The eyes were emerald green and the scar was shaped like a lightning bolt was on my forehead. And when I splashed my face with water the green eyes were blue and there was not a scar. I am about ninety five percent sure that I am standing in front of a mirror. Now when I assess my situation, I know I am one of the following things; exhausted from the extra Quidditch practice, having a mental break down, or I have a psychic connection to a dead kid. Plus the theory that I am still in a coma in the hospital.
Everything crumbling at my feet. Hunter is hardly talking to me and he is always looking at me like I am about to kill someone. Professor Potter was would almost freak out whenever I saw her looking at me. I haven't seen Auror Potter since Christmas, and the one thing I could take out of this is they found something out about me. They probably told Hunter to stay away from me, and even if they didn't the whole mirror fiasco is would be enough to convince him I am a freak. Freak, I hate that word. Whatever they found out it is enough not to tell me, so I am pretty sure it does not mean I have a loving family waiting out there for me. And besides I know I don't, I saw the only family I die. My birth parents apparently want me killed by someone with my blood. They are the reason they're dead. They are the reason I am holding on to this sink so hard it might break. They are the reason I have to avenge the family who a part of me died with. I quickly pushed those hateful thoughts aside, for those thoughts will be my end but not at this moments.
But besides the fact that one of the best friend thinks I am evil, I really need to figure out my past. It feels like I am on a soap opera and all I need to do is figure out what part I play. Flashes of memories keep popping up in my mind; none of them are as pleasant and happy as I like. And to make it worse Madam Pomfrey took away my dreamless sleep potion so I wouldn't get addicted. Well, I'm not addicted just really, really tired.
I keep seeing an orb filled with a blueish gray smoke in my dreams. I reach out to touch it, but before my hand can everything disappears and I wake up. I know I have seen it before, but not just in a dream. I also remember feeling hatred not towards me but what I am. Someone wanted my magic. And maybe that is my I have power surges.
A splash of hot water on my hand awoke me from my thoughts. I had just finished a hard Qudditch practice and was currently alone in the locker room. After quickly changing and washing up, I walked out of the room. There I was greeted by a bouncing Neville.
"Harry!" Neville gasped.
He fell forward quickly and I realized his legs were locked together. Assuming it was a Leg-Locker Curse; I jumped down and preform the couther cures remembering it from Charms earlier in the year.
"What happened?" I asked helping him up.
"Malfoy," explained Neville shakily, "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."
"That's awful," a thought came over me, "You want to know how to protect yourself?"
I don't really know why I know this spell, but at least Neville may benefit from it
"I don't want more trouble," He mumbled.
"You've got to stand up to him, Neville! He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down and make it easier for him," I exclaimed.
"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville chocked out.
"You are worth twenty Malfoy's," I stated, "It's an advance spell, but I bet you'll impress everyone with it."
He nodded softly.
"Ok, it's the Charm is Protego," I told him, "It will reflect the spell onto who ever casting it."
Neville pulled out his wand.
"P-protego," He mumbled.
"Good," I said, "You want to try it?"
His eyes looked fearful, but before he could say no I said the spell.
"Locomotor Mortis!"
"Pr-protego!" He cried fearfully.
His legs became bound and he fell to the floor. He looked at me shameful. Quickly I un did the spell and helped in back up.
"Ready?" I questioned.
He seemed not to know what I was taking about.
"Locomotor Mortis!"
We preformed the spell about five times before it re bounded on me and I felt my leg gap close and my stability fail me. I fell to the floor and Neville let out a small gasp.
"Good job, Neville!" I encouraged.
Neville let out a small smile and proceed to help me up. The spell had broken somehow.
"Huh, is that you wand?" I questioned knowing the spell should have lasted longer.
"Actuality, it's my dad's. My Gran wanted me to use it," He explained.
"Well, once you get your own the spell will last longer. It's amazing that the wand even worked for you," I said.
"Thanks, Harry!" He thanked in glee.
"Anytime. I mean someone's got to give Malfoy a taste of his own medicine," I laughed.
"How do you know all of this stuff?" He inquired.
"Once I figure that out, I'll let you know," I smiled, "Do you know where Ron, Hermione and Hunter are?"
"Yeah, I saw them going to the Library," he answered.
"Thanks. I'll see you around," I told him as I left.
I walked down the busy halls until I stumbled to the library. Walking over to a book self, I heard Hermione voice from the other side.
"Nicolas Flamel," She said dramatically, "Is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!"
"The what?" Hunter and Ron exclaimed
"Oh, honestly, don't you two read," She accused, "The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any mental into pure gold. It also produced the Elixir of Life, which will make the diner immortal. There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Flamel, who recently celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday with his wife, Perenelle (Six hundred and fifty-eight)."
"See? The dog must be guarding Famel's Sorcerer's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the stone out moved out of Gringotts!" She clarified.
"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" Exclaimed Hunter, "No wonder someone's after it! Anyone would want it."
"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel In the study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five is he?" Ron asked rhetorically.
"Should we go tell Harry?" Hermione asked.
There is my cue. I started walking around the bookshelf.
"Yeah, we should…" Ron was saying until Hunter cut him off.
"No, I don't think we should tell him."
I stopped walking.
"What, why?" Ron asked.
"Well, the other day… um, Harry's hand burned under my touch. I, well I asked my dad about it and… he said it was a sign he was using Dark Magic," Hunter explained quickly.
"No, that can't be right. Harry is just… Harry," Ron gasped.
Someone is defending me. I didn't know if I was supposed to be happy my friend was defending me or hung up on the Dark Magic part.
"I think… I don't know. All those spells he knew, he doesn't have a past and he looks so much like what Harry would have looked like! I don't think I can trust him anymore," Hunter cried.
I knew this was how he felt, but I was emotionally wounded by his words. It is like all my self-confidence melted away in just a few words.
"It does seem a bit odd. I just don't know," Hermione stated.
I wanted to move into the conversation, yet my feet were glued to the ground.
"Did you tell your parents about… you know? I mean I can already guess you danced around the hand thing when you asked him," Ron bet.
"My parents would freak out and probably kick Harry out of Hogwarts before he could say Quidditch. I'm not saying Harry is evil, I really am not…I just can't make a mistake that could cost more than I have in the end," Hunter sighed.
"So we need to figure out his past, even before he does," Hermione conceded.
"Yeah, I mean what else are we to do?" Hunter asked.
"Hunter, I was best friends with you way before Harry. And I swore I would always stand by you. So if you think this is what we have to do, then I'm with you till the end," Ron approved.
"I'm with you too, Hunter. We will figure this out," Hermione assured.
And suddenly I realized that we did not include me. Sadness filled me and I felt myself slip out of my control. I quickly turned around and ran out the library. Soon I found myself who knows where, all I know is I was alone.
"Bombarda!" I yelled at a wall.
A small explosion made bricks fly towards me.
"Confringo!" I crocked.
Another explosion followed by flames. Flames. Man, now I am having flashbacks.
"Aguamenti!" I basically cried.
The fire died out quickly with a hiss.
"Reparo," I whispered.
The bricks began to fly back to the wall, as if being played back. I realize that I was standing in what seemed to be an old class room. The few windows in the room were coved by ripped, dark purple fabric. There were dusty desk and chairs in the corner, untouched as if they were forgotten.
Every emotion I have felt since I came here started to poor out if me. I fell to the floor chocked on my pride. If only words were like guns, so people can feel the kick back when they trigger their words. Instead I am here with a bullet wound and no remorse from the people who caused it. Maybe it is because they were not looking me in the eyes when they agreed to condemn me. Or has it been a charity act all this time? Never have I felt more alone, not in my mysterious past and not since I woke up. I wish I had fallen of my broom during the first Quidditch match or the three headed dog gotten me before Hunter and Ron could have found me. At least then I would have someone missing me now. But most of all I wish I never saw Hunter, Ron and Hermione's faces. They stole what was already taken, and gave me false hope for a story book life with adventures and a fairy tale ending. I wish I didn't survive the car accident.
They didn't even do anything that bad though! Here I am acting as if they had just killed someone when they are only are playing it safe. I mean if one kid being ignored saved many life's, than the right chose would have been made. It is scary how they think I could a take life.
'But you can," A hiss came through the room.
Pain shot through my head I raised my face to look around for the voice. When I saw no one's there, dread began to fill me. I have heard that voice before.
"They hate you, Harry. They know what you really are," The voice echoed.
"Who are you?!" I yelled.
The unpleasant feeling ran to the top of my eyes. I wanted to close my eye lids so bad, but I am not willing to be consumed in darkness right not. My surrounding are becoming unbearable to look at.
"You remember. Don't block it out," The voice instructed.
That line is from the dream I had the first night. But it was a dream. My hands began shaking.
"What do you want?" I question.
"You to remember what they did to you," The voice answered to my surprise.
"Who? Who are you talking about?" I asked.
Imaginary fire shot up my body, almost making me lose my balance sitting down.
"Remember, Harry," The voice hissed.
"What am I supposed to do?" I questioned in vain.
"Remember, Harry," The voice repeated.
"Stop!" I cried out.
This felt maddening. My whole body was pulsing.
"Remember, Harry."
I needed to leave this room yet I couldn't. Pain pounded my head like someone was hitting it with a hammer.
"Remember, Harry."
I moved my hands over my hands and dug my nails into my scalp.
"Remember, Harry."
The words repeated over and over until I passed out in pain. But unlike Halloween, no one came looking for me.
A small portion of light found its way over to my eyes. My body ached as if I had spent the night on concrete. And then it hit me, I fell asleep on the floor with a weird voice in my head. I jumped up causing the room to spin around. As quickly as I could, I stumbled over to the window. I could tell by the position of the sun it was before twelve, but definitely after nine. And it was a Monday.
I forced my half asleep body to get up. After a lazy attempt to get ready, I walked down to potions preparing for the awkwardness that was destined to come my way. As I suspected, when I opened the door all eyes were on me.
"Well, it seems Mr. Percausa has decided to grace us with his presents," Snape sneered, "Do tell, Mr. Percausa, why you are late to my class."
"Professor I will have to apology. I was too busy having a mental break down," I stated.
Did I just say that? What in the name of Merlin. People heads were titled in a cliché way and their faces were scrunched up in confusion. I even caught Professor Snape off guard. I truly only wanted was to say the first line.
"Detention, Mr. Percausa," Professor Snape said in a voice that sounded more like a question.
Quickly giving a nod I started to head to my sit. Then I realized I sat next to I sat next to Hunter. So I turned quickly and took the seat next to Neville. The same amount of looks flew too me when I didn't sit next to my friends. Ron mouth was open staring at me, Hermione was wearing this squinty look and Hunter was looking down right betrayed.
Luckily Snape distracted all the glances by continuing his lesson. The class was dreadfully long and I honestly was not in the mood of Quidditch practices later. After class Hunter stopped me.
"Hey, Harry. My dad wants to meet with you in the Charms classroom at six. He, um, he has some information about your past," Hunter said failing to keep his voice even.
Quickly taking in his body movement, I concluded he was not lying. Hermione and Ron were standing by his side, trying to hide the wands that they were holding up their selves.
"Ok, thank you," I quickly stated before walking away.
"Harry, wait," He yelped before I could leave.
I quickly turned around and saw concern on his face. Concern for you, I don't know.
"Are you ok?" Hunter asked in an innocent voice.
I turned around and started walking.
"Not even close," I confessed.
Later that night I was gripping my hand way too hard. This was nerve aching and I had to admit I was kind of scared of what Auror Potter was going to say. Gathering all my courage I opened the door to the classroom. I probably should have knocked. Wow, ten seconds in and I already made a mistake.
"Hello?" I called out.
There was no reply for a few seconds so I walked in. The door shut behind me with a loud thud.
"Harry?" A voice called out.
Auror Potter came out from a backroom with a sort of forced smile.
"You came!" He said with way to much enthusiasm.
"You did not expect me not too?" I questioned trying to act innocent.
"Err, well… umm" He trailed off, "I, um, called you down to give you something. I'll be right back."
He quickly walked back into the room he came from. I heard several long shifting noises until he came out with a median size silver colored box.
"Do you remember how I said I was going to look into the address?" He asked.
I nodded knowing where this was going.
"Well, we didn't find anything out about you family, but…"
"You don't have to lie," I cut him off.
"What?" He question in a semi sharp voice.
"I know you know about my family, about what happened to them," I stated.
"You…you remember," Auror Potter said in horror.
"Yeah, some of my memories came back to me during Christmas," I answered denying any emotion in my voice.
"Wait, you don't, don't say you remember…"
"The life being drained out of their eyes? Yes I remember that exquisitely," I told him sharply.
Man, now I feel guilty for making him look so sad.
"I'm… I'm sorry," He mumbled, "We found some of your thinks at the hospital."
He motioned to the box.
"Kindly Hospital?" I questioned.
"You don't…" He cut off quickly when he saw the look on my face.
"Yeah, Kindly Hospital," He obviously lied.
He handed me the box and I noticed the beautiful wood design on top that had cracked mirror in between the different pieces of wood.
"You freak!" He yelled.
In his hands was a silver box with a wood design and mirror in between it. The box and all its contents is all I have left of the Percausa's. My body was weak and trembling. I tried to back down the wall, yet his meaty hands grabbed onto my shoulders and pulled me so close to his face that I could see the red in his eyes. Pain shot into my body, but I was more concerned with the object he had just dropped to the floor.
"Do you not see, Harry? I can cure you. All I need is your blood. Don't you want to be cured?" He asked in a sick voice.
I nodded quickly, knowing it is what he wanted.
"My father was attacked by one of your type. All because he was curious. They don't think he remembers, but he does. Oh, yes. The man who hurt my father claimed that my father attacked the girl, no the freak. But I know differently. And I promised I would find the end to this, even if it means I have to beat the magic out of you," He whispered the last part.
He took his thumb and wiped away the heavy makeup that covered a long cut on my jaw line. It seared, but I didn't move an inch. I had gotten that yesterday when he swung at me with a wine bottle after staying five minutes after class.
"I like you, Harry. I really do. Do you think I like hurting you, Harry? But if you do this like turning water into ice, it never hurts to love the way you scream. And plus you look so pretty all bloodied up and bruised," He told me.
"No, please! Mr. Crowberd, please!" I begged.
Fear accompanied by pain filled my system. To my surprise he let go of my shoulders and went over and picked up the box. Before I knew what was happening, he lifted the box into the air and threw it up at me. I quickly put up my arms to shield myself and prepared myself for impact. But it never came. Slowly I opened my eyes and stared in horror at the scene. I had deflected the box and it laid face down on the ground, pieces of the mirror were scattered around.
"That's it," He exclaimed as he grasped my hair dragging me down.
I snapped my head to the side. More memories, that's just what I need. Well, what I need to do is figure this out. But right now I need to put on a show. I put the box down on the closest desk and opened it, all while Auror Potter was keeping a close eye on me. I was not emotionally ready for this. That is the first thing I realized when I open it.
A burnt picture laid on top of everything else. It had my mom with her lively face and short blond hair next to my dad's warm eyes. I was smiling and had a tiny red spill on my red shirt. Then there was Evan who was standing next to me, whose whole shirt was drenched in red liquid except for small spots of white. His face was clearing trying to hide his laugher with a smile. For a second I thought it was blood and then I remembered that day. It was Easter and we had to take this picture for our church. We were all dressed in our best and low and behold I had to get some red fruit juice on my shirt. I was so upset and we were already at the church. And so Evan took the rest of the juice and splashed it on his shirt. Just to make me feel better.
And now the picture is burnt and faded. I put the picture down on desk and I looked down only things that survived the fire. A white and silver pocket knife had Harry P engraved into the side. I slowly grabbed it and a paper came up with it. To Harry was written on the paper. I recognized the handwriting from all the excuse notes Evan wrote for me when we 'had' to skip class. The paper was ripped and just as burnt as the paper. I opened it.
Happy 8thbirthday, Harry!
I got this for you last year, but mom said you were 'too young'. But anyways, this knife has a silver blade so you can fight off werewolves and people who hate silver. Since I probably will be in collage by the time you turn eight, I want you to remember to live this life and don't let go. And I will always be with you, as will mom and dad. I hope I will be here to give it to you in person.
Stay safe, Stay strong
Love,
Evan
Stay safe, stay strong. Those were his last words. I remember crying to sleep, who knows where, while reading these letter. My eyes wondered over to the box and saw an old whistle. I won that at my school. It took me about fifteen tries to knock all the pins down with the old baseball, and that was my prize. And even though the string is gone now, I remember wearing it with so much pride.
A picture of Evan having to kneel down to give me a sort of side hug was next to the whistle. That was the day I was adopted and my face was clearly uncomfortable, yet Evan eyes were lit up with pure joy. Evan had been volunteering when I met him, and apparently I did something that made him like me because two weeks later I was adopted. That was the happiest and scariest day of my life.
A few crumpled paper were stuck in the box, but the only other thing I think I could read was something that looked like a newspaper clipping. My guess was correct and I unfolded to find the article was all about September 1st, 1987.
Cult attacks local neighborhood house!
Late at night on September 1st, 1987, a cult attacked the Percausa's leaving only one family member alive. Harry Percausa (7 years old) was the sole survivor and he is thought to be the object of the cult desire. Evan Percausa (17 years old), Elina Percausa (42 years old), and Noble Percausa (47 years old) were all at home killed in front of the child at the house. Sources tell us that the people in the cult believed Harry could bring back the dead with his blood. It is best to infer that in anger they set the house on fire, trapping Harry inside. Out of such miracles, Harry was reused and brought to Kindly Hospital where his mental health will be established and the full story will be releveled. Evan Percausa body was not found. Some suspected member of…
The paper was ripped and the rest of the paper was to blurry to read. I am pretty sure that I am using to much emotion to feel emotion right now.
"Harry?" Auror Potter called.
I turned to him.
"Um, I just have to ask. Do you know who the… cult was?" He questioned.
I nodded slightly. It was whoever my parents work with.
"Do you know why?" He asked in a high voice.
"My parents," I crocked, "My parents wanted me to turn dark so it would be easy for my brother to kill me."
Auror Potter said something, but I didn't hear. I grabbed all my stuff as quickly as I could and headed out the door. How I suddenly knew that my parents wanted my brother to kill me, I have no clue. I con worry about that later. Walking as fast I could, I made it to the room I was in before class. Forgetting Quidditch, 'my friend', food, I just didn't care right now. So as soon as the door closed I opened the box again, but this time I didn't hold back the tears.
Yay, this is my longest chapter yet. So again sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes. And thank you so much for reviewing and favorite/following, it means so much to me. Can anyone guess who Mr. Crowberd is the son too? It might be obvious, or not. Comment who you think it is.
Until next Chapter,
Mysterious Mayhem