Disclaimer: Mentions/acts of Child Abuse. As always, I do not own Harry Potter; I do own only my OCs.
AN: Reviews are always welcome, especially those with constructive criticisms that can help me write this story better, so let me have it. Hope you enjoy :)
Chapter 2: Magic
Dust motes danced in the dim light that filtered through grime-encrusted windows of the Gaunt shack, casting long shadows that seemed to shift and writhe with a life of their own.
Corvinus, now eight years old, moved through this oppressive space with a weary familiarity. His dark hair, almost black with hints of blonde, hung in disarray around his pale face, eyes shadowed from nights spent in fitful sleep. His clothes, hand-me-downs from an era even older than the shack itself, were patched and worn, yet meticulously kept clean. Despite his best efforts, his appearance did little to mask the aura of desolation that clung to him.
"Get to work, boy," Morfin's voice, rough and cold, cut through the stillness. The old man's presence was a constant weight, his eyes sharp and unyielding as he watched his grandson with a mixture of disdain and expectation.
Corvinus nodded silently, his gaze lowered in submission. He made his way to the small, cramped kitchen, where a pile of dirty dishes awaited. His hands, small and calloused, moved mechanically as he scrubbed at the grime, his mind retreating into itself to escape the monotony of his daily tasks.
Life for Corvinus was an unending cycle of chores and harsh reprimands. Morfin, in his twisted belief that hard labor and suffering would draw out any latent magic in his grandson, assigned him tasks that grew increasingly arduous. From chopping wood to scrubbing floors, Corvinus was kept busy from dawn till dusk.
"Why are you so useless?" Morfin would sneer, his frustration palpable. "A true Gaunt would have shown some sign of power by now."
Corvinus would remain silent, knowing that any response would only invite further wrath. The physical abuse that often followed these outbursts had become an expected part of his existence. Morfin's strikes were swift and brutal, leaving bruises that lingered for weeks.
The physical pain was one thing, but it was the emotional and psychological torment that truly wore Corvinus down. Morfin's constant derision, his insistence that Corvinus was a squib and a disgrace to the Gaunt name, eroded the boy's sense of self-worth. Yet, through it all, Corvinus held onto a fragile thread of hope—a belief that someday, somehow, things would change.
As Corvinus approached his ninth birthday, the routine of his life continued unabated. Yet, there were moments, brief and fleeting, when he felt something stir within him. A warmth, a flicker of energy that he couldn't quite grasp. It was during one of these moments, as he was hauling a particularly heavy bucket of water from the well, that he felt a surge of frustration and anger. The bucket, too heavy for his small frame, seemed to vibrate in his hands.
"Focus, damn you," he muttered to himself, trying to will the bucket to move on its own. But as quickly as the sensation had come, it vanished, leaving him with nothing but the weight of the water and the sting of failure.
Morfin, watching from a distance, scowled. "Pathetic," he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You'll never amount to anything."
That night, as Corvinus lay in his narrow bed, he clung to the memory of that brief flicker of energy. It was the closest he had come to feeling anything resembling magic, and it fueled a small, stubborn part of him that refused to give up hope.
By the time Corvinus turned ten, the abuse had intensified. Morfin, growing increasingly desperate and bitter, took out his frustrations on his grandson with increasing frequency. The chores became more grueling, the punishments more severe. Yet, through it all, Corvinus endured, his spirit unbroken despite the hardships.
One evening, after a particularly brutal beating, Corvinus sat alone in the dimly lit kitchen, nursing his bruises. He stared at his reflection in a cracked mirror, his face a patchwork of cuts and bruises. A sense of anger and defiance welled up within him.
"I'm not a squib," he whispered to his reflection. "I can't be."
The words were a mantra, a way to hold onto his identity in the face of Morfin's relentless assault on his self-worth. He couldn't explain it, but he felt a deep, instinctual certainty that there was more to him than his grandfather could see.
As Corvinus approached his eleventh birthday, the sense of anticipation and dread grew. It was the age when young wizards typically received their Hogwarts acceptance letters. For Corvinus, the absence of such a letter would be a confirmation of Morfin's worst fears and his own deepest insecurities.
The night before his birthday, Morfin's mood was particularly foul. "You'd better show some sign of magic soon, boy," he snarled, his eyes glittering with malice. "Or you'll wish you were never born."
Corvinus nodded mutely, his heart pounding in his chest. He retreated to his room, the weight of his grandfather's words pressing down on him like a physical burden. As he lay in bed, his mind raced with a mix of fear and determination.
"I have to prove him wrong," he thought, his fists clenched tightly. "I have to."
The next morning, Corvinus awoke early, his body tense with anxiety. He dressed quickly and made his way downstairs, bracing himself for whatever the day might bring. To his surprise, Morfin was not waiting for him with the usual list of chores.
Instead, the old man stood by the window, his face a mask of anticipation. "Well, boy," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Today's the day. Let's see if you're truly worthless."
Hours passed in a tense silence, the air thick with unspoken fears and expectations. As the afternoon sun began to wane, there was a sharp knock at the door. Corvinus' heart leaped into his throat as Morfin strode over to answer it.
But instead of a letter from Hogwarts, the visitor was a messenger from the Ministry of Magic, delivering a routine notice about magical law enforcement in the area. Morfin's face twisted in rage, and without a word, he slammed the door shut.
"You really are a squib," he hissed, advancing on Corvinus with a look of pure hatred. "A disgrace to the Gaunt name."
The beating that followed was the worst Corvinus had ever endured. Morfin's blows were fueled by a toxic mix of disappointment and fury, each strike a cruel reminder of the old man's unrelenting disdain.
As Corvinus lay on the floor, bruised and battered, he felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. In that moment, he realized that no matter how much Morfin tried to break him, there was a part of him that would remain unyielding. A part of him that believed, against all odds, that he was more than what his grandfather saw.
The grand ballroom of Malfoy Manor glittered with opulence, the chandeliers casting a golden glow over the gathered elite. The air was filled with the hum of conversation and the soft clink of crystal glasses. Among the distinguished guests, Morfin Gaunt stood out, his presence a stark contrast to the elegance surrounding him. His face was set in a rigid mask of disdain and pride, masking the turmoil that roiled within.
Lucius Malfoy, his platinum hair shining under the chandeliers, approached Morfin with his usual cold smile. "Morfin, a pleasure to see you. How is young Corvinus?"
Morfin's eyes flickered with a mixture of anger and cunning. "Corvinus is doing well, Lucius. In fact, I have an announcement regarding his future."
Lucius raised an eyebrow, intrigued. The surrounding guests quieted, their attention drawn to the conversation. Morfin took a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking.
"Given our family's prestigious lineage and the exceptional magical potential that courses through our veins," Morfin began, his voice dripping with false pride, "I have made the decision that Corvinus will not be attending Hogwarts."
A ripple of surprise swept through the crowd. Narcissa Malfoy, standing gracefully beside her husband, looked mildly shocked. "Not attending Hogwarts, Morfin? That is quite an unusual decision."
Morfin's smirk deepened. "Indeed, Narcissa. I believe the standard curriculum at Hogwarts is insufficient to harness and cultivate Corvinus's unique talents. Instead, I will be homeschooling him, providing a more rigorous and personalized education."
The guests murmured among themselves, the decision both controversial and unexpected. Lucius nodded thoughtfully. "A bold choice, Morfin. It takes great dedication to undertake such a responsibility."
Morfin's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. "Furthermore, Corvinus will no longer be attending public outings. It is imperative that he focuses entirely on his studies to reach his full potential."
Narcissa nodded, a polite smile on her lips. "Of course, Morfin. We understand the importance of a proper magical education."
As the conversation shifted back to lighter topics, Morfin allowed himself a moment of relief. He had successfully deflected suspicion and criticism, at least for now. The burden of his grandson's lack of magical ability remained a heavy weight on his shoulders, but he was determined to handle it in his own way, away from prying eyes.
The ball continued, filled with laughter and celebration, but for Morfin, it was a bitter reminder of the secret he desperately tried to keep hidden.
The days bled into weeks, and weeks into months. Each morning, Corvinus Gaunt would awaken in the Gaunt shack, the oppressive air of decay and neglect pressing down on him like a shroud. His routine remained unchanged: menial chores, constant beratement, and the ever-present threat of Morfin's anger.
Since the time he turned eleven, the abuse had escalated to a horrifying new level. Morfin, in his desperate and twisted desire to draw out any trace of magic in his grandson, had begun using the Cruciatus curse. The pain was unlike anything Corvinus had ever experienced, a searing agony that left him writhing on the floor, his screams echoing through the dilapidated house.
The dim light of dawn filtered through the grime-covered windows as Corvinus dragged himself out of bed. His dark ash-blonde hair fell into his eyes, and he pushed it back, revealing his heterochromatic gaze. One light blue eye, one grey eye; they were a stark reminder of his unique lineage and the burden he carried.
"Boy!" Morfin's voice cut through the silence, filled with impatience. "Get down here, now!"
Corvinus hurried down the narrow, creaking stairs, his heart pounding in his chest. He found Morfin in the kitchen, glaring at him with cold, calculating eyes.
"Have you finished cleaning the barn?" Morfin demanded, his tone sharp.
"Not yet, Grandfather," Corvinus replied quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor.
"Useless," Morfin spat, raising his wand. "Crucio!"
The pain hit Corvinus like a tidal wave, sending him crashing to the ground. His muscles seized, and his vision blurred as the agony consumed him. He could hear Morfin's laughter, a cruel sound that echoed in his ears long after the curse was lifted.
When the pain finally subsided, Corvinus lay on the cold, hard floor, his body trembling. He struggled to his feet, his breath ragged and shallow. Morfin stood over him, his expression one of disdain.
"Get back to work," Morfin ordered, his voice devoid of any sympathy. "And don't think about stopping until it's done."
Corvinus nodded weakly, his legs barely supporting him as he stumbled out of the shack and into the barn. The work was grueling, and every movement sent fresh waves of pain through his body. But he forced himself to continue, driven by a grim determination to survive.
As the months passed, the torture became a regular part of Corvinus's life. Morfin's desperation to see any sign of magic in his grandson knew no bounds, and the Cruciatus curse became his preferred method of punishment. The physical pain was excruciating, but it was the emotional and psychological torment that truly took its toll..
Every evening, as Corvinus lay on his narrow bed, nursing the latest round of bruises and cuts, he allowed himself a moment of defiance. "I'm not a squib," he whispered to the darkness. "I'm not."
Corvinus's twelfth birthday approached with a sense of both dread and anticipation. He had endured years of abuse, his body and spirit pushed to their limits. But something deep within him told him that change was coming. He didn't know how or why, but he felt a stirring of something ancient and powerful, something that lay just beyond his reach.
On the eve of his birthday, Morfin's mood was darker than ever. The old man paced the shack, his eyes wild with frustration. "You'd better show some sign of magic tomorrow, boy," he snarled, his wand clenched tightly in his hand. "Or I'll make you wish you were never born."
Corvinus nodded silently, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that the following day would be a turning point, one way or another. He had survived this long, endured unspeakable pain and suffering, and he was determined to face whatever came next with the same unyielding resolve.
The morning of his twelfth birthday dawned cold and grey, the air thick with tension. Corvinus dressed quickly, his movements stiff and cautious. As he made his way downstairs, he found Morfin waiting for him, a cruel smile on his lips.
"Today is the day," Morfin said, his voice dripping with malice. "Let's see if you're once again worthless."
The hours passed in a tense silence, broken only by the occasional barked order from Morfin. Corvinus moved through his chores mechanically, his mind a whirl of fear and determination. He could feel something shifting within him, a sense of power that was both exhilarating and terrifying.
As the sun began to set, Morfin's patience wore thin. "Enough of this," he growled, raising his wand. "Crucio!"
The pain was intense, but this time, something was different. As Corvinus writhed on the floor, he felt a surge of energy unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was as if the very essence of the ancient magic within him was awakening, responding to the torment with a fierce, protective fury.
With a cry of defiance, Corvinus pushed himself to his feet, the pain of the curse still wracking his body. "Stop!" he shouted, his voice echoing with an authority that startled even him.
For a moment, Morfin hesitated, his wand lowering slightly. But then his expression hardened, and he prepared to cast the curse again. "Crucio!"
This time, however, the curse never reached its target. A wave of pure, unadulterated magic erupted from Corvinus, knocking Morfin off his feet and sending a shockwave through the shack. The old man hit the wall with a sickening thud, his wand clattering to the floor.
Corvinus stood in the center of the room, his body crackling with raw energy. He could feel the ancient magic coursing through him, a powerful force that he had only just begun to understand. The pain was gone, replaced by a sense of strength and clarity that left him breathless.
A week later, Morfin and Corvinus made their way through the bustling streets of Diagon Alley. Morfin's grip on Corvinus's shoulder was firm, almost possessive, as they navigated through the crowd. They entered Ollivanders, the musty scent of ancient wood filling the air.
Garrick Ollivander, with his silver eyes gleaming, greeted them. "Morfin Gaunt. What a surprise. And young Corvinus. Looking for a wand, I presume?"
Morfin nodded curtly. "Indeed. The best you have, Ollivander."
Ollivander smiled, his eyes drifting to Corvinus. "Ah, a young wizard just starting his journey. This will take some time." He moved through the shelves, pulling down boxes and setting them aside. "The wand chooses the wizard, remember."
Corvinus felt a mixture of excitement and anxiety as Ollivander handed him a wand. He gave it a cautious wave, but nothing happened. Ollivander nodded, taking it back and handing him another. This process repeated several times, each wand producing no result.
Finally, Ollivander paused, a thoughtful look in his eyes. He reached for a box on a high shelf. "Perhaps... this one," he murmured, opening the box to reveal a wand of black yew wood, twelve and a quarter inches, with an unyielding flexibility. "Phoenix feather core," he added softly, his gaze sharp as he watched Corvinus.
Corvinus took the wand, and a spark of magic flowed through his fingers. He felt a warmth and connection, the wand responding to his touch with a burst of golden light. Ollivander's eyes widened in approval. "Interesting. Very interesting."
Morfin's chest swelled with pride. "We'll take it."
Ollivander nodded, his gaze lingering on Corvinus. "You should know, this wand shares a unique connection with another. Yew and phoenix feather, very powerful and rare. It is an unusual combination, shared by another wizard of great, though dark, renown."
Morfin's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
Ollivander's lips pressed into a thin line. "I cannot say his name. But he was... notable."
Morfin's expression turned to one of intrigue, a slow, malevolent smile spreading across his face. "Fitting," he said quietly, glancing at Corvinus with newfound pride and expectation.
The following months were grueling. Morfin pushed Corvinus to his limits, demanding perfection in every spell, every incantation. The lessons were relentless, filled with complex charms, defensive spells, and, increasingly, dark magic.
One evening, after a particularly intense session, Morfin sat Corvinus down in the dimly lit parlor of the Gaunt shack. "You're improving," he said, a rare note of approval in his voice. "But there is still much to learn."
Corvinus nodded, sweat trickling down his brow. "I understand, Grandfather."
The suffocating heat of midsummer enveloped the Gaunt shack, suffusing the air with a heavy, oppressive weight. Inside, the dimly lit room was filled with the faint scent of decay and neglect. Corvinus Gaunt, now twelve years old, stood at attention under the watchful gaze of his grandfather, Morfin Gaunt.
Morfin's sharp eyes glinted with a cruel anticipation as he addressed his grandson. "Today, we'll go over the spells from your first year books, to make sure you can use them in more…practical manners," he declared, his voice dripping with malice.
Corvinus tensed, bracing himself for the inevitable. He had learned to dread these sessions, where Morfin pushed him to his limits, demanding perfection with each spell. But today's lesson held a particularly sinister edge, one that made Corvinus's stomach churn with unease.
With a wave of his hand, Morfin gestured for Corvinus to follow him outside, into the sweltering heat of the afternoon sun. The forest loomed around them, its dense canopy casting dappled shadows on the forest floor.
Morfin led Corvinus to a secluded clearing, where two muggles were bound and gagged, their eyes wide with terror. Corvinus's heart sank at the sight, knowing all too well what his grandfather expected of him.
"Today, we'll practice control," Morfin announced, his voice cold and calculating. "First, the softening charm."
Corvinus nodded, his hands trembling as he raised his wand. With a whispered incantation, he cast the spell, watching as the ground beneath the muggles softened, allowing them to bounce harmlessly when Morfin dropped them from a height.
"Good," Morfin acknowledged with a nod. "Now, the levitation charm."
Corvinus swallowed hard, his mind racing as he focused on the task at hand. With a flick of his wand, he cast the spell, levitating the muggles into the air by their clothes.
"Excellent," Morfin praised, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You're learning, boy."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the clearing, Corvinus continued to practice under Morfin's watchful eye. With each spell, each incantation, he felt a growing sense of unease gnawing at his conscience.
But he knew better than to defy his grandfather. The consequences of disobedience were too great to bear. So, with a heavy heart and a troubled mind, Corvinus pressed on, his determination to survive overshadowed by the darkness of his training.
As his thirteenth birthday approached, Morfin decided to take Corvinus to Diagon Alley again, this time to prepare him for his delayed entry into Hogwarts. They visited Flourish and Blotts, where Morfin selected a stack of advanced magical textbooks, and Knockturn Alley, where he procured several tomes on more advanced dark magic.
In Ollivanders, Corvinus's wand was checked and adjusted. Garrick Ollivander observed the young boy with a curious expression. "You have grown, Corvinus. I trust your wand is serving you well?"
Corvinus nodded, avoiding eye contact. "Yes, sir."
Ollivander's eyes narrowed slightly, sensing the tension. "Good. A wand chooses its wizard, and it seems your wand has found its match."
Back at the Gaunt shack, Morfin's training sessions grew even more intense. He drilled Corvinus in advanced dark spells, pushing him to master the curses he had only begun to learn. The physical and mental toll was immense, but Corvinus endured, knowing he had no other choice.
One night, after a particularly brutal session, Morfin sat Corvinus down. "You will go to Hogwarts this next upcoming year, should you now receive your letter" he said, his voice low and menacing. "But you must remember, you are a Gaunt. You are superior. You will prove it."
Corvinus nodded, the weight of his grandfather's words pressing down on him. "Yes, Grandfather."
As he lay in bed that night, Corvinus stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. He was a Gaunt, a name burdened with dark history and expectations. But deep inside, he knew he had to find his own path, away from Morfin's shadow.