Author's Notes:
Hmm... Not much to add here. I'll probably post through Chapter 5 as I beta my work over the next week or so, don't be surprised if it takes longer. I do work full time and take college.
Story of the ...chapter... : ANYTHING by Radaslab Good author. Apparently HATES Dumbledore with an all encompassing passion. Just saying.
- AN -
- Chapter 2 – Durzkaban
In a room of infinite darkness resembling space in so much as there held no apparent floor, roof, or walls a pair of sparkling rocks gleamed wickedly as an antithesis to the emptiness extending around them on all sides. One Emerald, for rebirth, rejuvenation, and return. The other Topaz, for steadfastness, strength, and loyalty.
Or so they say...
A whispering, sluggish greyish smoke appeared a few feet below the gemstones and slowly crawled up the blackened and burnt wooden chair until vanishing behind the stones which began to gleam brighter.
The raw living intelligence within the stones and smoke would have been grinning with a feral dangerous smirk if it had lips, a mouth, or a face.
The whispering, gleeful cackling laughed echoing across the expansive nothingness left little to the imagination however.
- 2 - 2 - 2 -
A pensive Harry Potter returned to Privet Drive, via Knightbus, and carefully snuck over the fence into the back yard, curious about the hammering coming from upstairs, but not curious enough to put off setting up his tent while he had the time.
The salesman had been quite clear that the Notice Me Not enchantment wouldn't take effect until he finished setting up the tent and palmed a specific rune on the inner wall.
The codger at Obscurus Books, with the amusing name of Odiferious Obscurus, had willingly shared his knowledge on the Potter family history, but apologized profusely for not having or being able to sell him books with his families history or information in them. The new Ministry Law, passed apparently only a month prior had been reinforced with an Auror escort to remove all books concerning the Potter family history from his shelves. Apparently some old windbag in the Wizengamot had the WONDERFUL idea that the history of the Potters might be in danger of being subverted for nefarious means and should be removed from general knowledge for the protection of their hero and the last Heir of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter.
The codger did sell him a book written by his grandmother Dorea with a number of creepy-guy-at-the-playground winks while commenting that the book was not TECHNICALLY history.
'Nott Longbottoms, Gaunts Abbots, Bulstrodes Potters, and Blacks Bones - A Genealogy of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses'
Despite his normally venomous lack of interest in anything to do with the Purebloods of the world, there was no way he could resist purchasing the book when his fingers had brushed along the gold filigree emblazoning the author's name.
Dorea Potter nee Black.
His grandmother, if the text was to be believed, had published this book in 1975. The self-updating Potter family tree inside the front cover that had him so enraptured indicated she had only published the book months before her death. His fingers idly traced the name Peverell and Gryffindor before his eyes widened in amazement and happiness for a moment when he realized that the bookstore owner could not see the family tree like Harry did. His grandmother practically made the book just for him. Harry got quite a shock that his grandmother had been a Slytherin, but considering the fact that even the fabled Sorting Hat tried to steer him towards the traditionally dark and predominately Pureblood House of Hogwarts Harry figured that the Malfoy's of the world must not have been quite as vocal and... running the place as it is nowadays.
The less said about the Black Family the better. Odiferous had dozens of books available on the family darker in practice than their namesake and the old man practically cackled in greed as he tried to pawn off a number of creepy, deadly, and dark books on Harry before he managed to escape. Though Harry couldn't stop himself from buying the copy of Moste Potente Potions when he noticed the instructions for Nutrient Potions in the table of contents (one of the VERY few books in the Wizarding World to actually have such).
Harry actually thought a lot however about his grandmother's status as a former Slytherin during the ride back to Privet Prison. It took most of the trip for Harry to come to the realization that other than Malfoy's Cronies and the Slytherin Quidditch Team (who didn't acknowledge his existence until his debut as the Gryffindor Seeker on their life-long rival's team), the House of 'dark' wizards tended to ignore Harry completely. The realization, accompanied by Cloak's voice echoing in his head again about listen to lies and making his own decision, made for a pensive little Gryffindor.
But even his newfound interest in his family's apparently illustrious history, across all four Houses of Hogwarts and even a few Ministers, couldn't derail Harry's excitement about the third bedroom in his 'tent'.
The Training Room.
Harry managed to come back to himself and felt a great surprise when he realized he'd managed to completely build the tent with no-one the wiser and his mind miles from the task at hand. Years spent as a practical slave to the Dursley's every need certainly held some benefits as the painful manual labor of building a three man hundred and fifty pound tent with no assistance had been done almost instinctively.
"BOY!" A furious voice bellowed from only feet behind him and Harry took that as his queue to dive head first through the flash and slam his wand-tip into the rune needed to activate the enchantments. "What the devil is that... is that... Oh bloody buggering bother it all!" Harry watched from the open flap of the tent with no small amount of nervousness as his Uncle went from rampaging rhino levels of anger to abject frustration and confusion. "... ... That's right!" The whalish man said abruptly snapping his ham hock sized fingers, causing a nauseating flapping sound as the mass of fat between his two fingers slapped together. "I still need to double check Dudley's outfit to make sure he's ready for the Mason's visit.
Harry breathed a heavy sigh of relief as his Uncle turned about and lumbered back into the house without another word of glance at the massive tent now taking up three-quarters of his backyard. In his relieved slump, Harry gave no notice to the slight tingle from his new wand as he bumped another rune on the other side of the tent flap.
His emerald eyes were instead watching a strange variation to one of Aunt Petunia's prized bushes. A pair of large bulbous green eyes were watching him back.
After waiting a few minutes to see what, if any, action the owner of said eyes might take, Harry finally turned away and closed the flap.
The Training Room called.
- 2 - 2 - 2 -
It took a few minutes for Harry to shake off the effects of his late afternoon nap and he yawned while looking around the familiar grey expanse to divine where he actually might be this time.
Hearing a trickle of water, he crossed the dirty tile floors to approach an... interesting gold lacquered fountain. Interesting and honestly rather offensive. Possibly even cast gold from the look of it.
Arrayed around an arrogant, angry looking wizard were a plethora of magical creatures in awed supplication of the bold looking man holding up his wand. Having been in the presence of Goblins no less than four times, Harry could honestly say he couldn't imagine a single member of the fierce warrior race he had come to know bowing and prostrating themselves in such a fashion as the moronic bestial looking caricature of a goblin represented. The fawning flighty looking well-endowed witch gave the most potent description of sexism in a silent display and the centaur, being a warrior-seer race of the same level of the goblins, is equally as offensive. The last little figure with bulbous eyes wearing a ratty torn loincloth drew Harry's curiosity as he'd never seen such a creature, but the eyes were certainly familiar.
He'd only been staring at a very similar pair of them hours before.
"Harry Potter." a quiet reserved voice intoned in greeting. "Fascinating creatures house-elves." Cloak's calm voice spoke beside him after a few minutes, giving a name to the only being on display that bore no recognition for Harry. "Are you familiar with the purpose of an alternator Harry?"
Harry squinted his eyes and cocked his head slightly at the usual non-sequitur to ponder the question before finally shaking his head negatively. He certainly had been forced to change the alternator on Uncle Vernon's car a couple of times, but the most he knew about it is that a car can't run without one.
A familiar sense of amusement emanated from his companion. "An alternator is hooked up to a car's battery. When the car is started, a large amount of power is drawn from the battery and fed through the alternator. The alternator takes that power and uses it to create more electricity. Eventually feeding back an equal amount and recharging the battery while keeping the car running without touching the battery again. Better designs in alternators will soon more to the point where car's batteries will become smaller and smaller as less power is needed to initially start the engine."
Harry nodded to indicate he understood Cloak's meaning, but but didn't fool himself for a minute that he understood why his enigmatic companion felt the need to blather on about car parts. While listening with a cocked ear, he read the small (also gold) plaque attached to the now identified house-elf's back like a cattle-brand. 'All proceeds are Donated to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.'
"The house-elf is a similar creature. Once known by a far different name with a much different purpose, Wizards far in the past bound the cheerful race of laborers as slaves to themselves when the Statute of Secrecy was passed to prevent their extinction."
Harry perked up and blinked rapidly. How could enslaving an entire race possibly be a good thing?
"You are curious, no?" Cloak asked in amusement, earning a scowl. "The... summarized version is that non-Magicals did not understand the purpose and abilities of the pacifistic race and began slaughtering them wholesale as 'demons' and 'freaks of nature'. So now they serve, and are bound, to various Wizards throughout the Isles as slaves."
"But what does that have to do with cars?" Harry asked.
"To put it simply, a house-elf is an alternator. The more powerful the Wizard, or house, to which they are bound, the more powerful house-elves themselves become. But, as with everything in magic there must be a balance. House-elves live to work. The dirtier a room they must clean, the happier they will be. Yet should a wizard, or house, have too many elves, or too little work, the poor beings degenerate into madness and become little more than Gremlins."
"Huh."
"Indeed. This is not without benefit for the Wizard or home either. Homes with house-elves practically radiate magic, strengthening simplistic wards to unseen heights. Wizards with multiple elves bound tend to live much longer and wield greater levels of power than their peers. Your Headmaster, I believe, makes great use of this."
Harry scowled again at another of Cloak's polite and innocuous insults against Headmaster Dumbledore, but couldn't stop the question that flowed from his to tongue. "Hogwarts has house-elves?"
Cloak nodded, an altogether nauseating sight as the black gooey mist around him roiled and boiled around his head. "Indeed. Your friends he Weasley Twins could introduce you as many of the elves spend their time in the Hogwarts Kitchens."
Harry rolled back on his heels to think on his companion's words. It sometimes felt like the more he learned about the magical world, the less he really knew. Harry pictured himself for a moment as a lost boatman at sea in a life-raft, doing his best to keep his head above water in a storm of information.
Cloak stance changed slightly and put Harry on guard. "You must always be weary when dealing with the elven race. They are descendants of the Fae, a capricious and mischievous race. Many of the elves are happy and content with their lives, but a select few chafe under the chains that keep them alive."
"What do you mean?"
"Have you ever heard the tale of the genie of the lamp?"
"Um... Yeah. Aladdin right?"
Cloaked chuckled. "Not exactly. Let me tell you the real story of the Djinn of the Lamp, Djinn's being a distant cousin of the powerful elven race and thus pertinent to our discussion. A great many years ago, a powerful Wizard summoned a Djinn to grant him wishes and used great and powerful evil magic to bind him to a lamp for all eternity. The Djinn, a powerful and prideful creature obviously disagreed. When the magic settled, the spell-crafter summoned his new pet and made his first of three wishes. 'Genie!' he called out, rubbing the rune on the lamp that would activate the powerful compulsions built in. 'I wish for you to make me Immortal!' "
Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of the Ministry Atrium and listened in rapt attention. Cloak never told a story before, and the... man appeared to have a natural gift for it.
Cloak chuckled darkly and started in a deep, evil sounding voice, " 'Foolish Mortal! To bind ME to such an existence shows only the arrogance of your race! Let your wish be granted!' " At crescendo of his speech, Harry started leaning forward eagerly, curious and gleeful to learn what the obviously powerful genie would do to punish his jailor in a way only children can. "And with a flash of astral magic more powerful than any Wizard, Witch, Goblin, or even house-elf could conjure the Wizard was gone. In his place sat a lumpy grey rock the size of a pebble which the genie tossed into the nearby river before the magics of the lamp could imprison him once more. For you see, this rock is special in that nothing can remove it from the Earth for all time, leaving the trapped and now quite mad Wizard voiceless, magicless, and alone for all time. Immortal, as asked."
Harry gulped audibly. That...is a horrifying fate. For anyone.
Cloak acknowledged that Harry understood the lesson behind the story when another nod. "I have been thinking Harry Potter." He stated after skipping a disturbingly grey lumpy pebble across the water of the fountain. "You have... an... admirable sense of morals and outlook on life." Cloak said haltingly, laying a blackened skeletal arm on his shoulder in a fatherly manner. "Happiness, despite where our conversations might lead is very much in your grasp."
Harry looks up at his companion curiously, trying to see more than the flickering flaming embers of his eyes as Cloak heaves a sigh. "However... Hmm... This is more... difficult than I imagined." The young wizard could only look on in curiosity, worried about whatever ghosts may be plaguing his dream-guide.
Cloak lifted his arm and walked... er... glided towards the greying misty darkness surrounding the duo, pausing just before he vanished from Harry sight altogether. "You should visit your library and find a copy of the fairy tales written by the Brother's Grimm. In the Wizarding World you have entered a society much unlike your own. There are lessons to be learned from there stories, tales, and fables."
Cloak stepped into the mist with a final question floating out to the Gryffindor. "Ponder this young Harry Potter. What is the difference between Aesop's Fables and the Tales of the Brother's Grimm?"
- 2 - 2 - 2 -
Harry woke with a snort gasping for air from the small leathery hand holding his mouth and nose closed.
When his eyes finally adjusted to dim lighting of his new bedroom, he found curious site of a bouncing ball of living energy covered by a rather ratty and filthy pillowcase riddled with holes. Harry lay curled up on an old pile of Dudley's cast-offs, because as awesome as the tent is it does not include furnishings outside of a 'stasis box' (the Wizarding version version of a fridge, pantry, breadbox, and warming plate wrapped up into one apparently).
So when the weird little creature ('house-elf' Harry reminded himself) bounced off of Harry's face and bowed repeatedly, Harry was actually forced to scoot back slightly to avoid getting beaned in the face by the two foot tall elf's long flapping ears.
Harry, ever his noble self, eyed a sleeping Hedwig on her stand to make sure his visitor did nothing to her while he slept before trying to address the elephant in the room. Or rather, house-elf. "Um... Who are you?" He asked wearily, Cloak's recent rendition of a horrid twist on Aladdin fresh in his mind.
"Harry Potter sir!" The impish, and possibly touched, creature shouted eagerly, reminding Harry for a few seconds of a toddler on speed. "Ever so long has Dobby been wanting to meet the great Harry Potter sir... Dobby is so excited Harry Potter sir!"
Harry blinked. "Um... Right." Coming to full wakefulness, Harry figured he might as well see what the flighty little creature wanted with him. Dumbledore assured him the protections around the house wouldn't let in anybody that wanted to do him harm after all. "Well... Take a seat I guess." Harry said with only a hint of annoyance, making a casual gesture towards the floor as he sat up and lounged back, carefully grasping his wand.
To Harry's confusion and horror the loud little creature burst into tears, startling the boy immensely.
"Sit down Harry Potter says!" Dobby wailed, the tears running tracks rather quickly down his cheeks. "Never has Dobby been so... so... Dobby knew the great Harry Potter was a great wizard, but to invite Dobby to sit down..."
"I'm sorry?" Harry interrupted, wondering if he somehow broke some sort of cultural rule when addressing a house-elf. "I... I didn't mean anything bad by it. Please stop crying." Harry pleaded.
"Bad?..." Dobby wailed louder, confusion and awe lacing his voice. "The great, powerful, and wonderful Harry Potter treated Dobby like an equal and the great Harry Potter thinks he... he..." But Dobby could not finish because he broke out in great wrenching sobs again.
Harry did his best to comfort the little sprog because, honestly, the convulsions Dobby seemed to be causing himself looked extremely painful. "It's okay Dobby... Just settle down... Breath... That's it..." By now Dobby joined the Boy-Who-Lived on his makeshift pallet and finally started to calm down, taking in great heaping gasps of air as the shudders from his recent convulsions left him.
"So... I take it you don't know very many kind wizards?" Harry joked wryly, a small grin playing on his lips.
A distracted Dobby nodded his head, displaying a previously unseen level of sanity before the little house-elf realized what he admitted and jumped up suddenly, bashing headlong into the wall while screaming. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby! Dobby must be punished for his bad thoughts!"
Harry normally would have jumped up to prevent the little creature from doing such damage to himself, but found himself in a situation many pedestrians the world over have experienced. Just like when watching a car-wreck in abject shock and horror for these pedestrians, Harry could do little more than stare at the horrible scene playing out in front of him.
'House-Elves are just that Harry Potter.' Cloak's clearly amused voice echoed out from deep in his mind. 'They MUST obey the senior wizard while in their home. It is only polite.'
Deciding to figure out why he is now hearing his companions words in his head while awake at a later date, Harry jumped up and grabbed the little blighter before he could do more damage to himself. "Dobby STOP!" He commanded, and sure enough the little house-elf froze. Harry's thoughts threw out dozens of suggested commands for the little guy, but dismissed them immediately when Dobby started vibrating almost instantly. "No house-elves may punish themselves in my home without my direction or approval!" Harry stated succinctly, proud of himself for his quick thinking.
'What about AFTER he leaves, hmm?' Cloak posed, throwing Harry for another loop.
"Um... Right... And I will tell you if you earn any punishment while um... in my home..." Harry trailed off uncertainly.
Dobby just stared at him in complete awe, an expression of pure adoration and worship on his face that almost perfectly matched the one he saw in the... wherever his dream took place earlier.
'And what of the commands his Master has given him that extend beyond his home?' Cloak's amused and... curious voice echoed out.
Harry ran his hand through his hair in frustration while he tried to figure out how to address THAT statement. "Err... and consider any and all commands your Master has given you to be null and void while in my home... um... and your master doesn't exist while you are here and... um... as long as you don't try to hurt me." Harry tacked on that last line nervously when the image of a small insignificant pebble skipping across the water of the fountain flashed through his mind.
Dobby stood silent, just staring eerily with his far-too-big for his head eyeballs. The sanity he displayed only by accident earlier showed plain on his and the elf's eyes held a... calculating demeanor despite the still prevalent adoration.
After a good thirty seconds of nervous silence, Harry rolled his eyes before sticking out his hand for a shake. "Let's try this again. I am Harry Potter. Nice to meet you Dobby. How may I help you?"
"Dobby wants to be free..." The little elf said faintly before squeaking and covering his mouth with both hands. They slowly pulled away before Dobby gave Harry a focused, intent look. "Dobby has come to warn the great Harry Potter. Great evil stirring Harry Potter sir. Harry Potter should not be returning to Hogwarts this year."
Harry nearly growled at the thought, despite his newfound freedom there is no-way in the world Harry would give up Hogwarts. "I CAN'T Dobby. My friends are there!" Even as he said the words though, they rang a little hollow in his head. After just over six weeks with not even a phone call by any of his friends, the raven haired young began to wonder whether he really had friends at all.
Dobby looked positively feral for a moment before posing a seemingly innocent question. "Friends Harry Potter has?" the house-elf asked with a sly smile, "Friends who do not even write to the great Harry Potter."
Harry heaved a sigh and leaned back against the wall in frustration. "I... I don't know... They... Wait a minute. What do you MEAN friends that don't write?!" Harry asked dangerously, the Evans temper burning to the surface. "How would you know anything about that?"
Dobby looked slightly sheepish before pulling a large stack of envelopes from his pillowcase. Harry didn't hesitate to grab the pile, a bit roughly he would freely admit, but the crazy elf had been stealing his mail!
After the pitfalls, ups, and downs of the last few days, Harry had to force himself to visibly reign in his anger at the little imp before he caused Dobby to do something they would both regret. Cloak's story echoed fresh in his mind after all.
Finally after a nervous silence, Harry let out an exasperated sigh and just decided to ask point blank. "Dobby. WHY did you intercept my mail?" He asked quietly, only a little of his frustration bleeding into his calm words.
Dobby stared anxiously for a minute before ducking his head again in shame. "Dobby thought... Dobby thought the great Harry Potter sir would not want to return to Hoggywarts if he thought that... that he didn't have any friends."
Harry blinked.
"Um... Right... ... WHY did you not want me going back to Hogwarts?"
Dobby visibly flinched, murmuring silently to himself as he tried to work up the answer to Harry's question.
'When he imparts the tidings of ill will tell him you already know, and NEED Dobby to let the events play out. The great evil can only destroyed by an item already AT Hogwarts, so you are simply content to let it be delivered.'
Harry frowned at Cloak's voice in his head, giving Dobby the mistaken impression that his patience with the little house-elf wore thin. Cloak seemed to know exactly what Dobby wanted to warn him about, but didn't seem like he intended to expand on the matter in the slightest. 'What do you mean? Cloak? Hello?' He thought to himself, feeling more than slightly foolish.
"Dobby knows... Dobby knows of great danger that awaits Harry Potter should he return to Hogwarts... Dobby must protect the great Harry Potter sir.."
Harry sighed again. This whole situation seemed ideal to give him one giant headache. "Dobby." Harry called softly, waiting until the elf's eyes rose to meet his own. "I know exactly what will be sent to Hogwarts this year."
Dobby eyes widened comically. "Truly Harry Potter sir? The great Harry Potter already knows of the evil book?" The little elf asked intently, his eyes flickering back and forth between Harry own as he searched for deceit.
'Diary. Not book.'
Harry ran his hand through his hair nervously while trying to give the obviously friendly (though definitely deranged) elf a smile. "Yes. I know about the diary, and the only thingg that can destroy it is already at Hogwarts." Harry leaned forward with a conspiratorial look on his face. "That's why we're going to let it go to Hogwarts. It's practically being delivered for removal!" He whispered fiercely and earnestly, despite having NO idea what he was talking about.
Dobby eyes, if such a thing is possible without magic, widened even more. "The great Harry Potter sir is indeed a great and powerful wizard!"
Harry smiled indulgently for a moment in relief, but Dobby's next words forced the boy to sit up and take notice. "... But... Dobby thinks perhaps... Yes... Dobby should..."
When the elf favored the now worried Gryffindor with a triumphant smile, Harry's insides started churning in worry. "Dobby will make sure Harry Potter sir is away from Hoggywarts until Hoggywarts destroys the dark diary!"
Without another word, Dobby ran from the room on surprisingly swift feet with Harry hot on his heels. His wand clattered to the floor in the now empty room.
Harry only made it half a step into the now destroyed kitchen before Uncle Vernon's angry warbling bellow echoed through the entire house. "BOY!"
Bollocks.
- 2 - 2 - 2 -
What followed Dobby's flight into the Dursley home was a whirlwind that Harry just couldn't keep up with.
Before he even realized the severity of whatever it was Dobby did, an owl broke through the front window and basically attacked Uncle Vernon's business guests the Masons, propelling his Uncle into a rage the level of which Harry could honestly attest he had never seen the likes of before.
Then THE letter was found attached to the owl's leg.
THE letter from the thrice-bloody Ministry that cheerfully informed everyone in hearing distance, thankfully only the Dursley's as the Masons basically ran from the home while cursing the Dursley name, about the oh so wonderful Decree for the Reasonable Restriction for Underage Sorcery.
A numb Harry Potter didn't even think to protest when he was bodily dragged up the stairs and thrown headfirst into his own tiny closet, the door slamming closed behind him. When he came to his senses he tried the door, but Uncle Vernon apparently stacked his furniture against it. Hours were spent listening to Vernon hammering away, the old grating sounds emanating from Vernon's cheap electric drill, and cursing himself for dropping his wand in a desperate attempt to stop Dobby from... causing exactly what happened.
The door finally opened just before midnight, his Uncle's beady eyes staring down at him maliciously like a bug to be squashed.
"Can't do magic eh?" The enormous man asked with a gross leer mixed with a sneer worthy of the bat of the dungeons Severus Snape himself. "Forgot to TELL us that little fact, didn't ya BOY?"
Harry just stared at his Uncle silently.
After over a decade spent forced to live with the Dursleys, Harry only saw this expression of demented glee on his Uncle's face three times. The first time, at age four, Harry made the mistake of asking why he got so little food. This led almost immediately to the enormous mass of chores, repair jobs, and drudge work that defined his life until primary school finally began at age eight (not that they stopped afterwards, he just had school to keep him distracted). The second happened at age nine when Harry made the mistake of asking what his parents were like when they were alive. Vernon gleefully forced six bottles of cheap whiskey down his throat while detailing exactly what worthless, useless, layabout vagabonds his parents were; it took nearly three weeks to get over the stomach cramps and massive headache that ensued. The last instance happened only a year before, almost to date, when Vernon did everything in his power to ensure that Harry had no chance whatsoever to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
His Uncle's leer turned even more feral. "Nothing to say BOY?" He asked gleefully. "I didn't think so. You'll never see that school of yours again BOY! Enjoy your new life!"
With that final declaration, Vernon turned and lumbered out of the room followed shortly by the sound of roughly a dozens dead-bolts snapping into place.
After sitting for a full five minutes while trying to deny what his ears told him, Harry finally emerged from his closet to witness the newest 'decorations' now in his room. The sparse moonlight filtered between the gleaming steel bars covering the window and fell directly on the dozen keyholes up and down the length of the door. The new cat-flap at the bottom of the door just added insult to injury.
Harry felt a cold, wet sensation he couldn't remember happening outside of the fierce winds hitting his eyes since his sixth birthday. The abnormality continued unabated as he stared forlornly down at the innocuous looking tent a few yards down that could very well be on he far side of the planet for how easily he could reach it.
He stumbled over and collapsed on his bed, idly wiping the dampness from the back of his hair on the pillowcase as he fell into a fitful sleep.
Worst birthday ever.
- 2 - 2 - 2 -
Harry's sleep could be called sparing at best, miserable at worst.
Cloak's simultaneously reassuring and disturbing presence didn't intrude the slightest on his nightmares, leaving the poor boy fully exposed to the madness and demons that plagued his own traitorous subconscious. He dreamed of being in Quirell's place when the man's head burned to goo under his hands, desperation and pain echoing through his body as his brain started burning within his head. He dreamed of a woman screaming in defiance and a great flash of the darkest green accompanied by pain the likes of which he would subscribe the Crutacius Curse.
He woke with the dawn, a habit developed to avoid Aunt Petunia's searching and not very gentle prods with her broom years before, and could only stare dejectedly at the bars of his new cage. The idle thought passed his brain that perhaps this punishment is karma's way of punishing him for referring to his home as Durzkaban in his thoughts since hearing takes about the horrors of the wizarding prison Azkaban while at school.
'Remain calm and do not fear young Harry Potter. All will be well.' Cloak's reassuring voice echoed out from his thoughts a few minutes after Aunt Petunia pushed his meagre and threadbare brunch through the cat-flap, a half slice of toast and half a can of uncooked tomato soup.
"And how EXACTLY am I supposed to do that?" Harry asked the air sarcastically, ignoring his Aunt undignified squeak.
'By focusing your frustrations.' Cloak answered succinctly, a slightly smug undertone to his voice. 'Despite Dobby's intentional triggering of the warding for improper magic use, the Ministry cannot, in fact, sense wandless magic.'
Harry growled, his anger spiking spectacularly at Cloak's droll, condescending tone. "AND that helps me HOW?" He shouted, again ignoring the squeak of his Aunt from downstairs.
'Because YOU can DO wandless magic.' Cloak answered nonplussed.
"Oh SSSUUURREEE." Harry bit out sarcastically, no small amount of petulance in his tone, the Evans temper (though he did not know it as such) flaring impressively. "And I ASSUME all I have to do is wave my hand at the dresser and it will move?" He demanded, gesturing flippantly with his hand at the aforementioned dresser with his anger spiked to Evans levels.
With an audible screech, the dresser lurched half a foot across the room and slammed to a stop against the wall, accompanied by Harry getting slightly short of breath like he'd just ran the distance from the local grocery store non-stop.
With no small amount of trepidation, despite Cloak's previous assurances to the contrary, Harry waited for another warning notice about using underage magic to fly in on feathery wings for a full two hours before breathing a visible sigh of relief.
"Now how am I going to get out of here?" Harry pondered out loud. His spell repertoire isn't exactly the most stellar, having generally only studied on the first year spells taught during his first ten months at Hogwarts.
Turning a pin into a needle or a beetle into a button (the only two things he learned in Transfiguration) wouldn't exactly be of much use. Likewise he learned nothing of consequence in DADA under Quirellmort. Specifically, nothing. Harry realized with more than a bit of shock, ten months he spent and they never actually learned a single spell outside of Blue Bell Flames and the Stinging Hex (also useless in his current situation, no matter how satisfying it would be to nail Dudley with). In Charms they actually learned Wingardium Leviosa early on, a generic levitating spell, but spent the rest of the year doing nothing but Charms theory while Professor Flitwick tutored those in the class who had trouble casting the first year charm like Ron, Hannah Abbot (a rather quiet Hufflepuff), Seamus Finnegan (one of Harry's dorm-mates and an alright bloke), and Meg... Meg-something Jones (another Hufflepuff, one Harry can't even remember ever hearing words from though she did tend to look feverish anytime Harry saw her).
The less said about Astronomy or History of Magic the better. Harry, like all red-blooded males who have ever seen her, thought Professor Sinestra a very pleasant and attractive woman, but a midnight class staring through a relic of a telescope the average muggle wouldn't give their children as a gag would always be a downer to an early riser like Harry. Professor Binns... well... Harry learned that Wizards got into a lot of long-winded, exceedingly boring, and unending wars with the Goblin Nation over the years.
Oddly, despite being his most hated class ever, Harry DID manage to learn how to brew nearly a dozen different potions under the grueling and exacting tutelage of Professor Snape. That realization made Harry's stomach a little queasy. The subject of Snape reminded Harry of the Unlocking Charm Hermione used to visit the massive ten-foot tall Cerberus (named Fluffy) halfway through the hear, but Harry never even bothered learning the Second Year spell. Not that he could utilize any of his potions knowledge considering his Junior Potions Kit sat lucked up in his old bedroom, the cupboard under the stairs, alongside his beloved holly and Phoenix feather wand purchased at Ollivander's last year.
The R.I.P. wand being likewise unavailable as Harry knew it lay in the crumpled pile of Dudley's cast-offs he used as a bed last night. His mokeskin pouch, likewise, lay unavailable in the entryway living room where he dropped it after cooking himself a bowl of ramen for dinner the night before.
"ARRRGGGGHHHH!" Harry finally screamed out around three or four in the afternoon, getting no small feeling of satisfaction from the sound of a couple dishes shattering in the kitchen below from his exclamation. He had a sense he could very well blow the door right off its hinges, but then he would have to get past Dudley, his Aunt, and possibly half the neighborhood.
Not to mention there is no way Harry would give his gossiping, harping relatives more reasons to point out to all of their neighbors how 'disturbed and unstable' their nephew is. It's bad enough the entire city's population is convinced he attends St. Brutus Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. Literally the only resident of Little Whinging that does not, in fact, consider Harry to be a rather touched, unstable child is the actually touched and unstable neighborhood Old Cat Lady, Arabella Figg.
'Is there any difference between changing a toothpick to a needle or changing a needle to a toothpick?' Cloak asked randomly, upsetting Harry rather long-winded internal monologue.
Harry blinked. "I um... Guess not...?" He voiced aloud, curious where his... mentor might be going with this train of thought.
Cloak's amusement became readily apparent. 'Is there really any difference between the bar on the door's hinges and a needle?'
Harry blinked and just sort of sat there. No, there really isn't.
'Better practice.'
Harry nodded and peeled a splinter off the frame of his bed before focusing on the splinter. Ten minutes later he managed to turn the wood a dull grey. It however, stubbornly refused to turn to metal.
"This is going to take a while."
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