When Harry trudged through the Dursleys' front door that night, he expected to be in even more trouble than he was before. His stomach was already growling fiercely, though that was easily ignored. It was the niggling clench in his gut that took up most of his attention, the kind where the muscles tighten and the stomach contracts even though there's nothing in it.
He met Uncle Vernon's eyes at the end of the hallway, noting the distaste barely-masked by a forced smile. He was dressed in his usual bathrobe, one that made his shoulders seem even larger than they usually were. Once upon a time, Harry had wanted to hold the fluffy blue fabric, but with the ring sending pulses of intense heat through his leg, he forced himself to keep his eyes on Uncle Vernon's face.
"No dinner for tonight, boy, but if you do a good enough job on the breakfast you'll have the leftover eggs." That was all Uncle Vernon said. Not a whisper of Dudley's ruined shirt, of the fight that he'd undoubtedly told his parents about. Just… eggs.
Uncle Vernon seemed to notice something was wrong, however, and bustled forward. "In your cupboard, now," he barked quietly. Aunt Petunia must have been asleep already, then. Harry nodded and darted to his cupboard. His tiny bulb had barely burned to life when Uncle Vernon shoved the door shut. The familiar click of a lock sounded, and as if nothing had changed, Harry was alone.
Except something had changed, and he wasn't alone. He gingerly set the book on the scuffed concrete floor and pulled out the ring. Just as it had been doing all day, it pulsed with a light and heat that was frankly disturbing. Even more disconcerting was the way the crystalline veins in his hand shimmered in time with the rhythm.
"Good evening, Robin," he mumbled to his spider. Robin turned towards him and watched silently for a few moments before continuing her web.
"And now we're on to you," Harry growled at the ring. "You didn't tell me you could do all that!"
The ring throbbed once. Harry got the feeling he was being laughed at.
"Alright, see if I care. Guess you don't get to see the Queen after all—" Harry yelped and sprung away when the ring caught fire. Harry only had time to bat it towards an unoccupied corner of the floor before it went out. Robin scuttled away, a small part of her web complex in azure-smoldering ruins. "Oi, what was that for?"
A thump sounded upstairs, and Harry promptly clamped his mouth shut. He launched his arms up to pull the cord to the bulb. It winked out just Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps rumbled down the stairs. "What's that sound, boy!"
"Sorry, Uncle Vernon!" he called as loudly as he dared. "I tripped over my own feet."
Harry barely heard Uncle Vernon's answering mumble as he trudged back up the stairs. One of the middle boards creaked worryingly, dust descending like a waterfall from its depths. Just something else to be repaired, he supposed. When Uncle Vernon's footsteps couldn't be heard anymore, he released an absolutely virulent glare at the ring. "What," he snarled, "do you think you're doing? You're going to get us both caught, and Uncle Vernon will take you away!"
The ring flashed a few times, not seeming remotely sorry at all. It was hard to tell when it didn't have a face to look at. "I don't want him to take you away! I promised Noct I would give you to the Queen. I—I want a way to fight back against the Dursleys. They treat me like dirt and they threaten to hit me sometimes because I'm not normal. But Noct wasn't normal either, and he was a king! If he can do it, then so can I, so I won't let him down."
The ring cooled slightly in response, waves of visible, hazy heat suddenly snapping back into perfect clarity. Harry looked down at his hand, glowing a gentle blue in the pitch darkness.
The blue veins didn't hurt when he pressed them, but neither did they feel good. If anything, a bone-deep itch resonated in the areas he ran his fingers over. They were smooth-faced and jagged-edged, and when Harry tried to follow a particularly deep crevice a lancet sting ran through his other hand. He clutched the offending finger in his mouth, tasting the metallic tartness of blood.
"Was it you who did that thing with Dudley?" he asked, voice barely more than a whisper. He wasn't quite sure whether it was the ring or the crystal streaks he was asking. Nevertheless, they both responded; the ring returned to its prior pulsing and hazy burning, while the veins burned brighter. "Think I can do it again?"
Neither answered. Harry ignored the lack of an answer and cast back to when Dudley had picked up the ring. He'd been so angry, so tired of Dudley taking everything that was his and breaking it. His hand had smarted at the time, adding a confusing layer of pain and clarity to the situation, but underneath everything…
He felt a tug in his gut. The crystal shards in his hand flared. An oscillating surge of something exploded from out of his hand, barreling right into the door and rattling it on his hinges. A placid light guttered out from the wave, even though it was just barely enough to be noticeable in the first place.
Beneath everything there had been a current, a rushing river of white and blue and black and gold, and submerged within had been his crystals and the ring. He grasped at it, pushing and pulling. Nothing made a difference, though, and when he simply released it another blast of pure force expelled from his palm, this time snapping his head up and knocking him back on his bed.
Again, he got the feeling the ring was laughing at him. He pushed back, knocking it into the open drawer of his little desk.
Harry stood up, feeling oddly winded. The crystal traces pushing out of his skin were brilliant, burning an almost white color in the dark. "Time for another idea, maybe?" he told the ring.
For the next hour, Harry leafed through the book, deciphering everything he could about whatever had happened to him. Even in the newer sections of the book, written in the sort-of English he could understand (even if it took a few minutes to decipher each sentence at first), he forced himself to pore over the text.
A grand total of nothing greeted him at the end of the hour. Harry growled in frustration and closed the book, absently pushing it with his new power. Sharp, irritable snarls bubbled from his stomach. Maybe if he had a bit more food in his belly, he'd be able to figure out just how to do… whatever it was that he did.
Harry's eyes alighted on the door, and a small smile slipped over his face.
Unlocking the knob itself was an easy task; even though Uncle Vernon had ordered one with a lock on the outside, the locksmith had adamantly refused to install the door unless there was a lock on the inner knob as well. Even if there wasn't, he was getting better at picking locks, and he was second-best at the one on his cupboard—after the back door to Number Four, that is. The real problem had always been the deadbolt that Uncle Vernon had installed when he discovered that Harry was sneaking out to grab scraps from the fridge.
Harry simply pressed his hand to the door and visualized his push moving through the door as best he could. The lock rattled, a blossom of scorched wood appeared where his fingers were planted, but it didn't budge. Harry tried again, feeding a bit of the frustration that was steadily building in his gut into his magic.
The brass bolt rattled again, and this time when he tried to push it open the door glided soundlessly on its hinges. Harry suppressed a whoop of excitement, instead slipping the door back to its proper place and weaving around Dudley's various knickknacks scattered in the hallway. His stomach growled, but he grinned at it and patted it good-naturedly. "Give me just a moment," he promised. Harry only stopped to duck back into his cupboard and grab the ring—was it sulking?—and the book and slip back out.
Raiding the fridge for the first time in two years was glorious.
As he'd been out, Aunt Petunia had obviously been the one in charge of dinner that night. Unflattering comments could be proclaimed for miles about that woman, but if she didn't know how to cook then he was an Oracle. Harry snuck a few pieces of roast, some cauliflower and carrots, and even a thin slice of chocolate cake. Everything was lukewarm, and he didn't dare use the microwave for fear that Uncle Vernon would wake up and discover him, but it was much better than the nasty lunches or the burned pieces of toast he got for breakfast.
Harry smiled and rubbed his full stomach, absently wiping away a little dribble of juice from the roast with his fork. The ring stayed silent, though its usual hazy intensity wasn't much of a far cry from disapproval. Or maybe he was just projecting.
"I don't eat that much anyway," he said, mouth set in a delighted grin. "My stomach's not big enough. At least, that's what Will said happens to you if you don't eat a lot of food."
The ring didn't respond, so he set about clearing what he could from the table. Thankfully, the water rushing through the plumbing didn't make nearly as much noise as the rattling deadbolt did. In a scant few seconds, he was already turning on his heels, ready to head back to his cupboard and test out his magic more.
Dudley blinked owlishly at him, reaching for a frying pan. Harry swore softly, something that earned him a yelp from Dudley, and dove for the ring. He caught it, but not before Dudley managed to swing the frying pan. It smacked across his knuckles.
"Ow!" he whispered. It really did hurt, even though he couldn't feel any blood running down his fingers. Dudley raised the frying pan again, this time like a cricket bat. Harry just stepped back, his aching fingers grasping at the back wall.
"Get back here!" Dudley crowed. Harry winced, though it became a wicked smile when he found what he was looking for. Harry pulled with his left and pushed with his right. A simple spin and a leap was all it took for him to unlock the sliding door to the back garden and dash out.
Harry didn't bother checking to see if Dudley followed—if Dudley was Dudley, he would definitely give chase. He dropped the ring in its pocket and leapt, scrabbling over the fence with stinging hands. Behind him, Dudley grunted and pushed at something. 'Probably the gate,' Harry thought wildly. 'Gotta get away from Privet Drive.'
Just because Privet Drive was practically deserted at night didn't mean it was any easier for Harry to get away. If anything, the radiance of his crystal-infused hand practically made him a beacon. Harry heard a triumphant bark through the surge of wind in his ears. So Dudley had made it past the gate after all.
The moment he could, Harry banked into a sharp right turn, his eyes on the road. A car rumbled past him, the driver wide-eyed and slamming on the brakes, but Harry merely tore his gaze away and kept running. A minute later a tremendous honk almost startled him off his feet.
"If we can do that invisible thing," he roared to the ring, "now would be a really good time!" Harry cast his mind back to that sensation spreading from his hand, almost like a jagged film spreading along his body. In front of his eyes, the illumined patches of his skin dissolved into fragments of glass. No, not glass, crystal.
When Harry was sure the glass substance had finished flying away from him, he leapt across the street and made a hard stop in front of a lamppost. Dudley turned the corner. Harry tensed, just in case the spell hadn't worked like intended. True to form, Dudley ran past him, a flashlight sparking in his free hand.
Light flooded the street, and Harry had to check to make sure he wasn't casting a shadow. A pair of headlights thundered down the street. Dudley froze.
"You idiot!" Harry whispered, wincing as the movement of his lips sent a shiver of static over his skin. "Get out of the road!" In his pocket, the ring's heat vanished, becoming an effervescent chill that burned wintergreen in his nose and froze his bones. Dudley didn't move. Harry could see his eyes flashing, the whites almost painfully bright from the beams of the headlights.
The car screamed, its brakes grinding a terrible cry against the pavement, but Harry knew it wasn't going to be enough. The driver was easily going eighty on a forty kilometer-per-hour road. Harry had seen that kind of speed only once before, when Uncle Vernon had made him follow along to one of Aunt Petunia's shopping trips. Braking that quickly just didn't happen.
"I hate you so much!" He wasn't sure if he shouted that to Dudley or himself, but it tore from his lips as he bolted down the sidewalk. "Ring, if you've got something that can help, do it!"
If anything, the ring seemed to grow even colder, permeating the air around him with a layer of fog and frost. Harry scowled and allowed the invisibility spell to fall away; he'd been able to see his outline in the mist anyway. "What, you don't want to?" He scowled and ran harder. The driver was closing in fast. Maybe—just maybe—he'd be able to make it to Dudley before the car did. The ring practically scalded, so cold that Harry could feel the frost forming on his pants.
'What's the point?' it seemed to say. 'He's useless.'
"I don't care if he's useless or not," Harry growled, "because saving him is the right thing to do! It's what Noct would do!"
The chill vanished as rapidly as it had appeared. The ring heated up tremendously, sending the frost on his pants into a sizzle. If it seemed reluctant, Harry didn't care. He simply followed instinct, grabbed the only other thing in his pocket, and lobbed it.
The fork he'd commandeered from the Dursleys sailed through the air, blue-tinged magic racing along its edge. When it passed Dudley, Harry flew, his muscles jerked forward by an unseen force. Existence quieted for a brief instant, then became a rush of sound, color, and stinging, minty chill once more. Harry barreled into Dudley, throwing them both clear of the car. He hit the ground hard, fire racing up his knees, but he managed to avoid the wheel of the car when it squealed to a stop.
Someone screamed in the distance, but Harry ignored that. Muscles screamed in his arms and legs, their heat comparable to the fiery intensity the ring was radiating. He jerked himself to the right, wincing when his arm catapulted into the asphalt. Beside him, Dudley's heavy breaths were a match for his own, quick and arrhythmic.
"You saved me," Dudley rasped. Harry looked back on the experience. Indeed, between all of the disorienting spurts of darkness and his communing with the ring, he had saved Dudley. But why? "Why did you save me? I woulda been hit."
"Yeah," Harry managed. "Yeah, you would."
The shouts became more distant, and Harry raised his aching head. Two men stared down at them, one old and grey, the other dark and rosy. Harry had the strangest feeling they weren't in their right minds. "You alright, lad?" the older one asked. He stretched out his hand, and grinning gratefully, Harry took it. "Rosier, give the other boy a hand and go find Steven. Bleedin' idiot ran off somewhere by Riverstone."
The dark-haired man, Rosier, nodded and pulled Dudley to his feet. Harry noticed his white-knuckled grip, free of the frying pan. Aunt Petunia wouldn't be happy in the morning… if she hadn't already been woken up by Dudley's shout.
"Cunt-swallowing lemon," the old man cursed. "How many times have I told 'im not to run off? An' after 'e nearly killed the two a ye, no less. No bruises, no scrapes?"
"I'm sore," Harry muttered, and Dudley mumbled his agreement. "But other than that, I think we're fine. Thanks, sir."
"M'not a sir, boy," the man growled good-naturedly. "They don't make Irishmen sirs. They make us pubs, and we drink 'em all under the table!" He barked out a laugh that made Harry jump. "You're gonna call me somethin', call me Claff."
Harry nodded, with a mumbled, "I'm Harry," but Dudley stood tall against the man. Granted, he still only reached Claff's abdomen—the man was massive, easily twice as tall as Harry was—but it was an impressive sentiment nonetheless. "What kind of name is Claff?" Dudley asked. It was barren of his usual derision, however, and Harry couldn't discern whether it was because Claff was older and taller or because Dudley's knees were still shaking.
Claff snorted. "You got a better one, then?"
"I'm Dudley, and that's Po—Harry."
Even as Claff guffawed, Harry stared. His name on Dudley's tongue was absolutely foreign; the only time he could remember Dudley saying it was when he was in School with Piers and Malcolm, and even then he was still referred to as the "boy" more than half of the time. Dudley saying his name without any malice in his voice… it was weird.
"Yer tellin' me that Dudley's not as strange a name as Claff? Yer daft, boy. Maybe just a bit young for wisdom, but yer especially daft." Claff simply turned to Harry. "How about you? Gonna make fun of my name s'well? I got a few choice things to say 'bout a few choice Harrys. You gonna add to the list?"
Harry shook his head, catching a figure approaching from the corner of his eye. With how bad his eyes were, it took him a moment to recognize Rosier. The man's dark jacket and hair, as well as his dull brown eyes, made him nearly invisible in the dark. Out of reflex, he tried to gather the feeling of fragmented film, only allowing it to envelop his hand before it dispelled. Harry wedged his glowing digits in his pocket, just in case.
"Found 'im, Claff," Rosier announced. Behind him stood a man with a thick blond beard and nervous, crinkled eyes. Claff stomped up to Steven and grabbed him by his denim jackcet. Rosier backed away, towing Harry and Dudley with him. "You might want to cover your ears, boys."
Harry felt an almost inappropriate amount of excitement at the prospect of hearing a new swear word. Beside him, Dudley leaned forward. A tiny fraction of his mind wondered just how unusual a situation had to be for the two of them to sit next to each other without Dudley trying to throttle him.
The verbal lashing Claff gave Steven was astounding.
Harry almost reeled back after the first few words were out of the old man's mouth. He and Dudley both gaped as the torrent or curses went on for one minute, then five. By the time Claff had cleared his throat and turned away in a huff, Steven was shivering in his boots. The bright red tint on his face didn't help much, nor did the fact that he stumbled over nothing every few seconds.
"Sorry ye had to see that, boys, but Steven never really gets things unless ye give it to 'im straight," Claff said jovially. "Thank God we just 'ad the brakes checked, at any rate. Anything I can do to make up the scare to ye?"
Dudley shook his head, but Harry paused. The ring, seemingly sensing the opportunity began to warm up again in his pocket. "Do… do you think you could drive me to Buckingham Palace Road?" he asked tentatively.
Claff blinked. "Well, I certainly could," he admitted. "'If I remember right, 's only an hour's drive from here. But I must needs ask, why? Ye could take the Woking station and be there faster 'n that."
Harry winced. Dudley couldn't know about how valuable the ring was, not if he wanted it to survive the journey to the Queen in one piece. "I have a friend," he blurted. "That lives near Buckingham Palace Road. He left this with me," he showed them the book, its cover completely unscathed by the close call, "and I want to return it as soon as possible."
"He goin' ta be awake at this hour?" Claff probed. "Pretty late out. Pretty moon, too."
Harry glanced up, noting the admittedly pretty moon watching them with pearlescent steadfastness. He nodded. "His dad works days and homeschools him at night." Not the most believable lie he'd ever told, nor the most well-executed, but it seemed to be enough for Claff.
"And yer parents, they're okay with it?"
Or not. Harry almost scowled, but he caught himself just before the corners of his mouth could curl downwards. The ring warmed a bit. The urge to frown grew. After a few stilted seconds of silence, Harry decided on the truth. "Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon don't like me much," he admitted. "I think they'll be happy to have me out of their hair for a day. I've been gone for an entire day before—a bunch of times—and they only worry about my chores not getting done."
Claff's eyes sparked a luminescent blue against the night. Before Harry could wonder if he'd done anything wrong, He was turning to Dudley. "Right, then. You coming along too, boy?" Harry's head snapped around to where Dudley was nodding slowly.
"Yeah," was all that Dudley said.
"I'm gonna be accused of kidnapping fer this," Claff muttered. "Eh, who cares. Got too much in my system to worry righ' now. Everyone load up!"
Harry quietly sandwiched himself between Dudley and Steven in the back, wondering if he was going to be nudged and bumped for the entire drive to Buckingham Palace Road. He tried to shift, and a sharp pain lanced through his thigh. "Bugger," he grunted to the ring.
It merely cooled under his fingers.