Story 3 – I Can See You - Bit of a super-duper harry-can-do-amazing-things-with-very-little-effor t-or-training fanfic. I'm not too disappointed about that, because I like reading those kinds of things every now and then. :P I thought this fanfic had a little bit of iBoy in it, but I guess I was wrong. I'll try find it for you all. Pretty interesting book. :) 3k Words (1 and a half chapters)
Chapter 1
It is sometimes said, that out of the darkness, a light will always lead the way, to give you guidance in your time of need. It is also sometimes said, that knowledge is subjective, and that you really need to know the knowledge before you can use it and this was the problem for one small orphan boy.
It all started on one fateful Halloween night, his parents died in a car crash, or so they said, and he was stuck with them.
They rarely told him anything, 'Your parents, worthless drunks', they would say. But it didn't matter what they said, he didn't believe them, not really.
He knew he was different, there were just too many things that had happened around him to call him anything but different. He used to think he had a Guardian Angel, that would look over him, protect him from them, or help heal him if for some reason his Guardian Angel wasn't around when he needed him.
As he grew older, he started to dismiss this. So many times he prayed for the help of his supposed Guardian Angel, only to end up broken and bleeding inside his cupboard.
Yes, it was all him. He had the power to move from one place to another without the passing of time; he had the power to move items from one side of the room to the other, he had the power to accelerate growth, or unlock doors. Yes, he could do all these things, but he still had a tiny problem. He didn't know how.
'Yes, this is a problem.' He thought, but really, this was the least of his problems, because one year ago, on the 30th of July, he became blind.
That day started out like any other, he had no reason to be extraordinary aware, no reason to think they would go to such depths. So, as the sun began to climb in the sky, he, like every other morning of his sorry existence, was woken by a series of raps on his cupboard door.
"You best be up and in that kitchen in less than a minute, or you'll be sorry." She hissed.
That was his cue. He had a few times not made it into the kitchen in time. Those days were painful, in such an environment you learnt not to keep people waiting longer than they were willing to wait. Even if that time fluctuated from day to day, you just had to grit your teeth and take whatever your punishment was going to be for not being able to read theirminds.
Seriously, with all their qualms with 'abnormalities', they sure do expect me to be super human! He thought.
Well anyway, once he managed to escape his prison under the stairs, he went straight to the cooker to prepare the small feast for breakfast. Frying pan from the rack, oil in the pan, hob on full. A packet of bacon thrown in with practised ease. They sizzle in protest.
He had been cooking for three minutes when they came in. Attempting to strut into the room like lord of the manor, attempting, failing miserably. He tried so hard to keep from laughing out loud, that didn't stop him accidentally voicing his mind though. "Wobble, wobble, wobble." He muttered.
"What was that boy?" His uncle, although asking the question, obviously knew what he had said. His facing turning that dangerous shade of prune, his hands clenched in fists at his side as he slowly approached the child.
'Ahh, shit. Well done, Harry. Real cleaver..." He scolded himself.
As predicted, the violent right handed slap to the head, full force. Experience told him that would have broken his jaw, and given him concussion. He dodged the blow, lasting mistake.
He seemed to enrage, the shade of his face growing deeper, how much longer before he blows his cap? Exactly five seconds, that's how long.
It all seemed to happen so fast, I dodged, I didn't even mean too. I guess it's a reflex. A counter action. For every action, there's a reaction. Whatever it was, it changed my life. But I'm still trying to figure if it was for the better or not.
He grabbed the handle of the pan in his pudgy hands, gripped it tight. And in one swift movement, one which was of surprising quickness, the boiling hot fat assaulted his shock filled eyes, then darkness.
Pain. Excruciating pain. He thought he knew pain. Pain was second nature, alongside frowning or running. But this, this was like liquid fire ablaze on his very skin.
He was lying on a bed, it wasn't his bed, well, because he didn't have one. A moan escaped his dry lips.
"Glad to see your aware, Mr Potter." Said a calm voice from beside him.
"W-Where-" His raspy voice croaked out before being interrupted.
"Don't try and talk, here drink this," The rim of a cup was placed as his mouth, the cool water soothed his throat. "Well, Mr Potter, that was quite the accident you had. You are currently in the intensive burns ward of London's children hospital." He pushed some buttons on some nearby machines as he addressed his patient.
"Accident? What-what happened?"
"Well, your aunt said that you slipped on the floor in her kitchen while she was out of the room. There was a frying pan on the stove which landed on you. I'm sorry, Harry, but at this stage it is extremely unlikely that you will regain your sight." He said with a heavy voice. That kid is going to have it rough. He sighed.
The months after the 'accident' went reasonably quickly, he wasn't expecting them to. He spent just over a month on the ward, they didn't bother to visit. Not that he would have liked them too. He spent his time listening to the radio, or the news channels on the television.
A week before he was due to leave, the doctors removed the face bandages. He wanted to see the damage, so he got one of the nurses to come and describe it to him. They weren't happy about it, the woman started off with a shaky voice, as she verbalised every inch of his skin. He gently ran his fingers over his face.
Along with the removal of the bandage, came the arrival of the mask. He loved it, if only because some of the doctors thought he looked a little scary. It was like a silicon dough, which was pressed onto his face, covering from his forehead, to the end of his nose. It ran over every curve, and made half of his face appear featureless, 'Quite foreboding' the doctors had said. While in the nutrient liquid the silicon was almost a pearly white, and you could see the colour of the bowl through it. But once dried to his face, it went the most startling white, which contrasted sharply against his jet black hair.
The arrival of the Dursley's still brought a smile to his face whenever he thought about it. It was the Monday morning, a little over a month since the 'accident', and they had come to pick him up.
He heard the doctor outside, explaining everything to an uninterested pair, and a spoilt child. Apparently they didn't heed his warning, because as soon as they entered the room, the shriek could be heard two floors down.
"What the HELL, is THAT?!" One of them voiced.
"Mrs Dursley, please keep your voice down. I warned you outside, that what you see might be troubling. Do you have no respect for the child, this is hard enough as it is." The doctor hissed.
"Are you saying we're bad parents? Mr-?" Growled the male.
"No, I'm just saying, be a bit more considerate of the situation your nephew is now in."
After a few more short conversations, he was being escorted to the front steps of the hospital by his nurse, as they brought the car round.
A month later, and he felt the only reason he was still alive was because he had to meet with a counsellor every Monday, and that was the only time he was able to leave. He felt trapped and useless, and towards the end of the month the only time he left his room was when his counsellor took him for ice cream or something.
One good thing that came from this situation, was that he wasn't being used as a slave any more. Not that he could do anything even if they still wanted him too. Another was, now, he had his own room. It was previously Dudley's second bedroom and used to be filled with broken toys, and the like. But now it was a clear space, with a bed, a desk, and even a wardrobe in the corner for what little clothes he had.
They stayed away too. They left his meals outside his room, so all he had to do was navigate from his bed, to the door, find the handle, then search the floor for the tray. In the beginning it was hard to get the food to his desk without either falling or spilling it, but after a few weeks of several practises a day, he had finally gotten himself a method. It involved sliding it along the floor, while crawling behind it until he arrived at the desk then simply lift it up, and put it down.
The bad points of his new situation were that he had so much time. At least before he kept busy, either slaving about, or reading a smuggled book in his cupboard. Now, all he could do was think. Think, and listen to the neighbours gossip through his open window.
Three Hundred and sixty six days after the 'accident', Harry woke on for his 8th birthday. The night before he had spent thinking over the strange happenings again for the millionth time. Over the last couple of months his councillor had been purchasing him audio books, mainly of the fantasy genre, but some science fiction too. He wanted to know if anybody had written about the kinds of things he could do in a fictional context. So far, he thought it could be a number of different 'powers'.
He had started referring to his ability as 'The Force' similar to the Star Wars series, where people called 'Jedi', had a power which they could call upon. He thought it sounded pretty cool, so decided to call it that too, because none of the books summarised an ability or power, which could complete a large range of effects, like that of his own.
So with his new knowledge, he began trying to do something, which he thought of as a complete failure. Besides how was he to know if anything happened, like changing the colour of a ball for example, he couldn't see!
After that he thought again, perhaps he didn't really know what he wanted to do, so his power didn't do anything? He tried to focus on the pen he knew was on his desk. He wanted it in his hand, still he didn't accomplish anything. He failed to notice the slight tingling sensation.
When he finally got out of bed, Harry rubbed his hand over his mask, as if to scrub the sleep from his eyes. He got out of bed and walked towards the door.
'4 Steps, open the door, 1 step, turn right, 2 steps, open the door, 2 steps.' He thought as he started towards the door. '1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. Open the door...' Harry moved his hand forward to reach for the handle when he stopped.
Harry had developed an awareness of his surroundings over the year, in his minds eye he would recreate the room which he was in, and he would know where he was within the room, along with everything else in the room; things like furniture or ornaments. He used this to navigate around familiar areas without needing a guide. But something strange just happened.
His mind image had himself standing in front of an open door, which was previously closed, but that wasn't all, he saw a tentacle of rich green light reach forward from his hand and open the door.
'I used The Force! I wonder...' He repeated the action, but this time with another thought. 'Close the door.' A smile graced his lips, as he watched the green light reach out and manoeuvre the door once again.
It took him till the end of the day to realise the magnitude of the gift he had been given. It was almost as if he had his sight back, improved. When he walked into a room, he instantly got a mental image, the walls and furniture would be shades of grey, but anything he touched would gain a green hue.
People were shapes made from different colours, that seemed to move around in the shape of their bodies, almost as if it was flowing in their blood. He watched from the living room window as the neighbours passed by. Some were browns, reds, others were purples and greens. And then there was the intensity, when he looked at himself, he was an intense rich green, but his uncle and aunt were very dim, dark red. Then there was the mystery of Mrs Figg, she was brighter than everyone else, curious.
He could see the plants and trees, the birds in the sky. He could see the house as whole from the comfort of his bed, as if he could just peer through the floors. The way he would have described it would be having a holographic image, that zoomed and twisted that allowed him to see anything within a fair distance of himself.
'Awesome!'
Another year passed, and he refined 'The Power', it was as simple as a thought and the flick. There were limits of course, for example, he couldn't make food. But that didn't really matter, he would just summon it from the kitchen downstairs.
A few other things he tried didn't work either like creating a portal, but he didn't mind too much, he could already move himself around, like he was Teleporting. He just thought up another visual representation of physical space, imagining himself in a different place, then asked 'The Power' to take him here.
It seemed the more he used it, the stronger 'The Power' got, it was like a muscle, the constant flexing, draining, allowed the body to accommodate for more, so that it doesn't get as drained next time.
He was still seeing his counsellor, although I felt it was more to do with the fact he never got out the house, and she felt sorry for him. Not that he minded, he didn't reveal his powers, it's sometimes a plus to allow others to see you helpless, they underestimate you.
And that is exactly what happened on his ninth birthday, his counsellor had just taken him into London for a meal, to celebrate, and had left him at the front door of his house because she had to get to her next appointment. He didn't mind, he could find his way in, but he decided, with it being his birthday and all, he would go to the park.
It was now mid afternoon, when the silence of the park was interrupted. Harry was sitting on a swing, minding his own business. There had been some other children at the park earlier, but they seemed younger. They didn't stay long either.
"Mummy! What's wrong with his face?" A quiet female voice cried out.
"Hush! I don't know dear, why don't we go home?"
"But we only just got here! He's on his own!"
"No, I think we'll be going home. Come along." Her mother said sternly.
'Nobody wants to know the freak, not that I care, although I do suppose some friends would be nice.' He thought wistfully.
A Crack interrupted the silence, his head moved up in the general direction. He could see the influx 'The Power' made, and now, standing in the residue was a figure, swirling, a sickly green, but there was another band too, it seemed to rotate around his body, a sickening black. He felt repulsed.
"Harry Potter," The man drawled.
"Hello, can I help you." Instantly on alert. He knew there must be others. And he didn't like the sound of this one.
"Yes, I do suppose you can."
"And how may I be off assistance?"
"You could, perhaps─Die! Avada Kadavra!" The man pointed a stick and his senses exploded. He dived from the swing in time to see the spell sail overhead.
"No thanks, don't like that idea, sorry," He shouted.
He summoned a dagger, and sent it towards the man.The dagger flew through the air before ending up in the man shoulder, almost dropping his stick.
"Ahh─Avada Kadavra!"
Harry needed to get away, with a thought, he blended with the wind, shimmering away as the spell sailed through where he used to be.
He didn't return home instantly, he watched. A few moments later, he saw another explosion of magic, much like he had when the man appeared. This time, it was much larger.
The residue cleared and a group of men had surrounded the man. 'Well, good or bad. That man's not going anywhere.' With that thought he appeared in front of Number four, Privet Drive.
Chapter 2
The school year had just finished and he was looking forward to some time alone before starting secondary school. It was becoming increasing harder to find time alone, to think, and also keep from using 'The Power' in his day to day life.
In the last year and a half he he'd restarted school, and found a way to read. The school was very supportive of his impediment, he had been given training in Braille, he even got volunteers to walk him around.
Of course, his cousin still tried to get to him, constantly trying to either trip him up, push him over, even throw things at him. But his cousin never succeeded, he would always subtly move out of the way.
It was during the previous summer he worked out a method of reading normal books.
He was looking over a book written in Braille, when he got frustrated. He slammed the book the table, with a resounding crack. 'I just wish I could read that one! Bet it has loads more information!'
As if obeying his command, 'The Power' leapt out and surrounded the book. Startled from his tantrum, Harry picked up the book and flipped to the first page. He dropped the book in shock.
The words within the book seemed to glow, as a result, in his minds eye, he could read it. With a bout of excitement, he jumped onto his bed and began to read in earnest.
And therein began his interest in books. 'You sure do start to appreciate what is written there, when suddenly it's taken away.' He mused.
It was from that day forward that he begun in trips to the local library. He borrowed books from child fantasy to modern day physics. He drank in knowledge, yearned for more and more. But he knew his limits. 'Try explaining to a Librarian why you want to borrow books you 'cannot read'. They must think I'm off my rocker.'
He knew they made fun of him, whenever he returned a book they always asked what he thought of it, he could see the grin on their faces. But like always he replied, 'It was okay.' Wouldn't bode well for them to know I can actually read them. 'Too many questions.'
Harry walked into his room, and lay down on his bed with a book which he was 'reading'. He didn't need to look at it, it just needed to be close by. This particular book needed to be returned tomorrow, however the content was pretty heavy, so he had not gotten as far as he'd hoped. He sighed as he sat up. 'Wish I could have my own copy. Maybe I could get somebody to buy it for me?'
A book appeared on his desk, an exact replica of the one he was holding. 'Should have thought of that...' He thought, a little in shock. 'I suppose that gives me a mission for the summer. A good old book hunt!' He smiled.