Nothing in this life is free and there is No Justice In This World. So you best make your Own and benefit from it as well. This I do every day by blood and ash as my witness. - Master Necromancer Harold Potter.
Little Whinging, Surrey appeared on the surface to be a simple and rather mind straining in its normalcy little community that was more suburban than metropolitan even if it was within a decent times drive from the metropolitan and all too prone to modern London. In this particular neighborhood if you looked around, one would think they had been dropped into an industrially uniform planned neighborhood or a company town as every house along the block was identical from the shade of paint on the exterior to the uniformly cut lawns. They even had almost statute-enforced shape and sizes for the shrubbery seen from the road, and even the drapes were almost the exact shade of color in every window.
It was the sort of conformity driven place one would have found becoming popular a few decades back during the most prominent fear of the still uncertain Cold War, and it only lacked the inhabitants wearing almost uniforms to be a village out of some of the recent urban horror stories. From the smallest child to the most elderly grandparent living here, it was an almost explicitly expected fact that this was a completely normal ordinary and proper community. The people went to the local church on Sundays, every husband went to work Monday through Fridays, while every wife was the ideal stay at home mothers or some called housewives that would fit outside of the perfect looks the movie the 'Stepford Wives' though at least neither husband nor wives as there seemed to be no one unmarried at the appropriate age living here were so ideally handsome or gorgeous as one would see at the cinema or on the televisions in every home.
This was a place where traditional clothing was expected or at least seeing the husbands in suits if they were at that sort of job, while at most teenage girls were the only ones not in appropriately feminine clothing for the women. Anything even the slightest hint of different seemed to be as shocking as what one would see in the most counter culture areas of London let alone some of the more contrary to traditionally British idealized homes would almost cause those living here to see it heart palpitations or at least it would for the adults living there. The very idea of crime happening here was considered silly with any mischief the teenagers and children did mostly being chalked up to boys being boys or something of the sort.
Even when confronted with a deviation from their norms, they were more prone to denial thus why the idea that any of the boys in the town bullying anyone even that strange waif those caring Dursleys allowed to stay at their home when those shockingly abnormal parents he had perished in a car accident. Oh, there had been gossip chattered about the day the boy had shown up, but none had seen the fact that the baby had been dropped off upon their doorstep the night before with about as much concern as the milkman leaving the morning milk placed on the front step. If they had, even more attention would have been directed to them, but for those living in the house at Number Four Privet Drive, unlike everyone else there was the fact that the young scrawny boy with black unruly hair and an almost shockingly straightly cut scar upon his brow was most certainly not perfectly ordinary.
His family had called him freak or boy with the almost malnutrition suffering child only hearing his name upon starting primary a scant couple years before. The other thing they had been prone to tell him repetitively was not to ask questions and when strange things happened or the boy had ideas that there was no such thing as magic. Outside of this one deviation from the norm, there was one old lady living on the street with a house almost overly infested with cats, but one eccentric old lady was permissible in the minds of the denizens of the quant and cozy little British neighborhood, and it was not as if either had any fantastic things about them to give the gossiping housewives something to bring entertainment into their day.
The typical reaction of those seeing the boy helped along by the rumors both Petunia and Vernon had disseminated into the adult consensus was that young Harry was a troubled child from bad parents that they were trying to prevent from becoming just as bad a seed as they had been. Why they had both been unemployed and died in a drunk driving accident they caused that thankfully hadn't killed anyone else with them. There had been disparaging things Petunia said about her sister though none had the inclination to consider that it had been out of jealousy of the prettier sister or that the descriptions of whoring by the former Lily Evans had in fact been toned down tales of her own past.
As none of the parents from her childhood had migrated from Spinner's End where she had grown up while a nastily vile boy had stolen her at the time cherished sister from her, Petunia had left her own choices lie in the past, while even now none suspected half the things their children got up to let alone how the neighborhood park still had couples dating taking things further. That boy had used what Petunia had at first dreamed to have and share with her sister to divide them even as she saw her sister become less like her friend of their earlier childhood with each return from her boarding school. At the time, Petunia had slipped into the usual teenage actions and rebelled against her parents adoring what her sister was as they had begun in her eyes caring only about the witch in the family.
None of this was things she let the boy know even as she on some level was trying to save him from that retched change she had witnessed even as his accidents were disconcerting enough for Vernon to properly chastise the boy. Her own uncertain feelings didn't play into it at all, and she had agreed with her husband to stamp that nonsense out of him. It was for the best given how those people were twisted creatures lording over them, and she had even snuck a glance in her diary to know some had considered them, the perfectly normal and proper people as nothing different than hunting vermin such as rats or as amusing as a good fox hunt by their mockery of proper nobility.
That it let her redirect some of her dissatisfaction with their life here onto him was enjoyable, but even when her husband had been promoted, there had been no chance to leave to show off their rising in society. At least the house had enough rooms to entertain though they didn't waste giving it a proper room as that would make it think it was a real person just yet. Besides, her husband's sister Marge should have a room unsullied by it when she visited, and where should Dudley store his toys in the basement or something, which was why it had made perfect sense to have it in the cupboard under the stares with its little cot to sleep on.
They could lock it in there so its unnaturalness didn't spread, and she had felt it that very first day as looking at it had stirred unnatural feelings that should never be directed to the creature her dehumanized sister had spawned. At times, she wondered if those freak witches birthed normally or if their unnatural habits were even worse. In a deep part of her mind, Petunia had resented how her own labor had gone compared to the repressed minor note she read about how their unholy powers had allowed them to not be bothered by that as well as how their bodies were so inhuman that the proper medical treatments didn't work on them.
So it continued that her emotions and the rest of her family were becoming increasingly bitter and disgusted with the creature they had to keep here even as it seemed to imitate being human in disgusting ways. It would have been better if it had visibly inhuman things like gills or scales to allow normal people to avoid the things, but as Petunia had noticed, it seemed their personality was what showed it more than anything else did. Her sister had shown it by being completely unconcerned with reality outside their cultish world, and the things she had unleashed yet her parents had clapped at had disgusted her quite viciously.
"It is much better that it never becomes like them," Petunia muttered as she looked out disinterestedly as her supposed nephew pushed the mower in the sweltering sun while far less sweat covered him than it should have for a real human. "It is bad enough let alone what its presence does to me. Duddikins at least seems able to make its unnaturalness become repressed, but he is a good boy. I might as well go get some more candy for him form the store later as I can't trust it to do that as it might steal some money as they love shiny things the little freaks."
Straining to look away from the boy, Petunia was glad they had him in those clothes as it hid its kinds unnatural entrancing appearance, and as loath as she was to think about unnatural things, she had considered wondering if her sister had been some changeling out of a silly fairytale that had been placed with them while tricking them to think she was human. It would explain things in how Petunia had not noticed what her sister had been when her mum had brought it home. Besides, those things were known for loving to play with humans in mind, body and emotions for their own sick entertainment, and with each passing year Lily had seem less real as she seemed to violently stand out from the world that she had grown up amongst as she became more like those freaks.
All those things her supposed sister had told her had probably been nothing but the airy promises of what had likely been the basis for the Fae in those stories, as Lily had been unnaturally attractive to entice her away from proper things even as Petunia had dove into being a girl dating with all it entailed when Lily had been away. She had needed those things and it was not as if she had been whoring herself at the streets only giving her boyfriends a hand or maybe sucking them for some prizes and a bit of pocket change. Entirely proper back then especially as those London and other city folk were listening to those boys and singing about free love, peace, and rejecting what Petunia knew was proper behavior now.
She recalled her shock at seeing it on her doorstep, and it had only been luck that her scream hadn't woken the neighbors or they would have had to explain things immediately, but as she had brought that basket in to not be seen, Petunia had a sinking feeling. The note had made her want to throw up though not so much as that Lily was gone and unable to mess with her mind and feelings anymore, but that one of them was here and a boy at that. They hadn't had formula and she had been breast-feeding Dudley since the books had recommended it, and now she had to do that for one of those things.
The revolting sensations as she had done so had resulted in Petunia locking it in the cupboard though that had been after telling Vernon about it. The idea to get it away was one he had considered before Petunia had unloaded the horrific descriptions of what those things matured and trained could do to normal people, but she had heard more of the dark arts description than charms in recent years. So Vernon was shaking at the idea of his will being violated, his body wracked with pain or things that seemed to only happen in third world countries like having his bowels fall out of his belly, out his ass or thrown up and out of his mouth.
As for Petunia, she pushed those terrifying memories away as she had most of the past before meeting Vernon though Petunia knew this wasn't the most happy of lives. They would come for it eventually, but if their work succeeded, one less of those creatures would be able to torment real people in the future. She had managed to prevent Vernon from directly trying to kill it as she had quickly told him how their unnaturalness tended to protect them, which was why she had stressed they repeat the story they had made about its parents so it wouldn't consider it.
There had been times when Lily had been protected from injury and a drunken driver had been part of it, but their other grandparents had died that day so there was enough truth to make it believable. Besides, it already seemed to heal from the accidents it had, but mostly she didn't consider Dudley trying to push its unnaturalness back to be wrong especially as they were only playing. It was hardly Dudley's fault that it didn't play properly or responded correctly when her son was horsing around with it.
Even having swung that frying pan at his head had been little worse than a light smack upside the head from what she knew of their kind, and it was a shame that they weren't affected by iron as those fairytales said or they could have simply had it wear something of iron and thus suppress its unnaturalness. Shaking her head as her gaze had shifted to it again as she had been washing the dishes, Petunia felt the disgust arise for what its sight did to her. Petunia knew that it was probably smirking when its back was to her that it was inspiring unnatural feelings and thoughts in those around it.
At least the Potter creature wasn't able to change form as some stories said or it would probably enjoy tricking her or worse enticing her to be sport for its amusement and use. She had woken from dreams of one of the men in her romance novels or her soaps lying on top of her as she felt guilt in succumbing before twisting leaving it naked smirking as it patted her violated body. Petunia knew it would do that and worse once it had explored its powers, which was why they kept it busy and worked to condition it not to ask questions.
Because if it questioned, it might learn what it was and what it could do to them as that man had implied they would know if something truly untoward happened. At least he hadn't done more than write words that had dragged those buried, denied and repressed feelings she had woven into Petunia long enough that the unnatural weight had settled in her belly along with the certainty that it was remaining here. Oh, Vernon had attempted to get rid of it, but it had returned and even trying to get the real authorities to take it away had failed.
The teachers had been easy enough to get not to believe things given how thoroughly the rumors had spread about it already, but one had tried, and Petunia learned they were uncaring of their laws to ensure it grew with the strength that their being burdened with it might give it. She had left and Petunia was more certain that it enjoyed enchanting women to its twisted wishes, which was why she had to resist before it claimed her where Lily had been far less interested in keeping her as a pet after being away as much as she had been. Thus, the distraught housewife hoped that the male looking creature she had spawned felt similarly, but maybe it would be weakened enough to never mature into one of them, or she could at least hope that would be the case.
"Boy, clean up once you are done before supper," Petunia said as she felt the twisting of its smile before it slipped from its human looking face. "I won't have you getting the house dirty or stinking it up."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said even as she tried to keep that name from echoing from her mind by reinforcing her considering him It, Boy or Vernon's choice name Freak when upset. "I'll do that right away."
Looking away as she was grateful it wasn't trying to corrupt people by seeing what they had concealed under the second hand clothes, Petunia was glad she used as much Sherry as she did at times before downing a bit and making her way to her little private place where her book would be waiting and she could keep it locked out. It was far less than Marge drank when here though Petunia didn't fault her considering what horribly wrong things it stirred in normal people, but her dog at least recognized something that shouldn't belong here and tried to chase it away. Sometimes it was bit, but she had seen its flesh healed as smooth and unnaturally eye catching quickly afterwards, and even when it fell the bones didn't really get injured though it should have broken its arms or legs sometime by now.
So far she had begun to wonder if even if it had tried tricking them by jumping behind the car as Vernon backed out of the drive would do anything at this point, but so far it hadn't tried lashing out, which given how it didn't seem to be able to be injured meant it might be strong enough to cause real damage to them. Their actions did seem to stunt its development even though it did seem at least as strong as Dudley did with how it went about its chores. Unfortunately, Petunia worried it would learn enough to lash out such that it could develop enough to grow even more unnatural, but so far it wasn't anywhere as terrifying as what that Lupin boy had done despite his skinny frame lifting Vernon's car at their wedding to help prank them.
"Just shows how unnatural it is," Petunia huffed as she took the large glass topped with Sherry as she entered her little room and the one it didn't clean before settling down into the comfortable chair while her book rested on the table next to it with a light for when she needed to do this when the light coming through the curtains was not enough. "At least it doesn't think it is strong enough to take us yet. I shiver at the time it realizes it is strong enough to hold me down long enough for its unnaturalness to make me accept its deciding to play with me. Still I prefer doing this in the bath, but not when it is home as it would probably take advantage of me in that suggestible of a state."
Drinking some more of her Sherry as she opened her book to where she had left off with the handsome man depicted on the cover holding the woman on the bed before he was about to tear her bodice off, Petunia settled down to relax even as it would finish cooking though she trusted it just enough to do all of breakfast now. It was a good thing this one didn't feature the sort of things Lily had enjoyed tempting her with before she had lost interest in toying with Petunia as she had moved on to others to take her enjoyment out of even as it had left her feeling so needy. When she hadn't returned home for that Christmas, Petunia had gone out to socialize a bit and things had progressed from there to where they were now.
The past was in the past, but for the moment, Petunia pushed it and her out of her mind as she fantasized about being the woman in her novel and all the fun things she experienced. It would finish cooking the meal and if it did well have enough just enough not to grow too fast. Besides, keeping it slightly hungry and confused would keep it from using that terrifying intelligence she saw in its eyes, and Petunia hated looking into them as they were just like Lily's had been with all that implied.
The young child called Boy or Freak by the Dursleys was going about its usual day, and as he was not in school at the moment as well as not have more chores for a while, found that what usually happened in that circumstance was happening to him as was usual for his life. Dudley and his friends had been chasing him until he had lost them and so Harry was making his way to a place to hide. Even as young as he was, Harry had managed to find a few places his less than bright cousin would search for him, but he was on his way to the least likely or more one place his simple mind would never consider looking.
So a little while later, Harry was hiding in the one place that Dudley would never be caught being inside, which was the library. He was barely in kindergarten despite his size and obligations, but he had already long since needed to read well enough at least enough to follow the cooking instructions to avoid another frying pan being swung at his head. So having learned to read to survive, he had found out that he had an escape in books from the place he was confined to return to nightly even if it was at times more a sort of Hell than he had seen in that misplaced book, but he had thought those preaching at church had said hell was a fiery place that Vernon said freaks like him went not the cold places described in that book.
'Just something else that doesn't make sense in my life,' Harry thought as he wandered the stacks inhaling that particularly soothing scent of books while pushing that contradiction from his mind. 'Not that anything does make sense in my life, but it does seem I am the exception to most of the rules that people around me go about following. Being told to not ask questions, when the teacher had told us to do so is just the start. Still maybe I should look in a different part since these books are getting easier to read and I have read most of them already, while maybe I won't be so lucky that Dudley didn't see me running in here this time.
Considering that, Harry decided this time to go deeper into the library than he had before. It wasn't long until he had gotten into the basement, as it was the furthest away from the only part Dudley would ever willingly go in or consider looking for the Freak to be in, which was where the comics might be. Dudley hated to read or do much with real effort from what he had seen, but comics was something his cousin would read even as Harry had noticed they couldn't be any more different than if they had been different colored.
Looking around, Harry noticed that the books here looked both very old and fragile, but that comforting smell of books was stronger here. There was a sudden sound and Harry spun in shock. In most instances, there would have been a minor moment where something fell to the ground do to being startled, but if one had been looking into the room, it would have been as if two different futures suddenly were balancing on the knife-edge of certainty.
In this moment and this time, something different happened; however, Harry fell back and landed hard on the ground. He looked and saw in the dim light that there was a hidden cache similar to the one in his cupboard where he planned to store books from here before he had learned that they would know if he had a library card. Peering into the little hideaway, Harry saw inside that there was a very odd-looking leather bound book.
Feeling almost as if he had stumbled upon a long lost treasure, Harry pulled it out and saw a strange name on it. 'Ye Arts Ancient and Ascendant' was what he saw, and Harry felt a strange feeling in his stomach as well as his hand as he ran his little fingers down the ornate cover. He knew he just had to look inside it even if by the title he suspected it would be harder to read a bit, like when he had tried to read what the Librarian had called one of the Bard's tales.
'Why do I feel as if my whole life is perched on the knife's edge right now?' Harry thought in wonder as he traced the title with his tingling fingers as his heart felt like it was pounding in his chest. 'The last time I felt like this was when Aunt Petunia dragged me away from that trunk in the attic, but it feels stronger this time. Could one book or something in that trunk change my life considering how it is now? Had I missed a chance at escape outside an orphanage where they made it seem it would be even worse for a freak like me?"
Harry recalled the stories they had been told as well as what he had heard, and while the little investigation here showed that it was likely nowhere as bad as 'Oliver Twist' had described, he was fairly certain that more of them would be like Dudley and his friends unlike the other students who were content to leave him alone. Even if he believed that most of what they had told him to be lies, Harry didn't feel normal and being called Freak for as long as he could remember did have an impact on him. For now he was content to keep his head down and survive, but he had a plan even if he wasn't sure how to use it with needing to keep his grades down or underplay his level while he was barely six reading at an older kid level wasn't encouraged.
Still even as he was surviving, Harry knew this wasn't living from what he had seen, but it seemed that no one really cared what happened to him already as long as he was quiet and didn't bother people. It felt vaguely familiar along with his unfathomably solid terror at the idea of being in an orphanage. He had even recalled waking one morning forced to muffle his scream with his tattered cloth, as he had a nightmare of something even worse than that book had in it about the sort of thing such as dogs and such being ground up to feed them with some considering it was their dead fellow orphans they were eating or what the caretakers did outside of using them as manual labor.
"Not this time," Harry muttered as he caressed the edge of the cover with his finger not even feeling as a minor cut formed and the blood was pulled in even as the cut resealed. "I may be a freak, but I won't be afraid anymore. I planned to escape even if I had to wait until I wouldn't be forced back, but if chance offers me an escape, I would be a fool not to take it."
The determination present in his voice had long been absent, but the Dursleys would have been surprised by his words. He spoke simply around them though that was more their unwillingness to hear his voice beyond 'Yes, Uncle Vernon' or 'Yes, Aunt Petunia' though after the loss of the teacher that had said she would help, Harry had been less inclined to speak in class as well. However, this was hidden away and he could be himself even if just for a few minutes.
The Book seemed mesmerizing and with a breath holding moment, Harry opened it. Even as he felt his eyes widening at what he was reading in just the title of contents and short introduction, Harry would most likely never find out that it was a primer of magic that had been lost across various points in time space and realities, but perhaps someday he would discover that and all the other secrets it contained. The effort put in had been to ensure enough remained if the worst happened, and it was not just an elementary level introduction to magic of numerous disciplines, but paranoia was enough reason to fill it with everything needed in case other references to such precious information was lost or destroyed.
It had been referred to in some forgotten chronicles as The Book as it was called that title by those who ran across it, and it was a very obscure artifact that seemed to defy reality with the knowledge held within its pages. Its appearance and name might change in what form it took, but the basics inside never changed although the book accumulated more information as time went on in its existence. Also, the original authors being masters of their magic and having become deified had poured enough security and selectivity into the Book, which in part ensured the reader didn't jump ahead to try something far beyond their current abilities as to end up dead from being insufficiently trained for that part of the information contained.
This particular incarnation of the Book had solidified itself a few centuries prior during the time of its last owner, and thus unlike in Egypt where it would have shaped itself into a roll of Papyrus, or Babylon as a series of clay tablets let alone the east as a sealed scroll. Each section of the book contained in essence the sum knowledge of the field involved and contained both long forgotten as well as recently discovered knowledge. Magic did make a self-adding repository somewhat easier to make than having additions added by owners along the years, but most likely would think that was the case when they read through the pages.
The kicker was that as the Book was crafted by a very strange society, it lacked any currently recognized morality in its teachings, but required that the learner either have or chose to follow a sense of ethics appropriate to whichever Art they chose. To those that turned their back on the vows the Book required was the Book forever denied, and many had died trying to reclaim it when their actions cost them access. The knowledge had been sought out and various lesser works contained mere hints of the totality of the information and wisdom written into its pages, but even those tomes were jealously guarded by those that knew of them, while forbidding their possession let alone reading under harsh penalties.
For Harry, the Book was written in a tight script flowing yet elegant even if it read a bit antiquated similar to Old English in form, which he had recognized from some old books he had tried to read in the original form. Despite the vast information stored in the book, it was at most an inch thick and bound with an old leather exterior with a wrap tie to keep it closed. The title was carved into the thick hide of the exterior and looked as if someone had poured considerable time into the complex engravings decorating it, while detailed etchings filled it demonstrating things even though the details seemed too sharp to be held on such old paper.
The most shocking thing to his mind was that it mentioned the m-word. However, that was not mentioned until several paragraphs in as the skills were termed Arts. He shuddered as he recalled what mentioning that word in the Dursleys would do, and Harry felt the phantom ache from that particular punishment. It was an ironic thing given what Dudley watched had that word thrown about casually at times, but most of his cartoons seemed rather cheesy to Harry, while the Dursleys preferred he remain as unhappy as possible.
There were several different topics mentioned in the book, but one immediately gained his entire concentration. The Art of Life and Death seemed shocking at the very ideas, but his interest was caught the moment he read that there was a way to call forth the spirit of the dead. He would be able to find out about his parents, and Harry needed to know given that the Dursleys lied about it, and even though he knew better than to tell them they were lying when he knew it was true.
Now while most would take what their relatives said about one's family with little to no salt there had been that underlying unease that came with how little they ever wanted to talk about them. It was almost as big a taboo as the m-word, which left Harry all the more with a thirst to know what he had been denied from knowing. There seemed to be some resentment between his aunt and his mother as well, while he wondered what it could be that would cause such a serious case of sibling antipathy.
Harry had been gone for a while as he had read over the introduction to the book, which had been fairly long compared to the simple things his classmates were reading. It was fascinating and he had wanted to get a better grasp for which topic would suit him, as he didn't plan to ignore this opportunity or any future opportunities anymore. He had long since promised himself that he would never be as simple minded as Dudley was in anything even if he had to play the fool at school. Harry finally looked over the other choices, but with the simple sentence, his life was changed forever.
'Calling Forth of the Spirits Ancestral,' Harry had read the section in his mind, and with it his determination set in. 'Does that mean I could find out about my parents or more importantly hold a conversation with them? I would give almost anything to know about them and why they would have me placed with them if they died...'
Harry flipped to the part of the book that dealt with his chosen Art of interest. That it seemed like something that the Dursleys would despise only prodded him more. As no one living was willing to tell him about his family, he had decided to turn to the dead. There was so little that he could get from newspapers and none of it agreed with what his relatives had said about dying in a car crash, as his father was an unemployed drunk.
'How could he have a car if he was unemployed,' Harry thought in disbelief at how shallow the lie was in hindsight. 'That Petunia always calls mom a whore or slut seems off or I would have siblings. Though there was almost a tone that she hated that mom looked better than she did. Ah well that is not relevant now... back to the book!'
"The first step on this path is the declaration," Harry read aloud with a sense of conviction beginning to form. "In a circle draw forth in blood and ash these sigils four. Stand within the circle and speak thy oath. Hmm... I do have blood and there is some ash near the furnace there. I might as well try this."
Harry quickly went and got some of the ash from the furnace and checking that no one was around drew a circle with the ash large enough to fit the described drawings inside. With a sigh, he steeled himself for the expected pain and Harry used the small knife he found to prick his finger and mix his blood with the ash forming the circle. He took a breath before drawing the pictures in blood on the floor that the book had described was required even though it had called them sigils.
Four symbols that seemed so beautiful yet terrifying at the same time were quickly drawn in a somewhat square shape. Part way through, Harry was kicking himself that if it hadn't been for the layers of ash and other things that could cover the circle when he was done that he would find himself in trouble for the mess. Something this unnatural would get him serious trouble with those people, and Harry knew that as obsessed with normality as the Dursleys were the rest of the neighborhood seemed just as insistent on being completely ordinary.
'Vernon would flay me alive if he knew about this,' Harry thought morosely shuddering at the yelling and beating it would cost him if caught. 'Still I have come too far not to try. What is there to lose? If it doesn't work at least I tried and at least there is no one here to see me look the fool.'
Harry walked into the circle and stood with the book clenched in his hand in the center of the symbols even as he spoke the oath, "By blood and ash I swear mine life to this path. I accept the gift of mine art and the burden of mine art's duty. I accept the gift to give motion to the motionless and the duty to bring rest to the restless. This I do so swear to do by mine blood and this gift!"
Considering what he suddenly pondered at how ridiculous all of this sounded, Harry was not entirely prepared for what happened next. The circle shimmered and the sigils he had drawn in his blood ignited in a mix of red and black flames. He felt a throbbing in his head like the worst headache ever while his blood felt like it was burning in his veins, and Harry had the sinking feeling this was just the beginning.
Despite the pain he had learned to tolerate from the Dursleys, Harry fell to his knees as he bit back a scream, which was telling, as he promised to never scream for them. So he would not scream for this, no matter how it ached, as Harry was not going to let this or them keep him caged anymore. He looked in front of his aching knees and saw that his scar, which had never done anything before in his life, dripped blood and black blood at that even as he saw it landing in front of him.
Six drops struck the shimmering circle looking like black ink before flaring and turning red and six times, Harry felt the pain increase as the blood changed color from its unnatural color. He felt like bones he never knew he had snapped before being ground into powder before melting and being reformed causing a change in their structure and length. His muscles twitched and spasmed as they repaired themselves after tearing again and again each time growing denser yet they were retaining a rapid reaction rate.
Looking out through blurry eyes, Harry could feel as if his eyes were burning as two of the drops had splashed his eyes, while one had hit his lips before he had unconsciously licked them. The blood mixed with the blood that he drew as he bit back the pain that seemed to be increasing with each moment. When the blood trickled down his throat, he felt a strange soothing sensation before it splashed and mixed inside his stomach.
With his eyes in agony, Harry still looked around him to see what happened next as the sigils burned brightly making him feel as if he had stared at the sun and then darkly as if sucking in all the light in the room before going out. The circle flared around him even as it looked like a hazy flame was circling him before it was blown away as he exhaled sharply and collapsed to lie panting on the floor. He twitched and his hands tried to grip the floor even as he unknowingly left scratches in it as his fingers moved, but he was recovering even as his head seemed to begin spinning less than it had a few heartbeats back.
"The Book never said it would hurt like that," Harry grumbled as he lifted his head to look at the Book. "Might as well see what else it says that I overlooked. What's this small print? Be warned, if there is any blood magic used that is harmful in its impact that this ritual will expunge it as well. Note this would be quite painful, as the body has to force it out in addition to restoring any damage the body had experienced such as injury, malnutrition and birth defects. Wait the books in plain English now! How did that happen? Ah well I need to get going or the Dursleys will have a fit!"
With that realization as he shifted to rise from the floor, Harry took the book with him and made his way back to where he lived. Along his way, things looked different from how they had before as he there was a sharpness that had not been present along with a clarity that he had not had before. The place looked somewhat more and less crowded than it had been before, and he wasn't sure how long he had laid there recovering from what the book had described as harmful blood magic being expunged from him.
Unknown to Harry, his eyes had been lifted and he would never see the world as he had before let alone how his body had been uplifted from the state it had been in even without the further damage his malnutrition had already caused him. Eyes repaired of any imperfections before being augmented to handle seeing beyond would not see the world with the same vision as a barely developed human would have seen. Yet even that was what he would find to be the smallest of change that he had undergone.
Harry hid the book when he got home where he had planned to hide books from the Library anyways, as there was no way he wanted the Dursleys to take his book. When his relatives went to sleep, he opened the Book and hoped that there would be enough light to read it. As odd as it was he wondered why it was still light outside until he looked at the clock through the slits in the door.
It was late and their going to bed with the lights on seemed impossible as well as a divergence from their normal behavior. He blinked several times as he noticed that his room seemed to be as brightly lit as outside. This was impossible, as his room was always dark, and the spiders that had lived there liked it that way.
Well there was enough light for him to see so he opened the book and started to read. He was so engrossed with the book he hadn't noticed the details that had been fading over the years having gained an almost inhuman clarity. The topics in the Book were many and that was just in his choice of Art but the requirements for some of the skills were complicated. Each ritual required certain things but there was one common theme.
'Blood, they all mention blood,' Harry thought in shock. 'Is it something that is overlooked? Using blood in practically all the examples given either my own or animal. Eww... human blood rituals seem a bit sinister. I might as well start small.'
With that decided, Harry continued long into the night reading the book and thinking over what he needed to do the things in the Book, which seemed less inconsiderable with each passing paragraph he devoured. He had come too far already to just ignore the Book and what it offered, while he felt so much better already so it only made sense to see what more he would benefit from by continuing. He drifted off still reading the book far later than normal for him to be awake, especially with how early his aunt made him get up even before she banged on his cupboard door.
As he slept, there were dreams that he would be lucky to recall as he woke, and as usual over the years, there had been the nightmare he often woke from where there had been a scream and then a flash of green the same color as his eyes. Harry hadn't known why he didn't like the color of his eyes, but his mind wasn't ready for him to know that secret of his past just yet. Even now, the trauma remained in his psyche, but with training, the damage would be repaired, and his mind well secured from anything similarly devastating happening to his personality.
While the unnaturalness in his scar was gone on the surface, Harry tossed about as his subconscious processed what had been left inside it though the pain created a barrier that would not allow all that had been left that fateful night from being at his beck and call. It would take something equally shocking to break the seal his mind made to keep from being altered to be a copy of what had been in there. Harry on some level hated and rejected what had happened that night and what the man cackling represented, but he would someday claim the useful parts and power for his own benefit.
What better thing to do than turn the enemies power and knowledge against them? Even Harry knew that though his mind was still too young and malleable that the personality could have become his own, but his determination and will was unbending. None of them knew what their attempts to create the path they wished would result in or what it would birth from the slumbering boy even as the very shadows darkened around him and the creatures in the night flew wildly away from the house.
Even the sleeping family was restless as they slept, while dreams turned to horror played out in their heads. All were equal in death, and there was no appeal, for the justice you found on the other side could be quite cruel. In life, you could run, but some things could never be escaped, and while people joked of death and taxes, the consequences were quite the same.
So, as Harry dreamt of things he hadn't done with all the horrible things contained within the vestiges of that curse, the Dursleys were finding nightmares planted in their subconscious that made those Petunia had and she had shared with Vernon seeming tame in comparison. It would leave the parents prone to just ignoring his existence outside of his chores, but Dudley was too spoiled to accept what his mostly atrophied sense of self-preservation was trying to tell him, but he had been sneaking watching things almost as bad at his boy's houses. While his mother was trying to push the frightful terrors from her mind, she knew that she deserved what happened in them and worse considering that Petunia knew Lily never would have allowed Dudley to be treated that way even if he would have been a muggle raised amongst wizards.
When she awoke, her views would be quite different, but repressing and living normally was her usual method of coping with the misery in her life, and Petunia had buried the happy memories with Lily though some of that had been helped along by that old meddler. Unfortunately for him, Vernon was dreaming things to make the horror of fairytales seem pleasant as he dreamed of being on the receiving end of things as bad as or worse than Greek myths as any foreign thing was something he loathed for his own reason. Both were left with the feeling that something had changed, but unless confronted with it, they were prone to reject it as any other strange thing thanks to a side effect of Dumbledore trying to ensure Harry and his situation went unnoticed.
The next day began as always with his aunt yelling to get up causing him to snap awake and alert suddenly. He didn't notice until he had finished breakfast and started on his chores that he was not as tired as he should be. Especially as his aunt had never let him have more than scraps when she looked at him as she was doing right now, but he didn't feel the same aches that he always had anymore, which only firmed his resolve to learn more from the Book even as he had no idea where it would lead him in the future.