New chapter! I hope you enjoy it and please R&R to let me know what you think.
Also, sorry about the delay, had a bit of a spiral but finally got this chapter out.
And please come visit me at my tumblr - erikablair
The first thing Harry noticed was he didn't need his glasses anymore. While the knocks continued to increase in fervency, Harry was happy that he could finally see. Harry didn't realise how bad his eyesight had been before; the clarity and detail he could see in the world around him was astounding. Even in the dusty darkness that was his cupboard, threads of light from the cracks in the door illuminated the space around him, and he could finally perceive the blurred, shadowed shapes that he couldn't before.
A loud slam on the door broke him out of his revelry, and he rose reluctantly. Hoping they didn't make a fuss about his lack of eyewear, he stumbled out of his cupboard to be met with the flushed, enraged features of Petunia.
"Took you long enough, boy, now go make breakfast," she commanded seethingly.
Edging around her form, Harry made his way to the familiar but dismal sight of the Dursely's kitchen. He grimaced internally at how easy it was to fold back into old habits, taking out the customary food stocks. After greasing the pan with an overly generous helping of butter (may as well try to speed up Vernon's heart attack), Harry fried up several eggs, rashers of bacon, sausages, and hashbrowns for the Dursley's breakfast.
Unconsciously shielding himself, so he wasn't spattered with grease, Harry absently flipped the food as he contemplated his situation. He was back. And it was the day he would receive his Hogwart's letter. He didn't know what or how much he would change, but he knew one thing; he would keep his first letter this time. He didn't want to go through the same rigmarole as last time. Getting dragged to the middle of nowhere only to have Hagrid 'save' him was not his idea of a good time, and he'd rather avoid it. Vernon's rages when the letters didn't stop was also a factor. Those bruises had lasted for weeks.
He wondered how he would be able to get to London and avoid his chores when a current of warmth erupted from his back pocket, seeping into his skin. That's right, his new wand. A gleeful smile broke over his face as he remembered its existence; he could do magic, untraceable magic. His wand hadn't even been created yet, let alone registered, and without the Ministry's trace, he could practically do anything, especially if he set up some containment wards. Nodding to himself, he continued cooking, and after serving the Dursley's their breakfast, he heard the tell-tale clinking of the letterbox.
"Go get the mail, boy!" Vernon demanded, shovelling the greasy breakfast into his mouth greedily.
Head bowed in acquiesce, Harry subduedly made his way out of the room before rushing over to the pile in front of the door excitably. Flicking through the usual bills disinterestedly, Harry's hands trembled as he came across the recognisable envelope that housed his Hogwart's letter. Jaw tightening at his address, Cupboard Under the Stairs, Harry wondered how McGonagall never came to check up on him. He knew now that the envelopes were addressed by an enchanted quill, made by Rowena Ravenclaw herself, but sending the letters was done manually, and he wondered how she missed it. And why no one had personally delivered his letter, it was, after all, the standard practice of those who were muggle-born or muggle-raised. Tapping his chin with the envelope, he suddenly noted the faint traces of familiar oily magic. Dumbledore had sent his letter. It was the only conclusion he could draw. He could feel the faint traces of McGonagall's magic seeping from the concealed letter within, but Dumbledore's was more prominent, more recent. He fumed.
Hearing Vernon's shout of what was taking him so long, Harry quickly hid the letter under the back of his shirt, the corded band of his pants keeping it secure against his skin. He shuddered at feeling Dumbledore's magic flicking against him but ignored it in favour of carrying on as usual. Ducking his head, Harry handed Vernon the stack of letters with a mumble of apology. He expected the backhand and collapsed to the floor, already consciously directing his magic to the forming bruise and split lip. Looking up with rage-concealing eyes, Harry noted that Vernon had already forgotten about him and was flicking through the letters as if he hadn't just struck his nephew, a child. How he loathed him.
Dudley was watching the crumpled form of his cousin with bright eyes, intermittently staring between his large gulps of food. Honestly, how much food could Dudley eat? Petunia walked over to him disparagingly and with a crinkle to her nose as if she smelt something particularly foul. Well, he supposed she wasn't exactly wrong. It wasn't as if allowing him the means for basic hygiene was high on their list. They had repeatedly told him they didn't want him dirtying their bathroom and had only given him a bucket and a rag when he got particularly putrid. It didn't matter that he was the one who cleaned the bathroom, and he knew Dudley was particularly disgusting when that chore was due. Incompetent as he was, he knew Dudley at least knew how to use the toilet correctly, even if the knowledge seemed to escape him every time Harry's scheduled cleaning came up.
Digging her fingernails into her nephew's bare shoulder, exposed by the baggy collar slipping down, she hoisted him up and then immediately began washing her hands in the sink. Her mouth was set in a stiff line. Gesturing to the list beside her, Harry noted it was already filled to the brim with chores he was expected to do. Some of them would take the majority of the day. Oh well, no matter. It wasn't like he would be doing most of them, and besides, if he was so inclined, he could always speed things along, especially since he had a wand.
Deciding to start with the gardening, Harry thought it would be the perfect opportunity to scope the property and the wards that would need to be placed. Ambling out to the shed, he picked up the gardening tools and faced the street and paused. He'd never seen this before. A dome surrounded the Dursley's. It was peculiarly coloured, and the magic felt vaguely familiar. Light, and airy, and unmistakenly loving. That's when it hit him. It was his Mum's, and he was staring at the blood wards. But he was alarmed by its state. It was cracked and frayed in places rather than the solid, protective shell he was expecting; in others places, he noticed gaping holes. Where there was solid colour, a spider web of cracks spanned out, making it look so delicate that a single touch would bring the entire thing down.
This was what Dumbledore sent him back every summer to renew? What he insisted was his most vital protection from the Dark Lord and his minions? Wait, no. Dumbledore didn't want him protected; Dumbledore wanted him to kill his soulmate. Dumbledore wanted him malleable and easy to manipulate. Well, he had undoubtedly gotten that, he snarled to himself. Suddenly his mind stuttered in realisation; he could see magic! He certainly hadn't been able to do that before, though he had researched the topic extensively when he had stumbled upon it. Mage Sight. A scarce ability and not often seen outside of the Emyrs line. Well, it seemed the Gods had granted him more than just fixing his eyes; they'd given him an entirely new ability!
He did not want to raise suspicion, so he moved to the front garden and started picking at the surrounding wards. While tending the roses, he noted other wards covering the house with the distinctive shimmer of identifiable magic. Dumbledore's magic. His prodding instantly became gentler, more subtle as he parsed the wards for their intentions and abilities. If there were any sort of detection wards, they would significantly limit what he could do to negate them. He didn't want the old man knowing anything that happened at the Dursley's from now on. And he certainly didn't want him having any sort of control of the environment he was forced to reside in.
Growling at what he found, he unintentionally snagged himself on a rose thorn, the blood dripping into the dirt below. It gave him an idea. Sticking his finger into his mouth, he focused his magic on healing the cut, unbothered by the chance that Dumbles detection ward might report it. Although advanced, he noted that any self-healing magic was to be discounted unless it stopped him from dying. He obviously knew what kind of environment he would grow up in, the manipulative bastard.
Casting a low-level notice-me-not charm over himself, he used his new wand to begin tracing runes into the house's base. It was a mix of blood, soul, and creature runes he had experimented with when he was an Unspeakable. His interest had turned to defensive warding for a time, and although unconventional, the results were staggering and quietly praised by his superiors. He was surprised when he learned that creature runes were coveted knowledge by the raises who created them and often impossible for anyone not of their blood to craft them. Further research had provided the information that the Potter's over the millennia had engaged in many alliances and marriages with many magical creatures that gave their line gifts, one of which was the ability to utilise their runes.
He knew his blood was too diluted for any sort of creature inheritance to manifest, but he was content with his lot. Being able to manipulate and use creature runes from various races was more than most wizards could do. And luckily, due to his mixing of them with other forms of runic symbols, the original signs were impossible to distinguish. After all, this knowledge was secreted by these creatures and often hidden from wizards. After reading their torrid history, it wasn't surprising, filled with increased stigmas, restrictions, and discrimination. These creatures should be exalted, held to equal standing with wizards, and taught alongside the wizards and witches at Hogwarts. That's how it used to be, and that's how it should be now. He knew this was the case with other magical communities; once again, Britain was showing its ignorance and bigotry. No wonder almost all magical races had either shipped out or had gone underground.
Swiping his bloody palm over the last runic sequence, he felt the magic build and then explode outwards. Looking at the newly created dome, he was amazed to see its myriad of colours, a swirling miasma with each shade dusted with the unique sheen of creature magic, with flecks of burgundy for the blood wards, a golden-green tint for his soul. It was beautiful, it was whole, and it was his. He saw Dumbledore's wards placidly sitting outside of the newly erected wards; now, he'd never know what went on here. Or at least what really happened.
To ensure the old man remained unsuspicious, he'd also placed a ward that fed the Dumbles detection ward with pre-recorded, innocuous information. Activity that he'd already observed and discounted as valuable. That way, it would seem everything was going according to plan, that nothing untoward or unusual was happening. Harry smiled, probing the wards again, noting that his wards had integrated Lily Potter's blood sacrifice. He hadn't wanted to get rid of the magical evidence of his mother's love; he wanted to keep it close to him as a reminder. For as much as his parents would probably hate him for his choices, he also knew that if they loved him enough to sacrifice their lives for his, they should love him enough even if he was joining the man who murdered them. Especially since it was all constructed by a well-known puppetmaster.
Casting a tempus, Harry noted that he would need to hurry if he wanted to spell Vernon before he trotted off to work. Speeding back into the kitchen, he saw Dudley still gorging himself on extra helpings as Vernon stood up to give Petunia a parting kiss. Seeing his nephew enter, covered in dirt, holding a stick, his face immediately purpled.
"What are you doing, boy?" he growled, approaching threateningly with his fists clenched.
"Why, Uncle Vernon, I just wanted to say goodbye," Harry said with a saccharine smile. "Now sit down!"
Vernon dropped to the floor where he was advancing, and Petunia started shrieking. Dudley had even paused on eating, a novel achievement in itself.
"Oh shut up, you stupid bint!"
Petunia's moved clamped shut at Harry's command, laced as they were with magic.
"Now, I have received my Hogwarts letter today," here Harry paused so they could absorb the full implications. "I will be off to Diagon Alley, and none of you will stop me. If all goes to plan, after the summer you won't ever see me again. Until then, you will host me; I expect to be given Dudley's second bedroom and left alone for the rest of the summer. If my simple requests are not followed, there will be consequences."
The Dursley's collectively flinched at the malicious glee echoing from his words.
"Now, if you don't mind, I will be off," Harry announced.
Making his way to the door, he absently flicked his wand, binding the memories and any mention of this event and any events going forward to himself in a crude reconstruction of the Fidelius charm. Concurrently he also tied them in a curse, where any malicious and violent thoughts or actions towards him would cause them unbearable pain, gradually incapacitating them if they didn't change their tune. He didn't hope for any immediate behavioural changes, but sometimes negative reinforcement was needed when teaching old dogs new tricks. And if it assuaged his more vindictive side, who was to blame him? Besides, he would make them pay; getting a head start before the real fun began was just a bonus.