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Harry Potter the Prodigy
Chapter Three – Accidental Magic
Harry was in his grey pajamas, sleeping in the nursery ward. He didn't take up much space because he was only four years old.
It was Harry's birthday. Linda didn't know it, but Mr. White did. The newspapers had a good time with this national event. They called it "Harry Potter Day" and indeed it was. A reminder of the dark lord's defeat. Mr. White was honestly glad the dark lord was defeated, because he had abandoned Voldemort ten years before his defeat. Ever since then Voldemort had been after him. Setting up the orphanage was a stroke of genius but now it was time to change.
Harry Potter was growing quite nicely. He was sleeping when Mr. White came in, but he heard the footsteps and recognized it for who it was. He opened his eyes and looked. Not just looked but he actually observed and catalogued. His mind worked differently than other babies – It was more advanced, more scientific, more cold. Maybe that was a result of the killing curse that he never felt much emotion. Babies cried a lot, they shrieked and whined because they were scared and afraid. Or sad, or in pain.
Harry didn't feel much, just faint nerve responses that he easily ignored. So when Mr. White strode in with a birthday cake, candles and all, he didn't feel anything. No joy and no longing for his real parents either. At three years old he was not necessarily smarter than the other kids, just more aware. He didn't have faster reactions, in fact he had slow reactions and would take his time thinking of what to do. When a baby wanted a toy, a normal one would grab it but Harry would ponder on the toy for days at a time then at last decide, nope I don't want it. It's useless to me.
Harry sat up from his bed which was quite comfortable. He wanted to go back to sleep in the nice mattress and warm bedsheets. The morning was cold, his feet felt frozen, and he thought he had a slight cold coming on. But somehow he recognized now was not the time. Now there was something important that had to be done. But what?
Mr. White was wearing his white coat, he seemed to do that as some sort of fashion statement perhaps. He wore grey trousers underneath, and a tattered old shirt. He had a wooden stick in his coat pocket. It stuck out like a submarine's periscope.
Mr. White's pale blue eyes scrutinized Harry, so much that he felt uncomfortable. What does this man want?
"Hello, Harry." Mr. White said, and set the birthday cake on a small desk next to the bed. He was obviously not expecting an answer because he was fiddling with something in his white coat pocket. Then he took a lighter out and with a click the flame came on.
"Good morning, Mr. White." Harry said in a squeaky baby voice. Mr. White dropped the lighter in surprise. Harry noticed that the lighter was green. He wasn't sure why this mattered but for some reason it did.
"Ah, Harry, you can speak?" Mr. White asked in surprise. "Most babies can speak when they are two or three but you barely ever speak. And in full sentences, with proper grammar and all…." He picked up the lighter and proceeded to light the small blue candles on the chocolate cake.
There were four candles.
I am four years old, Harry thought disenchanted. How interesting.
"I can speak," Harry said at last. "Today is my birthday?"
"Yes, it is. And around here we celebrate birthdays."
"How come you didn't celebrate any of my earlier birthdays?"
"I thought you were too young to notice it then. Now come, have a slice." Mr. White pulled out two paper plates from his left pocket, and two plastic forks. He cut out a slice with a fork and placed it on the plate. He cut out another one, and handed this one to Harry.
The lighter, Harry noticed, was on the table, propped up against the platter of the cake. Why did his attention keep coming back to the lighter?
"Thank you," Harry said, and methodically cut a small piece of cake with his fork and placed it in his mouth. He chewed without any hint of pleasure. That was because he barely tasted the chocolate cake.
"Now Harry, how would you like to come and live with me?" Mr. White asked. "I always wanted a son, but my late wife…. Well she…." He cleared his throat. He seemed flustered for some reason. "I have a large house on a hill, there's a garden nearby, and a lake too."
"Whatever," Harry said. He took another bite of the cake. This time he concentrated on the flavour and sure enough he could taste it. He savoured the bite. It was good cake.
"You see, Harry, I am retiring from my job as head of this orphanage. I want to… to… finish one of my research projects."
He's lying. Harry thought. But he didn't really care. "If you have enough space for me, I will come with you." Harry said as he placed another piece of cake into his mouth.
"That's wonderful," Mr. White said. He had not touched his cake. And the lighter was still propped up against the platter of the table.
Drugged, Harry thought alarmed. What did that mean? Where had that thought come from? Then he slipped into a sense of vertigo and had a fading sort of feeling before he fell unconscious.
Mr. White had plans for Harry that he had been working on for a long time. But he knew he would have to move fast. He took out his wand and transfigured Harry into a small white bone that looked as small as a tooth. Mr. White grabbed the transfigured bone and slipped it into his pocket. Then he walked out of the orphanage, and did not return. Ever.
He knew where to go, he had planned this very hard for a reason. The reason was to make a profit, and to make a profit you had expenses. Harry was an expense now, but he would make Mr. White a profit very soon.
He walked down the same road the Dursleys had come down on to drop Harry forever, and turned left onto the highway. From there he strolled straight to the Docks where he had already purchased a ticket for himself from the ticket office earlier that week. The waterfront streets were crowded with sailors, business people in a hurry, and a few sight seers. Not as crowded as it would be in the day time, but for now at exactly eight o'clock the crowd was just right.
If there were too many people, he got crowd sick. If there were too little, people noticed him, especially with that doctor sort of coat. Not too little, not too much. That was how he liked his crowds.
The boat he was taking, well a ferry really, was coloured in pure white, Mr. White's favorite colour. Just because white was his favorite colour he wasn't exactly rascist, because he had noticed with his scientific mind that skin colour was really just a pigment of brown. White was pure, if it wasn't pure it wasn't white. Simple as that.
The ship's name was LL SHALIK, and was used to transport goods mostly and passengers only rarely. Mr. White walked on the steel ramp that led to the deck, and from there went straight to the captain's cabin.
"Hank? Hank is that you?" Mr. White asked as he entered. Hank was a short rat faced man with brown teeth and an unshaved beard. He always seemed to be drunk or suffering from a hangover. Excessive drinking was despicable. Mr. White hated bad habits like he hated spots on a pure white block of space. Of course he had his own bad habits but only in moderation. Not too much, not too little.
"Wha-? Oh it's you. Show me your ticket, sonny!"
Mr. White stood straight as he stiffly pulled the ticket from his pocket. "When are we going to get to France exactly?"
"The Port Beulaire? That will be-" He glanced at the clock on the panel of the cabin with bloodshot eyes. "At about three o'clock," He said. "That good?"
"Yes, quite."
"You can get a seat in one of the empty cabins. We ain't on a long voyage so whaddever." He hiccupped and reached on his desk for one of the bottles. There were more bottles on the desk - most of them empty – than there were stars on the sky. He grabbed a bottle and drank a huge gulp. "Go on, you. Geddup an' oudda here."
If Mr. White was a death eater like he used to be in his youth, tough and filled with arrogance, he would have no doubt tortured the man to death. But age and experience had given him patience. Patience lead to success, one of his life's mottos. He had waited three years for Harry to grow a bit, he could wait a little longer and not attract attention.
Mr. White strolled down the deck and picked a cabin in the corner. It was cramped, there was only one bench in it and a few cardboard boxes, and it smelled of tobacco. He got in there, there was a small round window to the side, and he seated himself comfortably. He didn't mind the smell of tobacco, because he smoked a bit himself. Mostly cigars. He pulled a small metal box from one of his coat pockets, picked out a cigar, and then cursed when he remembered he had left the lighter back at the orphanage.
"That's what magic is for," He told himself in amusement and pulled out his wand, used it to light the cigar, and smoked for a while.
Later, when the cigar was half burnt to ashes, he pulled out the bone and danced it between his fingers. "This is going to make me rich," He said. "And powerful too."
Then the accidental magic happened. The bone started to change, quite slowly at first but it picked up speed as it went on like the train he had ridden to Drumstrang when he was a boy.
The bone changed into Harry Potter, whose eyes were watery and glazed a bit. Then the green eyes turned to regard Mr. White with fury. "You!" He spat. "You tricked me."
Mr. White was surprised. He did the first thing that came to mind – what he did in his death eater days a lot when he didn't have the heart to kill. "Obliviate." The red light hit the boy and he fell unconscious.
Uh oh, I think you overdid it. Mr. White said in his mind as Harry slumped to the ground. "Fuck!" He cursed, and threw the cigar to the ground and stomped on it. Doing the memory charm was like riding the bicycle. You never forgot but sometimes you fall down. Mr. White fell down here.
He thought he had done something wrong. Removed a few screws in Harry's brain. And Mr. White was right. He knew what he had done – he had made Harry forget everything. By everything, he meant everything. Harry was like a newborn child again.
Use it to your advantage, a voice whispered in the back corners of his mind. I could use it to my advantage, Mr. White thought. This will make him more bendable to my will. Yes, relax, stop sweating. I can do this…. He changed Harry back into a bone, and stuffed him in his pocket again. Then he lit another cigar. One thing at a time, he told himself as he inhaled deeply.
Mr. White conveniently forgot that sometimes, memory charms are like postage stamps. Sometimes, they just don't stick. And they come off right before the post man is checking the mail. Right at those critical moments.
Mr. White completely forgot about this in his greed and ambition.
Completely.
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AN: I am planning to write a chapter a day, about 2000 words each. Sometimes I'll do two, sometimes I might not do any. I'll try my best. Now on another matter, I have estimated that this epic fic will be about 80 chapters long. So as this is the third chapter, seventy seven more to go. I hope I hear some comments from you – might get me motivated to write another chapter today.