Souls Ensnared
By
Carameldaydream
Book 1: The Debt of Salazar
ii) magic, madness- heavens, sin
A/N: Thank you for to shadow fax for beta-reading this.
[ Magic, madness, heavens, sin
Saw you there and I thought
Oh My God
Look at that face
You look like my next mistake
Love's a game ]— Blank Space,
Taylor Swift
࿐࿐࿐
The first rays of dawn shone through the windows of Number Four Privet Drive. If Petunia Dursley- the mistrusting woman she was- had her way, the sun wouldn't dare to show its face from her windows, but alas, it was not hers to be commanded.
There was another person, quite different from Petunia Dursley and her family, who lived in the cupboard under the stairs. He too distrusted the sunlight, but entirely different reasons dominated his opinion on the matter.
To Harry Potter, sunlight meant that it was morning. In his view, mornings were slow and stifling in the Dursleys' little kitchen, where he cooked breakfast. Vernon Dursley, who was quite a lazy man, was always irritated in the morning and so was Harry's obese cousin Dudley. In short, enduring their aggressive comments made him feel irritated.
Harry liked evenings best when the lights melted into shadows and he could imagine the stars shining brightly in the sky, despite having never witnessed such a sight. Dudley's fear of the dark meant that he had to come back in before even the sun had set to prepare dinner for them.
Harry scowled at the thought of his so-called family, crouched in the dreary cupboard that was his room.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Aunt Petunia rapped sharply on the door and her shrill voice commanded him to get up.
He hurriedly pushed the ratty mattress aside and unclasped the bolt of the door from inside. It wasn't strictly necessary — locking the bolt was just meant as a reassurance that he was the one in charge of his schedule when it was the other way around — but it didn't matter either way.
Breakfast was the same as ever, the sound of the bacon sizzling punctuated by Uncle Vernon's booming voice and Aunt Petunia's shrill reprimands. Dudley, the spoiled brat whined continuously about his breakfast being late. Harry hurriedly finished preparing it, loath to be the victim of his relatives' wrath.
He was given a slice of burnt toast and half of a lopsided egg, a better breakfast than was usual for him. He ate it quickly and had just gone to wash the cutlery when he heard the rustle of letters at the front door.
"A bit late today." Aunt Petunia the perfectionist remarked, her nose up in the air.
Uncle Vernon mumbled something from behind his newspaper.
"Get the post, Dudley," he said, turning a page.
"Make Harry get it," Dudley said, making a face. Uncle Vernon's large moustache twitched behind his newspaper before he glared at Harry.
Harry — knowing that protesting was futile — padded towards the door, dodging Dudley's Smeltings stick.
Golden brown sunlight shone through the flap, and Harry got the view of a large golden envelope resting on top of the bundle of letters. His gasp was not directed at the coarse quality of the paper but the address in green ink:
'Mr H. S. Potter,
Cupboard Under The Stairs,
No. 4 Privet Drive,
Little Whinging,
Surrey'
Harry picked it up in his hands, turning it over and reading it more carefully to make sure it was addressed to him! He felt excitement rise in him as he regarded the yellowish-brown parchment and the green ink on it. But who would write to him? He thought, deflating a bit. The only people he was on speaking terms with were Ms Prewett from the library and Leo. At the thought of his mentor, his eyes fell towards the letter resting innocently in his hands. He thought of the warnings Leo had given him about candies and sweets that looked tasty but were designed to harm him.
Was this letter hosting something that would make him ill? His thoughts strayed to the little cupboard he slept in and how these people would know about it. Maybe they were spying on him, he thought. An ember of hope burned in his stomach when he thought about someone paying attention to him.
Not many people noticed him. There was something exceedingly weird about him, not like the other unusual things that he had done. This was something that he could always feel over his head. He could slip out of notice seamlessly and no one noticed him even as he stood right there.
Leo had been the first adult who had actually started to see him, but he was a teacher and had only been one for a few months. At first, he had been reluctant to talk to him. Harry had gotten used to it; people listened to Aunt Petunia's spiteful lies about him. But eventually, Leo had struck up a conversation with him after class. Things then developed to the point that Harry could call him one of the few adults that he trusted.
"What's taking you so long, boy?" Uncle Vernon snapped from the kitchen and Harry jerked out of his thoughts, finally making the decision and slipping the letter into the pocket of his torn jeans. Aunt Petunia eyed him warily when he returned with the two remaining letters in his hands. He waited nervously for her beady eyes to find out about the letter, but she didn't say anything. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and subtly patted the pocket in which the letter was with satisfaction.
Throughout the day, he slipped his hand inside his pocket, the parchment stiff against his calloused hands. It served as a reassurance for him, as he went through with the day's chores, concealing his excitement with a cover of indifference.
The sun had sunk, giving way to darkness when Harry was unoccupied at last. He snuck quietly into his cupboard, closing the door gently. The darkness was overwhelming and Harry couldn't see a thing. He concentrated on the feeling of light until a smooth bubble rose out of his hand. He had done this countless times, but he was always stupefied by the surface of the dome, excluding light from within. It glowed, hovering over Harry's shoulders as the shadows swarmed around him, dark shapes looming in their midst. They swirled around him, as no shadows ought to be able to do, teasing him, as they formed hypnotising circles. Harry laughed as they made little animals, charging into one another but his attention was still on the letter clutched in his white knuckles.
The golden freckles peppered on his face were illuminated against his olive skin as Harry tore the letter open, peeking the cupboard door open to see if any of the Dursleys had woken up. He crackled with energy, the tips of his always messy hair standing up straight. The lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead was particularly visible, stark white against his tanned skin.
He crouched down, waiting for the sound of his Aunt and Uncle's bedroom door opening, but emitted a relieved sigh at the silence, lifting the parchment to his face to read it.
An overwhelming scent descended upon him and suddenly he could see the familiar halls and the green and silver banner hanging like the tapestry and the magic- oh so much magic. His soul sang brightly and Harry jerked, lowering the letter distractedly.
For a moment he had felt that he was someone else, in some other person's body. But that wasn't possible, was it? He tried to ignore the dizzying sensation rising in him and focused his attention on the letter.
He lifted the letter again, taking care not to hold it too close and then read it carefully.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress
Harry's eyes drifted towards the light suspended over his shoulders and all he could think was 'magic'.
But then he felt a hint of trepidation. Perhaps this was an elaborate prank by Dudley. This wasn't normally his style, but it would be more realistic than the alternative.
But even as he glanced outside to see if the bulking form of his cousin was hiding somewhere, his mind drifted towards all the freakish events that had happened around him.
Turning the teacher's hair blue, teleporting on the school roof and even setting Uncle Vernon's pants on fire that one time. He thought about the snakes that roamed outside the house, little grass snakes that he could understand.
Had that all been magic? Did his parents have magic too? How could they have died in a car crash, then? It was an absurdly non-magical thing for them to do. Harry's eyes suddenly narrowed, as he pondered over one of Leo's lessons.
'Always trust your instincts,' he had said and Harry applied it to his situation. Something about this seemed absurdly weird. Had it been a cover-up then? A cover-up to ensure that the non-magical people weren't suspicious?
Harry's thoughts drifted to Aunt Petunia; about whether she and Uncle Vernon knew about magic. He snorted at the thought, thinking of Uncle Vernon's face if someone explained it to him, but the moment of amusement passed quickly as he thought about what he was going to do. What if it was a prank? Or something that wasn't real?
What would the Dursleys think of this? He pondered over the last question, taking his time to think about all the opportunities, the countless situations in which he had been denied something Dudley had. He had thought it was his fault — freaks don't get anything — but now he could be something Dudley wasn't. He could go to Hogwarts, away from the chains that constricted him.
He made up his mind, picking up the discarded pen lying in the corner.
A/N: Make sure to go and read
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Harry the Hufflepuff series
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