A/N: Okay, so at first I wasn't too sure of the plot of this story. I knew some schematics but there was a lot to decide. At one point I even considered a Time Travel fic, but I decided why make it so easy? Here they are at the brink of all-out war…such and intense atmosphere is delectable and cannot be turned away. Well, I hope you guys enjoy this!
CHAPTER 2:
Morning came all too quickly for Harry who spent the night reading in the moonlight underneath the window, devouring pages like a starved creature. The pale grey atmosphere hid the sun and Harry couldn't help but scowl as the thick stormy clouds hid the sun and its warm rays, leaving Private Drive hot and muggy, thick with the oncoming summer storm. He hated how it matched his mood perfectly, with no hope for wind it was irritatingly suffocating.
Harry was trapped in desperate wishes to leave the confines of his prison, to forget what he had read and all that had happened. The asphyxiating anger raging just underneath his skin licking through his veins would have none of that though. It demanded answers, retribution, action…something, but it would not allow him to simply forget. No, to do so would be a travesty…a sin against magic itself, the one thing he most dearly loved. Harry could not forget, the words seemed to replay through his mind as if stuck on loop, and it would take nothing short than an obliviate to coax the newfound knowledge from his mind.
As if his whirling mind was not enough the little alarm clock next to his bed had just struck six and Harry knew he had to start on breakfast. It was, Harry decided as he pulled out the supplies from the fridge, even more humiliating than ever before and as he turned on the stove Harry could almost picture Dumbledore smiling. 'It's humbling Harry…' Maybe before the events of the last two weeks Harry would have cowed and nodded, too afraid of letting his Headmaster down to stand up for himself. Maybe before he would have written off the pages of the book in his pocket as the deranged ramblings of nutter akin to Bellatrix Lestrange.
However something deep inside of Harry, the intuition that had always guided him away from mortal harm, was screaming that this was not the case. That those words that had painted such an elaborate picture of how humanizing logic and emotions like fear and jealousy had slowly eroded magic away until all that was left was the crumbling pieces of a former glory. Harry felt his eyes sting as he cooked the eggs, a very rare occurrence that left him just as bewildered as the book in his pocket had. Crying was weakness. He had stopped crying long before he had ever known of Hogwarts or magic. But-but if what the book said was true…it was heartbreaking that the one thing he had ever loved was truly as broken as he was…Harry felt like he was on the verge of storming Hogwarts and collapsing on the floor in utter defeat simultaneously.
What right did they, as witches and wizards, have to slaughter each other over petty views when magic as a whole was so close to the verge of becoming nothing but parlor tricks and illusions. The book had painted an astounding array of different ways magic had been pruned and tailored to fit the fears and prejudices of the common mass, but what right did they have? They should be honoring that magic had gifted them with such amazing abilities but in return they were killing her, as if they could only love parts of her and not every side.
Harry very much wanted to stick his face in the bubbling grease of the bacon that he was now cooking. He too had been prejudice and fearful, from the time he had entered Hogwarts his head had been filled with biases and he had unquestioningly believed everything he was told. He had been too caught up with trying to fit in and stay alive that he hadn't ever scratched the pretty surface and now that he had Harry was horrified to learn that everyone seemed oblivious to the larger picture. Why could they not see what was happening? Surely Dumbledore- or Voldemort for that matter knew what was happening. Why were they doing nothing about it?
"Boy," Harry cringed as the pounding footsteps became closer and closer until the swinging door was swung open, revealing the very fat muggle. It took everything in his power to bite the sneer that threatened to curl his lips back and Harry turned back to the toast he was buttering, thoughts of magic and erosion shoved into the back of his mind.
"Where's my coffee boy?" Vernon grumbled impatiently as he unfolded the newspaper and Harry grit his teeth as he filled the two mugs with black coffee and set the large glass of orange juice down in front of Dudley's seat.
Not to be left with scraps Dudley hastily made his appearance as he buttoned up his new pants, Petunia had had to take him to get new clothes because Dudley had once again outgrown his old ones. Vernon looked up and Harry felt that itching just under his skin and the pulling in his gut as the man's eyes filled with pride. "That's my boy!"
"Doesn't he look so handsome dear?" Petunia's voice came from down the hall and within seconds she too was entering the kitchen, smiling at her son and fixing his hair as she looked him up and down.
"He'll be beating the girls off this year," Vernon agreed and winked at his son.
Petunia scowled playfully at her husband and swatted his arm, "I raised my son to be a perfect gentleman, isn't that right Diddykins?"
Harry turned away in disgust as Dudley groaned loudly at the nickname and began preparing the three plates of food. Thankfully he was mostly ignored as served and cleaned up breakfast, the Dursley's too busy with getting ready for church to notice him much. So it was with a sigh of relief that they left and Harry was left to his own devices, locked in his cell. He had never been happier to hear that eighth and last lock slide into place and Harry wasted no time in digging out the book from his pocket and finding a position to read in that wouldn't agitate his bruised ribs.
He needed to know how this had happened, how magic had been so blatantly corroded without anyone caring, and seeing how book two was the second in the three volume set, Harry was sure that it had to cover why this had happened. So, sitting cross legged on his bed with the book on the pillow to prop it up, Harry cracked it open and began to devour the book with even greater ferocity than the he had the first.
Green eyes flew across pages at a speed that was likely to give Hermione Granger a run for her money. Harry didn't stop to use magic open the locks for neither food nor hygienic purposes. The Dursleys had spent a few hours at church but they returned home eventually and though a bowl of cold soup was shoved through the cat flap Harry made no move toward it, he hardly registered the other occupants the house at all except for the few hours that Vernon interrupted Harry's reading by yelling at the football game on the telly. It was nearing four in the afternoon when the large raindrops hit the window and that Harry finally sat the book down.
For a long while Harry just stared at the wall across from him, his mind simply blank and his body filled with disbelief so strong that it left Harry in a stupor. All night and all morning Harry had cursed and fumed and stewed in his anger, needing answers, desperately hoping that what he found next would soothe him. Instead it had left him in a horrified confusion.
It made sense yes, Harry would easily concede that the books pages had made the most logical argument backed up by pages and pages of proof that he had ever heard. But it went against everything Harry had ever been taught since stepping into the walls of Hogwarts. Harry simply refused to believe that Draco Malfoy of all people was right. With his haughty arrogance and deep rooted prejudices Harry was left feeling like the ground below him had just been ripped out from beneath him and he was suspended in the sudden weightless moment before he would start falling.
It took ages for Harry to come back to himself and when he did he found that the sky was getting darker. With practiced ease he rose from the bed without a creak and walked the few paces to his window. Life outside his little cell was moving on and while it had only been a day since Harry had returned to Private Drive, it had felt like months had passed. He desperately wished for a letter from his friends to distract him, or even just Hedwig so that he could have someone to talk to. Harry Potter had never felt as lonely as he did in that moment as he stared at the rain pounding on the glass.
For a while Harry allowed himself to wallow in his grief stricken desolation, but it didn't last long. His thoughts kept returning to the book on his bed and his refusal to let someone as pompous as Draco Malfoy be right. There had to be something he was missing, something that he hadn't read right in the distraction of Vernon yelling at the telly. So Harry once again picked up the book and desperately searched it pages, finding the spot in which he had left off.
It was with great horror that Harry dropped the book an hour later and his first thought was that the git had been right all along. It wasn't until he was in the kitchen cooking dinner that Harry truly comprehended what he had read. It was as he was stirring the batter for cornbread muffins that the realization came to him. In a way Malfoy had been right, but also in a way he had been wrong. Harry's eyes widened at the implications of the seemingly innocuous book in his room. The writer had not only openly defied the 'Light' side but he had gone a step further and also subtly defied the 'Dark'.
Whoever he was, Harry had decided that this Alerick Durante was as bold as a Gryffindor and as cunning as a Slytherin. If the man was still alive Harry vowed that he would track him down and thank him for opening his eyes to the bigger picture.
Surprisingly it was Petunia who had broken Harry out of his thoughts and made him a small peanut butter and jelly sandwich before sending him back to his room. It was odd being fed twice in one day but he wouldn't turn down the offer. So Harry was sent back to his room and he inhaled his small meal as he listened to each lock being turned. By the time the eighth lock had been slid into place Harry was lying on his back on his bed, staring at the dark ceiling and wondering how he could possibly return to Hogwarts the next year and act as if his world hadn't been turned upside down.
Was it possible to act as if he had never learned of squib influxes and muggleborn ratios? Could he really stand by and watch Hogwarts house the very students who mutilated the old traditions of honoring magic to fit a muggle religion that had and would persecute them? Could he watch purebloods in all of their superiority continue to degrade the naïve muggleborns instead of teach them their heritage?
But the real question was if Harry could go back to fighting a war he didn't believe in.
Harry knew the answer the instant the question had formed in his mind. No he could not. He could not waste his time with petty sects of magic when he knew the truth, whether it be charms or necromancy magic was magic and every facet of it should be honored. He would not stand for one side while the other was massacred. A balance between "light" and "dark", no part of magic should ever be held above the other.
But what did he do with this information? He was sixteen and a student for Merlin's sake. He had no chance in standing up against both Dumbledore and Voldemort.
Then there was also the other two thirds of the Golden Trio, Ron and Hermione. Harry doubted very much that Ron would ever be able to open his mind to accept the things that Harry had learned, he was too prejudiced and if Harry were honest, not smart enough to fully grasp the dire situation. Harry wished it weren't so but he wouldn't delude himself, Ron saw nothing wrong with how things were before Voldemort returned and he never would. Hermione, while smarter and cleverer than Ron, would never accept it either. As a muggleborn she would take this offensively and not be able to look past her dire need to prove muggleborns worth to see how damaging their muggle views were.
Harry had just effectively isolated himself from everyone he knew without even realizing it.
The next few days passed in a blur for Harry who had been overwhelmed with loneliness and aggravation. No matter how he looked at it Harry could not find a way to do anything about what he had read. It was frustrating to know that even though his eyes had been opened, his mind was not. All he knew where rudimentary charms and spells and he felt infinitely stupid when he realized just how much he had slacked off during the last five years of school. He claimed to love magic and yet he had let Ron's habits become his own and had thrown it away instead of delve like Hermione had. He had lost the ambition that had driven him in his childhood.
The anger over the realization had left Harry scouring the third book even though he had told himself only days ago that he wouldn't. The idiocy of that promise had Harry snorting derisively yet continued to show him how much could change in only a week.
Rituals For Novices turned out to be one of the most enjoyable books Harry had come across since he had learned of the magical world. Not only were these things that most every pureblood child used to learn but Harry was shocked by the sheer power some of the simplest rituals held. Most of the things in the book he could not do with a wand yet here the book was explaining it all and promising untraceable results. Harry had actually made very inhuman noises in his strange combination of joy and excitement when he found that most of them could be used on his 'family'.
However Harry's excited joy was trampled on when a shriek of what could only be rage came from somewhere down the hall and Harry dropped the book as his muscles tensed. This was the first time since his initial arrival that Harry backed into corner of his room trying to listen for footsteps over the loud thumping of his heart. They came in heavy stomps, alerting Harry to the fact that Vernon was too angry to be stealthy, and stopped just outside Dudley's room. Harry put his ear up to the wall, trying to listen in.
"Dudley," Vernon's muffled voice floated through the thin wall. "Did you happen to borrow money from daddy's wallet?"
Harry's heart sunk to the depths of his stomach and felt a bolt of fear strike him. "What money?" Dudley asked a little too innocently, a telling sign that Dudley was lying. "I've been with Pierce all day dad."
With a quiet thud Harry's head tilted back and hit the wall, his eyes clenching shut. How much had Dudley taken? It had to be a significant amount if Vernon noticed; the man never noticed a few pounds here and there that Dudley took for whatever it was he and his gang got up to.
The sound of Dudley's door shutting jerked Harry and he listened to each of the eight steps it took to reach his cell, each twisting Harry's stomach into knots. One by one the locks clicked open and Harry stared at the door in a wild panic. He had no wand; he was yet again utterly defenseless against the oncoming attack. Yet still Harry tried to back himself further into the wall as if it would do any good.
When the door swung open Harry knew his wild eyed look was all the proof Vernon needed and the man wasted no time with words. He crossed the room in three great strides and his hand shot out as quick as a snake, grabbing hold of Harry's neck with a crushing force. It was useless to struggle, Harry knew from experience that he could not match Vernon's strength, but it didn't stop his hands from flying up to desperately pull at the meaty sausages around his neck.
"I…didn't…do it…" Harry struggled to get out as his larynx was being crushed.
Vernon's glare didn't waver and a sneer curled his lips, "You're a thief and a liar." Harry only had a brief millisecond of relief when his uncle's hand loosened before it tightened again and the man actually used Harry's neck to pick him up and throw him across the room. For a brief second Harry saw Dudley in the doorway with a smug smile before he landed with a crash on the floor and his vision blacked out and stars appeared. It took several moments to regain his sight and when he did Harry found Dudley gone and Vernon standing over him.
The next second Harry's vision swam and his healing ribs exploded into pain beyond anything had ever felt. Harry tried to scream but the sharp stabbing pain cut off his breath and strangled him. Another kick landed in Harry's gut and his body curled into the fetal position. "P-please…" Harry cut off not only from another kick but at the thought of pleading for help. It was no use begging for mercy from Vernon, Dumbledore and his Order had never come in to the rescue…so to whom was he asking for help?
When Vernon couldn't access Harry's abdomen he landed a swift kick to the face and Harry half shrieked as his nose crunched and warm ooze trickled down his face. "No- Please!" Harry had been thrown on his back from the facial attack and too late he realized it left his whole torso open and unguarded.
Perhaps it was the pain, or the loss of blood coming from his nose, but Harry swore that time slowed down and he watched with frightened eyes as Vernon's foot came hurling towards him. Anger erupted in Harry like a volcano, burning any fear into ash, and suddenly he knew who he meant his pleas for. He did not wish for salvation nor for any healers or aurors that he knew. No, Harry closed his eyes and wished with everything that he was that Voldemort was there.
In that moment as his uncle's foot connected once again with his ribcage Harry wished Voldemort were there more than any other living being on the planet. Voldemort would no doubt kill these muggles, and most likely everyone on the block, in attempts to torture Harry psychologically. Oh how Harry wished he could watch crimson eyes flash as pale hands grasped the yew wand that would make all of them scream. Harry could almost hear the joyous symphony until hot breath on his face made him realize that it was in fact not Vernon screaming, but himself.
The muggle's face was inches away and Harry could not help but turn his face away in disgust. And there, as if he had always been sitting there all along and only now had Harry realized it, was a man in his mid-twenties that Harry could not mistake. The same dark brown hair and high cheekbones, long dark lashes that framed eyes the color of blood and Harry watched the thin lips move, forming shapes but yet producing no sound. Harry was overtaken by concussed confusion, why was Voldemort not attacking? Couldn't he see what was happening? Why was he just sitting there? Why was the man not a snake?
Large meaty hands grabbed Harry's face and yanked him away from the regal man sitting on his rickety bed, somehow still looking as elegant as if he were back on his throne. His uncle's large face filled up his vision and sound came back all at once.
"-think you can steal from ME?"
"Harry," the masculine voice was soft and melodious, so completely opposite of his uncle's, and Harry couldn't stop his eyes fluttering shut at the sound.
"I raised you boy! Damn freak you are and this-"
"Harry," that soft voice sang to him again and Harry's eyes fluttered open and he glanced at the Dark Lord on his bed.
"You ungrateful little shit-" Vernon was still on a rampage and spittle was flying everywhere. Harry flinched away only to have his hair grasped and his uncle yanked him back into place.
"You know what to do Harry," that soft voice coaxed Harry to look at him again and Harry held out his hand pleadingly. "One hair Harry, that's all you need. One hair and all of this will go away."
Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind the command registered enough to make sense and lulled by the Dark Lord, Harry's hand reached up and grabbed a fistful of Vernon's hair. The man roared in stunned fury before a large fist connected with Harry's jaw, summoning the stars that had only just faded. The man climbed off of him and the next thing Harry knew the door slammed shut, filling Harry with momentary relief.
Emerald eyes looked back to Voldemort and found the man's thin lips curled in a triumphant smirk that would have paralyzed even the fiercest auror in fear. Harry followed the crimson gaze and found his arm splayed out, his fingers opened just enough to see a few strands of the muggle's hair. Somehow Harry knew that this was what pleased the very human dark lord but he wasn't able to do much more than smile, knowing Voldemort would kill not only him but the Dursleys as well, before he succumbed to the darkness.