Chapter 3

Harry practiced.

He hid himself in the cupboard, out of sight and out of mind. Amal kept watch for the telltale vibrations of incoming footsteps, which he was grateful for. If Petunia saw any more explosions or flying tableware, he was pretty sure she would have an aneurysm.

"Alohomora," he whispered at the door. It unclicked easily, and Harry left to get some food from the kitchen. It was his easiest spell after all the practice he's had with it, and he closed the door behind him after Amal slithered out. He took a slice of bread from the loaf sitting on the table and left the house.

It was still early, and he yawned as he stumbled outside. He ate quickly and sat in a slumped position on the perch, listening to the telltale croak of the Natterjack toad. The warm winds came from the west, bringing a sense of calm and letting Harry crane his head back to stare at the sky. It was still pitch black, though he could just barely see the moon leaving silver silhouettes on surrounding clouds. Rain would come in torrents compared to the more eastern countries, he thought absentmindedly. Amal lunged at something streaking dark across the grass. It squeaked once and fell silent. Amal sighed in contentment.

"School's today," he murmured. He hated school. His teachers always told him to stop fidgeting as if he needed to go to the bathroom, but his classmates had been nice. Emotionally distant, not open enough to make friends, but they were nice. He picked up the garden hose coiled up in the back and cranked the nozzle a couple times before starting to spray the garden in front. He wound the coil at his feet until it stacked neatly against his weight, and he stuck one leg through the loop to keep it in place. He turned the spray back off and dragged the coil back before looping it around the pipe.

An owl hooted as Harry picked up the snake and entered the house.

- Denying the Dead -

Harry was expected to walk to school. Fortunately, the building was close, and so Harry could track down the car at a brisk pace. He followed Dudley in.

"Alright, class," the woman called out. Harry stepped on Piers' outstretched foot on the way to his seat and glared when the boy turned around to say something. To his surprise, Piers stiffened when Harry's eyes met his and turned his head to the front. "Today we'll be starting a new topic, which focuses on what we've learned last week: fraction and decimal multiplication!"

Harry spun his pencil in his fingers, looking around at the children around him. They seemed way too energetic for his taste in the way they sat attentively, tapping desks or bouncing feet. He remembered how young they were: he was in his twenties when he left. Dudley crumpled up one of the papers when the teacher's attention strayed to another row of seats, and Harry was left with none. He raised a hand.

"I handed out five exactly," she tutted disapprovingly. "Someone else probably has your paper."

Harry scratched his head, glancing over Dudley's victorious grin and the silent snickers of his gang. Dudley frowned at Harry's lack of response but stuffed the ball of paper into his desk and turned to attention. Harry leaned over to tap the shoulder of the girl to his right.

"Hey, mate, can I borrow your paper for a sec?" He pulled out a blank piece of paper and nodded toward her sheet. "It'll be quick."

She passed her sheet over, and as soon as he scanned it he wordlessly cast the doubling charm on his paper with the contact of his fingers. He handed it back to her, and questioningly she rose a brow. He gave her a thumbs up in return, and with a shrug she turned back to her desk.

Harry finished within the minute. Glancing about, he started to spin his pencil between two fingers again. His dexterity was off: his fingers were shorter than they used to be, but they were still lanky and thin. He needed to gain some weight, because other than his speed he felt as if he could be knocked over like a twig.

"How're you doing that?"

Harry's head turned back. To his surprise, the girl who had given him her paper was talking to him. She was staring at his hand, and the pencil came to a stop on top of his knuckles. He held the pencil up. "The spin thing? It's easy."

"Harry!" They both jumped at the noise. Chastised, his gaze turned to the front as he put his pencil down.

"Yes?"

"Did you finish your problems?"

She motioned for him to come to the front. Harry grit his teeth but rose to hand his sheet to her. The snickering began once again, but one sharp word from her and the class was silent. She glanced over it once. "Still couldn't find your sheet?"

"Sorry," he muttered, flashbacks returning to teachers who blamed him for missing a paper or for being unable to answer a problem correctly. It didn't harm his grade, but he was bitter over the mistreatment and it burned through whatever respect he had for his elders. The woman's eyes darted to him upon hearing his words and went back to his notes just as quickly. As she reread the problems, her brows furrowed.

"Dudley, give me your papers," she announced suddenly. The boy sat front and center, but he had to stand up to comply due to his short arm span. Harry leaned over and plucked the paper from his grasp, earning a quick scowl from Dudley.

The woman blinked in surprise. "These are the wrong papers!" The students were all looking up by now, and she read over the problems with an increasing confusion that he had yet to understand. "I'm sorry, I must have mixed them up with my other class."

She was still holding Harry's sheet. "These-" she stuttered. "these answers are all correct."

"Yes?" He asked, a bit apprehensive. "Is that bad?"

"These were algebra problems," she said, eyes wide. "You learn this topic in Year 10. With the difficulty of pre-calc equations, these are for students in Year 12."

Harry felt a spasm run through him. He coughed. "Well, uh, algebra is an easy subject for me."

She stared at him a little longer than he appreciated, and his eyes averted. She flipped Harry's sheet of paper and wrote another problem down. "Solve this one while I hand out the right sheets."

Harry stared at the paper as she got up to recollect the work. It was simple enough, he thought in a panic, one of those long division problems. Did fifth graders learn this? He couldn't tell. He scribbled his answer, hoping for the best.

He shouldn't have even picked up the pencil.

"Harry," the teacher started, "do you have a tutor?"

"No," he replied, glancing over to Dudley, whose eyes darted between him and the woman with increasing unease. Harry wondered if Dudley was possibly a good student.

"This is incredible," she said, checking his work. "Solve this for me."

This time, she went up to the board to write another problem. Half the class was staring up at the both of them, and Harry felt a little bit of fear crawling up his neck. Did she want him to be called out later? When she turned back toward him expectantly, he turned away.

"I can't solve it," he muttered. She held the chalk, regarding him with a solemn expression. His skin prickled with unease.

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Can't."

She hummed in discontent and raised a brow. "You learned this earlier in the year, did you not? I'll have to mention this to your teacher when he returns."

He could feel the thrumming of rage along his fingertips. His eyes widened in fear, and quickly he reined himself in. He nearly snatched the chalk from her at that point, attempting to soothe his emotions. His skin burned in rage, and the chalk piece nearly snapped in half as he answered the problem. I should've been more careful, he thought, his work getting messier by the second. Behind him the students stared agape. Why can't I fucking think before I act?

He threw the chalk down with a satisfying thunk, breathing through his nose. "Happy now?" If he sounded bitter, she didn't say anything, because she was smiling so wide he that his thoughts died away and wariness returned.

"Yes," she replied.

"He's smart, Arabella," she said excitedly to a now silent Mrs. Figg. "I didn't believe you until I saw it myself. I shouldn't have jumped to solutions so quickly."

The substitute teacher was a close companion of Arabella, having a muggle degree in teaching and taking over the class for a day or so. She could have found a better opportunity to recommend her the job, especially because the woman had no clue of the wizarding community. Arabella sighed. "I'd say so. He's orphaned and taken in by his relatives, but by the things I've seen from that Dursley family I don't believe they'd care for any sort of tutoring."

She glanced through the window over to said family's abode. Harry was outside watering the plants, and the woman leaned over to watch him. "He's so skinny," she tutted, drawing the shades down a little further. "His clothes are a tad too large. Look at how baggy his shirt is!"

Arabella pushed her face away. "Enough with the fawning, Tessa," she frowned, though amusement could not be hidden from her tone of voice. "Save it for your own children."

Tessa laughed, though she sobered far too quickly for it to be true. "Are they abusive?" She murmured quietly. "I could see scars."

"The one on his forehead? That's from the car crash with his parents when he was a babe," she dismissed. Tessa shook her head.

"No, Bell," she said, pointing. "Look at his hands."

Arabella leaned closer. Her eyes focused: when she stared long enough, she noticed it. Long, thin lines on the palms of his hands. "Looks like someone whipped him," Tessa remarked in disdain. "I wouldn't trust that Dursley family. I saw Dudley messing with him several times today, but I didn't think much of it then."

Their attention was drawn outside again when Harry darted fast, speeding like a dark bullet across the lawn. He lunged out to the middle of the street just as a car came driving down the road. The driver screeched to a halt, but it was too late: the front passed the point where Harry had been just a second before.

But Harry wasn't there.

Immediately Arabella stood up and covered the curtains. Tessa was running for the door, but Arabella kept a hold on her shoulder. "Calm down and I'll call the police," Mrs. Figg said. Already she was dialing the number for the Ministry of Magic: she would need an Obliviator for these two.

"He doesn't know yet," she whispered, keeping a wary eye on the window. "He's still underage."

Arabella's cat meowed convincingly.

- Denying the Dead -

Harry put the snake back down. "Watch where you're going," he hissed.

Amal curled up. "That car made such a racket that I couldn't feel where I was going."

Harry sighed, swinging gently on the playground swing. His feet could not graze the ground, to his displeasure. "Why am I so thin?" He bemoaned, tugging at the collar of his shirt. "I get hungry so fast, too."

"Then eat," the snake replied. "Your strange rituals in the morning seem to be making you hungrier, too."

"Running will increase stamina," he denied, shaking his head resolutely.

Harry heard the rock faster than he could've seen it and he ducked quickly. Speeding over him was a rock the size of a pebble, followed by a curse. He stood up and turned around.

Dudley's gang had been increasingly pestering as of late, chasing after him at random intervals to try and rouse his anger by throwing elementary remarks and physical objects. "Fuck off, Dudley," Harry called out before he could censor his word choice.

Dudley laughed, coming out from behind the bush. "You think you can tell me what to do?" He gloated.

"Five against one," Harry replied. "That seems fair. Can't take me on by yourself, Diddly-kins?"

The boy turned red at that, stomping his foot. "I'll get you!" He roared, running forward without hesitation.

Harry could not deny the fact that Dudley was stronger, especially because of their weight difference. His experience in combat, however, was years ahead, and he would be damned if he'd been bested by a bully who still cried for not having enough presents on his birthday. He pulled back just as Dudley aimed a swipe to his head, slapping it upward and ducking underneath just as he pulled up past his elbow. His hand sliced out and punched Dudley square in the windpipe. He choked, bent forward and fell.

"Who's next?" He asked, eyeing the rest.

They spread out this time, strategizing far better than their leader had. Harry feinted toward the blonde and three of them turned to follow. He immediately changed course and went for Piers.

The boy scrambled back. "W-wait, I-"

Harry clocked him in the jaw. "Don't get up," he growled, and Piers fell limp on the ground. He grappled the next one closest to him.

The boy grabbed his arm. With the easiest turn of the wrist, Harry grabbed ahold and spun so that his back was flush to the guy's chest before driving his feet down and digging his elbow right into his ribs.

When the boy keeled over, he was caught by the fourth boy.

"Don't move," the fifth began as he smacked his fist to his palm threateningly. Harry grinned, leaned forward, and threw his head back to crack right against his assailant's nose.

The last one standing assessed his fallen companions and instantly came to a decision. "Don't tell Dudley," he cried out before running off.

Harry stood there, breathing heavily. The knuckles on his hand was red from the force of his punch, and the back of his head tingled a bit. His eyes went to Dudley.

"Go tell your mummy, I dare you," Harry told him before winding Amal under the sleeve of his too-large shirt. From behind him he could hear Piers take an audible breath.

Before Dudley could look up and make a retort, Harry made a run for it. He'd have some time to sprint towards the house and steal some food before he was banned forever from eating. He'd probably have to lock himself in while he was at it.

It was totally worth the punch.

I'm gonna write longer chapters