Disclaimer: I own none of the recognizable characters. Just borrowing.
A/N: note to Stole_annie's_star, yes I would love to have a beta and thnx for the good review. I tried to PM you but for whatever reason, it didn't work so I'm afraid you're gonna have to contact me. I'm really new to fanfiction so I don't really know how all that stuff works.
And for the rest of ya here's chapter 3! enjoy
Wounds of the Heart
Chapter 3: Of Wands, Wizards, and Potions
The pair walked in silence down the short road until they were standing on the porch at Number 4. Harry tried the handle only to find that it was locked, so he tapped twice on the pristine, white door. Petunia's blurry image approached and a moment later the door swung wide. Aunt Petunia blinked, surprised no doubt by Arianna's presence.
"Hi, Mrs. Dursley." Arianna said pleasantly, smiling widely at his aunt. The courtesy was lost on the woman, who only saw one of her freaky nephew's friends.
"Boy, get inside! If Vernon comes home and sees that you haven't finished..." she trailed off for a moment, looking flustered, before regaining her ability, "and don't come crying to me if you don't get it all done: it'll be no one's fault but your own, lazing about the streets for hours!" With a haughty jerk of her chin, she motioned Harry into the house, stepping aside to let him pass. The moment he stepped over the threshold, with one last apologetic look towards Arianna, Petunia slammed the door in the girl's face.
Arianna stepped back and turned towards her own house, a contemplative look playing about her features that Harry didn't see.
"The list is on the table, so get to it! Now! You've wasted enough time already." Aunt Petunia hissed, turning towards the living room where her fat son sat, sprawled out on the couch watching the telly. Oh yes, Harry was so lazy and useless and he never did anything around the house. Right.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia." he muttered, but he doubted she heard him, already fussing over her rotten son.
The list of chores was the usual: wash the car, clean the windows, the bathroom, the kitchen, pull the weeds, water the garden, etc. Most of the chores didn't really need doing as the list had been almost the same the day before. And the day before that. Everything was the same around here, boring, perfect, normal Privet Drive. Harry hated it.
The day was just as dull and busy (for Harry at least) as every other day he had been forced to endure in his family's company. By the end of it, the every muscle in Harry's body ached and was crying out for rest. Vernon turned up around seven, demanding dinner and whiskey which Harry had already prepared for the whale of a man as one of his chores. Harry was then sent up to his room with a small supper while the Dursleys dug into the pot roast and potato dinner he had so meticulously made earlier. He didn't mind. Along with a note relaying her sympathy and an invitation to the Burrow, Mrs. Weasly had sent him a rather large box of sweets that Harry had not yet managed to polish off. So ha, and HA! Take that, Dudley!
Harry lifted the loose floorboard and found the neat little box just the way he left it. He savored each sweet for as long as he could and wrote a note of thanks to Ron's generous mother, before flopping on the bed wearily, his mind a jumbled mess. Was there really a chance that he could do magic again? Mrs. Niall had said not to tell any of his old friends, but Mr. Niall was a wizard, and he trusted Ron and Hermione completely. But he was thinking way too far ahead: he didn't even know if he could do the magic they had spoken of. Mrs. Niall had said that the old magic faded the longer a wizard held a wand, and he had had his for five years.
Harry looked down at the book that lay decrepit on his small desk. It seemed far out of place amidst the rest of the mundane things in the house, ancient and palpably magical. He approached it cautiously, wondering what to expect. Mrs. Niall had said that it was the real history of where and when magic had begun, unbiased and containing only the utter truth. Harry could just imagine something like this, a cover up by those in power on such an immensely large scale. Hermione would love to get her hands on this.
Cautiously and very gently, Harry picked up the book and settled in on his bed to read, prepared to continue all through the night. This was his only hope, afterall.
According to the book, the first wizard was Muggle-born, a Mudblood. This meant that essentially everyone else, even so-called pureblood families, had Muggle blood in them too even if it went very far back. The magic was passed down through the blood of generations of muggles until it eventually manifested itself in physical form, in an Egyptian man whose name remained unknown. Later, the same event occured in several other muggle families, and the witches and wizards mated with other muggles until there were enough of them to form their own society.
Harry could only imagine Malfoy's reaction to this.
The writers then continued to explain in detail the psycological source of a person's magic. Apparently, the only difference between a muggle and a wizard was some sort of switch in the brain, but the wording and context here was so complex and confusing that Harry skipped forward to a more interesting topic.
The first wand. Around two and a half millenia ago, there was an uprising that developed into an all out civil war between government and people. The two sides were equally matched however, and the war raged on for several years before they reached a turning point. A man by the name of John Wright happened across a tree that he found distinctly magical, and conducted a little experiment with the intent to increase his magical power. But the government got ahold of it and put spells on the wand, changing its nature from enhancing and focusing to diminishing and controlling.
Through several spies integrated in the community, these wands were sold to the people. Before anyone had realized what was going on, the memory charms were put in place and the wand owners were set to wait the seven years for the binding to take place. Precious few escaped.
The ones who remembered and still held the old magic prepared an attack on the country leaders, who had not deigned to purchase wands for themselves. The battle that followed was kept secret from the people, while the rebels managed to turn the tables and erased the leaders' minds. Over the years, the writers created this book, yet they refrained from telling anyone else of its existence or content, and passed it on to the future generations to be added to and repaired as was seen fit. It was basically a long lasting family journal, recording spells, curses, herbs, and potions that could be used without wizards magic. An interesting little tidbit: potions was the only form of magic that the wandmakers didn't change, it was still done with the same base magic as before that time.
Even when he was expelled, Harry couldn't escape potions! Fate had a cruel sense of humor.
A/N: *panting heavily while clenching and unclenching fists* Finally! My computer made this chapter really difficult by randomly shutting down the internet every couple of paragraphs I got down and pissing me off! I had to rewrite it like a billion times before I finally finished, so if it seems a little disjointed at places I'll fix that later.
Anyway, this was a necessary chapter because it's going to set a lot of things in motion and explained quite a bit. Hope I didn't get too text booky on ya but I just barely managed to get this thing out. I need a beta cause I cannot stand to read this chapter one more time!