Chapter 1: Magical Mysteries and Mass Murderers
Harry rolled over, watching the moonlight glint off Hedwig's empty cage, tracing the silvery metal with his eyes.
It was nearly two in the morning, and Harry couldn't sleep. He was restless and agitated, magic flickering just beneath his skin, burning at his insides.
Something strange was happening to him.
It had started sometime in July, a weird pulling, waves of magic rising up at his every emotion, searching for a way out. He hadn't thought much of it until it had exploded nearly three weeks ago, bursting out of him, lashing out at Aunt Marge.
In the aftermath, Harry had tried to run, knowing that there would be hell to pay. He'd managed to retrieve his wand and trunk, escape almost in sight.
He hadn't quite made it.
Harry didn't know what he'd been thinking when he'd tried to threaten his Uncle. Vernon Dursley was many things, but he was not one to bend to empty threats. He'd called Harry's bluff, ripping the wand from his fingers in a single motion, sending Harry tripping back onto the stairs. His trunk had been taken as well, shoved back into the cupboard under the stairs, wand locked uselessly inside.
For a moment, faced with the anger-filled face of Uncle Vernon, Harry had feared that he'd end up in the cupboard as well.
Thankfully, before his Uncle could do anything, a group of Wizards had arrived, letting them know that Aunt Marge had been found, deflated, and Obliviated. Harry had been shocked and relieved to learn that he would face no disciplinary action for his outburst, fears of ending up in prison fading away. His relatives hadn't been nearly so pleased that he wouldn't face punishment, grumbling about delinquency and violent tendencies.
At least Aunt Marge would remember nothing of the evening's events. Harry just wished they would've wiped the Dursleys' memories as well.
The fallout from his burst of accidental magic had been nasty, ugly, terrifying. Uncle Vernon had yelled for nearly 15 minutes, shaking him roughly, spittle hitting his face. The bruises on his arms were only now beginning to fade.
Since then, Harry had been locked in this room, completely isolated, completely alone.
He had no one to talk to.
Not even Hedwig.
He'd sent his owl to stay with Ron just before Marge's visit, and she'd yet to return. Harry knew Ron would take good care of her, but he missed her desperately, wishing she could be here with him.
Harry had been alone before, but this was somehow worse. Before Hogwarts, he'd been able to spend days alone in his cupboard, entertaining himself with imaginary tales of heroes and flying motorbikes. But that'd been before he'd met Ron and Hermione, back when he hadn't understood what friendship and companionship felt like.
Being locked away was so much worse when you knew what freedom felt like. He sometimes felt like the walls were shrinking, crushing him slowly, boxing him in. The hours stretched on and on, filled with nothing but loneliness and desperation.
Harry had taken to distracting himself with his school books, reading every word, trying to memorize them. He'd even read Hogwarts: A History, finally giving in to Hermione's nagging. She'd given him a copy on the train ride home, begging him to read it. He was surprised by how much he enjoyed it. The book had filled many of his darkest hours, brightening his mood just a little.
He'd already read the book three times, but he kept coming back to the section on the Head Boy and Head Girl. Harry knew that his parents had held those positions, remembering Hagrid telling him about it back in First Year. He hadn't realized quite what it meant. The Head Boy and Head Girl were always right at the top of their class, demonstrating both academic skill and good character.
It hadn't taken Harry long to realize that his parents would be terribly ashamed of him.
He was barely above average at Hogwarts, coasting along without putting in much effort. He'd grown used to mediocrity during primary school, realizing quickly that the Dursleys didn't care about his marks. He hadn't given a damn about making his parents proud either. He'd thought they were unemployed drunks, worthless and unskilled.
But now...
He knew the truth now. He knew how brilliant they'd been. They'd been heroes, gifted and brave. Harry was letting them down, disgracing their memory by being so uncaring, so untalented.
He wanted to do better. He wanted to make them proud.
He just wanted someone to be proud of him.
He knew it was a pathetic desire. He was thirteen, not five. But he couldn't deny how much it ached that no adult had ever really cared about him. Not the real him anyway.
Mrs. Weasley had only met THE Harry Potter: Boy-Who-Lived and Ron's Best Friend.
She knew nothing of who he really was. She knew nothing of the nightmares that woke him nearly every night, filled with tiny cupboards and Quirrell's melted face. She knew nothing of his weakness, unable to stand up to his own Uncle, too afraid to tell anyone about what life was really like here on Privet Drive.
His parents had cared about him. If he made them proud, even in death, that was good enough for him. Maybe then he would actually be worthy of their love.
He needed to try harder, work harder. He shouldn't settle for being average. He should hold himself to the same standard his parents had achieved.
He resolved to try harder this year, determined to push himself to his limits. That goal had led him to have serious second thoughts about his electives for the next year. He didn't know much about Ancient Runes or Arithmancy, but he could vividly remember Percy Weasley lecturing him about their superiority. If Percy thought an academic subject was better, it probably was. He may be a bit pompous, but Percy was an undeniably dedicated student.
Harry planned to go to Professor McGonagall as soon as he got to Hogwarts and ask to switch. It shouldn't be a problem. Many people switched electives in the first week, bored or overwhelmed with their original choices.
Harry's stomach growled loudly, pulling him from his thoughts. He pressed a hand against his hollow stomach, grimacing at the sharpness of his ribs.
Hunger was a sad reality of his current situation. Harry was starving, pains constantly stabbing at his abdomen. He'd never been fed this little before, receiving one small meal a day. It was usually something bland and paltry, leaving him even hungrier than he'd been before eating.
He didn't think he would make it much longer like this. He was growing weaker by the day, spending all his time in bed, lacking the energy to do anything else.
It was a very good thing that he only had to last for five more days. He'd managed to convince Uncle Vernon to drop him off in London on August 31, reminding his Uncle that people might ask questions if he showed up to Hogwarts without his supplies and books. His Uncle had even signed his Hogsmeade permission form, seeming to understand that an unsigned form from a Muggle family might raise red flags. His relatives were very good at concealing how much they loathed him from the people who mattered, playing the role of concerned guardians whenever school officials were involved.
They'd grown quite good at it over the years, painting Harry as the misguided delinquent and themselves as the ever-patient saints who looked after him. Their charade was only furthered by the way they doted on Dudley, demonstrating their capacity to act as loving parents. To the untrained eye, Harry was clearly the problem, the oddity, the outlier.
At least he only had to make it five more days.
In five days, he would be able to eat his fill, hopefully going back to his normal weight. He'd already been scrawny at the start of the summer. He was a naturally small person, definitely the shortest boy in his year. He was used to being a bit skinny, but now he just looked ill. It wasn't at all ideal, and Harry wanted to fix it as soon as possible.
Unfortunately, hunger was not his only problem. His magic had only grown stranger since the incident with Aunt Marge, growing and changing into something terrifying and unfamiliar.
In the past two weeks, Harry had started to sense emotions.
It had started in flashes: disgust when his Aunt pushed his food through the catflap, anger when his Uncle let him out to use the bathroom, joy when Dudley's favorite television program came on.
In the past few days, it had grown stronger. He'd begun to sense the emotions of all the Dursleys at once, whether or not they were near him. He could feel Aunt Petunia's annoyance from the garden, sense Uncle Vernon's fatigue as he set off to work. It was beginning to drive him mad, distracting him from his studies, weighing him down.
Sometimes, it was overwhelming, foreign emotion assaulting him in massive waves, leaving him with a pounding headache.
Harry had no idea what was happening to him, but he was sure that it wasn't normal. It was painful and disconcerting, leaving him unable to sleep or even think straight. Worst of all, he could feel the strange power growing, magic churning within him, transforming into something odd and confusing. It was uncomfortable, nearly unbearable sometimes. It was why he was unable to rest, forced to stay awake despite the exhaustion that came from being so hungry.
He hoped Hermione would know how to stop it before he went insane. If it was this bad when he was alone, he couldn't imagine how awful it was going to be when he arrived at Hogwarts. If he had to experience Draco Malfoy's emotions, he was going to completely lose his mind.
His stomach gave another loud protest, causing Harry to sit up in bed. He clearly wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. He slid out of bed, kneeling on the floor and prying up the loose floorboard. He reached inside, rummaging around until he found his Second Year Potions book. He pulled it out, plopping himself down at his desk. He opened one of the drawers, pulling out the old torch he'd taken from Dudley's room earlier in the summer.
It still had a bit of battery left.
He turned it on, opening the book to the page on common ingredient combinations. Harry had never paid much attention to his Potions work, knowing that it wouldn't make much difference. Snape wouldn't give him a good mark no matter how well he did. He'd been surprised to find that Potions was fascinating, filled with intricate processes and detailed interactions. He'd fallen in love with the subject over the past few weeks, growing more and more excited to return to brewing.
The only damper on his joy was Snape. He didn't think the man would ever help him improve in Potions. He never gave Harry corrections, simply tossing out unhelpful insults. It was part of the reason Harry never exerted much effort. Maybe if he showed Snape that he was trying...
Harry dismissed that thought quickly, knowing it wouldn't change anything. Snape had hated him on sight, loathing him before they'd even met. Being good at Potions wouldn't change that.
Harry turned back to the book, sighing heavily. Maybe Snape would get fired, and Dumbledore would hire a new Professor. Maybe a Hufflepuff. Professor Sprout was always so nice.
...
The next five days passed at a snail's pace, Harry's awareness of emotion growing ever stronger. He spent most of his time with a pillow clamped over his head, hoping it would somehow drown out the emotions. He had an ever-present headache pounding just behind his eyes, making it near impossible to do anything but press the pillow harder against his face.
When the morning of August 31 arrived, Harry bounced out of bed, headache forgotten in his desperation to get out of this house. Uncle Vernon unlocked the door just after 7, letting Harry out to shower. Once clean, he returned to his room, pulling on the nicest pair of clothes he currently had. They'd been a gift from Hermione at the end of last term, handed to him along with the copy of Hogwarts: a History. Harry had been embarrassed at first but had taken the clothes anyway, knowing she meant no offense.
He smiled slightly at the memory, remembering the way her face had lit up when she'd handed him the clothes. They'd apparently belonged to one of her male cousins. She'd prattled on and on about how he was the only one she knew who they'd fit, almost forgetting to breathe as she tried to reassure him that they weren't being given out of charity.
Harry felt a wave of fondness for his friend. She really was amazing.
He'd missed Ron and Hermione terribly this summer. With Ron in Egypt and Hermione in France, he'd heard very little from them. He couldn't wait to see their faces again.
He pulled on his trainers and packed his rucksack, shoving in the books and homework he'd hidden in the loose floorboard. At least he'd completed all his essays. That was the only perk of his forced confinement: there was nothing to do but homework.
He opened the door and raced down the stairs, legs singing with elation as he stretched them properly for the first time in nearly a month. His joy was immediately shattered by the look on his Aunt's face.
"Do not run in this house," she spat, glaring at him while she adjusted her floral apron.
"Get to the kitchen."
Harry obeyed immediately, placing his rucksack on the floor by the cupboard and moving quickly into the kitchen. He was surprised and pleased to find two pieces of buttered toast waiting for him. He scarfed them down in record time, not noticing the disgusted look on Aunt Petunia's face.
She took the empty plate from him, holding it between her fingers like it was infected with a highly contagious disease. He could feel her disdain rolling off her in waves, overwhelming Harry's senses. She placed the dish in the sink, turning back toward him. Her eyes scanned over his face, sharp gaze taking in every shadow and line.
He felt her emotion flicker, overcome by a sudden flash of regret.
"If anyone asks, you're recovering from a nasty stomach flu."
Harry nodded quickly.
"Of course," he said, not wanting to antagonize her.
"Good," she said, turning back to the dishes.
"You know that you deserved the punishment you were given. Others cannot possibly understand the lengths we must go to in order to contain your...abnormality."
She said the final word like it was poison, spitting it at him. Despite her harsh words, he could still feel her inner turmoil, regret and jealousy emanating from her. Harry didn't know what to make of it. He supposed he should be pleased that she regretted her treatment of him, but her remorse didn't make anything better. It couldn't undo the month of starvation and imprisonment.
"You will tell no one. Not a soul. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said robotically, clenching his fists beneath the table, nails digging into his palms.
"Good," she said, picking up the sponge and beginning to scrub vigorously at the empty plate.
Uncle Vernon trundled into the room not five minutes later, dressed for work, briefcase clutched tightly in one meaty fist.
"Get a move on, boy," he said, gesturing toward the door.
"I won't have you making me late for work."
Harry stood immediately, grabbing his belongings and following Uncle Vernon from the house.
The car ride was not at all enjoyable.
Uncle Vernon spent the entire time warning Harry to keep silent about his punishment, threatening him with worse treatment should he reveal anything.
"I signed that blasted form for you," he said, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"The least you can do is keep your damned mouth shut."
Harry took the harsh words in silence, thinking only of his friends. He wouldn't have to see the Dursleys for nearly a year. He could handle one lecture.
His Uncle left him alone in front of the Leaky Cauldron, laughing to himself as he watched Harry struggle to carry his trunk, Hedwig's cage, his broom, and his rucksack all at once.
Thankfully, he was saved from dropping everything by the sudden appearance of the Weasley twins.
"Harry!" Fred shouted from the doorway of the Leaky, face splitting into a wide grin.
"There you are! Mum's been going mental. We thought we might have to prison break you again."
Fred moved to grab Harry's trunk, hoisting it easily into the air.
"From the looks of him, we probably should have," George said, eyeing Harry skeptically as he took Hedwig's cage from Harry's hands.
"You look awful, Harry."
"Gee, thanks," Harry muttered, glaring at George.
"I've been ill."
He was such a liar.
George frowned, looking unconvinced.
"Whatever you say, Harrikins," he said, following Fred back into the Leaky Cauldron.
"There's a spare bed in Ron's room if you want it."
Harry agreed happily, wanting to maximize his time with his best mate.
The twins helped him put his stuff in Ron's room before shepherding him out onto Diagon Alley. Harry almost collapsed upon entering the bustling street, suddenly overwhelmed by emotions. They were everywhere, fighting for his attention, swirling around him in wild patterns.
"Are you alright?" Fred asked, gripping Harry's arm to steady him.
Harry nodded, righting himself, struggling to block out the emotions. He had some success, managing to reduce them to a sort of dull roar in the back of his head.
"Fine," Harry croaked.
"Just lost my footing."
Liar.
Fred released his arm, gesturing toward the book shop.
"I think Ron and Hermione are at Flourish and Blotts. Hermione wanted to get there before all the good books were gone."
George rolled his eyes at that, smirking slightly.
"We'll escort you there. Can't have you getting kidnapped."
It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes.
"I'm not going to be kidnapped."
"That's what they always say," George said, brushing away an imaginary tear.
The twins left Harry at the entrance to Flourish and Blotts, heading off to meet Lee Jordan. Harry walked in quickly, scanning the shop for his friends. He spotted them in the corner by the Arithmancy books, clearly arguing about something. Before he could make his presence known, Hermione caught sight of him.
She dashed toward him, engulfing him in a tight hug. Harry held on for a bit too long, desperate for the physical contact. He hadn't felt a single kind touch in months. He'd forgotten how good it felt.
She released him at last, moving out of the way so Ron could give him an awkward clap on the shoulder. Ron was not a hugger. Not at all. Harry didn't mind. He could feel the love radiating off both of them, reminding him that there were people in this world who actually liked him.
"I'm so glad to see you!" Hermione exclaimed, giving him another short hug.
"We were so worried about you! I thought maybe your relatives..."
She scanned him up and down, worry etched on her face, concern battering at his mind.
"It was nothing like that, Hermione," he reassured.
"I was just pretty ill for a few weeks. My Aunt didn't want me to leave the house until I was better."
Liar.
He felt her worry ease, quickly replaced by excitement.
"Come on! We have to get our books! I imagine you'll want to head over to the Divination section. It's just over there."
She pointed toward a dark and ominous corner of the book shop.
"Um...actually..."
Harry suddenly felt a bit unsure, glancing nervously at Ron. They'd agreed to take Care of Magical Creatures and Divination together. He didn't want to upset the other boy.
"I've decided to take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes instead."
It was silent for a moment before Hermione let out an excited squeal, beginning to bounce up and down.
"That's amazing!" she gushed, grabbing another Arithmancy book and shoving it into his hands.
"I think you'll really like it."
Ron hesitated for a moment before reaching out to take a book of his own.
"Well, no use in you two having all the fun without me," he said nonchalantly, grinning slightly as he looked down at the book.
"Bill always says Runes and Arithmancy are worth learning. Might as well listen to him for once."
Harry smiled brightly, glad they would all be together.
They spent over two hours in Flourish and Blotts, struggling to stop Hermione from buying every book in the shop.
"Why did you buy the books for every subject?" Harry asked tentatively as they walked down to Madam Malkin's.
"Well," Hermione said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
"I was hoping to take every class..."
"Are you insane?" Ron said loudly, stopping to stare at her.
"That's mad, Hermione!"
She blushed.
"Well, I've worked it out with Professor McGonagall..."
"So what?" Ron asked incredulously.
"You have to think about your health, Hermione! There's absolutely no need to run yourself into the ground this early. We're only in Third Year for Merlin's sake! Even Percy didn't take every subject. He self-studied for Divination and Creatures over the summers!"
"Oh," Hermione said.
"I didn't know that."
Ron huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Well, now you do."
His face relaxed, anger leaving his expression. Harry could feel warm emotions flowing from him, a mixture of friendship and concern.
"Please don't take every subject, Hermione. Stick with us in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."
Hermione paused for a moment, chewing on her lip.
"And you're sure that I can self-study and still take the other OWLs?"
"Absolutely," Ron reassured.
"It happens all the time. Plenty of Muggle-borns take Muggle Studies without ever setting foot in the class itself."
Hermione sighed.
"Alright," she said, smiling weakly.
"I'll tell Professor McGonagall that I'm fine with just two."
"Excellent!" Ron said, beaming.
"Now, can we please go to the Magical Menagerie before we get robes? Scabbers has been looking just terrible recently. I want to get him checked over."
Entering the Menagerie was a rude awakening for Harry. He'd hoped that his strange new powers would only apply to humans. They clearly didn't. He could feel the emotions of each animal, scrunching up his face as he was bombarded by overly simplistic yet incredibly powerful feelings.
Scabbers was especially terrified, fear coming off him in waves. Hermione's new cat, on the other hand, was feeling decidedly smug, licking one paw with an air of intense superiority. Harry liked Crookshanks right away.
The rest of the day was a blur of shops and conversation, ice cream and laughter. Even Harry's splitting headache couldn't ruin his good mood. That night, with Ron's gentle emotions filling the room, Harry managed to sleep straight through, only waking when Mrs. Weasley pounded on their door.
"Wake up, boys!" she said, kind voice echoing pleasantly through the room.
"We need to hurry if we want to make the train!"
They made it to the Platform with barely ten minutes to spare, scrambling to load trunks and owl cages. Harry was just about to board the train when Mr. Weasley pulled him back, steering him into an alcove.
"Listen, Harry. You need to be careful this year."
Harry had never seen Mr. Weasley look this serious before, eyes somber and face stern. He could feel the man's apprehension, so different from his normal happiness.
"Have you heard of Sirius Black?"
Harry nodded, remembering the man he'd seen on television.
"He's an escaped prisoner, right? He was on the Muggle news."
Mr. Weasley leaned closer to him, voice dropping to a whisper.
"He's a Wizard, Harry. He was a follower of You-Know-Who back in the day. He's broken out of the Wizarding prison, Azkaban. He's the first one to ever do it."
Harry frowned.
"What's that got to do with me?"
Mr. Weasley sighed, running a hand across his balding head.
"He broke out to find you. He wants to kill you, Harry."
"Oh," Harry said stupidly, feeling his heart skip a beat.
"You must be careful this year," Mr. Weasley said again, voice firm.
"Promise me, Harry."
"I promise," Harry whispered, head spinning from the man's strong emotion.
Mr. Weasley pulled away from him, offering a warm smile.
"Very good. Off you go, then."
Harry boarded the train, searching for Ron and Hermione.
He found them in a nearly empty compartment, sitting across from a sleeping man in shabby clothing. Harry felt a twinge of disappointment. He'd been hoping to tell Ron and Hermione about his new ability to sense emotions during the ride to Hogwarts. It seemed that he would have to wait. He didn't want to risk being overheard. He had a sinking suspicion that whatever was happening to him shouldn't become public knowledge. It was too strange, too abnormal.
Harry sat down gingerly, turning Mr. Weasley's words over and over in his head. He didn't know what to make of it. He thought about it all through the train ride, withdrawing from his friends, suddenly feeling very nervous.
Yesterday had been so wonderful, but he'd forgotten the realities of the Wizarding World, forgotten the horrors that followed him around. He still dreamt about the Basilisk and the face of Lord Voldemort. He didn't want to add Sirius Black to that list.
The Dursleys were terrible, but the Wizarding World was dangerous in its own way. He may have friends here, but his enemies were far more deadly. He twisted his hands together, worrying at his nails. Maybe he shouldn't go to Hogsmeade after all. If there was a murderer on the loose, wouldn't it be best to avoid the village? He might put the other students at risk.
Harry clenched his hands tighter, feeling the familiar pressure of his nails against his palms. He should just pretend that he'd lost the form. The village wasn't worth the risk.
Besides, he didn't really deserve to go. He'd only gotten the form signed because he'd kept his head down like a good little boy. That wasn't something to be proud of. He didn't deserve a reward for being too cowardly to stand up to the Dursleys. He wasn't good enough to go to Hogsmeade.
Harry tried to quiet the voice in his head, pushing it away. He hated feeling like this, hated how easily he could slip into self-loathing. He knew most of his thoughts weren't true, but he couldn't help believing them, couldn't stop the thoughts from coming.
Harry was just reaching into his bag to grab a book when the train shuddered, coming to a sudden stop. The air went very cold, darkness falling around them, ice creeping across the glass.
All the lights flickered out, plunging them into profound darkness. Harry shifted nervously, feeling as if he were back in Dudley's second bedroom. It was too small in here. He needed to...
All thoughts of small spaces were pushed from his head as a sudden wave of emotion crashed into him. Harry fought back a whimper, clenching his teeth. It was too much: fear, despair, hopelessness, anxiety, grief. It was flowing over him, amplified, unbearable. He pressed his hands against his head, desperately trying to stop the noise.
"Stop," he muttered.
"Stop."
The compartment door slid open, despair reaching a crescendo, panic flooding his lungs.
He couldn't breathe.
Harry could hear desperate screaming, horrible pain flooding his body, desperation hitting him from all sides. It was too loud. It was too much.
Harry felt himself fall off his seat, hitting the floor hard.
He couldn't breathe...
He couldn't think...
The emotions were drowning him, cutting off his oxygen, constricting his lungs.
Harry gasped for breath, vision fading as he fought to inhale past the panic and pain. He couldn't do it. The screaming was too loud, tearing into his brain with its sharp anguish. The emotions were too strong, choking him with their intensity. His vision was fading fast, deep blackness settling over him like mist.
Harry welcomed it, begging for the quiet of unconsciousness.
Harry just barely caught a glimpse of silvery light before everything went black.
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me! I am obviously not JK Rowling ;)
A/N: Hello friends! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I plan to update once a week on WEDNESDAYS (that may become more frequent as I head into summer, but we'll see!)
I won't normally leave long notes, but I just wanted to say a few things about where this story is going so that no one is blindsided later on. I intend for this to be a series, hopefully stretching all the way to the end of 7th year. There will be slash in this story though it won't be the main focus and it will NEVER be graphic. Sirius/Remus is a background relationship for much of this story, and Harry/Cedric is my endgame pairing (I have a major soft spot for those two). Rest assured, however, that no romance will happen between them for at least three years (Harry is FAR too young at this point). Even when they do eventually get together, I will never deviate from my teen rating. I just wanted to put that out there so people know what they are getting into! Thanks for reading :)