Author's Note:
Whew! This was a tough chapter to write. I had a general outline of how I wanted it to end up, but damn if the journey wasn't a pain in the ass. I initially wanted to release this on Thanksgiving weekend and give you all a two-fer, but it's initial state simply wasn't up to par. I had made the Dursley's almost cartoonishly violent, and that didn't sit right with me. While I loathe child abuse and any who would engage in such behavior, we're still going for realism, even in a fantasy world where magic is real. Just stay with me here.
It's difficult to violently abuse a child past a certain degree and not have everyone with half a brain realize it. I don't honestly think that people on average are that heartless, to see a child suffering in front of them and not do something about it. That's why I toned down violence to mere references, but ones that still provide a vivid look into the Dursley's treatment of Harry. I can only hope I did the right thing when I completely rewrote the chapter. I made the interactions and other actions of Harry slightly childlike (as he still is a child), but more jaded and street-smart. Although there is a little foreign influence, if you're picking up what I'm putting down.
I wish you all a very happy new year, filled with health, wealth, and prosperity for you and your families. Let this year be the one where all your hopes and dreams come true, and good things happen. I've made writing this fic one of my New Year's resolutions, and so far, I've been able keep up with it and all the others I have. Time will tell whether it stays that way. Hopefully, me keeping a close track and holding myself accountable with hard deadlines will help keep the update schedule steady.
Enjoy the chapter.
Darkness was all that surrounded him. It was a beautiful, sunny day outside and he could hear the excited squeals of the other children racing down the block, playing games and enjoying their summer vacation. How he wished he could join them.
Alas, it was not meant to be.
What had started off as a temporary stay in his aunt's home, had become a permanent exile. It didn't make sense.
Why would his parents leave him here? They didn't like his aunt and uncle. In what world would he enjoy it any more than them?
His aunt, with her shrill, grating voice that shouted at him every day without fail. His uncle, a cruel, fat man with a heavy hand for discipline. They were impossible to please, no matter how much he tried.
Whether it was at home helping with chores or getting top marks at school, he had done everything his parents had asked of him. In his mind, if it was something his parents would be happy with, then surely his uncle and aunt would be happy as well. They were adults too.
Sadly, that wasn't the case.
His aunt was always fussing over his baby cousin and his uncle wasn't home for most of the day. He noticed the sneers she often sent his way after he did something good. Maybe she didn't like it when he did well? He didn't know.
It hadn't always been this bad though.
Back when his mum and dad used to visit him every week. He had his own room back then, and his dad always made sure to keep Vernon in line. His mum always apologized and said that he had some sort of problem with his magic. That was why he had to live here.
Slowly, their visits became less frequent, until one month, they didn't show up at all. One month turned into two, then four, and he didn't see them anymore. A card or a present would come on his birthday or Christmas, but other than that, nothing.
He couldn't understand at the time and struggled to do so even now. Had his parents forgotten about him? Maybe they were busy and couldn't visit him. He didn't know the reason, but when he was kicked out of his room and shoved into the small broom cupboard under the stairs, his life started going down the drain.
As he sat in the darkness, all he had to accompany him were the memories of better times. When magic was part of his life. Having to sleep in a cramped cupboard after being forced to cook breakfast was not his idea of an ideal existence. It was a wonder he hadn't already been driven mad with only spiders as company and the pungent scent of cleaning chemicals all around him.
A series of sharp raps at his door startled him out of his spiraling thoughts.
"Boy! You're making dinner for tonight. Ingredients are on the counter. I'll be at Mrs. Polkiss' house for some time, and I expect it to be done and waiting by the time I come home. Understood?!"
He sighed at her demands. They had arbitrarily decided that he should be of more use one day and forced him to cook their meals for them. He had initially refused, but eventually gone along with it after his uncle had convinced him. He still remembered the pain from that night.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He replied in a deadpan voice.
He heard a huff followed by the loud clack of the deadbolt being unlocked. After a couple of seconds, the shuffling of feet towards the front door resounded in the quiet hallway.
Moments later, a slam from the front door told him that his aunt had left the house. He collected himself inside his cupboard. Shaking as he withheld his tears.
He hated his life. More than anything. Unfortunately for him, crying would only result in more disciplining from Vernon, and he didn't want that.
Opening his cupboard and stepping into the dark hallway, he robotically made his way to the kitchen and observed the ingredients. An open book on the counter caught his eye. It was one of the many cookbooks his aunt hoarded on her shelves.
Observing the page being displayed, he couldn't help but gape at the contents. His aunt wanted him to make a traditional Cottage Pie. A ridiculous request to make to a 7-year-old. Then again, he was much more capable than a normal 7-year-old. He knew that by now.
At this moment, he had a choice. Rise to the challenge and make the dinner she wanted or face an angry Vernon and his damn belt. He knew what he had to do.
Following the instructions to the utmost of his ability, he carefully prepared the dish, all while keeping an eye on the clock. His uncle always came home by around 6:30, give or take 5 minutes.
From entering the house to being ready to sit down for dinner, it usually took him roughly 10 to 15 minutes. Dinner had to be ready by 6:50 at the latest. Otherwise, he would be feeling the sting of Vernon's belt for the next week.
His aunt was on the opposite end of the spectrum. She was far less predictable in her timing. The neighborhood wives might keep her longer with some juicy gossip, or she might duck out early if the conversation dried up.
In short, he needed to time it perfectly to satisfy any possible outcome to keep them both happy. Dudley was outside and the boy was a nuisance at best. His whining might be an issue, but so long as he was fed, he wouldn't complain… hopefully.
The potatoes he was given were not the right kind, but he persevered nonetheless with his mashing. It was tough work, as he couldn't move as much seeing as he was standing on a chair. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to see what he was doing.
A growl resounded in the quiet kitchen as he repeatedly slammed the masher down with all his might. He imagined that the potatoes were Vernon's face, then his aunt's, then Dudley's. In that order. It was an oddly therapeutic experience, and he felt a little better with every hit.
Before he realized it, the potatoes were smashed beyond recognition, resembling a thick paste. Cursing, he immediately jumped down from the chair and fetched milk and butter from the refrigerator. Streaming it into the pot, he kept stirring until it reached the consistency mentioned in the book.
With both the filling and the mash done, he was nearly home free. Ladling the filling into a baking dish, he topped it off with the mash and put some parmesan and butter on top. He even made some nice decorative lines to try and make it look like he put extra effort. Hopefully they'd notice and appreciate it enough to leave him alone.
Putting the dish in the oven, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He had done it. Glancing at the grandfather clock in the living room, he smiled. With plenty of time to spare. Nothing they can say now.
Walking over to the couch that his aunt always refused to let him sit on, he collapsed onto it. The soft pillows felt nice as he sunk into them. He worked hard to make their dinner. At the very least, he deserved this.
He didn't know how much time had passed, but the sound of the front door opening made him shoot up.
'Damn! Is Vernon home already?'
Taking a few seconds to smooth out the creases on the couch and rearrange the pillows, he stayed standing as he heard the telltale footsteps of his uncle. Loud and lumbering steps that caused the hallway to creak as the wood underneath strained under his weight.
When he arrived, his massive paunch arrived a couple of seconds before him. His moustache shook lightly as he huffed.
"Boy. Where is your aunt?"
"She went to the Polkiss' house, Uncle Vernon." Harry calmly replied.
"What about dinner?" he inquired almost immediately after.
"It's in the oven, Uncle Vernon. Just a few more minutes and it'll be done. We're having Cottage Pie."
"Hmmm. Set the table for three, boy. I will be down in 10 minutes. Everything better be ready by then." The or else was silent, but heavily implied judging by his tone.
"Yes, sir." Harry meekly nodded as he walked to the kitchen to complete his orders.
'Well, there goes any hope of eating what I made. I hate this.' he thought while robotically setting the table just as his aunt taught him a couple of years ago. If he was lucky, they would allow him a slightly better meal than plain toast and water.
Donning the oven mitts, he carefully opened the over and was blasted in the face with the hot steam. His glasses fogged up and he leaned back, trying to avoid the excess heat.
After a moments, he leaned forward and retrieved the hot baking dish, setting it on the coaster in the center of the table. His aunt had yelled at him the last time he had made a mark by putting a hot dish on the wooden table directly.
As he stated, Vernon was downstairs and sitting at the head of the table exactly 10 minutes later. His dark, beady eyes observed the dish in front of him, no doubt trying to find something wrong with it.
Harry kept his cool. He had enough experience with Vernon's way of thinking to realize that he couldn't show that he was nervous, regardless of how nervous he was. His dish was excellent, he was sure of that, and that helped keep him calm in the face of Vernon's scrutiny.
The front door opened and shut. "Vernon! Welcome home, darling. How was work?"
Vernon puffed up. "Same old, same old, Pet. Managed to finally get through to that chap in Gloucester. The man in charge of supplying medical equipment for two major hospitals. We'll be signing the deal in two days, and Mr. Grunnings was very happy with the terms. I think I can expect a decent holiday bonus."
Petunia cooed. "Oh sweetheart, I knew you could do it! I can't wait to tell the rest of my friends. Do you know how much you might get?"
Vernon smirked. "Enough for that vacation that you wanted to go on. Remember?"
Petunia tittered and leaned in, kissing Vernon's cheek. "Oh, Vernon! I can't believe it! We'll finally go on that trip to Egypt I've been dreaming about."
Her face beamed and then her gaze landed on him before the expression soured into disgust. "Boy! Did you make dinner as I told you?"
"Yes, Aunt Petunia. I made it exactly like the cookbook said." Harry nodded while keeping his head down.
Petunia sniffed. "You better hope so. Back to your cupboard. I will bring you food after we are done eating."
Harry said nothing as he marched back towards the tiny cupboard he inhabited. Closing the door behind him, he sighed. Bread and cheese were probably all he was going to get.
He heard the thuds of Dudley racing down the hallway while yelling out for his father. Vernon proudly calling out to his son and laughing. Petunia laughing and babying Dudley as he ate with them.
It brought back memories he hated now. His own parents laughing and smiling as they ate together. His baby sister, giggling in delight as his father conjured tiny animals that pranced around the table.
He shook his head. That was the past. Those days were gone, and from the looks of things, they would never return. His parents had forgotten about him.
He closed his eyes and did his best to not think of what his life used to be. He didn't know how much time had passed, but he was startled by his aunt knocking on his cupboard.
"Boy! Dinner." He heard a plate being set down and made sure to not move until he heard her leave.
Once he confirmed she was gone, he opened the door slowly, the high-pitched creak echoed down the empty hallway. Glancing at the plate, he grimaced. Bread and cheese.
Bloody bread and a single fucking slice of cheese. The bread hadn't even been toasted. Oh, and a small glass of water. Such appreciation on their parts. They expected him to be grateful for their consideration regarding his basic needs.
After he had spent so much effort in making a nice dinner. This was what they gave him. It grated on him in a way he didn't expect. These filthy muggles deserved to die a violent, bloody, and torturous death for doing this to him.
He stilled. 'Where the hell did that come from?'
This was occurring more and more as the years went by. When he got really, really angry, he heard a voice in his head. It told him to kill his muggle relatives. It whispered in his ears of how he could do it.
The first time he heard it was when he was making soup. Before he knew what was happening, he had a box of rat poison in his hands and was about to tip it over into the pot. He had caught himself just before it went in, but that episode had scared him badly.
Even if they were the most horrid people in the world, and he hated their guts, he didn't want to kill them. He just wanted to leave. To get away from them and live his own life.
He tried to not get angry, but it was hard with Vernon and Petunia always finding excuses to hurt him. He was worried that one day, he would snap and kill them. Then only a life in jail was what he had to look forward to.
'Would it really be any worse than your life now?' it tried to persuade him.
Truthfully, he was confident that it wouldn't be that much worse. Then again, trading one prison for another wasn't the best option. He would bide his time and see when he could make his getaway. All he knew is that almost anywhere would be better than here.
Taking the proffered food, he closed his cupboard door and scarfed it down. Once finished he left the empty plate and glass in the hallway. Evenings were family time for the Dursleys, and he was not welcome. Petunia would collect the dishes sometime afterward. Just so long as he didn't show his face, everything would be fine.
'I need money. Money, clothes, food, maybe a couple of old toys from Dudley's second room. Okay. Dudley has 4 full piggy banks in his room. If a nick a little from each one, it shouldn't be too obvious. For clothes, I only have a couple sets, so it should be easy to grab those. As for toys… I guess I'll have to clean that room one day and find a few.'
With a plan in place, he settled in for yet another uncomfortable night in the tiny cupboard. His dreams were of fields of green for as far as the eyes could see, under the beautiful clear blue sky.
The next morning was standard. He was rudely woken up by his aunts screaming and rushed to get out of bed. Upon exiting, he saw her making pancakes. She handed him the spatula and told him to continue making them while she set the table. He obliged without a single complaint.
As usual, he was offered bread and cheese, but they magnanimously threw in half a sausage this time. Yet again he scarfed it down, not knowing if he would be able to eat until dinner time.
"Boy. There is a list of chores that need to be done on the fridge. Make sure they are finished, or Vernon will be having words with you." She narrowed her eyes and sniffed imperiously.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He replied in a deadpan voice. Looks like he had his work cut out for him to avoid the belt.
The next 7 hours were filled with back breaking work. He cleaned the house from top to bottom, including the front and back garden. By evening, he was a sweaty, starving mess. His limbs were shaking as he tried to remain standing. He had somehow managed to complete it all on time.
He strained as he shuffled back to his cupboard.
Petunia intercepted him as he was about to open the door. "Boy, you're stinking up my house. Go take a bath. I expect you to be done in 10 minutes."
He nodded and went upstairs after grabbing a towel and a pair of clothes from the closet. Feeling the hot water pound onto his frame made him sigh in ecstasy. Shutting off the tap was the hardest thing for him to do. Unfortunately, Petunia's threats were usually followed through if he didn't comply.
Coming down, he found Vernon and Dudley sitting at the table while Petunia happily chatted with them. Seeing him, she glared and spoke with a tone of disgust. "Sit down and eat. You have 10 minutes. After you're done, straight back to your cupboard."
He nodded and followed her orders. Feeling Vernon watching him with such an angry expression filled him with dread. It made him finish his dinner much earlier than his allotted time and he scurried back to his cupboard without looking back.
Closing the door, he heard them discussing something, so he stayed as quiet as he could, trying to eavesdrop.
"I will not have it Pet! We will not bring that freak along with us on our trip. This was supposed to be our family only!"
Petunia tried calming him down. "I understand, Vernon. I would love nothing more than to leave him behind, but Yvonne and the others already have it in their heads that we're bringing him along. We can't send him to any of them. What would happen to us if he told them things?"
Vernon huffed. "The boy won't say a word. I'll make sure of it."
"They already expect us to bring him along, honey. If we don't, then it'll look very odd. I can just imagine the kind of horrible rumors they'll start against our family! We can't let that happen. Not when we've worked so hard to get to where we are!"
He could hear Vernon muttering angry curses against him. What were they talking about? Where were they going to take him?
"Fine. He can come along. I'll still be having a word with him though."
"Of course, dear. Thank you for understanding."
Harry didn't hear anything after that, but still stayed quiet. Then he heard the thuds of his uncle's footsteps coming down the hallway and he threw himself back into his bed.
The door was whisked open. "Boy! Get up and follow me."
Harry's eyes widened. What had he done wrong? He had finished his chores.
"I'm not going to tell you again, boy. Up! Now!"
He shot up and walked out. Following his uncle up the steps and into their bedroom, flashbacks started going through his mind. He was shaking like a leaf now as he stepped across the threshold.
Vernon closed the door and turned around, stalking towards him with blazing anger in his eyes. "Now you listen, and you listen closely, boy. Petunia's friends have got the idea in their head that we will be taking you with us on our vacation to Egypt. As much we would rather shove you off onto one of the neighbors, that isn't an option.
So, here's how it's going to go. You will come with us, but you will be 'sick' in the hotel room for most of the trip. You will not be seen or heard by anyone. If I find a single thing out of place, I will teach you a lesson you won't ever forget. Do you understand me, boy?"
Harry nodded so hard he almost suffered whiplash. He was already so used to it. How hard could it be to do it in a foreign country where no one cared about him?
"You will accompany us on the first tour as it comes packaged with the trip. After that, you will be sick. Let me remind you. Any funny business, any at all, and I will make you suffer. Clear?"
He kept nodding to every threat. He just didn't want to get hit.
Vernon harrumphed. "Back to your cupboard. We leave in 3 days. You will be responsible for bringing everything you need. Don't forget anything."
Harry shot out of the room as quick as he could and ran downstairs before locking himself into his cupboard. It took almost an hour for him to calm down his racing heart. He had thought that Vernon would take out the belt on him. Even if he didn't right now, he still had to be careful. That could change at any time.
Even though he was warned that he had to fake being sick the whole time, a part of him was excited. He had never been out of Britain before. Maybe Egypt would be fun. Collapsing back onto the tiny bed, his dreams were filled with images of Pyramids and the Sphinx.
Three days passed in a heartbeat, and before Harry knew it, they were on a plane to Egypt. The land of sand, pyramids, ancient statues, and more sand. His first time on a plane was absolutely thrilling.
He didn't know why Petunia had his passport, but when prompted by the airport staff, she had produced it from her purse. He would probably only see it again until the return trip back.
He would never see it again once they got back.
After a cab dropped them off at their hotel they relaxed for the day and ordered room service. Instead of his usual bread and cheese, he received their leftovers of the local food. More specifically, anything the Dursley's tried and didn't like.
He ate it with gusto. Never having the chance to eat something foreign, he enjoyed every second of his meal. At the end, he even found himself looking forward to the rest of the trip. Even if he would be stuck in the hotel, they would most likely order room service, and he would be able to enjoy different dishes.
The next morning, they were up early in the morning. He was immediately tasked with preparing Vernon and Petunia's morning tea using the water kettle in the room. After finishing tea and ordering breakfast, they got ready for their first tour.
Vernon had ensured to remind him that this was the only tour he was allowed to join them, and he would have to "fall sick" afterwards. He nodded along, but it was half-hearted at best. He was going the see the Sphinx and the pyramids! He did his best to hide it, but nothing could take away the excitement in his eyes.
Their guide spoke good but heavily accented English as he guided them to their destination. Vernon, being the bigoted man he was, communicated in short sentences and grunts. Petunia, being the better of the two at hiding their prejudices, put on a great act and played along with their guide. Dudley was too engrossed with looking at the sights out the window.
He sighed lightly. Hopefully it would all go well, and he would be able to enjoy the tour without issue. It was the only one he would be able to enjoy before going back to his prison in Britain.
The car stopped and when they stepped out, they were greeted to the sight of three great stone monoliths. The towering structures gave off a sense of majesty that couldn't be put into words. Standing next to them and seeing their immense size left him in awe.
Just how could the humans back then have built something so massive? And three of them to boot?
Their guide ushered them along to the entrance. As they were checking in, he saw another group coming out. It was a family of four. He disregarded them for a bit before they drew back his attention. He couldn't believe his eyes.
The father was a handsome, stately looking man with dark brown hair, defined features, bright green eyes, and a slim goatee. The mother was beyond pretty. She was beautiful. Hair the color of spun gold, a face like the models in the commercials that Petunia watched on the telly, and deep blue eyes.
The two little girls holding her hands inherited traits from both of their parents. The older of the two had blonde hair like her mother but had her father's green eyes. Her younger sister had her father's brown hair, but her mother's eyes. Though both of their features looked like their mother.
He didn't know what exactly it was that drew his eyes, other than the fact that they were all good-looking. Something was telling him that these people were special. Squinting his eyes, he observed them from afar, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
The elder daughter seemed to feel his stare and looked his direction. Their eyes met, and he couldn't help but gasp. The girl's eyes were the color of grass in spring. The happiness and warmth in them reminded him of his mother. His chest hurt as he looked deeper into them.
She gave him a glowing smile and enthusiastically waved in his direction. He was stumped at what to do. Here was a girl around his age waving at him of her own volition. How long had it been since he had received something like that?
The kids in Surrey avoided him because Petunia told the other mothers all sorts of stories about how horrible he was. Dudley's gang ensured that he had trouble finding friends, even among his own classmates. The fat lump knew how to throw his weight around, even if he was fighting older kids. That and Vernon was a high-ranking employee who most of the other kids' fathers worked under.
He lifted his hand and awkwardly flexed his fingers, all the while worriedly looking towards Vernon. He seemed to be preoccupied with signing some forms, so he turned his gaze back to the other family. The father seemed to have noticed him and took one look at him before turning away.
It hurt, being dismissed like that by all the adults he met. Then again, he was nothing but a forgotten child, bedecked in scruffy looking hand-me-downs three sizes too large. The mother gave a small smile and said something to her daughter.
The girl let go of her mother's hand and ran over to him. She took a flashlight out of her pocket and held it out. "It gets really dark in there even with the lamps. Here, take this! It helped me see everything better."
He took the flashlight with trepidation. "Th-thanks."
She beamed. "You're welcome! Have a nice tour!"
Running back to her mother, she gave another wave before they left. He stood there looking at the flashlight, unsure of what just happened. A shadow loomed over him and a hand slammed down onto his shoulder, gripping it tightly.
"Boy. What did I say about funny business?" His uncle whispered furiously.
"I didn't do anything Uncle Vernon! She just came to me and gave me a flashlight." He protested while his shoulder screamed in pain.
"A likely story. I'm warning you now, boy. This is your last chance. One more time, and I'll discipline you in the hotel room itself. Understood?"
"Yessir." He nodded furiously, his mind flashing back to the pain of his uncle's belt breaking his skin.
The guide called them over, and Vernon finally let go. Rubbing his shoulder tenderly, he walked behind them, keeping his head down. He couldn't afford another incident. He didn't know why that girl gave him the flashlight, but if anyone else did something like that, he would be in for a world of hurt.
The guide's voice echoed down the passageway as they walked onward, extolling the great history behind the drawings on the wall. They all looked weird to him, with men that had animal heads. He was pretty sure no one looked like that. Maybe they were real back then? A mystery that would never be solved.
He shined the flashlight onto the walls, gazing upon the many drawings, no hieroglyphs as their guide had called them. There were just so many on one wall alone that his head was spinning trying to see them all.
"Muuuum. I'm hungry. When can we get some food?" Dudley whined as they walked further on.
"It'll take some time before we can go back to town and eat Diddums. Why don't you have some biscuits as a snack?" Petunia retrieved a packet of biscuits and handed them to Dudley, who promptly ripped it open and started wolfing them down.
He was hungry too, seeing as he hadn't gotten a decent breakfast. However, he wasn't allowed to complain, and Petunia certainly wouldn't spare him any food even if he did. Sighing to himself for the umpteenth time, he marched on behind them, trying to distract himself with the hieroglyphs.
As he was walking, he hit something solid and was thrown down. Looking up, he saw Dudley standing over him with a smirk on his face. "What was that for Dudley?"
"This dusty cave is boring, so we're gonna some fun."
He got up and scowled. "I'm not in the mood for games, Dudley. Let's just finish this tour."
Dudley shoved him back. "Shut up, freak. I want to play, so that's what we're gonna do. I think I'm in the mood for some Harry Hunting" he sneered.
"I don't think that's such a good idea when we're in this place. Then again, you're not the type to usually have bright ideas, seeing as Petunia does all the thinking for you."
Dudley's face contorted in confusion. While he was figuring out the thinly veiled insult, Harry took the opportunity to walk past him and try to catch up to the group.
He saw a light bouncing from deep inside the hallway, so he ran as fast as he could towards it. It disappeared for a moment, so Harry shined his light down the hallway to guide him. That was when he felt Dudley collide with his back, sending him sprawling onto the floor.
"You called me stupid! Nobody calls me stupid, freak!" The blows started coming down, catching him off guard. A meaty fist hit his face and his nose felt hot. Putting his arms up to guard his face, he lashed out with a kick towards Dudley's shin.
The result was a squeal of pain as Dudley cradled his injured shin. He took the brief respite to get up and start swinging. Sending a solid right hook to Dudley's face, he felt the younger boy collapse in a heap. Almost immediately, Dudley started crying loudly for his mummy.
With all the adrenaline rushing through him causing tunnel vision, Harry didn't hear his uncle come up behind him. The resulting punch sent him flying into the wall and he felt the carvings dig into his skin. His flashlight was dropped, and it rolled around, casting the beam down the length of the dark passageway.
He lay against the wall, panting as he felt something run down the side of his head. Tentatively feeling it out with his hand, it came back slick with blood. The tour guide came running back while worriedly calling out if he was okay.
He didn't move, as everything was spinning. Blinking to try and fix his already poor vision, he forced himself to get up. Using the wall as support, he slowly got to his feet. His bloodied hand grasped the wall of carvings to try and stabilize himself, and that was when it happened.
The hieroglyph that he was holding lit up with an eerie crimson light. The light quickly spread up and down the length of the entire wall.
Vernon started screaming "You stop this freakishness now boy! Or I'm going to come over and make you!"
Petunia was screeching as well. "How dare you hurt my poor Dudley! Vernon teach the boy a lesson!"
The tour guide was gazing at the wall in awe and trepidation. "What is going on? Why are the hieroglyphs glowing? This has never happened before."
Dudley was still sobbing wreck as he was being fussed over by Petunia.
Harry didn't know what was happening, but a thrum of power filled him to the brim. Something he thought he had lost came crashing back to the forefront of his mind. It was magic. His magic.
He saw Vernon advancing towards him with his fist in the air, and he knew that he was in deep trouble. With Vernon's heavy hand for discipline, he didn't even know if he would survive. So, he yelled out in fear and anger and stuck his hands out.
His magic, as if it knew what he wanted to do, struck out against Vernon. His uncle was lifted bodily and thrown towards the opposite wall. Upon seeing him tossed aside like a ragdoll, everyone else gasped and went silent.
Petunia was the first to recover. "Freak! How could you hurt Vernon like that?! I knew I should have never taken you in. Our lives were perfect before your parents abandoned you with us. I convinced Vernon to take you in thinking you were different. That you could be changed. I should have known consorting with your freakish lot was the wrong choice.
You're an abomination towards God, and you should've died that night with the rest of your freakish family! Just wait till we get home. I'll make sure that Vernon shows you what happens if you ever dare do this again!"
As she continued her rant, calling his mother all sorts of depraved things, fear gave way to anger. How dare she say such that. After all the insults, the starving and beatings. She considered him the freak. Well, he would show her.
"Shut up! My parents didn't abandon me!" He yelled back at her.
"Hah! Of course they did, foolish boy. If they didn't, why haven't they ever come back? It's because there's something wrong with you, and they didn't want to sully themselves with your presence ever again. In fact, they had more children to replace you."
Tears stung his eyes. There was no way his parents would do that to him. "You're lying. They're just busy. That's why they haven't visited, but they'll come back for me. When my Hogwarts letter comes!"
Petunia hissed. "Hogwarts letter? You think that you'll be going to Hogwarts?! Open your eyes boy, they knew you would never get one. That's why they stopped visiting us.
You don't have enough magic to go to Hogwarts like my witch of a sister. I'm sure your siblings will go though. You'll just be forgotten. Like the freak you are!"
His breathing was heavy and labored as he comprehended what Petunia was saying. He was a squib? That's why his parents had stopped visiting? That was why he suffered under the Dursley's for so long? No, it couldn't be.
He wanted to deny it, but he looked at Petunia's face. She was telling the truth. He had new siblings. Ones with working magic, unlike him. It made sense that his parents never came back. He was just a sick squib.
'Do you see the truth now, child? No matter what you did, you were always destined to be alone. Your parents stopped loving you the day your magic was damaged, and you became no better than a squib.'
The voice was back, and it was louder than ever, echoing in his head.
'I can help you, Harry. I have watched as these filthy muggles abused you. You were helpless against them, but with me, you can get even. Together, we can get revenge on them and your parents. We can show them all that we are not weak.'
Harry paused. He had never listened to the voice before, but now, knowing the truth, the temptation was stronger than ever.
'Give me control, and I will make them suffer. No one will ever be able to hurt us again! It's as easy as going to sleep, Harry. When you wake up, everything will be just fine.'
He gritted his teeth and weighed his options. There was no way he would ever survive Vernon's anger, so going back without a fight was off the table. Petunia had more information, but she wasn't going to talk that easily. He needed to make a decision, and quickly.
The tour guide floundered about. "What are you all talking about? Magic? That's not real. Is it?"
Harry bit his lip so hard he almost drew blood. He decided. He was not going to give control to the voice, but he was also not going to let his relatives go. Not after what they did to him all these years.
"I wish I could say I was sorry for this Petunia, but that would be a lie." With those solemn words, he wished with all his heart that his relatives would die. Only with their deaths, would he finally be free.
The entire corridor shook, and the red light grew brighter. Petunia screamed and the tour guide yelled out. With an almighty rumble, the ceiling collapsed in onto them, crushing them to paste.
Harry stood there for what seemed like an eternity, staring at the spot where his relatives were. Before he knew it, he was losing his breakfast onto the cold stone floor. He heaved again and again until there was nothing left to lose.
'Oh, dear Merlin. I killed them! I actually killed them!'
That was the only thing he could think of as he struggled to come to terms with his actions.
After some time, he realized that he was now all alone. His parents had abandoned him. His relatives were dead. He had no home to go back to.
Tears stung the corner of his eyes, but he swiped at them. This was no time to cry. They got what they deserved. Now he had to get out of here.
Picking up his flashlight, he looked at the new wall behind him. The route he took to this point was completely blocked off. There was only one way he could go, so he continued down the dark passageway.
After an unknown amount of time, he stumbled across a fork in the path. Shining his flashlight down both directions, he could see nothing different. Seeing as it was a 50/50 chance, he chose to walk left.
As he was about to enter the left path, he stopped. His magic was wildly reacting, pulling him back and urging him to go right. Deciding to listen to his magic, he walked back and went right. As he made his way deeper into the labyrinth, a sense of danger started to arise.
'Did I make a mistake? Should I have gone left? Oh well, it's too late to go back now. Might as well see what lies at the end.'
Harry started shivering lightly. The air was colder than it was from where he came, and his stomach was rumbling. After much practice, he had learned to work on an empty stomach, so he was able to distract himself from its protests. The cold was starting to get to him though.
None of them had worn jackets, what with the desert being scorching hot in the mornings. He had expected to be back in their comfy air-conditioned hotel room after the tour. How could he have known things would turn out the way they did.
The deeper he went, the darker his surroundings looked. It got so dark that the beam from the flashlight was all that pierced through, allowing him to see where he was going. He decided to take a break and was resting against the wall when his flashlight started to dim.
"No! You can't die! How can I get out of here if you don't work?"
Harry panicked as the sole source of light started to flicker. Slapping it a couple of times against his palm, he tried to resuscitate it, only to fail. The light clicked off, and he was left in the pitch dark.
Seeing his only tool stop working, he started to sob. How had things gone so wrong? He was supposed to be free after his relatives died. Now he was going to die in this dark tomb. Buried with the mummies.
Sniffling, he wiped the snot with his sleeves. He didn't know what to do now. He was cold and hungry, without any light to help him see where he was going. With no other option, he closed his eyes. Sleeping always helped him deal with the pain. Maybe after a good nap, he would be able to find a way out.
The cold breeze from deep within the tunnel attacked his exposed skin. Harry withdrew his arms from the sleeves and wrapped them around his chest for warmth. He shook as he tried to deal with the cold.
His sniffling increased and he started to feel sick as time went on. Waking up in a stupor, his head lolled to the side as he struggled to stay awake. He could feel the cold in his bones. He was going to die.
He didn't know where the strength came from, but it bubbled up deep within him. He was not going out without a fight. Grabbing the dead flashlight, he started to jog down the passageway, not caring about anything else but moving forward.
The jog turned into a run, and he found himself hurtling down the tunnel towards the unknown. At that point, nothing else mattered. He kept running while ignoring the burning in his lungs, and his aching muscles. There had to be a way out. There simply had to be!
As he was running, some torches on the walls suddenly lit up. He stopped and marveled. The fire had come from nowhere. There were no pipes or anything, so that meant there was no gas. So how did the fires start?
Magic. That was the only answer. This meant he was going the right way!
With a loud whoop, Harry continued running down the passage war, with the torches lighting his path. He kept going for as long as he could, and he finally saw it. In the distance, there were two massive columns of fire that shone upon a shiny door.
Making his way to it, he notices that there were several large carvings on the door. It depicted a monster, from what he could tell. It had so many heads and they were all different. On the other side, there were men who were fighting it with spears and swords. There were also others who were holding fire in their hands.
He didn't know what it all meant, but a door meant a way out, and he was going to get out no matter what. Placing his hand on the door, he pushed, but it remained still. He grunted, putting as much effort into it that his malnourished body could handle, yet it remained firm.
Panting, he drew himself up against the door. Why wasn't it opening? He was so close to getting out. If he could just get back this damn door. Wiping his hand against his sweating brow, he got back to pushing, but this time, the door started glowing red.
Harry yelped and jumped back at the sudden reaction. Why was it glowing? Was it his magic?
Looking down at his hand, he saw the reason. There were remnants of sticky blood from the wound on his temple. It was his blood that opened the door. Just like it had been his blood that lit up the wall and collapsed the passageway.
The door started creaking open, and the entire tunnel rumbled as it moved inwards. Once it was all the way open, Harry peeped inside. It looked like an empty room. There was nothing inside it except a stone table.
Cautiously making his way inside, he noticed that there were no torches, but crystals embedded in the wall that were shining brightly. The entire room was filled with hieroglyphs from the floor to the ceiling. Thousands upon thousands of intricately carved figures adorned the entire room, except for a small circle around the center table.
Taking each step tentatively, he walked towards the center table. Now that he was standing closer to it, he saw that the table was not made of stone, but marble. Like the countertops Petunia had begged Vernon for after the lady down the street had renovated her kitchen.
Looking closely, he saw that there were even smaller hieroglyphs carved into the table. So small that he couldn't even tell what they were. They were covered in a layer of dust, so without thinking he put his hand down to wipe it off.
The moment his hand touched the table, it got stuck. He immediately started yanking it back, trying to get away, but there was nothing he could do. The table glowed brightly, and the sounds of chanting filled the room. It wasn't English, from what he could tell. Maybe Egyptian?
The doors slammed shut behind him and he yelled out in fright. The voices got louder, now echoing around the room as the hieroglyphs on the floor started lighting up and spreading towards the walls.
As he listened and tried to decipher what exactly the voices were saying, he felt himself float and he yelled out. He had no control over his body as he was paralyzed and laid straight onto the marble table.
Ghostly apparitions started to fill the room, some stood at the outer circle, others stood around him and one of them was carrying a knife. He whimpered as he saw their glowing eyes, the sound of chanting growing louder and louder.
The knife carrier broke through the inner circle and had his hands raised to the ceiling. He was not chanting but yelling in Egyptian. Without warning, the knife came down and Harry screamed as he thought he was going to die.
Pain beyond anything he had ever felt before surged through his body. His screams grew louder as it came in waves, hitting him again and again. He felt himself being ripped apart as the knife worked its way up from his heart to his head.
Unknown to him, a second scream had joined his at some time. The soul shard of the Dark Lord Voldemort that had latched onto him that Halloween night was suffering similar agony, as it was forcefully ripped away from its host. It had tried its best to corrupt and meld with the boy it ended up in, only to be foiled at every turn.
Even just a few hours back, when it almost succeeded, the boy had managed to remain in control. He killed his relatives, and it knew that its influence was what made him do it. But everything after was not as it intended.
Now, it was too late.
The soul piece screamed as its personality and everything that defined it as Lord Voldemort was stripped away. It was reduced to nothing more than a fraction of what it was. A mere shell of the Dark Lord it belonged to.
The chanting subsided, and the specters stilled before vanishing one by one, their purpose fulfilled. The final one left was the one that carried the knife. It watched dispassionately as a black ichor bled from the scar on the boy's head.
It did not know why a Dark Lord would make a living Horcrux, but it cared not. Its sole purpose was to destroy the creations of the Foul Greek and it had completed its duty in this instance. Satisfied, it faded away as the hieroglyphs dimmed.
Harry shot up with a scream of terror. His eyes flicked back and forth, searching for the ghosts he had seen. Lifting his shirt, he felt around for the mark left by the knife he had been stabbed with. To his shock, there was not a single mark on him. In fact, all the marks he previously had courtesy of Vernon, were gone.
Feeling his back, he was stunned. All the belt marks that were there for years. Gone without a trace.
'What happened to me? I remember the ghost stabbing me, and the pain.' He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts right. Something extraordinary just occurred, but he was none the wiser as to what exactly it was. All he knew was that everything felt different. Better.
A small jolt shocked him from his excitement. His mind was assaulted by knowledge he didn't remember learning. Spells that he had only ever heard his parents and godfather cast came to him almost as easy as breathing.
Getting off the marble table, he knew he had to get out. His magic sang as he desperately hoped for an exit. It poked and prodded him towards an unassuming corner of one of the walls. Following its wishes he walked over and started pushing the stones one by one.
His magic acted like a metal detector, letting him know how close he was by pulsing excitedly. After a minute of searching, he felt one of the stones push in. The entire wall rumbled as he felt the chamber shake. Starting from the center, the bricks started moving one by one as they split apart, forming a large door. It was like what his mother had described when she first visited Diagon Alley.
With a beaming smile on his face, he ran into the opening and towards the light at the end of the tunnel. He got closer and closer, until finally, he burst through the exit.
Squinting from the sun brightly shining in his face, he looked at his surroundings. It looked like a dead end in an alley. There were no doors or windows, just plain walls lined with garbage cans. He saw a few stray cats jumping around and sifting through the garbage, possibly looking for food.
The wall behind him shuddered and he looked back, watching in awe as the bricks shifted back into place, leaving an intact wall. No one could possibly imagine that they led to a magical room in a pyramid.
That was when reality hit him. He was all alone, with no food, and no money to buy some. His relatives were dead, and there was no way he could go home to Britain without his passport.
If he went back to the hotel, they would ask how he survived when his relatives didn't, and how he managed to get out. Questions he couldn't answer without breaking the Statute. He was about to start foraging in the garbage cans like the cats were doing when an idea came to him.
If he could pickpocket other people, then he would have enough money to eat. The only problem was, if he got caught, then he might end up in jail. Not to mention the authorities would ask questions because he outlived his relatives.
Alas, desperate times called for desperate measures.
Without any spell, his magic warped as it hugged his form. Harry walked forward into the crowd, and oddly, every single person in the bustling street flowed around him almost unconsciously. They went about their business, but he was completely hidden from their gaze.
Weaving in and out of the crowd, he observed potential marks and timed his summoning with a practiced precision that felt foreign to him. After the first successful attempt, his confidence was bolstered, and he continued his looting.
After a couple of hours, he walked back into the alley he had first arrived in to check his spoils. He had managed to snag a total of 6 wallets, and they were all filled with cash. Ditching the wallets into a nearby garbage can, he walked out of the alley with a smile on his face, whistling a jaunty tune.
The owner of the restaurant he visited didn't speak English, and it took a decent while to get some help in ordering a meal. He managed to convince the local that helped him that he was not a tourist, but a new resident whose family had moved to Cairo after his uncle started a new job dealing with drills for excavations.
It was a convoluted lie, and wouldn't hold up for long, but it worked easily enough for the next few weeks. He found a better hideout and his magic ensured that he was never disturbed when sleeping. It kept him warm and comfortable even on the hardest surfaces on the coldest nights.
After nearly a month of picking pockets, he had gained a decent nest egg that would allow him to possibly get out of the country. The only problem was, he didn't have the means to bluff his way onto a ship or plane.
On the plus side, he had been able to successfully sneak into the police station and liberate the some of the Dursley's clothing. All of Petunia's jewelry and their documents were elsewhere in the station, and he was unaware where they were.
A handy bit of transfiguration had changed Dudley's baggy garments into well-fitting, presentable clothes. He still looked like a tourist, but any story he spun would be a lot more convincing than his previous image of a dirty boy in patchy cast-offs. With his looks, he often found himself in hotel lobbies, mingling with the other guests.
Due to looking the part, they always believed him when he said that his family were resting upstairs, and he had come down for food. Many guests had stories and often shared them with him. He became a natural at getting them to tell him things he wanted to know.
After three months of the same routine, he had gotten into a sort of groove. Waking up at the same time every day. Using his magic to clean himself off and dressing up nice and proper. Practicing his expressions and planning his escape routes should the worst happen.
His choice of targeting spots always differed, and he never dined at any one location too many times to avoid suspicion. Having gotten more comfortable with the language, he found many hole-in-the-wall restaurants that served decent food and was able to order for himself.
Today he was wanting to keep things simple and stick to a main street. He already had enough spare cash to tide him over for a while, but tourism season had ended, and the marks were dwindling. If he started randomly targeting locals, then the police would start taking things more seriously.
Wading slowly through the bustling main street, he spotted a mark that had good potential. An elderly man that was walking towards him. A small bulge in his right pocket had Harry smiling. This would be easy pickings.
Keeping his head down and walking with purpose, he drew towards the man and just as he passed him, he put his hand right above the pocket, summoning the wallet that was inside. Feeling it lightly slap against his palm, he nonchalantly pocketed his score and disappeared into the crowd.
Making several twists and turns down various alleys he had mapped previously, he ensured that he wasn't being followed and went to a secure location to inspect the item he had nicked. Retrieving it from his pocket, he was stunned to realize that it was not a wallet, but a watch.
A fancy pocket watch like the one Vernon bought after finding out Mr. Grunnings had one. He had carried it for all of two weeks before going back to his wristwatch. This one was shaped like Vernon's, but it had a weird marking on it.
A weird-looking horned creature with a tail that wrapped around it. It was inside two diamonds and the bottom had what looked like two olive branches crossing. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, and it drew him in as he marveled over the tiny details.
With a click of the top button, it opened, and he gasped as he saw the inside. He was greeted to the sight of a beautiful white dial with glinting sapphires on all the number markings. He didn't know much about pocket watches, but everything he was seeing screamed that it was fancy. And fancy meant expensive.
"A real work of art, no? Though I would appreciate it if you gave it back, young man. It was a gift from a dear student of mine, and is of great sentimental value."
A voice sounded out behind him, and Harry whirled around. Standing barely a few steps away was the old man he had nicked the watch from. Weirdly, he didn't look angry or like he would attack. He had a smile on his face, and his hands were behind his back.
This was the first time he was caught, and it was like his worst nightmare was playing out in front of him. Would the man turn him in? It was all going wrong. Maybe he could still salvage the situation if he returned the watch and promised to never steal from the man again.
Harry backed up as quickly as he could. "Okay. Here, you can have it back. I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me."
The man raised an eyebrow. "I would never hurt a child, especially a magical one."
Harry gaped at him. "You know about magic?!"
The man chuckled. "You could say I know a thing or two. Now may I have my watch?"
Harry closed the watch and cautiously stepped forwards, holding it out towards the old man. Without warning, it flew out of his hand and into the man's pocket. He stepped back again and waited for him to leave.
"That was some very impressive usage of the Summoning charm. Well-timed, and effective. I barely felt it leave my pocket. Your use of the Notice-Me-Not charm was what surprised me most. It is far more polished than I would expect from a child your age."
Harry held his breath, not knowing what to think about the unorthodox compliment. Since when did people start complimenting the thieves that stole from them? Maybe the old man was waiting for him to let his guard down before capturing him and turning him over to the police.
"I mean what I say, young man. If you're worried that I'm going to turn you over to the authorities, don't be."
Harry trembled. Was he reading his mind?
"Not exactly reading per se, as it is somewhat difficult to literally read the human mind. This is merely me scanning your surface thoughts. What's your name?"
"H-Harry Po-." He stopped. Why was he still mentioning his last name? His parents had abandoned him. There was no reason to keep their name.
"Harry."
He swallowed as he saw the man's eyes glinted in amusement.
"Harry?"
Harry nodded. "Just Harry."
"Very well, Just Harry. Would you like to accompany an old man for a meal?"
Harry's face contorted in confusion. "You want to have lunch? With me? Why?"
The man chuckled. "Because you've piqued my interest, Harry. Your skill in wandless magic is unlike anything I've ever seen, and I have seen some of the most talented wizards of their age during my life. You are no less than them in terms of potential."
Harry was still unconvinced of his motives. "Po-ten-shul? What's that?"
"Potential is the word used to describe how amazing a person might become in the future. Having a lot of it means you will almost definitely be a great wizard when you grow up. However, every great wizard and witch I've ever known came from humble beginnings. Almost all of them received something from me that I provided. Guidance."
"Guidance? You mean like a teacher?"
The man stroked his salt-and-pepper goatee. "Hmm. Yes, I suppose you could say I helped them achieve greatness. More accurately, I was their mentor, not their teacher. There is a difference between the two, you know."
Harry's expression might have given away how clueless he was about what the old man was talking about. Sighing, the man gestured to the door. "While I'm sure we could spend the whole day talking about this topic, I am feeling quite peckish. Might we continue our discussion over some food?"
Harry narrowed his eyes. While he didn't think that the old man in front of him was any danger, there was just something… off about him. A sixth sense was screaming to him that this man was powerful despite looking harmless. Then again, he never could restrain his curiosity, even under the Dursleys.
"Alright. I know a place that has good food. Follow me." He started walking and tensed slightly as he made his way past the man, readying himself to run if necessary.
"Lead on, Harry. However, before we sit down for lunch, perhaps you would like to return the items you purloined to their rightful owners?" the man questioned.
"I don't know what you're talking about. It was a slow day and the only thing I got was your pocket watch." Harry turned around and lied with practiced ease, his face giving nothing away.
"Now, now, young Harry. I have been nothing but honest with you. I expect the same in return. In this case, it looks like a demonstration is necessary."
He gazed deep into Harry's eyes and slowly blinked. For a split-second Harry could swear that his eyes glowed. Almost immediately after, there was a feeling of emptiness in his pockets.
Blinking, he reached into them and turned them out. Nothing. All the cash he had nicked had vanished into thin air. He stared in wonder and then a feeling of terror set in. This man had taken his money by just blinking his eyes. How could he possibly escape from someone who could do that?!
"There's no need to be afraid, Harry. I am a man of my word and will not harm you. All I want to do is share a meal and pleasant conversation. If at the end of it, you want nothing to do with me, we will go our separate ways and you will not see me ever again. This I promise you."
Harry nodded. "Okay. I'm sorry I lied, but that was all my money."
"Worry not, I will replace every cent before I leave." The man casually replied.
"What was that thing you did? With the glowy eyes?" Harry asked, unable to stop himself.
The man laughed heartily. "Glowy eyes? My word, I've never heard them called that before!"
His laughter subsided as he dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief. "That, Harry, was nothing more than a way to cast spells that I created back when I was still a young man. In fact, it is unique to me. In the entire world, only I know how to cast magic through my eyes."
Harry marveled at hearing that. Casting spells with his eyes?! That sounded so cool. Almost like a superhero power. No one he remembered could ever do something like that. They all needed wands.
Well then, he had absolutely nothing to lose in this case. Harry walked forward confidently and guided the man to the restaurant. They ordered their food and sat down.
It was an awkward wait, seeing as the man didn't start any conversation and he was too nervous. Minutes passed as they stared at each other in silence. Finally, a question that he couldn't hold back came out of his mouth.
"What's your name, mister?" he asked and then immediately clapped his hands over his mouth.
The man blinked and then started laughing merrily. "Oh my, it looks like my manners lapsed due to our rather unorthodox meeting. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Harry. My name is Marcus Emeritius. Though you may know me by my far more famous moniker…"