as the Dursleys would have him believe otherwise. Normal children did not live in cupboards, or have more chores than they were capable of completing. Normal children did not have to cook breakfast for their family every morning and not be allowed to eat any of it. Normal children did not receive only a single meal a day, often of something small or close to expiring or rotting. Normal children were not seen as less than the dirt beneath one's feet by their own family.
Knowing this, hating this, Harry still would not allow himself to let go of the tightly leashed inferno that wanted more than ever to attack after the most recent punishment from his relatives.
Harry and Dudley were out of school once again for the summer, and his relatives were working him like a dog even in the summer heat. The day had been a normal one for the occupants of #4 Privet Drive, Harry had been slaving away with his usual list of chores, weeding the garden, while the Dursleys stayed inside and enjoyed the day in their perfectly air conditioned home. Everything had been business as usual until Uncle Vernon had been growing through the day's mail, getting a couple of missives from the school Harry and Dudley attended.
Being far more concerned with Dudley, the letter about him had been read first. Harry's relatives had been shocked at the grades Dudley had gotten, absolutely abysmal, and there was a very large possibility that Dudley would have to repeat the year. Already angry, for how dare the school fail Dudley with the money they had donated, they were incensed when Harry's grades had been above and beyond perfect. The school actually wanted to test him and see if he was smart enough to skip a grade or two, all of his teachers commenting on how perfect he was as a student, if quite a bit smaller and quieter than most of his age group.
It didn't make any sense, the boy didn't have any time to study or do his homework with the chores they gave him and he was always back earlier than Dudley so he could complete them. Dudley, on the other hand, had plenty of time to do so and had somehow done poorly enough to warrant repeating a year. There was absolutely no way the freak hadn't cheated his way through, somehow sabotaging the Dursley's hardworking, honest boy in the process. It didn't matter how irrational the conclusion was, there was simply no way in Vernon and Petunia Dursley's minds that a freak could ever do anything better than normal folk like them.
Harry had been called inside immediately afterward, yelled at for hours until Uncle Vernon was blue in the face and barely a second away from hitting him if not for a few choice words from his aunt, then sent to his cupboard indefinitely. It had been two weeks since then, and Harry was still in his cupboard. Harry was let out to wash up and use the restroom twice a day, once in the morning after Uncle Vernon left for work and once at night before he came home. Aunt Petunia would give him a glass of water once a day and whatever scraps she deemed fit for him whenever she remembered he needed actual food to survive.
The punishment hadn't been so bad for the first week, the longest they'd ever locked him up before, but it was very quickly wearing him thin as the days passed. Every day, the inferno got a little stronger, while Harry got weaker. Soon, Harry wasn't sure if he would even be able to move when his Aunt came to retrieve him. Each day, it took more and more of Harry's resolve and concentration to keep hold of the inferno, burning him from the inside when his Aunt Petunia was nearby and almost melting him whenever Uncle Vernon walked past his cupboard.
Harry knew, somehow, that if he let that inferno go, let it out to do to his relatives what it wished, that he would regret it deeply. Harry didn't even really know what regret was, five year olds regretted very little and the amount was nothing compared to what adults and even teenagers could regret, but he knew that he would.
Today had been the worst so far, Uncle Vernon was home from work and spending much of his time in the family room. The proximity made the burning worse, leaving Harry delirious at some points, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could take it. Nearly every ounce of his concentration was focused on keeping control, it burned so much and so often now that it was almost cold, like the inferno was no longer of fire but of ice. And, just like ice, it was trying to make Harry numb, numb enough that he would slip and let go long enough for it to get out. But try as it might, Harry would not let go.
Harry had just enough presence of mind to call out a, "Yes, Uncle Vernon," when his uncle yelled something at him from the family room. He didn't realize his relatives had gone until the ice started to melt, the house having gone quiet with Harry as the only one currently there, still locked in his cupboard. For the first time in two weeks, Harry could breathe again. For the first time in a long time, he could relax, even if it was just a little.
With the Dursleys out of the house, likely at a neighbors, Harry finally had a chance to pull out the journal. Harry had worked hard all year, spending every second he could spare in the library or with his teachers. He was determined to read and understand not just the first page, but the entire journal, for every last page had been used and filled with words. He had worked himself to the bone most days, getting all his homework done in class and staying behind to ask questions, spending every recess in the library, nose-deep in whatever book he had his hands on. Things would have been a bit easier if Dudley had not been in his class, his cousin using every opportunity he could to bully him, but it hadn't hindered him very much.
As a result of his hard work, Harry had earned much admiration from the school staff, and was unknowingly quite far ahead of his peers. His reading was nearly high school level, his math and science not far behind, and his grammar, and, as a result, his speech, were incredible for his age. For a boy nearly six years of age, it was a feat nearly unheard of, and Harry was very proud of how smart he was.
Intelligence, and sometimes genius, ran in the Evans' blood. Lily had been a magical genius, Petunia, had she applied herself and not been so obsessed with being normal, could have been an incredible businesswoman and mathematician, numbers were like breathing to her at one point. There were many cases in the Evans' line such as this, though Harry didn't know that, and it seemed his calling, at least at the moment, would be words.
As Harry brought out the journal from its hiding place, taking a fortifying breath as he fully relaxed, he began to read.
There were many things Harry, at five years old, didn't understand. There were also things, at five years old, Harry understood better than most adults ever could. Reading through his mum's journal, for it was hers, there were lots of things that fit into both of these categories.
Harry didn't fully understand that his parents were dead, though he understood that they were 'gone' and couldn't be with him for some reason. He didn't understand war, especially the one his mum wrote about. He didn't understand why blood was so important, he knew everyone had it thanks to all the reading he'd done in school, and that if someone lost enough of it they would be 'gone' like his mum and dad. There were lots more things Harry didn't understand, but there were also lots of things that he did.
Harry understood that his mum and dad loved him very much, and that they didn't want to leave him. He understood that they'd left him alone because they had to, not because they wanted to. He understood that family didn't mean blood, that family was family, and the Dursleys weren't family, they were only relatives, they were only blood. He understood that he had magic, that it was the warmth in his chest, the burning and ice inside that he'd been holding back for so long, and the markings on his skin. Harry also understood that he hadn't been supposed to read his mum's journal until he was older and able to understand more of it.
Eventually, Harry got to the last page, "I love you, Harry," written in his mum's elegant script, with one last note at the end telling him how to hide the journal and collar. Harry had to want to hide journal and collar really hard to put them away, and really hard to bring them back out. Now he didn't have to worry about Dudley destroying the journal, or Aunt Petunia throwing it away, because nobody could get it unless Harry gave it to them, and he wasn't going to do that. Ever.
Harry lay on his cot that night, never noticing that the Dursleys had yet to return, and smiled up at the dimness. He thought about his mum and dad, about the warmth of his magic and the ice, and about family. He paused, thinking about the journal and collar he had hidden because he wanted them hidden, before thinking about family again. If Harry could hide something, then maybe, if he really, really, really, wanted something, he could have it.
Harry closed his eyes, face scrunching up in concentration, and wanted.
Harry lay there for he didn't know how long, wanting as much as he could, when he felt the warmth and the ice respond. The ice surged, overflowing, and Harry didn't stop it this time. There was another surge, the ice surrounding him while the warmth spread through him, and suddenly Harry was gone. The Dursleys would return two days later, after a visit to Vernon's sister, to an empty home, Harry's cupboard still locked from the outside.
