Chapter 1: Born Without
What would it be like, to have a dream of yours come true? To discover that yes, all the impossible things denied in life were suddenly possible to obtain?
What would you do, then, when you discover that all that wonder and joy was real, but out of reach? And then, that those around you cruelly mocked you for being unable to attain what should have been yours – could have been yours! – if not for a cruel quirk of fate.
Soul crushing despair, perhaps? Demand a refund? Or curse the fact that, apparently, wish-fulfillment operated on Monkey Paw logic and rules?
All of the above. I went through the Five Stages of Grief when I learned and experienced that hard, horrible truth.
To explain what I mean, I have to explain what happened to me.
What happened is I died.
I got hit with a car when trying to cross a bridge over the Duwamish River in Seattle, Washington. I died because the asshole driver knocked me over into the river, and paralyzed by pain and a pair of broken legs, I ended up drowning.
The experience was… unpleasant, to say the least. I died trying to scream, and was reborn screaming, fittingly enough. I was a loud baby, from what my parents told me as I grew up.
Still, that was that. I died. And then, for some reason, I was reborn into the world of Harry Potter.
How could I tell? Well, the fact that, when I was starting to gain – or, more accurately, regain – awareness of my surroundings I swiftly realized I was in an old, Victorian style house. I wouldn't call it a manor, but it was bigger on the inside than outer appearances would allow for.
Objects floated around and did things by themselves, my parents walked around with pointy sticks that shot jets of sparks and colorful light, and there was a wide-eyed, floppy eared horror known as a House Elf that did the chores around the house.
So, yeah. Kind of obvious, once my previous life's memories started to trickle back in around the time I was one and a half years old. By the time I was three, all of my former memories and experiences had returned, and I began to learn about the situation I'd ended up in.
On April First, 1976, I was reborn as Erroneous Edwards Hunch Jr., to Erroneous Hunch, head of House Hunch, and Wisteria Hunch nee Kettlepoke. Everyone called me Edward, thankfully.
I had brown hair and blue eyes, with ears a bit bigger than normal, and had a fairly average looking face, save for my oddly pointy chin that I inherited from my father.
I had a brother, two years younger than me, named Rudolf. God, I pitied his name. Better than mine, though, but only slightly. At least I could go by my middle name. He didn't have that luck, and ended up being called Rudy by friends and family alike. At least he had a normal chin.
Regarding my new family in this world, the Hunches were a Pureblood family, and a very minor noble one at that. So minor, that it was in name only. We had the title, but little else. No vast fortune, not a lot of land, and hardly any magical secrets or talents. And certainly no seat on the Wizengamot!
To make ends meet, mother brewed potions for Saint Mungo's, and father was a lesser clerk in the Ministry of Magic's Department of Rules and Regulations, which was a sub-division of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It didn't bring in a lot of money, but we lived comfortably. It helped that we owned the house we lived in, and like many older families, had access to centuries worth of clutter and junk that was worth a pretty penny – or knut in this case – if we were forced to find additional income.
I'd learned that magical families were pretty spendthrift in general. Why buy new chairs when a spell could not only fix 'em up, but change their look and feel completely? Dirt and grime were silly little things compared to a Scourgify or persistent House Elf. And who need electricity when a couple runes etched onto some copper provided all the light you needed for free? Magic let our hidden society do away with the need for the rampant capitalism the Muggle world took for granted.
Oh, and something else I discovered as I grew up was that father was a Death Eater. Yeah, that'd been an unpleasant shock. He'd strutted around the house with his sleeves rolled up for months after his 'initiation,' proudly displaying that accursed skull tattoo to all of his family members.
Up until November of 1981, of course, at which point he began to cover up his mark and walk around with a lot less confidence and swagger.
Father dearest almost bankrupted us and used up numerous favors to get the courts to drop his name from the list of Death Eaters. He pleaded the Imperious, and just barely managed to escape Azkaban.
After 1982, Erroneous became a different man. Well, not too different, honestly. He'd always had a foul temper and a drinking problem, but all of that got much, much worse after Voldemort's defeat and he was demoted several ranks in the office. And all of that anger and resentment ended up being dealt out to his family. Me, in particular.
Now, you might be wondering where I'm going with this. No doubt it seems that, so far, besides a few issues with parentage and money, I was still in the clear. Older than Harry, the future protagonist, so I could better prepare for canon, at the very least.
Well, guess again.
See, I was not lucky, at all. I was born not as a magical, but a Squib.
Yup. A Squib. Reborn into the Potter-Verse, but I couldn't do the one thing that would have made such a reincarnation worth it.
I couldn't cast magic! No wand for me!
Mother had cried for days when we couldn't deny the facts any longer. Father had… well, I'd have preferred it if he had just ignored me and left me alone. But no, apparently being born a Squib was all my fault, and that I'd cursed the family somehow.
Not a single spark of arcane power ever manifested around me. My brother had burped up glowing bubbles when he was four, yet I'd not even shown the slightest hint of accidental magic. I tried, though, I desperately tried!
I attempted to meditate, I tried to focus my willpower and cast windlessly, I sought to look inward and find my mental space, or something else that would reveal my magic. I even said the incantations and waved the wands my parents told me to try and use! I did everything other Potter-Verse self inserts attempted, and yet nothing worked!
The pain and disappointment was crippling, for me and my parents. They tried everything to coax magic out of me, even emulating Neville's uncle and dropping me into life threatening situations. All I got out of that was bruises, cuts, and broken bones.
Father shunned me. Rudy followed suite, at first merely because he was imitating father, but as he grew up, Erroneous Hunch's vile teachings and ideals seeped into him, and he became a cruel, spiteful brat.
Slugs in my bed. Dog shit in my pillows. Bubotuber puss in my clothes and nails in my shoes. Rudy's 'pranks' left just as many scars on my body as father's attempts at 'forcing the magic out of me' did.
Seven years of living like that. Seven years of hell. But it would soon be over.
The year is 1987. July 31st, the final day to respond to – and receive – a Hogwarts letter came and went. No owl. No letter. No teacher showing up at the last minute with an apology or excuse or anything.
And thus, it was confirmed without a shadow of a doubt that I was indeed a Squib, a shame to the Hunch family.
It was August 1st, 1987, and dinner was a somber affair. Father stewed angrily, glaring at the food mother had cooked. Garlic porkchops with cheesy mashed potatoes and sparkling apple cider. My favorites.
Rudy sneered at me the few times he bothered to acknowledge my existence at the table, and mother… cried. Quietly, and into a handkerchief.
Wisteria Hunch, my mother in this life, was not a strong woman. Her marriage had been arranged shortly after she'd graduated Hogwarts, and there'd been little love in the relationship to begin with. There'd been some, when Rudy and I had been born, but after Voldemort's defeat father grew harsher towards her, and the love shriveled up and died.
She tried to be a good mother. She loved me, Squib that I was. Truly, she did, and I, well, even though I never really considered her my mother thanks to the memories of my last life, I did care for her, and hated it when father struck or yelled at her. But Wisteria was weak willed. She never tried to stop Erroneous Hunch from hitting her or me when his temper flared, nor did she protest him spending all our money on alcohol. She just sat there and took it, and then cried in private.
So, there I was, sitting down at the table, eating what was surely my last meal. Father had threatened me enough times to know I was either getting Obliviated and then dumped at a Muggle orphanage, or straight up murdered and my corpse thrown into a ditch. Either was possible, depending on the mood that struck him when he finally made his decision.
I ate, and mentally went over my plans and options. I didn't have many, and they were all unpleasant in the short term.
When Inky, our withered old House Elf, magicked the plates away, I knew I'd run out of time. I got up quietly and ran to my room, slamming the door shut behind me. I quickly grabbed a pillowcase I'd stuffed with various items; spare changes of clothes, pocket money I'd diligently collected over the years and hidden in a fake book, some texts and tomes, a bit of food in the form of sweets and candy, and of course a map of London and a list of the bus routes I could use to get into the city.
Then, I opened my window and tossed it out. It landed in the bushes, but no one was around to notice. I was about to flee out the window myself when the door was practically blown off its hinges with a deafening bang, and father stormed in, face red with anger and drunkenness.
"You're coming with me!" he snarled, grabbing my arm and dragging me away to his 'office.' It was really just a room he sat and brooded in, but I wasn't in a position to argue his choice of name for it. I couldn't even fight him off physically!
I tried to break free, but I was too small and weak to do so, and he kicked the door to his office open and tossed me in. In the background, I heard mother screeching at him to stop, and he turned around to yell at her.
I took the moment he was distracted and urgently uttered a single word. "Inky!"
The old House Elf popped in over to me, looking sad. "Yes, Young Master Error?"
His cutesy nickname for me filled with me disgust as it always did, and I glared at him as I gave him a single command. "Plan B, Inky."
The House Elf's eyes widened, but he bowed his head and popped away. Thankfully, father hadn't noticed, too busy screaming at mother. Eventually he grew fed up with her hysterics, and slammed the door shut. Then, he drew his wand, and cast a Silencing charm over the room. Now, no one could hear us, and we couldn't hear them.
I swallowed nervously, and stayed on the floor, not daring to get up. It didn't keep me safe as I'd hoped as father kicked me in the stomach as he stomped over to his chair. Erroneous sat down in it heavily, glaring at me darkly as I gasped for air.
"Today is the last day you'll be a problem for me," he declared. "You won't darken our home with your foul unnaturalness any longer."
"Father, please, whatever it is you're going to do to me, don't!" I managed to plead. "I'll leave! I can work with mother's family in the potion industry! Not every potion needs a wand to be brewed! Or maybe-!"
He cut me off with a Stinging Hex to the face and I howled in pain. The only saving grace was that he'd missed my eyes. The last time he'd hit me there, I'd been blind for a few days until mother's potions healed the damage.
"No," he said darkly. "No, you do not get to beg. You are a disgrace to this family, and I will not let you ruin our good name!"
"What good name?!" I snapped back, anger and hate boiling over and eroding my sense of self-preservation. "You're a Death Eater! You're lower than dirt! You ruined the family's name years ago when you sucked that bald snake's dick!"
"HOW DARE YOU?!" Erroneous roared, jumping up out of his seat with murder in his bloodshot eyes. He hit me with a few hexes and at the same time kicked me repeatedly, calling me every filthy derogative name he could think of.
I couldn't do anything but lie there and take it. But he quickly ran out of steam, his years of heavy drinking doing him no favors, and when he was done he dropped back into his chair, panting heavily with a red-going-on-purple face and looking down at me with a crazed expression in his eyes.
For a moment, I feared he might curse me to death then and there, but instead, he hollered for Inky.
"How may Inky serve master?" the House Elf asked in a wavering voice.
"Fetch me a drink!" Erroneous snarled, and there was a series of pops. A couple seconds later, and the old servant of the house passed my father a bottle of gin he'd brought, as requested.
Instead of thanking the House Elf, Erroneous hit him over the head with a glancing blow with the bottle, sending the poor elf sprawling.
"Do it faster next time, you lazy shit!" my father snarled. He then tore the cork out with his teeth and guzzled the alcohol straight from the source, his lips clamped around the neck.
He drained half of it before he put it down, gasping for air. The evil look in his eyes hadn't lessened at all, though he did look slightly unfocused.
"Now, you listen here, you little shit," he snarled at me. "You're nothing. NOTHING! The only thing you're good for is as meat."
He then gave me a dark, terrifying grin. "I've been in contact with some hags in Knockturn Alley. They'll pay a pretty sum for a fresh and tender morsel like you!"
I stared up at him, horrified and disgust, and he just laughed. "Yeah… Yeah! That's the best thing a Squib like you is good for!"
He laughed some more, but then froze, a strangled "Urk!" escaping his lips, and he clutched his chest, the bottle slipping from slack fingers. It shattered and spilled the contents everywhere, and the next thing I knew, Erroneous Hunch was writhing on the ground, face turning disturbingly purple.
Broken glass from the bottle dug into his arms and torso, cutting him up badly. The color soon drained from his face, and he began to twitch violently, trying to scream or make a noise other than the foul gurgling he was currently making.
For a moment, his eyes met mine, and they widened in realization, but it was too late. Erroneous let out a rattling wheeze and slumped, moving no more.
Cheap alcohol and blood was beginning to seep into the carpet and my clothes, and I staggered up, not wanting to get wet.
I looked over at Inky, who lay stunned on the ground, still dazed from the blow father had given him. I could barely move myself, so I simply staggered over to a cleaner spot on the floor and lay down.
Then, I opened my mouth and began to scream.
The Silencing spell around the room had fallen along with my father, and the door was instantly opened by my mother. Wisteria rushed in, and took one look at the scene before her before letting out a scream of her own.
An hour and several concerned neighbors later, and the Aurors were cleaning up some of the mess while a witch from Saint Mungo's was looking me over, my mother hovering at my side nervously.
"Heart attack," one of the investigators declared, his words drawled out without an ounce of sympathy. "Too much to drink, too much anger, too much stress… he was gonna pop a valve sooner or later. Not even magic could keep this guy's ticker going forever with all the abuse he put on it. Guess tonight was just too much of everything for him."
They'd scanned the body, of course. And checked the spilt drink for anything unusual. No traces of poisons or potions in either. Medical scans from the medi-witches confirmed it; Erroneous Hunch Senior had had a heart attack in the midst of beating his eldest son half to death. And since his loyal House Elf had been unfortunately incapacitated, there was no way to save him.
Tragic, but fitting. No tears would be shed by any of father's few acquaintances, and only mother would weep for him. Though she did that over everything. And I had a feeling these would be tears of happiness and relief, rather than sorrow or regret.
'Rudy might sob a bit,' I thought as another Episkey spell sealed up my split lip. 'And I guess Granny Hunch. But that's it.'
"There you go, all better," the nurse told me, giving me a faint smile. "You'll be right as rain when September rolls around. None of your classmates will know you were ever hurt!"
"He isn't, um, that is to say, Edward won't going to Hogwarts this year," Wisteria said softly, and the nurse tilted her head at that but merely shrugged it off.
"He's already had one, but I'd suggest another Calming Draught before he goes to bed. And if he can't sleep after that, an Elixir of Dreamless Sleep ought to do it."
Wisteria thanked the woman, assuring her she'd followed the instructions, and the witch departed the house, apparating away back to St. Mungo's.
After that, the body of Erroneous Hunch Senior was removed from his study, the blood, booze and broken glass magicked away, and a few rote platitudes were given before the Aurors and investigators departed.
And just like that, it was all over.
When everyone was gone, and Rudy was put to bed – under the effects of a Calming Draught himself – mother tucked me into bed herself.
'It feels like forever since she's done that,' I thought, smiling faintly as she kissed my forehead and turned off the light with a swish of her wand.
Before she left my bedroom, however, she paused at the doorway, and looked back, biting her lower lip.
"Edward, did you… did you do it? To him?" she asked nervously.
"I'm a Squib, mom," I replied dully. "How could I have killed him?"
She nodded, relief in her eyes, and she left, closing the door behind me.
I lay there, curled up in my sheets for a few minutes and stared at the ceiling.
"Inky?" I eventually whispered, and the House Elf appeared next to me. I'd gotten used to him over the years, but I couldn't help but shudder a bit at how his big eyes seems to glow in the dark as he looked at me.
"Yes, Young Master Error?"
"Thank you," I said softly. Inky didn't say anything, and I heard him disappear with a pop shortly afterwards.
'I suppose I'll have to get my stuff out of the bushes tomorrow,' I thought to myself. 'I really didn't want to have to rely on Plan B, but damn that man for forcing my hand!'
I took a deep breath, and closed my eyes. As I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't help but wonder what was awaiting me in the future.
&&&
Author's Note: FYI, this chapter will be as dark as it gets, so no worries.
So, this is a take on the Harry Potter series, but from a different angle. Magic takes a lot of different forms in the Harry Potter universe, and the wizarding society is rather inept, so why not have a character who wants to change things by using magic from a different angle?
Just a heads up, but this one will take a lesser priority to the Nier fic. I want to finish that one before delving further with this one, so updates will be less frequent for the moment.