A/N

Hello everyone, I hope you are enjoying the story so far. Thank you for all the follows and faves, I really appreciate it. Here is the next chapter :)

Last time: Ignoring the strange after-effects of the cruel ritual prank the gang played on him, Harry tries to push the weirdness aside and get on with life. He develops a feeling of being watched, which grows more extreme over the days. One morning, he finds a swarm of strange inky creatures flittering around the kitchen, and forms a strange bond with them.

Chapter 4

Harry hated the winter months with a passion. November brought with it cooler weather, frosty mornings, chilly winds, and rain in bucket-loads. His clothing wasn't exactly the best for coping with the weather, he was often swimming in Dudley's cast-offs, the airy and baggy clothing lacking the ability maintain warmth. His school jumper was ill fitting, but at least the sleeves were long, the thin and worn material a flimsy barrier against the air, and worthless against even the smallest whisper of wind. His school slacks were constantly leaving his ankles vulnerable to the chill, but still, 'better than nothing' he supposed.

Winter was easier now, a little more tolerable. The strange inky black creatures, which he had dubbed Darkling's in his own mind, were always with him. They were warm and soft, and seemed to sense whenever he got too cold, abandoning whatever mischief they were up to so they could settle around him, warm and comforting. Harry wondered if this was what a hug felt like? He liked it a lot.

Since the Darkling's had come to him, he no longer felt eyes on him, the intense itching sensation of being watched had vanished entirely. Maybe the Darkling's had been the ones watching him? He wasn't sure, and focused on enjoying the strange connection he had with the swarm of inky blobs.

He found them to be an endless source of amusement. They had a wicked sense of humour, and although they never strayed far from him and remained invisible to all except for himself, they loved to tease and play tricks. Moving things around, poking people, and tying shoelaces together, squealing in glee as their targets grew frustrated. He could never get in trouble for it, and it was harmless fun in his eyes, minor pranks with no real consequence.

They were also fiercely protective, Harry had found. The Darkling's were offended on his behalf when a teacher looked down on him, he had no idea how they had turned Mr. Farristers hair blue, but they never hurt anyone.

That is until Dudley and his gang chased him through corridors and across the school.

He'd been panicked, adrenaline pumping through him as he ran from the taunting boys, knowing he'd be in for a good beating if they caught him. Reacting to his fear, the swarm had expanded around him, unlocking doors in his path and creating obstacle behind him by tipping over furniture or blowing rubbish into their faces. When Harry had turned a corner, and ducked into the library to run to the back exit, the Darkling's moulded themselves into a thin wire across the doorway he had come through, lying in wait for the next person to come through. Piers Polkiss who had come running moments after him impacted with the invisible wire. The Darkling's had been at the exact height of the boy's throat, the force of running into them had sent Piers sprawling backwards to the ground, the momentum in his upper body halting while legs attempted to keep on running. Piers had cried out in pain, a deep red welt forming on his neck. The angry red bruising stayed around his neck for days after, drawing concern from staff and parents. Normally, the gang would have tried to pin it on Harry, but the boys seemed disconcerted and a little frightened of him.

For the first time Harry was wary of the Darkling's, they had intentionally acted to cause harm to another person. While he had no love for Piers, it made him uneasy, knowing that they had the power to hurt people that couldn't even see them.

Controlling the Darkling's was his next goal, and he hoped it wouldn't be too difficult. They adored him and listened intently to every little whisper he sent in their direction. He started practising speaking to them, but only at night time when everyone was in bed. If any of the Dursley's heard him talking to himself they would suspicious, thinking that he was doing something freakish again. For once he actually was.

He started with collecting a small bundle of the Darkling's in his hand, maybe six of them wriggling and squirming around, pleased to have been chosen. Worms and snakes twisted around his fingers, snapping at each other playfully and nibbling affectionately on the tips of his fingers. One of Darkling's was a liquid type, pooled on his palm like a little puddle with tiny mouths that kept opening, trying to catch the legs of a spindly spider legged blob. The spider blob looked as if it was tap dancing, enjoying the game of keeping out of reach of the hungry mouths. Riding on top of the spidery one was a flying fairy type, as Harry called them. This one was a combination of hummingbird and humanoid figure, wings instead of arms, smooth long legs, and a long beak protrusion from its face. It bucked around on top of the spider, occasionally flapping its wings to balance itself.

"Hello, my name is Harry." He whispered to his handful of friends. His introduction was a bit bland, and more than a little late, but he didn't know where else to start. This was his first time properly sitting down with them for a chat.

The inky black Darkling's tittered and directed their attention to him.

Not quite sure where to continue, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"What are you?" he asked.

There was joyful laughter in response to the question, and the snakes and worms around his fingers curled tighter in a soft caress. The liquid blob stopped trying to eat the legs of his friend and vibrated in his hand.

"Right, stupid question, you can't talk." He said out loud, feeling a little silly. "Oh, I know, um. I'll ask a question, and uhh, if you wanna answer yes, then um," he trailed off, unsure. What could he make them do that would be obvious? Maybe, if focused on just one of them instead of all of them it might be a bit easier. Looking down at them, he felt the hummingbird fairy would be the best bet. It was the only one with eyes, two green glowing pinpricks, and it was looking straight at him.
"If it's a yes," he repeated, "then move your beak up and down. If it's no, then shake your beak sideways. Is that ok?"

He waited for a response from Hummingbird, the unoriginal name he had bestowed upon it mentally. Hummingbird cocked its head before moving its beak up and down, once, then again, and again, and... it looked like it wasn't going to stop any time soon.
"You can stop now! Just nod or shake twice, yea? Don't need to keep going." He said sheepishly, the creatures were mischievous and clever, but he'd have to be careful of how he phrased things from now on if the over-enthusiastic reaction was anything to go by.

Hummingbird, catching on, nodded only twice this time, chirping happily up at him. All the Darkling's seemed to like him so much, and it prompted Harry's next question.

"Are we friends? I mean, if we're not, can we be?" he asked, "Friends that is, I've never had friends before." He whispered, more to himself than anything.

As the questions came out of his mouth, his mind went speeding ahead. What if they said no? What would happen then? He felt a sense of panic creep up on him, and a sense of uncertainty tinged with a fear of rejection clouded his consciousness.

Hummingbird didn't waste any time and nodded energetically four times, responding to both the questions posed. All the Darkling's in his cupboard hummed and buzzed, a pleasant sound in the affirmative, each little one answering the question for themselves. Harry felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and comfort in that moment, his doubts and questions chased away by the swarm that filled his cupboard.

His misgivings were silly, of course they were his friends. That's what their connection, their bond, was all about. The Darkling's belonged to him, and he belonged to them. The connection, it wasn't something physical, but it was a feeling, a presence between them. It didn't matter how they came to be or where they came from, they were a part of him now. Like a sixth sense, he always knew where each of them were, whether they were with him or nearby wreaking havoc on an unsuspecting victim. If he wanted one or all of them to come back to him, it was as simple as wishing it and they returned. He wondered then, if it would work the other way, would he know if they were calling him?

He decided to ask.

"So uh, you know how you do that thing, where you come back when I want you to?" he asked.

Hummingbird nodded again and cocked its head, curiously regarding him.

"Can you call me if you need to? I was just wondering if you can, like what it would feel like." He continued, trying to explain what he meant.

Hummingbird chirped up at him, and launched itself into the air, wings humming as they beat faster than the eye could see. The bird-like creature flew up to the vents across the top of the door of the cupboard, and slipped easily past the metal, its body malleable and easily siphoned through the tiny gap.

Harry waited less than a minute and then he felt it. A powerful tug at his chest, he knew that he needed to go to the kitchen. Right now. Hummingbird needed him. He was surprised by the sensation, and a he itched to pick the lock on the cupboard and go out to see what Hummingbird wanted.

Then, like scissors cutting a taught piece of string, the tugging connection snapped and the impression of needing to go the kitchen vanished. Harry could still feel that Hummingbird was away from him, but the sensation of wanting to go to it was gone. 'What a weird feeling' Harry thought as he waited for Hummingbird to come back. He had some questions and some experiments to do.

His progress with the Darkling's was going smoothly. He knew they understood him, they never failed in doing something he asked. He was always careful in how he worded things, knowing they'd take every word seriously. He was also polite to them, when he asked them to do something he always phrased it as a request and used the word please. He felt bad if he ordered them around too much. He knew what that felt like, and he didn't want them to hate him or think that he was using them.

The Dursley's bossed him around all the time, and he hated them. There were some days when Harry was so miserable he just wished that they'd drop dead or set on fire, or something equally awful.

It was a Saturday the middle of winter, November was coming to a close and he was out in the garden which was wet and muddy after the weeks rain. Today was overcast, and there had been a light misty rain in the morning. It had since cleared and Aunt Petunia had ordered him out into the garden to weed and tend the plants. It was damp, cold, miserable, and downright dreadful.

Normally he liked gardening well enough, it could be relaxing when the weather was nice and it always pleased him to see seedlings growing and flowers blooming under his care. The plants could not taunt or insult him, and the small snakes that visited him in the summers were always delighted to meet him. There was an undefinable quality about being able to connect with nature in a such a way, and Harry was sure Aunt Petunia never felt as well as he did when she gardened.

On this dark overcast day he was freezing out in the cold, pulling weeds from the manicured flowerbeds. He had gently asked the Darkling's if they would help with the weeding, feeling that it would better to have the work done faster rather than be sitting in the mud for hours with them keeping him warm. It took a while to explain weeds to the Darkling's, he had to show them exactly which plants to pluck and to bring them over to a specific spot. They were hard-working, and it was funny to watch them. They became distracted easily and enjoyed play-wrestling in the slippery wet soil.

They had strange ways of pulling weeds out, those with the power of flight tugging at them from the top, the others burying into the ground and pushing them up from below while others dragged them over to the pile. They counted each pulled weed as a victory, and briefly celebrated the achievement. Their dramatic antics brought a smile to Harry's face, melting away his bad mood little by little.

Sadly, there weren't many snakes to chat with today. During winter they would find warm places to curl up in to preserve energy, only risking warmer winter days for a snack if they got too hungry.

The first time he'd spoken with a snake was an accident. He had been weeding the rose bushes on a sweltering summer day, the thorns leaving small painful scratches on his hands. The back of his neck had been burned severely, and he still remembered the way the sweat dripped from his forehead and into his eyes. The little snake had sought shade and moisture beneath the rose bushes, unfortunately right where Harry was weeding.

"Hey you, watch it!" it had hissed out at him.

"Sorry." Harry had replied automatically, taken aback by the sudden appearance of a green garden snake.

The garden snake must have been quite young, only around 30cm in length. It had been surprised by his reply, and regarded him curiously.

"You speak?" it inquired, tilting its head curiously, tongue flickering out to taste his scent on the air.

"Uhh, yes? I didn't know snakes could talk." He said, unnerved by the whole scenario. Maybe the heat had finally got to him and this was all some bizarre hallucination?

"It's not me that is speaking, human. It is you!" the snake said, interrupting Harry's train of thought.

His conversation with the snake had been nice enough in the end, but Harry found that snakes weren't particularly interesting conversation partners. They mostly talked about the best types of prey, or where the nicest and safest spots for sunbathing were. They liked to be praised on their scales the most, and had a blunt outlook on life that never failed to make him smile.

He was sure he had never seen a single other person talk to a snake, it was a shock that both frightened and exhilarated him. It was something that belonged to him, and him alone. He'd mentally filed it with all his other freakish tendencies, but this one was more special. Something that he could control, and which brought him happiness, not misery. The Darkling's were now second on the list, another group of friends that could never be taken away by Dudley or anyone else.

Since that day he made sure to talk with snakes only when he was sure no one else was around, there was no knowing what the Dursley's would do if they found out. Probably lock him in his cupboard for weeks, Harry decided, and Uncle Vernon would go on rampage with a shovel, chopping off the head of any ill-fated snake that crossed his path.

There was no such risk in this cold weather, and Harry hurried with his task. Once he was finished with the weeds, he discarded them in a compost bin behind the garden shed. He hoped that his quick work in the garden would not be suspicious to his aunt, but it was too cold to stay outside for very long, especially in his ratty clothes.

Before coming onto the patio, Harry washed his hands and shoes as best as he could under the hose. Toeing off his shoes he picked them up and carried them across the patio with him, entering the kitchen quietly. Luckily, Aunt Petunia wasn't there, so he darted into the laundry room where he dumped the sneakers in the sink to wash them properly. They were the only pair he had that were good for wet weather, so he'd need them for school on Monday, or at least any more yard work over the weekend. Setting his shoes to dry on a rack, he dropped his muddy pants and shirt to put in the washing machine and set them on a quick wash cycle. He cleaned his hands and arms properly with soap in the sink, and dried them with one of the towels that he would probably be washing later that day. Shivering in his undies, he darted out from the laundry and back into his cupboard, avoiding making too much noise in case he attracted attention. The Dursley's were all in the living room, Dudley watching some inane program on the television while Uncle Vernon snored into his newspaper and Aunt Petunia worked on some monstrously floral cross stitch project.

Safe back in his cupboard, Harry changed into some clean clothes and switched the light bulb above his head on. He had other chores to work on, but he had some time while he waited for his washing to be done, and once that was finished he would do the other laundry. In the meantime, this was a good opportunity to catch up on homework.

He pulled a worksheet out of his bag, which was stuffed onto one of the shelves. The Darkling's settled themselves around the cupboard. A few of them mimicked moths and fluttered around the light bulb, although they cast no shadow. Harry thought was very strange but didn't try to ask.

His worksheet was for his maths class, they were doing division. He didn't mind maths. He was awful at reading and found numbers to be much easier. You never got numbers that were silent, and they always meant the same thing and sounded the same. Words and letters always got mixed up, and sometimes words were said completely differently to all the letters that were in them. No, maths was much better.

Division wasn't really that hard, it was just splitting numbers up. What number would you get if you split this number up, this many times? Easy. The worksheet was tricky than earlier ones, they were learning about using decimals, and for hard ones he had to sit and think for a little bit, he didn't have a calculator to cheat like Dudley did.
He was trying to work out sixty-eight divided by five, when a loud chittering interrupted him. One of the moth like fairies was tugging on his hair and trying to get his attention.

"What?" he bit out, a bit more sharply than he meant to. At first he had been annoyed by the interruption, but immediately felt guilty. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you." He mumbled, embarrassed.
The little inky fairy huffed and fluttered over to some of its friends. He wasn't sure what they wanted but it seemed important somehow, having gone to the effort of getting his attention. There were quite a few of the flying ones, floating, flapping, and buzzing in front of him, organised in groups. Organised in groups… of five?

"Oh! I get it, you're helping me!" he whispered excitedly. He didn't know that they could read! He counted all of them carefully, there were sixty-eight. How many groups of five were there? He counted out thirteen groups of five, with three left over. So, thirteen and three fifths was the answer. Now, to get the decimal, well, he would just multiple the three by two, right? Five was half of ten after all. Feeling confident with his logic, he scribbled down a "13.6" on his worksheet. He felt proud of himself; even he couldn't read well, he was good at maths.

He worked through his sheet in record time, the Darkling's helping him out with the trickier questions. They giggled as they flew around and sorted themselves into groups, jostling each other good naturedly. When he was finished, he put the worksheet away in his bag and whispered a quiet thank you to the Darkling's, which took that as an invitation to surround him in a warm hug and make gentle, happy sounds of affection.

They really were the best friends he could ever ask for.

Unfortunately, his tender moment was ruined by Aunt Petunia. "Boy, are you in there?" she shouted, rapping on the door.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." he replied, loud enough to be heard.

Aunt Petunia wrenched open the cupboard door and glowered down at him.

"You better be done with the garden, boy. Or there'll be no dinner for you." She snapped out.
"I did finish," Harry said politely and with an even tone, "I was just waiting for my clothing to finish in the wash before doing the rest of laundry." The Darkling's around him were hissing and making angry noises at Aunt Petunia, but Harry didn't react or try to calm them down while she was glaring down at him.
"Well go hurry up, I won't have you doing nothing all day like an ungrateful brat." She ordered, voice sharp and unpleasant.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He said, pushing down on the anger she elicited in him, oh how he hated her so much. He knew it wasn't normal for a little boy like him to be kept in a cupboard, he knew that other children his age didn't do nearly so many chores, and he knew that other children had normal clothes to wear and shoes that fit. But he had to push down on the anger. He was still a child, and no matter how much he wanted to run away and leave forever, he knew he wasn't old enough, not yet. He just had to wait, hold on for a few more years and then he could get away, and never, ever come back.

Heading back to the laundry, he saw that his clothes on the short cycle were finished. He pulled out the small load and tossed it into the dryer. Going to the pile of laundry in the basket, he decided to start off with light colours. The peachy towels from the upstairs bathroom that he had wiped his hands on, socks and underwear, and shirts. He already knew off by heart which items could go in together, and which items would need to be hand washed or to be done at a different temperature. He threw everything into the machine without much care for the articles, and measured out the correct amounts of powder and fabric softener into the little draw along the top of the front loader. Switching on the right mode and setting the temperature, he clicked start and headed back to his cupboard to squeeze in some more homework.

Maybe the Darkling's could help him with reading?

I would like to know what people think.

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Light editing 14-11-17