Chapter 2

A/N

Thanks to MageofMyth, Lubnah10, DZ2, and Undercover Operative for reviewing!

The next day, the Dursleys still hadn't returned; Harry took advantage of their absence by poring over his numerous texts. Nothing said anything about nuances in the brain; so it must be particular to him. Or perhaps not; his books were very foggy about the idea of wandless, controlled magic altogether; this may very well be a new field of magic. The very thought made him very excited.

It wasn't that he wanted to take over the world. Too much work, really; and in his country, with him ruling, the world would obviously descend into anarchy.

No; he just wanted to wield a staff. Like Gandalf. Not for any particular reason, mind you, other than its power advantage over the conventional wand. It simply seemed… cooler. Nicer. Better to have. Not that he complained about his phoenix core wand; oh, no. This one was, undoubtedly, the most powerful weapon he'd ever grasped- and that included the Dursleys' German kitchen knife.

Ah, the Dursleys' kitchen knife… he'd once brained Aunt Marge's dog with it once; he'd gotten sentenced to a week in the cupboard. Ah, the good old days.

A loud tapping snapped him out of his reverie; he blinked to find Hedwig tapping rather impatiently on the windowsill.

"Yes, girl?" he cooed, hurriedly untying the thick parchment wrapped around her leg. The owl post system had taken some getting used to; there were so many flaws than Harry could count. Eventually, he'd had to settle with an Impervious charm and a Privacy Protection charm on his letters; he'd have preferred more formal, civilized methods of communication. Like passing notes. Or email.

Civilized to him, anyway. Notes and email certainly didn't require stamps. They were so much easier to handle.

If he ever became Prime Minister, he'd have to rectify quite a lot of illogical things in the Wizarding world.

He grasped the letter with both hands and tore it open; it bore no signature, but no inkling of Dark Magic either. It seemed almost… normal. Harry'd half-expected it to explode or something, given the things he'd seen, but this letter did nothing of the sort.

He flipped it open and squinted upon the bold, archaic runes inscribed onto the parchment.

He tapped his finger onto the paper. It instantly glowed an emerald green. He gasped as a ball of fierce light enveloped him, smashing and crushing everything around him. A tiny thread, a restricting thread, cracked under the pressure.

Power instantly surged to his fingertips. "Aha!" he screamed, exhilarated. A blast of energy escaped his palms and slammed into the wall, carving deep, angry scorch marks into the hard plastic.

Whatever the rune had done… he liked it. Something, a power barrier, it seemed, had been cracked. He turned it over. 'Harry Potter' was printed in large, shaky cursive letters under the sender's box. He laughed. This person had a sense of humor.

He didn't bother himself with those thoughts now. All he could think of was the colossal amount of unrestricted energy surging through his palms.

He let instinct carry him on; his limbs moved of their own volition down the staircase and into the living room. "HAHA!"

A bolt of free energy spiraled through the room and smashed into Dudley's computer screen, cracking it neatly in half.

"Oh… sh*t."

Perhaps letting unrestricted instinct settle his problems wasn't the smartest of ideas. The computer was damaged far beyond repair; the glass had caved in, shattering several cables.

A loud, grinding sound suddenly filled the house- the sound of the garage door opening. Harry swore- a loud, ugly sound. "SH*T!"

The universe must have some sort of vendetta against him. He could hear the Dursleys opening the door and marching in… he scrambled. Scrambled up the staircase, scrambled into his room. He kicked the door shut with a needless vigor. It reverberated through the house.

"We're back, you useless freak!" a voice shrieked from the doorway. "And we've- HOLY SH*T!"

They had, presumably, discovered the cracked computer screen. A loud wail suddenly filled the room; Harry looked out of his peephole to find Dudley crying near the stairs, holding the remains of his electronic. He rolled his eyes. Figures. The boy didn't cry a tear at his grandmother's funeral, but he bawls over a stupid computer.

The crying abruptly cut off. Harry could hear the loud footsteps coming up the staircase, could hear the frantic breathing-

A massive weight suddenly slammed into the door; Harry was thrown back as a fist ran through the breadth of the wooden structure. "HARRY, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SH*T!"

A massive kick sent the door sprawling off its hinges. Dudley stood over the threshold, his eyes murderous.

And Harry, acting on primal instinct, lashed out.

A massive bolt of energy collided with the large boy; he screamed as he was thrown against the wall.

"Dudders! DUDDERS!"

Harry paid no mind to the scrambling adults. His eyes glowed an intense, blinding blue; he made a fist, and the air copied his movement.

"DUDDERS!"

Dudley's eyes widened his windpipe was cut off; he struggled to take in breath, but could find no oxygen.

Pure nitrogen forced its way down his throat; he gasped as it filled his lungs…

He was choking. Choking on his own air.

His face turned a deep red; his eyes bulged even wider. Harry stepped up to him. "This is retribution for all those years of h*ll!"

A wide haymaker sent Dudley sprawling down the hill. Harry looked upon the Dursleys with anguished eyes. Reaching out his hands, he flicked his wrist…

The two instantly collapsed into unconsciousness. He closed his eyes…

And suddenly, he could see. Could see the consciousness, flickering absently in front of him… he reached out and took hold. With a firm force, he traced back the through their memories and crushed them, altered them, made them anew.

Dudley had never had a computer. They'd come home happy- scratch that, they'd had a miserable vacation- and… and they'd had an epiphany. They'd treat Harry better now, as if he was actually a part of the family.

He felt a tear slide down his cheek; he brushed it away. They'd regain consciousness soon enough. Nodding, he stalked up the staircase and into the guest room.

The next week with the Dursleys went surprisingly well. They, in their manipulated states, treated him as a human being- a permanent guest, as it were- and he was given all of the privileges Dudley enjoyed (except, of course, the lavishing gifts).

On the third day, he realized the flaw in his plan: the memories. Any skilled Legilimens would be instantly able to discern a fair amount of meddling there. He'd gone back and checked his handiwork; sure enough, there were a dozen glaring errors. He didn't blame himself; after all, he'd worked in a stress-induced rage.

Unknown to the Dursleys, he consistently modified their memories at every viable moment; he smoothed out brows, sharpened creases, added believability until they looked the very aspect of a human memory.

Satisfied, he'd turned his attention to his strange magic.

"Funny how I can feel the magic inside, but I just can't control it…" Harry muttered, frowning. "It's almost as if I have more magic, but simply can't use it. Strange…"

He closed his eyes, and, for the umpteenth time that day, flexed his inner core.

Nothing.

"Gah!" he screamed, frustrated. A spark suddenly raced from his palm to the table; it fizzled out against the chair.

Harry stared, anguished, at the mark. He could feel the energy inside him… but how to draw on it? It was almost as if a strong mental barrier held it back.

No matter. I've already enough power.

He couldn't understand why he was straining himself; there was no point, really. If he continued his current pace of progress, he'd be neck-in-neck with the most proficient of 4th years by the end of the summer.

And yet…

Satisfaction never favored him with its warm caress. Something, a large chunk of him, demanded retribution for the death of his parents, demanded retribution for the mangling of his childhood.

The thoughts that he'd compartmentalized so well flooded back in a rush; he steeled himself. It does no good to mourn the past. The only thing I can do now is to prepare for the future.

And prepare he did. He'd read nearly every free second of the day, constantly gathering information. The Dursleys left him alone, for the most part, calling him only for dinner and lunch.

It was, in a way, bliss; for him, at least. No screaming, rock-chucking kids, no more running, no more hiding…

It would take some getting used to.

The days flew by at a prodigious pace; what seemed like days stretched out to months. In absolutely no time at all, September arrived; it was time for Harry to head for 'Hogwarts'.

He'd packed his bags and coerced the Dursleys into taking him on a 1-hour ride to the King's Cross station (which they, even in their manipulated states, still grumbled endlessly about).

He'd stared down at the station ticket and read the small words. "Platform 9 ¾"

"I'm sorry, where is this?" he asked, presenting the ticket to the guard. The man stared at it for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Platform 9 ¾? Is this some sort of joke? That doesn't exist, kid!"

Harry frowned.

"Huh."

He should've expected that the station would be unknown to muggles. It was stupid to ask one.

He strolled up between Platforms 9 and 10 and sat, rubbing his thumbs against his temple. It seemed he had more control over his magic than the average wizard… Concentrating, he engaged his magical core. With a firm mental grip, he teased out a string of bound magic and scattered it through the area.

The part of his consciousness not focused on his task immediately picked up a group of redheads bustling about. They seemed to be purposefully enveloping him, as if asking him to ask for direction. No; he would figure this one out by himself.

His technique was a bit like echolocation; he could feel where his magic dispersed and where his magic penetrated the barrier. A large chunk of the outburst fled through the stone pillar of Platform 10. He casually stepped up to it and leaned.

Darkness enveloped him instantly; he stumbled forward through the mouth and into the lamplight.

Platform 9 ¾ was huge. Hundreds of people bustled about in large crowds, each struggling to board one massive, gold-and-red train. The Hogwarts Express was printed neatly atop the engine.

Th group of redheads suddenly made their way through the portal; Harry walked along casually. The group seemed to tail his movements. He made a left. The group inconspicuously barreled to the left. Strange…

And then it hit Harry. These were the same group that had enveloped him outside of the platform! They seemed determined to make contact with him (no doubt because he was the Boy Who Lived), and he wasn't going to give them that satisfaction.

Smirking, he stepped aboard the train and out of sight. To his vast disappointment, a redhead, no more than 12 years old, immediately followed.

The word 'stalker' comes to mind.

He, determined to lose him, wove in and out of the crowd and picked a compartment at random. He shut the door, making sure to make the barest of sound.

To his immense annoyance, the redhead waited not a foot from his compartment, whistling and humming nonchalantly- as if they were waiting for all of the other compartments to fill up.

He opened the door. "What do you want?"

He jumped. "Wha-what are you talking about, Har-" he caught himself.

"Oh, I'm just hanging around, you know… I didn't catch your name, my name's Ron…?" the boy said, quite uncertainly.

Harry laughed. "Great introduction, Ron."

Still laughing, he slammed the compartment door.

Not 5 minutes later, Ron peeked through the door frame. "Hi, can I sit here? The other compartments are full…"

Harry jumped up. "Really? Have you checked?"

"Er, yes. Can I sit with you?"

Harry frowned. Ron clearly knew who he was, and Harry didn't know what Ron meant to ask for his name.

'He's bluffing'

He could tell by Ron's fidgeting hands and his nervous tone of voice.

'Call the bluff'

"Oh. Alright; I'll go with you. Let's do a double check."

Ron's face instantly reddened. "I'm sure there's no need for that…" he muttered, shouldering his way into the compartment. "You'll let me sit here, right?"

Although not stated, there was a dangerous edge to his tone. Harry shrugged it off. "Sorry, Ron, I need some privacy. Let's do a double check for other compartments, shall we?"

Turning, he pushed the redhead out the door. The compartment directly opposite was empty.

"Oh. Funny how you checked all 998 other compartments but failed to check this one. The one directly opposite my compartment."

Ron blushed a deep red. "Yes, of course…"

Harry turned. The compartments adjacent to his were also empty.

"You didn't check these either, it seems."

"Er, I might've missed some…"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You are sweating. You are fidgeting nervously; I can tell you were bluffing. Your voice is uncertain, with a dangerous undertone. You failed to check several compartments, despite your assurance that you've checked them all. If I were you, and you were me, what would you deduce from these facts?"

"...that you have a new friend?"

Harry sighed. This one was especially thick. "You don't have to sit with me to prove you're worthy of becoming my friend. If I wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived, you wouldn't even be talking to me right now. No; you purposefully tailed me as to make contact and force a 'friendly' relationship."

Ron paled. "N-no! I would never do that! Never!"

"Then you're a liar. Leave me alone."

This last part came with a dangerous undertone; Ron got the message and hightailed it. Harry returned to his book, his emotionless mask giving no indication of their interaction. It wasn't worth getting frustrated over scum.

A/N Another chapter gone by! :)

Believe it or not, the letter and the rune have some importance, but that won't be until far later. Please leave a review on your way out! :)