The next time Harry awoke, he was still faintly trembling from exhaustion and his chores were not helping that at all. Aunt Marge was visiting soon. She was due to arrive on his birthday, in fact. Harry was the only one who celebrated his birthday (and now his little prince. Because he has a friend now), but it was still pretty much the worst thing they could do on his special day. Not only was the woman herself a real piece of work, but she always brought that with her. That vicious thing that needed his rabies shot. The fat, ugly, mean-spirited, really-a-lot-like-his-owner, and vicious dog Ripper. And Ripper always wanted to rip Harry's face off. The horrible thing would not only be after Harry this year, but his little prince too, since they never went anywhere without the other. If Ripper got a hold of his wonderful little prince…. No. No, he would not let that happen.
As Harry's thoughts got increasingly agitated, so did his magic. It swirled just beneath his skin, and only then because his relatives were around. It knew it's master's pain. It would avoid showing itself unless absolutely needed. But they would pay. Oh, yes, they would pay. Even the utterly calm magic in his stomach was churning in agitation. His stomach itself was churning in anxiety.
But Harry did his very large, utterly exhausting list of yard and housework until well after dinner, once again not being fed. He found all members of the Dursley family (sans Marge for now) asleep in their rooms when he was done, and took the chance to take his first shower in a week or two. It was nice, long, and warm, something he hardly ever got as it 'Wasted too much water on a worthless freak like you!' as quoted by Uncle Vernon. He also snuck into the kitchen, stealing any scraps not locked away, and then going to his cupboard to collapse once more.
Harry pulled the little prince out from his waistband, and snuggled him lovingly. His first and only friend was lovely. He'd listen whenever Harry had problems and he never called Harry mean names. He was pretty, and his crown kept him pristine and snuggly-soft as ever. The child wondered what his friend thought of him. Hopefully he didn't mind the chattering and snuggling. Even if he protested, Harry wasn't sure he'd respect the doll's wishes. He loved snuggling and chatting at his only friend entirely too much to ever give that up.
After a couple minutes of similar thoughts had passed, Harry realized that he wasn't going to be sleeping anytime soon. Which was a real shame, because he was extremely tired and very ready for bed. At the same time he realized he couldn't sleep, he also felt that he had forgotten something. Looking down at the doll in his arms, Harry realized with a start, he had never properly thanked his drifty-magic (it really needed a name) for healing up his little prince! Harry looked inside himself for the misty-green-sparkly stuff that flowed along with his blood, and sent a large wave of gratitude along with a thought about his little prince. He got a pleased response and a wave of deeper green from the calmer presence in his stomach that made his really sleepy. As his head hit the pillow, Harry Potter was lost to the world.
The next few weeks were a blur for little Harry. He grew closer to his doll, always carrying him around and snuggling with him. Even though Pince made him sweat a bit extra when he had to work outside, Harry always had the little prince with him. He told him everything, always. He were always around, so it went to figure that they'd know about it anyway, but Harry gave Prince details that he surely couldn't see from his waistband.
Harry's chores didn't slow down. In fact, they seemed to grow heavier as the date approached Marge's visit. It also drew closer to Harry's birthday, but the Dursleys wouldn't care about that. He got less and less table scraps, as the heavier chores hardly ever got completed before dinner. His magic helped where it could, but there's not much his magic could do subtle enough so that the Dursleys wouldn't see. Harry's calmer magic tried it's best to keep his underfed body in workable condition, staving off the many illnesses he surely would have had if it'd not been working so hard for him. His drifty magic made the heavier objects he had to carry much lighter, it opened doors for him when he had to carry them inside or out of the shed, and it kept the garden almost weed-free by taking out a few whenever he walked past the garden. His magic really was too kind to him.
Harry's magic was also weirdly excited. Two days before Marge's visit, it wouldn't calm down at all, and it ended up making Harry feel sick with all the excited churning it was doing. He had to do his chores anyway, but he was given a bucket to throw up in so he didn't sick up all over the carpets he was supposed to be cleaning. His magic felt horribly guilty about it later, even when Harry assured it that it was no big deal. He didn't know why it was so excited, but his magic just couldn't seem to help itself. It was calmer the next day, only making Harry a tiny bit queasy with its churning, but the sense of anticipation was making Harry nervous. And then the big day arrived.
Marge had shown up with large heavy bags that Harry had to carry in, as usual, but instead of the monster she usually brought with her, a small fluffy pup trailed behind her as she entered the house. As Harry was ushered into the cupboard, likely to stay there for the duration of Marge's visit, the overly large lady tossed a plastic bag at his head. She sneered at his deer-in-headlights expression.
"Well, open it boy. A good-for-nothing present for a good-for-nothing freak."
Harry numbly reached into the bag (his first present! From Aunt Marge of all people), hand curling around a small plastic case. He had received a cheap plastic sewing kit. As he slowly held it up to his face, his relatives started snickering at him. The hurtful words they spat at him washed over Harry, as he was more concerned with how his magic was acting. His drifty-magic was bubbling just beneath his skin, extremely excited about something, but doing nothing about it for the moment. A cautious but curious touch from Harry was all it took to explode.
Harry's magic streamed outwards, visible bright green strands weaving about him, making his clothes and hair whip about as if in a particularly strong wind. His relatives all shrieked in alarm, moving to stop him, but not able to get close. Frightened green eyes turned to them in desperation, hoping that someone at least knew what was going on, only getting doubly frightened looks in return. Harry reached for his magic, hoping to sooth it into cooperation, but it ignored him, choosing to attack the small case in front of him, absolutely drowning the thing in magic. The child had no idea what to do, his magic was completely fixated on the small plastic case in front of it.
Maybe it was Harry's anxious shifting, maybe it was the wind his magic had swept up, or maybe it was of his own accord. Whatever it was, Harry was glad for it. For in that moment, while the small seven year old stood frozen with panic, the Little Prince fell out of Harry's waistband. Just flopped right out. As the Doll hit the floor with a dull 'thump', Harry's magic seemed to come to it's senses. It was suddenly calm and it serenely retreated under the surface of Harry's skin. The sensation was mildly uncomfortable, the magic having built up feeling as if it was pushing against his skin, but Harry was just glad that the terrifying moment had passed.
His relief was short lived, however, and as soon as he'd scooped up his Little Prince, his awareness was jerked back onto his relatives. His very scared, very angry, relatives. In particular, a certain Uncle with a rapidly coloring face. Harry was in trouble. Big, painful, trouble.
Harry's magic flared out once more, and instead of the focused, flowing mess it had been before, uncontrollable and terrifying, it flared out in one large, comforting, green pulse. The pulse washed over the room, righting all of the wrongs it's earlier whirlwind had inflicted upon the space. It washed over Harry's relatives, knocking them out cold and sending them crumbling to the floor. It phased through the walls of the house, expanding out on all sides for several mile, and Harry was overloaded with a barely comprehensible mass of information. He suddenly knew where even the slightest particle of dust was in the covered area. On the verge of passing out from over-stimulation, Harry stumbled a bit and gently tugged his magic back. The overload of information cut off.
It only took a minute or two for all of this to happen, from the sewing kit to the overload, but Harry felt like several hours had passed by in that time. The reality of the situation hit Harry like a sledgehammer.
Harry bolted.
Alright, I'm a bit late, but I did remember to post! :D My only excuse is that I'm lazy and Alice and I have been working on some cosplay :p