Jericho Potter
Disclaimer/Plot/Author's Note: SEE FIRST CHAPTER
Dedication: I would like to dedicate this story to everyone who encouraged me to stay strong during these dark times: my recommended reads are Saviour of Magic by Colt01, Silver King, Trickshot and Damaged Raven by JustBored21, The Mind Arts by Wu Gang, The Power Of Love And Family by llst40, Harry Potter and the Tribe of Mystics and Harold Peverell and the Order of Snow Leopard by Lord of mystics, Dark Lord Peverell by Callisto Blackridge, Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin by The Sinister Man and When the Thunder Breaks by WeLonelyOldSouls
Key Pairing: Eventual Harry/Luna
Other Pairings: To be determined
Normal Speech
'Thoughts'
'Mind Speech'
/Parseltongue/
Review Responses:
Mumphie: Just because I said Darkish, doesn't make him as bad as certain Dark Lords out there;
ShadowEonEclipseChaos: You're the only one who made a suggestion about that, friend, so thanks for the support;
"Harry, what are you doing?"
"What?" asked Harry, pointing downwards before he added, "You're the one who wants to know why I am what I am…well, hold on tight, make sure your seats and tray-tables are in the upright position and, in the event of trouble, stick your head between your knees and kiss your ass goodbye."
With that, he snapped his fingers again, causing both of them to plummet, even as Harry's voice echoed through the strange mental domain he seemed to have gained some sort of mastery over.
"We thank you for flying Air Jericho, not that you have a choice, and hope you enjoy your flight."
Chapter 3: Break the Walls Down
Albus didn't know how long he was falling, if he was falling at all.
The only thing he knew was the darkness and the weird, kaleidoscopic surroundings of this strange astral plane – as Harry had called it – as the young boy sent them hurtling down memory lane, all the while just hovering there, smiling at Dumbledore's confusion as the old man looked up at him before he asked his question.
"What, exactly, are you going to show me, Harry?"
"Not everything, obviously," said Harry, closing his eyes for a moment before he smiled knowingly as he added, "I mean, we can't spoil all the surprises so quickly: you know all about that, don't you, Albus? I mean, you were planning on waiting until…when, exactly, before you told me about that piece-of-crap prophecy? My eighteenth birthday? The day I told you I was ready to die for the Greater Good? When I had suffered even more than I had already suffered? When I had known complete despair and, thus, was ready to be released from this world?"
"Released?" asked Dumbledore, earning a shrug from Harry.
"Death is a release, not a punishment, trust me," said Harry, though not before he opened his eyes and, lifting a single finger, he pushed a non-existent button, causing a loud bell to ring twice – like the alert bell on a bus, informing the driver one wanted to stop – as he added, "And, on that note, here's our first stop on the Jericho Tour: the morning I was found."
Here, Harry turned away from Dumbledore before he lifted his hand again and pushed out at the air ahead of him, as though he was pulling back aa curtain, revealing a door that was pretty ordinary to behold.
As Harry held out his hand to the door, he smiled before he held out his free hand to Dumbledore;
"Stick with the tour group, please, and no flash photography."
Then, he opened the door, filling the astral plane with white light…
Flashback Start
Silence.
That was the only thing that summed up the atmosphere of sunrise on the crisp, cool early November morning as an icy-cold wind blew along Privet Drive, kicking up red-and-gold-coloured leaves and causing the few birds in the trees to ruffle their feathers and twitter softly as they woke up to the new day.
On a lone doorstep on the street, a small infant in a blanket-wrapped bundle fidgeted in his sleep before he opened his mouth as he felt the cold add to a feeling of discomfort, pain and even hunger grip him.
But when he did so, no sound came out.
Flashback End
"Sad, isn't it?"
Albus' eyes widened as he turned to see Harry standing against the nearest lamppost, his green eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and personal pain as he explained, "I laid there for thirty-five minutes before somebody noticed me, and all the while, I screamed in pain, hunger and discomfort, but no matter how loud I tried to make the sound come out, the only thing that came out was…"
"Silence," whispered Dumbledore, earning a nod from Harry while, as the old man looked back to the doorstep and the bundle that lay there, he swallowed hard as he asked, "But…why didn't Hagrid say anything? He…he said you fell asleep as you were flying over Bristol."
"Flying?" asked Harry, looking once to Dumbledore, but even as the old man went to throw up his barriers, Harry snorted in amusement as he added, "Oh, don't bother: trust me, if I wanted to, I could take your Occlumency barriers and make frappe out of them. And, just so we're clear, I know you have barriers: I felt them when you first started talking to me, but, as should be pretty obvious by now, they're useless against me, especially here on the Astral Plane. Remember, you let me in, Albus…anyway, what's this about flying?"
"A…a…a motorbike," replied Albus, more than a little intimidated by Harry's boastful remarks – if he was boasting, Dumbledore didn't know and couldn't begin to tell – even as he explained, "It…it belonged to Sirius, your godfather, and…and he gave it to Hagrid on…on the night you were brought from your parents' house in Godric's Hollow."
"Seems a bit weird that someone my parents trusted as closely as though they were family would just hand me over like I was an unwanted parcel," drawled Harry, cocking an eyebrow as he looked to Albus before he asked, "Unless someone made him choose some sort of personal gain over his duties to the only son of his nearest and dearest friends…hmm, Albus?"
"I…I don't know why Sirius did what he did…or why he wound up paying the price for it, but…but I assure you, Harry; had…had he but asked me…or asked Hagrid, I…I would have let him take you gladly. It…it was his right, after all: I swear to you, Harry."
"I believe you."
The fact that Harry dismissed Dumbledore's almost-pleading tone so casually, as though they were discussing the weather, alarmed the old man as much as everything else that day, though it didn't help when Harry sneered as he added, "I'm not saying Sirius will believe you if he ever gets out of Azkaban, but I believe you…I mean, it kind of helps I can read your thoughts, so I'd know if you were lying to me, but…anyway…oh, look, here comes the good bit…"
Returning Dumbledore's attention to the moment at hand, Harry leaned against his lamppost again as he observed the memory…
Flashback Start
Suddenly, the silence of Privet Drive was broken by an eardrum-splitting scream of horror and disbelief when Petunia Dursley opened the front door to put the milk bottles out, only to see the blanket-wrapped bundle and the baby within looking up at her with an eye colour that she had never wanted to see again, for as long as she would live.
"VERNON! COME QUICK! VERNON! VERNON!"
Flashback End
"Well, all I can say is thank Merlin for blood wards keeping people ignorant to what went on in that house, eh?" asked Harry, lifting a hand before he snapped his fingers.
As Dumbledore flinched at the sound, a part of him wondering what Harry was doing now, he gasped when, suddenly, he found the two of them sitting at a table, watching while Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley argued over what was going to happen with the baby on their doorstep.
Flashback Start
"We…we can't keep it, Petunia: think of our neighbours…and what about Dudley? If it infects him with its nonsense…"
"At least it's quiet," said Petunia, looking down at the infant in the blankets as she scowled before she added, "But we'll have to make sure it wears a scarf or a high-necked t-shirt, to hide that disgusting scar. I mean, honestly, don't these freaks even know how to hide such disgusting things like that? And who do they think they are, dumping unwanted rubbish on perfectly-normal people like us…"
Flashback End
"Actually, we can skip this bit; she goes on like this for a while before their precious little darling wakes up and demands Mummy to feed him," said Harry, waving a hand through the air, which caused the image to fade away, as easily as wiping dust from a chalkboard, before Harry turned to Albus as he added, "So, tell me, Albus: have we learned anything yet?"
"Harry, I…" Albus began, earning a scoff from Harry as he shook his head.
"Obviously not…fine, next memory, then: projectionist!"
Before Dumbledore could say another word, the images around them changed again…
Flashback Start
SMASH!
"PETUNIA, HE'S DOING IT AGAIN!"
Even as three-year-old Harry Potter heard the loud screams of his Uncle, crying out in rage at the fact that another strange, unusual thing had happened, the little boy was more-concerned with the mind-wrecking headache and the terrifyingly-loud voices that he tried, and failed, to get out of his head. Whenever he heard them, the voices terrified him and, whenever he grew terrified, something strange and unusual happened, which was Vernon's cue to scream like a rabid elephant.
Then Harry was punished, as he knew he was about to be, and the cycle slowed for a while, but then, Harry would hear the voices, feel the headaches and everything would start all over again.
And, all the while, Harry was forced to scream in silence, watching through tearful eyes as his cupboard was flung open and his Aunt dragged him out, pulling down his overgrown trousers before she began smacking him HARD on his behind, making him scream in silence as she too screamed.
But, unlike him, her screams could be heard.
"NO MORE! HOW MANY MORE TIMES, YOU FREAK? NO MORE NONSENSE! STOP THIS! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! YOU'RE A BAD BOY…NO, YOU'RE A FREAK AND YOU'RE JUST AS BAD AS HER! STOP IT! STOP IT! JUST STOP IT RIGHT NOW!"
But Harry wouldn't stop, mostly because he didn't know how to stop, let alone how he was doing anything that his Aunt was saying he was.
All he could do was scream even louder, but silently, as he was smacked and beaten for something he couldn't control.
Flashback End
"Five years."
Dumbledore didn't know whether to be alarmed, mortified or more than a little pitying, if not apologetic as he watched Harry's memory play out in front of him, though, when the young wizard addressed his elder again, Dumbledore turned to Harry with a questioning air, "I'm sorry, Harry?"
"You're wondering how long my loving relatives basically treated me like I was a dog to be beaten down, a horse to be broken," said Harry, brushing a stray fleck of dust from his shoulder, even as he went on. "It was five years: of course, I didn't know it at the time, but when I heard Aunt Petunia talking about how she wanted me to stop being like her, I was actually hearing her thoughts concerning my Mother and the Accidental Magic she experienced as a child."
As Harry erased this new image with a wipe of his hand, he sighed softly as he told Dumbledore, "By the time I was six…well, nearly six, I'd gained quite a terrible reputation as the Raggedy Annie orphan who couldn't sit still, couldn't speak and always seemed to be staring off into space. Even when other kids frightened me and chased me around the playground, I didn't speak or cry out, which made them treat me like I was some sort of unclean thing who wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing his screams."
While Harry was speaking, a new image started to form around them, though not before Harry chuckled darkly as he spoke again.
"Then, after five years of putting up with their crap, at long last, there came a fated day…the day my walls were really broken down…watch and learn, old man…and never forget: you did this."
Flashback Start
"There he is."
"Get him!"
"Go on, freak: cry out for Mummy and Daddy!"
'Here we go again,' thought Harry, already taking off at an incredible speed as he ran away from Dudley and his thugs, all of whom saw fit to hunt Harry like they were a pack of laughing hyenas and he was the meaty prey that they were going to pick the bones off of once they caught him. Of course, Dudley casually walked behind his cronies, waiting to take the credit and deal with the Freak as he saw fit.
But only after his pack had won the 'cleverly' named game of Harry Hunting.
As he turned into a nearby side-alley, hoping to avoid having to look at, listen to and feel the brunt of their stupidity for another day, Harry crouched low behind a nearby dumpster as he thought, 'Come on, run past; don't look this way; just keep running and get bored…like you always do, you pig-ignorant fat…'
"FOUND HIM, D!"
'I hate you, Piers Polkiss,' thought Harry, who barely had a moment to react to the unwelcome voice before he found himself held by the arms, courtesy of Gordon and Malcolm, while Piers cheered and crowed at how he had helped 'Big D' win the game.
Of course, Dudley took the praise and looked as menacing – and, therefore, ugly, as Harry thought – as he could as he walked up to Harry.
"Nobody's going to help you now, Freak…and when Mum and Dad ask, I'll tell them you made me miss dinner."
'A cardinal sin, I'm sure,' thought Harry, watching as Dudley drew back his fist before he smacked it clean across Harry's jaw, leaving a nasty bruise, but, to the dissatisfaction of the gang, there wasn't even a whimper from Harry.
How could there be?
He'd lost his damn VOICE, for God's sake!
Why couldn't his loving relatives see that?
Were they really that thick?
Judging by how Dudley allowed Piers to get a shot in on Harry's ribs, the answer was a clear and obvious, 'Yes.'
"Knock him out, Big D."
"Break his ribs."
"Hey…I know!"
Suddenly, Harry's eyes widened, prompting a new round of struggles and silent protests when he saw Piers Polkiss draw a small, sharp knife from his pocket, earning a round of laughs from the other boys, especially Dudley, who laughed, "Nice…where did you get it, Big P?"
"My brother: he said it was mine now, even though Mum tried to get him to give it to her."
"Well, let's show the Freak."
'No!'
That was when it happened.
As Harry struggled against his captors, trying and failing to find some wiggle room, a familiar all-encompassing headache swept across him, bringing with it a searing, overwhelming surge of new strength and force that seemed to be accompanied by a surge of heat that stung at the scar Harry had always known he possessed around his neck.
With this new pain, Harry felt his whole body surge with a fury of energy that he'd never known before: a fury that made his emerald-green eyes burn brightly, much like a certain curse, while, as he saw Piers raise the knife, clearly intending to use it as more than a threat, the young boy of seven years old heard his own voice scream with a passion and force he'd never known before.
And all that happened in one word:
'STOP!'
Suddenly, dead silence filled the air, accompanied by a feeling of loosening from Malcolm and Gordon, both of whom released Harry without really meaning to. At the same time, Harry looked up and saw Dudley staring at him with an even dopier expression than he usually wore, his hands slack at his side and his jaws parted in a real 'duh' sort of expression.
As for Piers, he was, almost-literally, frozen in his pose, his knife raised and his expression as slack-jawed and pathetic as the rest of them, but, when Harry moved to step past him, he was surprised to see the yes-man not even bother to try and stop him.
Instead, all four of the bullies stayed right where they were as Harry walked out into the playground, looking around with a curious air, if only for one reason, which both unnerved him and surprised him at the same time.
Every man, woman and child present in Little Whinging Primary School had gone still, slack and as gormless and glassy-eyed as any of them.
The only one who had any sort of free movement was Harry himself.
Flashback End
"That…that…that's not…that can't be…"
"Possible?" asked Harry, making Dumbledore jump as he turned to look at the older, more-confident Harry, who shrugged ruefully as he explained, "I said something along the same lines when I noticed how everyone in the school was, basically, like puppets waiting to dance on strings. Only, as weird as it was, at least it was finally quiet: I could finally think for myself, my headaches were gone and even this little beauty didn't sting me as much as it used to."
He tapped the scar on his neck as he said this, earning a dumbfounded look from Dumbledore, while Harry smiled coldly as he added, "Of course, I was now a seven-year-old boy who, from the looks of things, had free reign over the whole town and nobody would be able to stop me, so, like one of those fun, cheesy movies, I guess it's montage time…"
With that, he snapped his fingers, triggering a wide range of memories to show around them…
Flashback Montage Start
Harry ran through the whole house, trashing Dudley's bedroom and taking as much chocolate as he wanted out of the fat pig's not-so-secret stash.
Harry took money from Petunia's purse, Vernon's wallet and Dudley's many-times-smashed piggy bank, before smashing it and stuffing the wallet into Vernon's mouth for good measure. Harry went into the nearest sweet shop and bought all he could eat, before shrugging ruefully and stealing the rest, leaving a note that made the yes-man Piers Polkiss take the fall if the shopkeeper ever recovered from whatever had been done to him.
Harry had a nice, LONG hot bath and got to sleep, tossing and turning on his Aunt and Uncle's bed before he shrugged and made a bed-fort, which he played in for hours on end.
Harry flicked through channels in almost-every house in Little Whinging, watching whatever he wanted for as long as he wished.
Harry trashed his school's hall and playground, writing crude remarks on walls and pictures of past teachers and headmasters.
Harry flicked through mail, saving anything that might benefit HIM, and leaving the rest with the junk mail.
Harry put batty old Mrs Figg's cats in the front seat of Vernon's car before gunning the engine, leaving the filthy moggies to burn while leaving Vernon without a leg to stand on for his 'precious' business.
Harry…Harry…Harry…hmm…
What else COULD he do now?
Flashback End
"Yeah," sighed Harry, letting the image end with his past self standing atop the school kitchens, looking out across his braindead world, while the older, present-day Harry turned to a shocked, speechless and disbelieving Dumbledore as he explained, "It took a few seconds for me to stop the world around me…and then it took me a few days to grow absolutely bored being the one and only thing in the world with the power to move about freely and do whatever I wanted…so, I decided this was the right time to start doing some research. And, like I said before, I found it: in books on psychic potential, dreams, fictional stories about superpowers and, of course, the fun adventures of the Marvel and DC heroes and villains. They became my Bible, my mentors and my guides, but, unlike the X-Men, I saw no reason to use my power for anyone's good, other than my own."
"That's a very dangerous road to walk down, Harry," said Dumbledore, earning a shrug from Harry.
"So is leaving a damaged soul like me in the company of freaks like the Dursleys, Albus, but you did it, so here we are," retorted the young man, stretching up tall before he smiled as he explained, "Anyway, my point is that, with information at hand, I did…well, let's call it experiments with my new power, which led to me learning the full truth about my loving aunt and her pathetically-childish envy at how her sister had something she didn't. This led me to magic, which led me to Hogwarts, which led me to you…which, of course, led you back to me and to this place…"
Before Dumbledore could say another word, Harry snapped his fingers again, filling the world around them with white light…
Jericho
When Dumbledore opened his eyes again, he saw Harry, sitting with his wolf companion by his side, a smug, interested look on the scarred boy's face as he tapped the side of his head with one hand while he rubbed Lupa's fur with the other as he looked at a shell-shocked, disbelieving Dumbledore, who, for once in his life, had no idea what he was supposed to do now.
And, judging by how Harry's smile widened as he saw Albus try and gather his senses, he knew Dumbledore was at a loss.
'I agree old man,' said Harry, once again consigned to using his mind to speak to the Headmaster as he chuckled slyly at Dumbledore's pale face.
'What do we do now?'
So, an interesting third chapter and, even though it looks like Harry's done with the trip down memory lane, it also looks like there are a few gaps that need filling, but when will he decide the world is ready to know about that?
Also, knowing exactly what Harry's capable of – even though he has NO idea what he's capable of – how will Dumbledore ensure that Harry's broken mindset and clearly-dominant personality doesn't cause too much trouble at Hogwarts?
(Simple answer: he can't…but you know these senile old manipulator-wannabes: they never quit trying…)
Keep Reading to Find Out
Next Chapter: It's September First and Harry now has to deal with a world full of hypocrites who don't like change and judge everyone by their own standards…oh wait, he's already done that with the Dursleys and the snooty a-holes of Little Whinging. Oh boy; prepare for trouble, Hogwarts…
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