Disclaimer Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling
Hello and welcome all this is my first story on this site and as such, I hope it can be a good learning experience for me as well as an at least a satisfying read for you all.
Chapter One - Humble Beginnings
Young Harry Potter was a unique little boy, with an emphasis on the little. As an example, he was under the notion that normal children fear the dark.
Harry could not help but think they were wrong to fear the soothing and encompassing blanket brought about by the absence of light. That immaterial veil that covers all, concealing it. Protecting all that it shrouds equally leaving the world in a state of rest. Giving the creatures that spurn the light a chance to enjoy the freedom that the darkness bestows upon them.
Harry felt all that and more with the ending of a day for he rejoiced at night, not out loud naturally, he did not desire to earn himself further punishment. Punishment of which he was sadly accustomed to, seeing as it was a regular facet of his life. The punishment he was dealt unduly by his family, sometimes for little more than occupying space within their vicinity. The reasoning being he was tainting them with his freakishness. That was what he was, of course, a freak, his 'family' would never let him forget that. When he was even more little, closer to a babe, he might have cherished them, sought after their affection, to feel like he belonged.
Now though, having been raised by them he would never desire something so putrid as their wretched attention.
So, it was with his callus covered hand that he reached for the handle of his door, the lock on it long since broken from the abuse of his uncle and slipped out into his prison from his claustrophobic cell. He was short for his age, and he knew it, his thin bony body was just one indicator of how his family treated him, the others were hidden underneath long-sleeved shirts that would be baggy on a normal child, the same going for his pants. He did not need shoes or socks seeing as both had holes and were tattered, genuinely more uncomfortable than just forsaking them completely.
His skin was always pale, but his upbringing had most surely tainted it with an unhealthy glower, his hair in stark contrast was coal-black and dirty. His face was possessed with a pair of enchanting eyes that never failed to captivate the few close observers and one could even say that they were gorgeous but that would be if one could get over how strange the lightly glowing jewels set in his face were. His aunt would never admit it, but their beauty was one of the reasons she took him in when he was a baby, also why she bought him such large glasses to cover them up as he got older.
His footsteps were quieter than an alley cat as he crept to the back door and found it locked, as was usual, it was here that arguably the second most enjoyable part of young Harry's night occurred. He reached for the lock his small childish hand softly cupping around it and his eyes closed in a demure face of concentration, he focused deep within himself before whispering so quietly it could have been mistaken for a breeze over the wood.
"Unlock."
And with that softly uttered command, he felt a force emit around his hands and the bolt inside the door slide away allowing him to sneak out into the fresh night air. This was his habitat, surrounded by shadow and darkness the true elements of the night like a wreath around him. Finally, at peace he just let himself bask in this gift of nature, the soothing feel of the cold creeping into his flesh and causing it to become bumpy and flushed on his face. The darkness allowing his eyes a break from having to shift focus to see something clearly.
He must truly be a freak to only find such solace in the dead of night but that mattered not to Harry, he had tried to make friends once with other people, other kids when he attended school. They were all cowards and fools, adult and child alike believing everything his family said about him and thus, in turn, ostracising him, making him always apart from peers and people alike. But that was fine with Harry he didn't want to hang out with them, not if that was how they truly were. Harry cast away such thoughts about the past and instead focused on just relaxing in the dead of night wrapped in darkness and caressed by cold. Patiently he waited there for the moon to reach its apex, that was his cue to retreat inside so as not to incur his violent family's wrath. They took any excuse and sometimes just made one up.
Harry looked up at the moon and smiled at it, letting the only light he felt comfortable around wash over him, he whispered goodbye to the moon and the night with both his voice and his gift running around and through him dancing with the nocturnal world. A cool breeze being his farewell in return, as it flowed over and around him and entwined with his gift before sweeping the noise of his farewell off into the black. He crept back inside using a command to relock the door and heading for the cupboard under the stairs to rest and recover from his enjoyable evening. Soon day would come and with it a return to light and his life of prosecution, it was a weekend so Harry would be put to work with all manners of chores and little food to leave him exhausted. He knows his family's twisted idea was to drain from him all his energy, so he would not be able to do freaky things, like use his gift.
Sometimes, only sometimes, Harry thought they were right to fear it and thusly him as well. As it was a while back on one of the few days where he had finished his chores and had eaten well at school, thanks to a party or some such event with food, that Harry retreated to a park and hid to play with his gift. He was playing with a rock wishing he was strong like a hero from a story he once coveted, so he could protect himself… his small, scarred hand clutching the rock tightly when he mumbled, "crush."
The Command ushered out from his mouth and his gift, in turn, twisted around his fingers like vines growing thick and then with a loud crunch, the rock was reduced to pebbles and dust, surprising Harry as until that point he had only used his gift on his body to heal himself quickly and make the pain go away. It was the first time Harry had a real idea of what he could do, the first time he had used his gift and more importantly a Command in a calm situation one devoid of panic or necessity.
And as his gift flowed back from the tip of his fingers and the demolished rock it filled him with a burning desire to do more, as if it/he/us wanted to do more for him/them.
But he would not unleash his hate on his family like a savage, not yet anyway. They were annoyingly right about one thing, he had nowhere else to go. He would leave them be... for now, if only to stay in a location he knew and was 'comfortable' with. But he knew that the day would come when their allowance of him to reside with them would end and when it did Harry would really give them a reason to fear his freakishness. Let them carry the brand of vengeance upon them delivered on swift and cruel hands.
Harry was shocked out of his thoughts by the stomping of heavy feet down the stairs, probably for the best because without realising his gift had started to coil around him like a briar patch the weight of his rage making it/them feel heavy. The stomping was followed by a snide giggle belonging to a cruel, spoiled child. Next, Harry counted down to the yell that would fill the house from his aunt telling him to get out of his cupboard and make them all breakfast. Heaven forbid that the walking bag of skin filled with bones do anything at all, Harry thought to himself with spite.
"Pest! Get out here now and make breakfast or so help me!" His aunt's squawk rang true and reverberated around the house causing Harry to leave his closet and approach the kitchen to begin making the usual spread for his family. He would trim the crusts of toast, cook the bacon into equal splits of crispy and chewy, eggs all sunny side up cooked in the fat of the bacon, the sausages too. The orange juice had to be filtered to remove the pulp, a practice they started simply to make his life more difficult, he was sure. All this cooked to their bloated sense of perfection and if they found something wrong, he would be punished.
Then came the task he was honestly sickened by the most, to observe them eat. Dudley and his uncle Vernon were revolting, shovelling food into their open gobs like the bloated animals they were. His aunt would pick at it, chew it slowly and look as if she despised it, trying to get a rise out of Harry as if he could give a single care as to the hearing of her praise. Then when they were done, they would order the table cleared a task that had to be completed briskly less Harry be punished. Then for their own spiteful enjoyment, he was ordered to scrape the scraps and leftovers into the bin. They always smiled to Harry's annoyance, the fact that they still took pleasure from watching a hungry boy throw out food that said the boy would happily eat just proved exactly what sort the lot of them were. Then he could eat by their own graciousness. A meal fitting of the freak that was Harry Potter.
Bread and water or if they were feeling especially spiteful, a feeling they felt far too often for his liking and wellbeing, bread crusts and water.
They truly were a sadistic and repugnant group of people, it was with a strong will that Harry powered through the morning routine, only comforted by his gift licking at the air around his skin like a bundle of angry serpents' tongues.
"Now boy, you listen here, you are to do the dishes and take out the trash after which you are to make yourself very, very scarce. I have some business partners coming over today and if I see even a single hair of yours. Well, boy, I will make sure you can't move for a week." Uncle Vernon hissed at Harry spittle speckling his face. A nod was his response.
"Good, get to it." The order given Harry quickly finished off his food, bread with water thankfully, and moved to make it so and at a brisk pace to boot seeing as he was being permitted to leave. Once completed he slid on his near ruined shoes and exited the house so swiftly and silently, he was not even sure if anyone knew he was no longer inside. All the better for him if he was being honest with himself, his gift uncoiling in his guts and loosening from its forced calm as the small boy trekked onwards. He headed to the park the one place where he could not be kicked out of… Surrey was a small place infested with the lies and hate of his relatives and thus no place for Harry.
Once at the park Harry rushed for his hiding spot, darting through the area, and avoiding the public while his gift was trying to cushion his footfalls as if egging him onwards to their destination. The hiding spot was a secluded area, away from others, it was an old shed off the park walking paths that was surrounded by thorny bushes entwined with an old wire fence. The fence was solid save for the back which had a hole easily suited for Harry's small frame to slip through. The shed was avoided by common people, its dilapidated looks making it appear as a dangerous abandoned shack. Animals also did not like the smell of the plants as they were somewhat poison, the white stuff inside them was anyway a sure benefit to harry as some dogs could be as vicious as their owners. It was here Harry hid and relaxed, it was where he kept his few treasures and practised his Command over his gift, it/him/they felt amazingly comfortable here and as such his gift almost seemed to prance over and around him.
His treasure was but a small collection which was made up of books, pictures, and stuff his small boyish mind found of interest. His favourite books displayed distant locales or depicted wondrous pictures. He could not read too well as he stopped learning after another rather harsh punishment for achieving solid grades confusing his teachers who were told he was a devilish miscreant. The Dursleys took this as a personal attack, how dare he not be exactly as they said, such was his punishment, fierce and drawn out. But that was when he ceased to even try and thus his intellect suffered… after all if one doesn't wish to how are they meant to learn. But his books had nice pictures with large splotches of numerous words and these pictures showed such interesting wondrous places. Any of them better than being here with the Dursleys.
"Ignite." His hoarse voice Commanded to the candles, his gift quick to respond flickering to the wicks almost seeming to coil and burst, igniting the air with sparks and thus the candles alit with little dancing flames upon their wicks. Harry sat down and pulled out the crusts he stole and held them over the flame to make them a tad more enjoyable a joy-filled grin at his successful heist adorning his face. Once cooked to his satisfaction he reached back for a sauce satchel and spurted it onto his meal, the thick red substance adding a splatter of colour and flavour. Once his stomach was fed, he reached for his awesome sword.
It was in actuality just some sticks he had crafted together to look like a sword, but to his young boyish mind, it was his awesome sword and would be referred to as such. His weapon in hand Harry left his hideout, his gift swirling and soaring around him making him feel light and upbeat, they departed for the thicket of trees outside where he saw his practice dummy. It was a pudgy burlap sack filled with dirt and leaves, it was round and with the creative aid of a young boy's imagination, and some stuffing techniques plus helpful decoration resembled a vaguely human figure. It looked just like Dudley with its pudgy stout form.
Harry spent his morning beating and attacking the dummy with his sword before growing weary of it. Only so much rage could be let out through this manner, and it was a tricky endeavour as he had to do so while trying to maintain a hold of his gift which sought to enact its own violence like a dog tugging on its leash. Growing weary of trying to both let out aggression and maintain his/their calm he plopped into the dirt, the sword resting by his side, while his gift set to prowling through his warmed muscles.
It was as he was catching his breath that Harry realised, he was not physically tired, his stolen crusts no doubt helping him stay energised. It was with this realization that he looked to the dummy with a malicious grin adorning his face. Harry wanted to try something new with his gift, he recently heard a word he wished to turn into one of his Commands. This one would be different from the others it would be made for one purpose and that was to protect him from the Dursley's and others. Rend was defined in the dictionary as to tear, rip, wrench or at least something along those lines as Harry had seen and understood it. So, it was with this word in mind and the action it was meant to perform on the dummy circling his mind that Harry began to slow his breathing.
His focus turned inwards searching for his gift, time at this moment now inconsequential for him. Once he found his gift, he grasped it within his mind and channelled it towards his thoughts on the concept of the word 'rend'. Or at least that's how he imagined it; imagination was not something Harry was short on, he practically survived on it after all. His gift, the word, and the picture of what this command was meant to do secure in his head Harry turned to the dummy and opened his eyes staring intently at his target.
"Rend." He commanded forcefully… only for nothing to happen, his gift feeling restrained and coiled within him like a stone at the bottom of a pond. Staring at the dummy unimpressed Harry looked inwards again searching for what went wrong. It was not hard to see, as the command in his head was pretty big, he needed to give it more energy, actually, that was a bad analogy, not energy, but more effort, more want, more will, he needed to make his/their/its desire a reality through a combination of sheer force of will and wish power.
"Fair enough," Harry's young voice mumbled, his slight frame shrugging in acceptance. Looking towards the dummy he went through the processes again. Breathe, think of the word, conjure an image, channel his gift, focus on it, want it, desire it and… "Rend!" shouted firmly this time causing little tears to appear in the bag.
"Oh, great well that's useless," Harry snarked sarcastically, annoyed he could not get this, his gift flicking at the air akin to a bare branch that reached out from him lacking and flimsy. Then his mind flashed to a cartoon Dudley was watching once of a superhero or villain making their fingers into claws before slashing them at something. Harry glanced down at his hand grinning his idea rekindled. He adjusted his glasses and prepared to begin the process again. Breathe, word, image, channel, focus, want, desire and finally direct.
He felt his gift collapse around him, flow back through him and fill his hand akin to a glove filled with warm water. Looking down his gift had appeared as claws of light dancing around his finger's, sparks of light shooting between the tips. His face lit up with wonder before his childish focus quickly returned shifting his face back to one of concentration as his gift almost hesitantly started to recede into his body.
To his frustration it didn't stop receding, then his frustration became anger and it stopped fading away, grasping the emotion Harry watched his claws return. It made sense to him it wasn't a simple Command like 'push' or 'pull' that required little imagination and were self-explanatory. No this was him commanding his gift to lash out at something with the intent and desire to harm and should be thought of as such.
So, Harry wasting no time channelled all his anger and frustration at this difficult process into his gift, watching it wrap around his hand again fusing with the emotion and growing from it. But that was when the floodgates opened, there was a reason Harry tried to control his emotions lest his gift acts up and get him in trouble, which oftentimes was responsible for the worst of his scars as the Dursleys did not hesitate to retaliate. But once he thought of his anger it just kept coming, his anger at the Dursleys, at the other children, the bullies, the school, Surrey, and worst of all his parents for abandoning him to the Dursleys and then the anger at himself for blaming his dead parents.
His own self-loathing caused the gift in his hand to become hot and gain weight. Looking down Harry saw it was no longer mere light but a glowing, red-hot maelstrom of crimson wisps and arcs of energy dancing between his fingers and centred in his palm. His gift was now like a pool of boiling emotions that were feeding and in turn, being fed by the young boy's frustration, it/he could feel it bubble and churn, almost like it was alive and damn furious. With tears of frustration blurring his vision and his face flushed red, Harry finalised his Command, charged with all his rage, anguish and hate. He let the words tear out of his throat in a brutal, high pitched, furry filled roar of a child.
"REND!"
The screamed command left him as his clawed hand swiped at the dummy, the energy launching forward tearing up the ground and splitting the air causing a screeching sound to emanate as it travelled. When the Command impacted the dummy, it immediately began shredding it to tattered pieces and launching its detritus stuffing in the air… then the command continued onwards impacting a small tree and felling it. Harry on his knees stared mouth agape at the destruction caused by his newest Command, the emotion, and echoes of his gift suffusing through his heart and mind, akin to steam washing over his face. Getting back unsteadily to his feat Harry traced the trail of destruction with his eyes while walking alongside it, his calmer gift lapping at the carnage like a curious creature. It looked like some enraged beast had slashed its claws at the tree and the dummy was just in the way, leaving massive gashes in the ground where it had swiped. Harry approached the tree to see it smoking, it seems all the extra anger and emotion had made his gift heat up as a side effect… curious.
"… Cool," Harry stated his amazement plastered to his face, his gift blooming around him as his/their wonder sparked a beautiful feeling. He looked back at the dummy waving his hand over the broken remains and in a firm voice ordered "repair." Only to get no results at all, his gift moved to follow the Command, but it is like it forgot or just could not follow through with it as it came into contact with the destroyed remains. Seems his 'rend' Command made it difficult for other commands to fix its carnage… or it was just too destroyed… food for thought.
Harry suddenly felt exhausted and just decided to crawl back to his hideout and sleep, his gift feeling his/its exhaustion and showing it by sloshing lazily around him. Reaching the hideout and rolling onto his side Harry looked at a picture. It was something he thought about getting rid of often, it was a picture showing the shadows of a family holding hands on the beach. A father, a mother, and a little boy between them holding their hands in front of a golden sunset.
Harry still shaken up from his rage felt sorrow creep through him, sullenly he rolled over and whispered, "extinguish," his soft Command sending his gift out like a blanket that draped itself around the flames extinguishing their light and so the little hidden retreat was thusly plunged into darkness. Harry felt his eyes drift shut as he rested, trying to recover all their/his energy he had just used as a result of his new violent Command. As he drifted closer to sleep, Harry endeavoured to try and forget about all his built-up rage... and his consuming loneliness.
That's right I didn't like it so I'm rewriting it, the Harry I was writing originally was a wonderfully edgy little bastard, but I just felt like a loser writing him so this time we do it right... or at least right enough for me to not mind as much. At this point, I will just be happy to put words on paper again so to speak and not cringe when I re-read it.
