CHAPTER 4
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August 19th, 2017
James was tired. Not the 'I just stayed up all night' type of tired, but the 'I just spent the last thirteen days with no food trying to escape a closet' type of tired.
His arms were so sore that he could barely lift them up off the ground. The shoe idea had been a colossal failure, and he had abandoned it three days ago. Or at least, what he thought was three days ago. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness with alarming frequency, and so had little confidence in his perception of time.
James stared intently at the door.
The shoes had done absolutely nothing other than wear out his arms and consume the last remaining dregs of his strength. It was infuriating. The force from the shoe was simply not enough to cause any significant damage to the door, even when he animated them to hit the door repeatedly at great speed. Of course, there was that niggling voice in the back of his mind that wondered if by animating the shoes, he had prevented them from ever being able to affect the magically warded door.
So he had turned back to his nails, the only method that had made any noticeable difference Staring at the door, James admired the thick, heavy grooves that he had managed to gouge into it.
His process had been simple. He healed, strengthened, and enlarged his nails until they were miniature claws, and then started scratching at the door. At first, they would have no effect, but eventually, they would start tearing and bleeding and leave marks on the door. He assumed that the lingering magic of his enchantments needed to fade enough so as to not activate the wards, and only then could they cause damage. Transfiguring them never seemed to work, so he stuck with enchanting them.
He had repeated this process over and over, wearing his nails down to bloody stubs, and had a heavily marked door to show for it.
But still, it wasn't enough. He knew that he was fading, and his survival instinct was rearing its head in full force. He had tried calling to Kreacher, but the house-elf had yet to appear. Either his dad had warded the room to prevent house-elf apparition or he had ordered Kreacher to not help him under any circumstances, and both possibilities were equally as likely and equally as dangerous.
James felt a cramp in his stomach, followed by another wave of fatigue.
He had to get out, and soon.
The annoying voice in the back of his mind whispered incessantly that there was something he was missing. Of course, he understood that the brain needed food as much as every other part of the body, and so his was likely not functioning at full capacity. In fact, he had noticed his body slowly shutting down all of the processes it deemed unnecessary in order to conserve energy.
He felt like he was drifting listlessly in a fog, with the hope of escape his one guiding beacon.
Everything felt warped, sluggish, and he had to actively focus in order to force his body to comply with his wishes.
He continued to stare at the door.
What was he missing? He forced himself to evaluate his methods. The transfigured axe hadn't worked, and neither had the animated shoes. Yet somehow, his enchanted nails had worked. Only, they never worked initially, and they didn't work if they were transfigured. Why?
His mind mulled through the puzzle. He felt another spike of anger, although it was quickly subdued. Strong emotions were almost as tiring as physical exertion. Still, the lingering frustration remained. He knew that if his brain was working properly, he would have already figured it out. He wished that he had taken the proper steps and experimented enough earlier on so he could have had all of the pieces of the riddle before his mind started fading.
But, he hadn't, and so he had to figure it out now. He did not think that he could break through the door using his nails before he died. It was a simple fact.
James was not afraid of death. All of the life-or-death training his father had put him through had long since cured him of that fear. Sure, he didn't want to die, especially not like this, but he wasn't one to baulk at the idea. He knew it was unfair for a twelve year old to have such first-hand experience with death, but it was a simple fact of his life.
He shook his head. He was getting distracted again.
Another wave of nausea hit him so strongly that he actually dry heaved for several minutes. Of course, there was nothing in his stomach left to cough up, but the sensation was still incredibly unpleasant. James felt his eyes sting, but no tears came out.
He was running on fumes.
Focus! He told himself. Focus!
What was he missing?
James stared blankly at the bloody, furrowed door. He rubbed his fingers together lightly, absently noting the swollen scar tissue all around them. His healing spells had gotten progressively less powerful, and so his fingers had stopped healing fully. If he managed to survive, he would almost certainly have a new set of scars. In all honesty, he was amazed that so much blood had come out of such small appendages. They had long since gone numb, and he had to consider –
Wait a second. Blood. Bloody fingernails. Blood!
James sat gobsmacked for a few moments, unable to comprehend the fact that he had just figured it out.
It was so simple, too simple, it couldn't be…
Using his last reserves of energy, he forced himself to stand up. His legs trembled, and his head spun dangerously, but he held onto consciousness by sheer determination.
He conjured a mouse.
Another wave of lethargy swept through him painfully. His legs buckled, but he leaned his body against the wall so as to better distribute his weight. The cold surface of the wood gave him an unexpected burst of clarity.
He transfigured the mouse into an axe.
The world tilted, and this time, he did collapse. He started dry heaving again, except this time, little globules of blood spattered the floor. James stared at the ground, his mind a mass of buzzing white noise, until the world righted itself once more.
He stayed sitting down, every inch of his slumped body aching in protest.
He grabbed the axe, and used the sharp point of one side to pierce his arm at the crease of his elbow. A lazy rivulet of gelatinous blood started oozing down his arm, and he liberally coated both sides of the axe with it.
This was it. The final moment.
James waved his wand, incanting the spell to animate the axe into bashing itself against the door. As the words flowed from his mouth, he felt his eyes flutter closed.
Peace. Silence. Bliss.
He floated, and his mind scattered into a thousand different directions. There was no pain, no worry, only emptiness. It would be so simple, so easy, to just drift off…
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
James opened his eyes.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! SPLITTTTT!
It took his mind a few seconds to catch up to what his eyes were seeing. The blood-coated axe had broken through the door.
It continued its assault, breaking off larger and larger pieces of wood each time its wicked, bloody edge collided with the obstruction.
In moments, the hole was big enough for James to walk through.
He couldn't believe it. He was free.
Free!
He canceled the spell and managed to hoist his quaking body up to a standing position, using the broken door for support. Deep splinters lodged themselves into his hands, but he could hardly feel them. Exultant, James took a quivering step, then another, and then finally, stepped above the wrecked door and into the living room.
He was free!
"MASTER JAMES!" yelled Kreacher, careening into the room like a mad bludger.
"Kreacher…" James uttered, his voice a pathetic tremor. He crumbled onto the ground in a heap.
Kreacher apparated away, reappearing instantly with a basket filled with potions. "Here, yous drink think! Drink it now, quickly!" said Kreacher, thrusting a vivid red phial under his nose that he vaguely recognized as a blood replenisher. James grabbed it and chugged it without complaint.
"And now this one!" ordered Kreacher, his weathered hands shaking as much as James was, holding out a draft that helped with magical exhaustion.
James drank that one, and then the next one, and soon, he became aware of the fact that he was no longer shivering. His body was still.
"A few more now, Master James," croaked Kreacher gently. He handed him three vials of potion, each a disgusting brown color that James had to choke down due to their putrid taste. Nutrition potions were always nasty.
Still, that was a good sign. If he was noticing taste, it meant that his bodily faculties were returning.
"Here, this is the last one," Kreacher rasped out, giving him a merry yellow concoction that smelt surprisingly fruity. James didn't recognize it, but swallowed it and felt a noticeable surge in energy rush from his head all the way down to his toes.
"Are yous feeling better, Master James?" Kreacher asked in as soft of a voice as the haggard old elf was capable of.
James was silent, and Kreacher wrung his hands frantically together in nervous anxiety. Finally, he sighed and replied, "I think so. Give me a moment."
What a pair the two of them made. Kreacher, the house-elf obsessed with blood purity, looking anxiously after the welfare of his half-blood master, who was still sprawling on the floor.
James groaned, and realized that he was indeed feeling better. After so many days of lethargy and pain, it felt odd to feel 'normal' again.
Gingerly, he stood up, noting that his muscles were much more responsive and cooperative. He noticed the splinters in his hands and cast an "Accio!" that yanked them all out. Kreacher winced, but James barely felt it.
"Medire," he said softly, watching the cuts and gashes heal over. He could cast spells again. This was a very good sign.
"I think I'm better now Kreacher. Thank you, you might have just saved my life," James said genuinely. He thought that Kreacher looked a little teary-eyed at his gratefulness, but it might have just been his imagination.
"Kreacher lives to serve the House of Black," was Kreacher's stilted response.
Impulsively, he bent down and hugged the dirty, wrinkled, decrepit old elf, ignoring the ghastly smell of his soiled pillowcase.
Kreacher stood there stiffly, clearly not knowing how to respond.
He ended the hug, not wanting to prolong Kreacher's blatant discomfort. "I think I'm going to go to bed. Do you think you could bring me up some soup?" James asked.
Kreacher bowed down until his nose touched the floor, and gravely replied, "Of course, Master James," before turning around and apparating away with a small pop.
He smiled, understanding that Kreacher would never be comfortable with affection. His smile turned into a small frown when he realized that he had no idea where his father was.
It seemed incredible that only minutes earlier, he had been on the brink of death. Healing potions truly were amazing. His father, however, seemed to sincerely not care whether he lived or died. If he had, he would have let James out earlier, or at the very least, been waiting anxiously for him to get out.
James didn't quite know how to feel about that, and so decided to not feel anything at all.
Sleep, he decided. He needed sleep.
He climbed up the stairs, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the steps in front of him. Still, he felt the gazes of the heads on the back of his neck, and could not help but catch a glimpse or two out of his peripheral vision.
He had to do something about his father.
But not now. No, right now he needed sleep. And food.
He walked to his door and pushed it open, rejoicing in its spotless cleanliness. Kreacher was forbidden from cleaning, so James was almost obsessive in keeping his room as clean as possible. He knew that his father almost never came in here, and so there was little risk of him getting mad about it.
James looked at his bed longingly, before grudgingly turning around and slipping off his bloody clothes and casting a quick "Scourgify!" on his body. He slid into a pair of clean pajamas, and re-cast the cleaning spell on his mouth. Once he deemed himself hygienic, he stumbled his way to his bed and allowed himself to be swallowed by its softness. His eyes grew heavy, but a soft pop reminded him that he needed to eat.
"Kreacher has brought master soup," Kreacher grumbled. James knew that the elf's sour mood was a response to his confusion about the hug, and so thought nothing of it.
"Thank you Kreacher," said James, carefully elevating himself to a sitting position and picking the bowl up from the proffered tray.
It didn't look all that appetizing. It was a thin, watery tomato soup, but he knew that his stomach couldn't take much more right now. The potions might have given him nutrition, but he needed to re-accustom himself to real food.
"Is Master James needing anything else?" asked Kreacher formally.
"No, that's it, thank you again," said James, who blew tentatively on a spoonful of the steaming soup.
Kreacher left with another faint pop.
As he consumed his first morsel of food in almost two weeks, he couldn't hold back the groan that ripped through him. It wasn't so much that it tasted good as it was that it was food. Actual food.
As James sat there, slurping his soup, he couldn't help but feel like the whole thing had been rather anticlimactic. He wondered what it must be like for muggles, who didn't have healing potions and house elves and for whom starvation took weeks to overcome. Near death situations almost never led to death in the wizarding world, and so had the tendency to lose their edge.
The only things that could really exhilarate him anymore were quidditch, dark magic, and dueling. Even when he had been dying, he had not been afraid, he had not panicked. He wanted to survive, he was a survivor, but he was a survivor without fear. He simply couldn't muster any fear for things that would terrify anybody, much less a twelve year old boy. Fear was useless. Fear could get you killed.
The spoon clattered against the bottom of the now empty bowl.
The small bowl of soup had left him feeling uncomfortably full. He mentally cursed his father once again. Where was he? Was he honestly going to let him die in there? Had he even come home?
James looked at the bowl of soup, and realized with a start that Kreacher had served it to him, directly. That must mean that his father had allowed Kreacher to serve real food again, which meant that his father had been home. Since he had allowed real food, James hoped that his father was currently relatively sane. But, if he was sane, shouldn't he have let him out of the cupboard?
His mind swirled with the possibilities, his eyelids slipping closed. He had enough presence of mind to put his bowl onto the table and slide under the covers before he felt his exhaustion overtake him
James was unconscious within seconds.
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August 20th, 2017
Harry awoke with a groan and absently reached his hand up to scratch his head. A curious, low buzzing noise filled his ears. When he pulled back his hand and blearily opened his eyes, he realized that it was covered with hundreds of bugs.
He quickly became aware of the thousands if not millions of bugs crawling all over him. Beetles, worms, ants, roaches… it looked like the entire insect kingdom had decided to have a party on his bed with the chicken bodies as the guests of honor. A horde of flies was hovering above him, accounting for the buzzing noise.
Harry was mildly annoyed.
He reached his hand over to fetch his wand from its position on his bedside countertop.
Glacio Flamare! he thought, feeling the familiar tingle of the flame freezing charm run throughout his body.
"Inflamara Maximus!" he called out with a vicious jab of his wand.
With a loud whoosh, a fireball consumed the bed and most of the room, immolating the bugs, the flies, the infested chicken bodies, his clothes, and the bed to cinders. Harry fell to the ashy ground with a thump.
He slowly stood up, completely naked, and rubbed his aching backside. It wasn't a pleasant wake-up call, but he'd had worse.
There was still a faint buzzing in the air, and he turned his attentions to the body in the corner of the room. The sheet he had laid on top of it was wriggling, likely due to the colonies of bugs that had taken up residence in the decaying corpse. The stench was absolutely rancid.
He frowned. That many bugs shouldn't have come so quickly. It would take several days for so many to accumulate, and the smell from the corpse shouldn't be that strong yet.
Confusion. He hated confusion. But, it had been a frequent mental state of his for some time now.
"Kreacher!" Harry called out sharply. The elf appeared instantaneously.
"Master Harry called, sir?" croaked out the elf, his nose wrinkling in displeasure. Harry could only speculate as to what part of the room induced his displeasure. Was it the body in the corner? The flies? The stench? His nudity? The fact that half of the room was a despondent pile of cinders?
"What day is it?" Harry asked curtly, wordlessly casting an Evanesco! on the ashes.
"Today is August 20th, 2017," Kreacher responded.
That explained it. He had been asleep for six days.
"Right," Harry said blandly. "Well I'm hungry. Bring me some food."
Kreacher left with a pop.
Six days. That was the longest stretch of time he had ever slept in one go. He supposed that his sleep deprivation and magical exertion had taken more of a toll than he realized.
He once again observed the corpse in the corner. More than likely, her face and head would be beyond recognition, making her unsuitable as a trophy. With a sigh, he sent another "Inflamara Maximus!" to that side of the room, burning everything into a nice crisp.
Kreacher returned with platter laden with steak and potatoes. Harry instantly refocused his attention to the plate of food, and dug in hungrily. There was no silverware, but Harry never used silverware anymore. His hands were soon covered with grease and mashed potatoes as he ravenously consumed everything on the plate.
As he swallowed the last bite, Harry sighed contentedly.
"Thanks Kreacher, you can go now," Harry allowed generously.
Kreacher nodded and disapparated with a pop.
Harry surveyed the room for a final time. The only piece of furniture he had left was a wooden wardrobe shoved into the far corner of the room. He quickly vanished the rest of the ash, and summoned two pairs of old robes out of the wardrobe.
One pair, he put on, vaguely registering that they smelt rather stale. Still, he didn't particularly feel like running around starkers.
The other pair, he transfigured into a new bed and bedside table. It took a little extra effort, but he was able to make the transfiguration permanent.
There, all better. The room was bare, but now it looked relatively normal.
Satisfied, Harry opened his door and made his way downstairs. Dust and grime coated every surface except for his spectacularly gleaming trophies. He made sure that they were cleaned frequently.
Indeed, as he passed, he cast a silent Scourgify! to remove any new dust particles that might have accumulated. They truly looked magnificent.
He reached downstairs, and the first thing he noticed was the wreckage of the cupboard door. Why was the cupboard door busted open?
Oh yes, he remembered. He had locked James in there. Looks like he got out.
Harry felt a little guilty. He didn't know that he was going to sleep for so long, and it could have been very dangerous for James if he had slept any longer. But still, it looked like his son had managed just fine without him. He nodded. Yes, there was no reason to coddle the boy.
Vaguely, he wondered how long ago that James had gotten out, and what method he had used. Perhaps he ought to praise the boy. After all, the wards were difficult, and James had managed to break through them on his own.
Harry smiled. Yes, he would do just that. James deserved something for his accomplishment.
What should he get him? A new book?
Yes, James loved books, especially dark arts books. He was a good father, and allowed his son to explore anything that caught his interest. He provided what he could for his son, and gave him the knowledge and training that he couldn't get at Hogwarts. James was very strong, and very powerful, and it was in part due to his tutelage. Harry Potter might have scraped by in life through sheer dumb luck, but his son would be powerful enough to defeat anyone who stood in his way.
Harry felt an absurd surge of fondness that he bitterly forced back down. But the damage was done. Already, his mind was crying out for blood.
Angrily, Harry fled to the training room, maintaining his precarious control until it finally snapped the moment he stepped through the door.
"Avada Kedavra!" The killing curse.
"Explotum!" The explosion curse.
"Cruxis!" The pain curse.
"Confringo!" The fire hex.
"Imperio!" The mind-control curse.
"Ossicur!" The bone-breaking curse.
"Travius!" The splitting curse.
"Crucio!" The torture curse.
"Rupturatus!" The rupturing curse.
"Scoria!" The skinning curse.
"Incendio!" The fire jinx.
"Dolerus Funara!" The burial curse.
"Inflamara!" The fire curse.
"Fissurla!" The fissuring curse.
"Cruciare Inflamara!" The painful fire curse.
"Lasseraxus!" The laceration curse.
"Aegratis!" The corruption curse.
"Sectumsempra!" The slashing curse.
Harry spat out dark magic from his wand in a furious blur, his mind cataloguing every spell in an attempt to restore order.
This mental and magical exercise was the only thing that ever helped curb the edge of his insanity.
"Avada Kedavra!" he yelled, delighting in the sickly green light that splashed harmlessly against the wall. "Crucio! Crucio! Dolerus Funara! Travius! Sectumsempra! Avada Kedavra!"
He wanted more. He wanted screams.
"Crucio! Confringo! Fissurla! Crucio! Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! Imperio! Aegratis!"
It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough!
"Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!" he screamed madly, flailing around, heedless of where his spells were going. In his mind, he saw bodies everywhere, and they were all screaming with him, screaming screaming screaming screaming.
He laughed, exhilarated.
"Avada Kedavra!" he gasped out through his cackles. "Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!"
The entire room was bathed in green. Death was everywhere. Everything was dead. Time for the finale!
"FIENDFYRE!" Harry roared, his blood rushing through his ears.
Monstrous, flaming creatures surged out of his wand, their mad cries harmonizing with his own discordant soul.
Dragons, hellhounds, snakes, mad beasts of myth and legend, they shrieked and bayed and found purpose in the goal that formed their existence – to destroy. The whirled, angry at being denied flesh and blood, and turned on their master.
But his bloodlust was sated, and he dispelled them once they came too close.
He stood there panting, sweat beading on his forehead. His control had returned. For now.
Harry swept out of the room, intent on talking to James while he had some semblance of his sanity. His first stop was the Black library, but after pacing through the aisles, Harry was forced to conclude that his son wasn't there.
His room, then. Harry trudged up the stairs, barely looking at his trophies, and stopped in front of James' room. He paused, uncertain of whether he should go in or not. He hated this room. It brought back too many memories, too many emotions. He knocked tentatively, hoping that James would come out, but there was no response. Steadying his emotions, he strengthened his resolve and pushed his way inside.
James was asleep. Harry checked his watch, and noted that it was 2 in the afternoon. That wouldn't do at all.
"Aguamenti!" Harry called out, sending a jet of ice-cold water onto his son's sleeping form.
Harry lazily dodged the "Reducto!" that was immediately hurled his way, and watched with muted pride as his son rolled out of the bed and into a perfect dueling stance within seconds.
Harry held up his hands in mock surrender, allowing James a moment to gather his wits. James seemed to catch on to what had happened fairly quickly, and lowered his wand.
"What did you do that for?" James asked grumpily. "How long was I even asleep?"
Harry shrugged.
"Kreacher!" James called out, applying the drying spell "Exhaura!" to his pajamas and bed.
"Yes, Master James?" asked Kreacher, appearing by his side instantly.
"How long have I been sleeping?" he asked, making his way to his dresser and pulling out a pair of fresh robes. He cast a quick switching spell, and folded his pajamas neatly into the dresser.
"Yous went to sleep yesterday, August 19th, at 7pm. So if yous just woke up, yous been asleep for nineteen hours," Kreacher replied.
James nodded, as if expecting this answer. "Can you bring me some food?" he asked when his stomach started to grumble. Harry heard it from across the room.
"Yes Master James," Kreacher said with a small bow before disapparating.
Father and son looked at each other, both of their faces utterly blank.
"So," Harry began, "when did you get out of the cupboard?"
The slight tightening of James' jaw was the only outward sign he gave of his internal rage. "Well, since I fell asleep yesterday at 7pm, I'd have to estimate that I got out yesterday around 6:30pm."
More silence. Harry was too busy struggling with his thoughts and emotions to figure out what to say.
Finally, James added, "Not that you actually care."
"I do care," Harry responded reflexively.
"Yeah? Well then, where were you? I almost died dad!" James interrogated, allowing some of his anger to lace his words.
"I was sleeping," Harry responded lamely. But really, he didn't know what else to say.
"You were sleeping? For six days?" said James incredulously.
"Yes," said Harry simply. "I was very tired."
A little bit of hot air seemed to deflate out of James' sails, but he still clenched his wand in a fiercely tight grip.
Kreacher popped back into the room, carrying a small bowl of chicken noodle soup and some applesauce, along with a handful of potions.
Harry took in the sight with some confusion. He noticed a while ago that his potions seemed to go missing every so often, but he had never cared about it or thought about it hard enough to realize where exactly they were going. It was curious.
"Thank you, Kreacher," said James, allowing Kreacher to disapparated once more.
"He's been the one taking my potions?" inquired Harry neutrally.
"Yes, under my orders," replied James, quickly uncorking each of the potions and swallowing them one after another.
"What makes you think you have that kind of authority?" asked Harry, the first note of warning appearing in his voice.
James seemed to notice it, because his posture stiffened and his grip on his wand intensified.
"I believe I have the authority to see to my health and safety when my father decides to have a week-long nap," said James with no small amount of sarcasm.
Harry's eyes flickered dangerously, and he started twirling his wand between his fingers. "I'm responsible for you. I wouldn't allow you to come to serious harm. You should be grateful."
"Grateful?" James sneered, eating his soup with one hand while his wand remained clenched in the other. "You saw those potions, right? I assume you know what they are. I was hours, minutes, away from starving to death. The process was accelerated due to my magical exhaustion. Why was I magically exhausted, you might ask? Oh, I know why. Because you locked me in the cupboard and warded the way out!"
Harry resisted the urge to send a barrage of curses at his son. Ironically enough, it helped that he was angry. It was when he became sentimental that his control was truly tested.
"Well, you didn't die, and now you've learned a very valuable lesson," said Harry, ignoring the dark look James shot his way. "How did you break the wards, anyway?"
"Blood," James answered shortly, focusing his attentions on spooning the rest of the soup into his mouth
"Blood?" asked Harry, genuinely curious.
"Yeah. I coated an axe with my blood and chopped through the door," he summarized, turning his attentions to the applesauce.
Harry mused for a second. Yes, the solution certainly was creative, if a bit crude. He had tied the wards to his magical signature, which meant that his son, being of his blood, was able to use that blood to break through the wards. It wasn't what he had in mind, but he certainly couldn't fault James for his ingenuity.
"Well, good job son, I'm proud of you" Harry said stiffly. The lack of affection in his voice was blatant.
"Thanks," said James, his voice equally devoid of emotion.
"I want to give you something," said Harry awkwardly. "For succeeding, I mean. If you want, we can go to Knockturn Alley and you can pick out something you like."
His eyes lit up, and for the first time, he showed genuine positive emotions.
Harry resisted the urge to Crucio him.
"You mean it, dad?" asked James excitedly. "That'd be great!"
"Of course," Harry barked out, becoming more agitated by the second.
James seemed to notice his growing instability, and quickly sobered up. "Well, just let me know when we're heading out," he said cautiously.
"We can go now," said Harry, unwilling to admit to James or himself that he might not retain control for much longer.
"Alright, that's perfect. I mean, that is acceptable," James replied, attempting to remain passive.
Harry wondered how much his son knew or suspected about his condition. James was clearly aware that he reacted negatively to positive emotions, and seemed oddly considerate of that fact. When he started to feel proud about how observant and intelligent his son was, he felt his control waver dangerously.
"I still hate you," James injected darkly, "No matter how much you bribe me."
That seemed to work, and he felt his mind slowly start to settle down. For a moment, he wondered whether his son said that on purpose, but then decided that it'd be smarter not to analyze it. No, his son hated him.
And he barely tolerated James' presence, and that was only because he was his son, nothing more.
Yes, everything was normal.
"Let's get going then, you ungrateful little brat," he said with a sneer before sweeping out of the room.
James followed behind him wordlessly.
Harry walked down the stairs, taking note of how James refused to look at the heads mounted on the wall.
Good. He should be afraid.
Soon the two of them were exiting the front door of Grimmauld Place. James took a deep breath of air, reminding Harry that he had spent the past thirteen days in a locked cupboard.
He refused to feel guilty. He was teaching his son a lesson, nothing more.
Yes, just a lesson.
Harry pulled his hood over his head, and started casting a number of glamour charms on his person. A quick glance revealed that James was already doing the same without needing to be told.
He wasn't proud. James was just doing what was expected of him. Not proud at all.
Once the two of them were adequately disguised, Harry grabbed James' hand and apparated with a loud CRACK!
After being compressed through what felt like a very thin rubber hose, Harry and James appeared in the alleyway into Knockturn Alley with another loud CRACK!
A few of the lurking hags and beggars turned to see who had entered the alleyway, but quickly turned away. James might be a tad too short to pass as an adult, but the two of them radiated enough confidence and power that they were left alone.
Harry allowed James to take the lead, and followed behind him as his son stalked through the alley. He seemed to have a specific location in mind, because he didn't even glance at the other shops.
His son finally stopped at a small, dingy place called "Magical Creatures and Plants."
"You want to get a pet?" Harry asked with surprise.
"Not exactly," James replied ambiguously before making his way into the shop.
Harry followed him inside, and almost walked right back out. The place was filled with snakes, all of them hissing obscenities and death threats. He still retained his ability to speak Parseltongue, but rarely did that ever impact his life. The store filled with snakes was a brutal reminder of his past. He didn't like thinking about the past.
"Good evening sirs, is there something I can help you with?" said a simpering voice from the back of the shop. As the man walked forward from behind the curtain, Harry was immediately put on his guard. While his voice sounded submissive, his eyes screamed danger. He felt his son stiffen almost imperceptibly next to him.
So what? The brat had some survival instinct. Good for him.
"Yes, I'm looking to acquire a house-elf," James stated smoothly, affecting his voice so it came out a bit deeper than natural.
Harry couldn't hold back his surprise. "A house-elf? What's wrong with our current house-elf?"
"He's ancient," said James curtly. "Besides, he answers to you above me. I want an elf that's bound only to me."
He might be insane, but he was still able to read between the lines. James liked Kreacher, but needed an elf that could guarantee his safety within the house.
He felt a rush of self-loathing when he realized that James felt the need to be protected from his own father. Worse, he was probably right.
No, he wasn't right! He had never hurt him outside of their lessons. He would never hurt his son!
But still, a small part of him said, he couldn't deny that he was becoming more and more unstable. After all, this last incident had cut it a bit close.
Internally, Harry raged, but he said nothing more.
"Ahh, looking for a house-elf, eh? What makes you think we sell house-elves here?" said the man, his tone still sickeningly sweet.
"Don't play games with me," James ordered harshly. "We both know you do, so cut the act. I want the goods and I'll pay good money for them."
"Watch your mouth, short-stuff," growled the man, abandoning any pretense of kindness. "I don't take kindly to being talked down to by runts."
"Crucio!" James yelled out, sending a thick red bolt that connected with the man who was far too surprised to try to dodge.
He fell to the ground screaming.
Harry felt a surge of disgust and an intense wave of satisfaction collide in his chest. He didn't know what to think, or what to feel. He was watching his son, his twelve year old son, torture a man right in front of him. But the man's screams were absolute music to his ears. It was incredible.
He fought down the urge to add his own Cruciatus curse to the mix, and watched as his son finally lifted the curse. The snakes were hissing violently, able to sense the dark magic laden in the air. The man lay panting and contorted on the ground, small tremors still wracking his body. The smell of urine wafted to Harry's nose, and he couldn't deny his revulsion. The man was weak, pathetic.
His son wasn't.
"You were saying something about selling me a house-elf?" James said with mock civility.
The man slowly struggled to his feet. His face was contorted into a rictus of fury, but his eyes never left James' wand. "They're 200 galleons each, and an extra 50 if you want me to do the bonding ritual," he finally spat out.
James nodded, looking contemplative beneath his hood. "How about you give me the elf for 150 galleons, do the bonding ritual for free, and in return, I don't torture you into insanity and burn down your shop?" James asked politely, as if he were discussing the weather.
The man's eyes bulged, and Harry could tell that he was going for his wand the second he started to do so.
Apparently, so could James.
"Crucio!" he screamed again, sending a red bolt careening towards the man who attempted to dodge, but still could not manage it in time.
Again, the man went down, howling in pain. The snakes hissed in delight, basking in the heaviness of the wicked magic.
James held the spell until the man started convulsing hard enough to break his bones against the nearby table, and until the smell of shit permeated the room.
Harry forced himself to distance himself from the situation. He had never been so thoroughly tested while in his son's presence without the training room to flee to. Every single part of him screamed to join in torturing the man.
Somehow, he managed to calm himself with the thought that he might get to see the man tortured again soon enough.
"Expelliarmus!" James called out, causing the man's wand to fly out of his robes into James expectant hand.
The man seemed to be passed out on the ground.
"Ennervate!" James intoned, causing the man to gasp as he returned to consciousness.
"You were saying something about selling me a house-elf for 150 galleons?" James reminded him helpfully.
The man slowly wobbled to his feet. He no longer looked angry. Now, he looked absolutely terrified.
"Of course, sir. Right this way," he said, leading them into the back. Harry and James followed, and behind the curtain were cages upon cages of various magical creatures, each of them with various levels of sentience. He clearly saw a mermaid and a few centaurs, as well as what looked like a banshee, along with half a dozen or so house-elves.
"Here they are, sir. Feel free to examine them at your leisure," the man said, trying to hide the tremor in his voice
Harry internally smirked. A few Crucios were enough to change anybody's attitude.
James glanced at the cowering house-elves in the cages. There was one, however, that was not cowering. It was simply sitting on the floor of its cage, staring blankly at them through the bars.
"What's your name?" James asked the unique elf.
"Blinky, sir," was the elf's response. There was no emotion in its tone.
"I'll take him," James said, gesturing towards Blinky.
"Alright, one moment," said the man, fiddling with the keys on his key ring. He finally landed on one and shoved it into the lock, turning it until the cage door opened.
As soon as the cage was open, the elf was upon him, scratching and biting every surface he could reach.
"Oww! Geroff! Geroff! Get him off of me!" screamed the man as Blinky latched onto his neck.
James simply smiled, and Harry found himself echoing the sentiment.
"Blinky, if you move aside, my dad will happily kill him for you," James stated cheerfully. The mad elf looked at him distrustfully, but obediently let go.
Harry was surprised that he had been volunteered, but then remembered that his son couldn't cast the killing curse because he still felt too guilty to be able to actually kill anyone.
He didn't know whether to be proud or disappointed that his son wasn't a murderer.
"Avada Kedavra!" he intoned, sending a solid beam of green light at the man. It collided into his chest, and he slumped to the floor, dead.
"Now Blinky, if you'd like, I'd love it if you decided to be my house-elf," said James conversationally, as if they hadn't just killed a man.
Blinky looked at James owlishly before his face broke into a massive grin. "Ohh, Blinky would love to work for you! Yous a strong master! Yous free Blinky! But! But! But! Blinky wants to choose his own outfit," the elf said with determination.
"Done," James agreed simply.
"And Blinky wants to be able to wash it!"
"Done."
"And Blinky doesn't want to be ordered to have sex with master!"
James couldn't hide his surprise or revulsion, but quickly recovered with a firm, "Of course not. No sex."
Blinky jumped up and down, clapping his hands together happily. "Excellent, then I is more than happy to work for you!"
Blinky's actions couldn't help but remind him of a house-elf he had once known, long ago, back when it had been just him, Ron, and Hermione against the forces of darkness. Back when right was right and evil was evil, back when he could love. Dobby. Dobby had been loyal to the end, and had given his life to save his…
Harry felt his stomach lurch.
"Son, you need to get out of here! Right now!" Harry ordered, his mind fracturing as he spoke.
James looked surprised and merely stood there.
"GET OUT! NOW!"
Blinky seemed to sense the danger before James could, and quickly grabbed his arm and disapparated away.
It wasn't a moment too soon. Harry snapped, and soon, curses were spitting out of his wand left and right.
"Aegratis!" he shouted, delighting in the stinking pustules and wounds that appeared on the skin of one of the nameless house elves. A "Diffindo!" sliced its neck with an impressive spurt of blood.
"Lasseraxus!" caused hundreds of shallow cuts to slice into another house-elf's skin, which he then finished off with a "Sectumsempra!"
The wails and screams were intoxicating. Blood was already pooling around his shoes, and he had barely even gotten started.
"Avada Kedavra!" he called out, killing one of the centaurs instantly. "Explotum!" he shouted at the tank that held the mermaid, causing the glass to shatter and the mermaid to flop onto the ground. It started screaming and shrieking in a high-pitched, razor-sharp voice available only to mermaids. Harry loved it.
"Crucio!" he whispered maliciously, savoring her screams as they became more and more frantic the longer he held the curse. He held it until her screams faded and her tail stopped thrashing against the floor. A "Diffindo!" chopped her head off and sent it flying into the air. He summoned it with a lazy "Accio head!" and shrunk it before stuffing it into his robes.
"Ossicur!" he yelled, hearing the sharp snap of a house-elf's leg breaking in half. He finished it off with a "Travius!" that split open its chest, exposing its innards.
"Cruxis!" he cried, hitting a second centaur. The thing neighed in pain until he ended its misery with a "Scoria!" that tore its skin clean off.
He caved in a house-elf's head with a well-aimed "Rupturatus!" that sent brain matter flying everywhere.
He downed the last centaur with a "Fissurla!" that severed its spine, causing it to fall limply onto the ground.
Harry finally turned his gaze to the banshee. She was silenced, but she was clearly screaming at the top of her lungs, and he could see the sheer terror in her eyes. Wickedly, he intoned "Dolerus Funara!" and watched as she started convulsing.
5…4…3…2…1…
Her entire body exploded into millions of tiny little bits. The burial curse, ironically named in that afterwards, there was nothing left to bury.
All of the creatures were dead.
Harry made his way back to the front of the shop.
"Reducto! Reducto! Reducto!" Harry shouted repeatedly, breaking all of the snake tanks. The hissing nearly overwhelmed him, but he shouted out in Parseltongue, "All of you mussst fleeee! Bite anyoneee who seesss you! Fleeee!"
He heard a chorus of "Yessss masssterrr" and watched as hundreds of snakes slithered through the front door and into the alley.
Now came the fun part.
"Confringo! Inflamara! Incendio! Inflamara Maximus! Confringo! Incendio!" he shouted out, sending our fireballs and gushes of flame indiscriminately. The shop was slowly catching fire; the power of the spells overpowering the protection spells on the walls.
"FIENDFYRE!" Harry screamed, feeling the last vestiges of madness finally abate.
The creatures came, and this time, they had something to feast on.
Harry somehow heard the sound of numerous CRACKS of apparition through the almost deafening howls of the monsters. As much as he wanted to stay and watch, he knew that it was time to leave.
Smiling, Harry severed the connection between him and the demonic fire, setting it free.
He turned and disapparated with a loud CRACK.
o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o~O~o
A/N - Sorry to those who followed this story, but the most recent update was mostly to fix some formatting and grammar mistakes. I'm almost done with the next chapter, I promise!