Triumvir Praesidium

by Illumine_Quill

Summary:

“Remus, he needs someone who can connect with him…” Minerva’s voice had a desperate edge to it, “He doesn’t trust us.”

“And you think he’ll trust me? I’m as much a stranger to him as you.” He turned his eyes to Dumbledore, pushing past the discomfort as they made eye contact and his soul was pierced by the shrewd gaze.

“We think he may trust you because you and he have similar… backgrounds.”

He frowns at her, trying to put the pieces of what she’s saying together. Similar backgrounds? Shitty childhoods, maybe?

“Harry was not attacked.” Dumbledore says, breaking the silence, “He perpetrated it.”

A cold chill runs through Remus’ body. His mouth is suddenly far too dry and he feels as if bands wrap around his chest. He shakes his head.

“What?” He wheezes out, feeling all at once that his chest will cave in when he hears what Dumbledore has to say.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this.” Dumbledore sounds truly grieved, and Remus feels bile rise in his throat. He’d used that same tone of voice when he’d found him after news about James and Lily, Peter and Sirius had broken. Had it really already been four years since he’d lost them?

“Harry is an Obscurial.”

Notes:

This work was previously posted, but life got in the way and I ended up starting a new job in August which really threw a wrench in my production schedule. Then when I had time to start working on it again, I decided to rewrite/revamp parts of it, so I ended up taking it down. Part 1 is now completed and I'm in the process of writing and editing part 2, so I will be posting again.

Please mind the tags- this one is going to get dark.

Part 1 is in Harry's POV, with other characters (mainly Remus) having turns in later parts.

And as a general disclaimer (and a bit of self love as a trans person) JK Rowling can get wrecked. We're fixing her BS.

Chapter 1: Part 1: Funny Business & Brimstone | Chapter 1

Boy

 

I love the smell of night. There’s the burndy smell from last night’s dinner when I dropped the noodles out of Pot a little and they fell in fire and smoked a lot, and there’s the soft dust and wood smell of Cupboard all around me, but there is also the smell of night and not morning. I am awake bright early today, and sneaky sneaky am playing Soldier Rescue Squad for a bit before everyone else is on. 

 

There isn’t much light in Cupboard, just some creeping sneaky in from kitchen lamp through line of light below door, but I am very good at seeing in the dark, and it is very hard to lose Soldier on Shelf. I feel his smooth helmet and the pokey end of the rifle. It’s bended a little, but it shoots pretend just fine. I only have Soldier and no more, so I made him a friend out of a stick and a fuzzy wire named Channelle. Sometimes Chanelle is bad evil, so Soldier has to fight her. But not always. 

 

Today they are rescue missioning. They are good at that. I have made a paper cupboard on Shelf– and hidded the itsy bitsy beetle named Greg inside of it. I found Greg in Cupboard, all stiffed upside down. He’s dead doornails. His shell is shiny green and his legs are curly like he’s hugging himself. He’s not much fun, but Soldier doesn’t mind. 

 

Soldier whispers to Chanelle who wiggles her arms a whole lot and doesn’t do louds. They know that they have to be quiet or they are evil bad, and they will be punished, especially during the night smelling time. Sometimes it’s okay to be loud talkers, but not yet. 

 

There’s people on Telly who wiggles their arms to talk. Aunt 'Atunia says that it’s a sign. I am still not sure what it’s a sign of, but she and Diddy also talk signs too, so they must know. Not so much anymore now that he is a big boy and uses his louds. 

 

I’m not a big boy yet. I think I will be when I am five. Diddy says I am still a baby, but I have seen babies on his Tellys and they don’t know anything . And I do know lots and lots now.

 

I know how to count to 42 in a row, and all of the colors and most of the letters, but not b or d always. Then next year when I’m growed even more I get to go to school and I will probably know which way the b is supposed to be looking.

 

Soldier and Chanelle have discovered the cupboard, but they have to use smart to decode the lock. I learned the word decode from Diddy’s Telly show Inspector Gadget when I was being sneaky and washing the floor near the living room. Decode means to open with a puzzle. I like puzzles. Diddy doesn’t let me do his, but sometimes when I’m very creeping he doesn’t see me playing with his toys in Second Bedroom. I have to giggle on the insides of me then.

 

So I do know lots and lots– even things Diddy doesn’t know. 

 

Last year when my chest got filled up with goop, Aunt 'Atunia took me to a doctor’s office. I met Nice Nurse named Martha there and she gave me a frog sticker. She was funny and I pretended to be good and not freakish. Aunt ‘Atunia even said that I could pretend my name was Harry. I liked that.

 

Nice Nurse named Martha also asked Aunt 'Atunia for my birthday and I founded out it’s at the end of July! I was so Moron, I didn’t even know I had one of those! Aunt ‘Atunia explained that sometimes people don’t have all of the things. Like birthdays or parents. And we can’t whinge if we don’t have something because that’s just how it is. 

 

I am working very hard to not forget my birthday since I have one now. 

 

I’m still not sure when July is, or how you will know when it is about to end, but if it happens this year,  maybe I can have a cake or a present too because now I know and now Aunt 'Atunia knows too.

 

I will just have to not be evil bad or freakish until then. It could be a very long wait. 

 

Soldier and Chanelle scoot dead doornail Greg out of his cupboard. I don’t know where they take him. For now they walk to the edge of Shelf for a bit of a chat. I try to sit Greg up, but he likes to lay on his back the mostest.

 

Last night, I thought I was Big Trouble Mister. Uncle Vernon’s face turned big and red when I burned the noodles dead in fire.  But I helped clean quick quick and scooted them away before they smoked up the place. I had to eat in Cupboard last night, but that’s not too bad because it’s quiet and Soldier is in there. I used the end of his bended gun and poked at the whiteish red lump on the side of Pinky Swear Finger where it got touched by the fire. It hurted a lot but I still poked it for a long time. The bump is weird because it got bigger and bigger all night and feels hot when I rub my lip on it a little. I wonder if there is a teeny fire in there, but nothing came out. 

 

I did have to eat all of the burneded noodles mixed in with my good ones, which was yuck. But I have a stomach of steel which Uncle Vernon says runs in their family. I don’t tell them I have one too because he doesn’t like it when I remind him that I’m a burden. Burden is a word for someone who doesn’t have parents and doesn’t live in a orphage, but has to take up so much blasted room. 

 

Pinky Swear Finger doesn’t hurt too bad now that it’s night. Night is quiet quiet and smells much better, so everything hurts less then.  Soldier walks over and stands on my hand. He is itsy bitsy compared to my fingers. I’m almost five so I’ll have even bigger hands soon. 

 

Maybe when I’m five I can decode the door to Cupboard. When I was only three I had another toy named Yarn-bob. I tried to send Yarn-bob on a secret missioned to open Cupboard Door, since he could fit through the line of light at the bottom. But he went too far out and my fingers couldn’t grabbed him.  Aunt 'Atunia founded him and thought he was dirty trash and got rid of him. So now I have to hide my toys when everyone else is on, so they are not founded. 

 

I don’t want Soldier to get dirty trashed, since he’s my only one. Maybe I’ll send Greg next. 

 

Soldier shows Greg and Chanelle how to parachute down off Shelf. He doesn’t have a real parachute, but he pretended so good that he made it just fine. He’s very good at soldiering. 

 

Greg is not so good. One of his moron bug legs falls off when he lands and Chanelle has to do a sign about it with her wiggly arms. 

 

Upstairs I hear Floor start to creak in a morning kind of way. We all sit very still in Cupboard and listen, listen. The creaks are slow, so the feet are not mad. No one heard any of my louds. Still, I am extra careful as I scoot all of my friends into Crack by Bed extra quiet like. I take the paper cupboard carefully from Shelf and slide it back inside Book where it lives during the day. It’s foldy and does a good job hiding. It’s small, like real Cupboard.

 

Floor creaks louder and I sneak back into Bed quickly as Stairs start to wriggle and moan. I pull the blanket over my face so that the dirt rain doesn’t fall in my eyes.  After four steps, the creaking stops and I know that it’s Aunt 'Atunia. She does this every morning. Four steps and then a wait, then four more and a wait. She is listening for me to see if I am on. If I use my louds in the morning, she opens Cupboard early and has me help with coffee. I don’t like coffee because the little black spots stick to my fingers and make them feel sandpaper and soggy. If I am quiet and good at pretend, then I “sleep” until Diddy is awake and then start breakfast. 

 

Today I am Lazy Bones and pretended real hard to be sleeping quiet quiet, so she doesn’t guess that I am tricky. She goes down the rest of the steps and I hear her in the kitchen. She pulls the curtains back and the line of light at the bottom of Door gets brighter. I squint my eyes towards Crack by Bed and reach out to push one of Chanelle’s fuzzy arms further in. 

 

But then I’m worried she'll be lonely, even with Soldier and Greg in there, so I hold onto her hand for a bit. I can’t tell for sure if this works, but I hope it does. 

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Notes:

If you've enjoyed the work, please leave a comment! For every comment or kudo, a TERF has to doordash pepto bismol.

Chapter 2: Part 1 Chapter 2

Summary:

Harry's biggest outburst of "funny business" may just save his life...

Notes:

Specific TWs for this chapter: child-abuse, life threatening accidents, canon-typical danger.

Is it a canon-event for these child!Harry fics to contain a snake character? Cause it just feels right.

It really is an accident– the funny business. Aunt ‘Atunia calls it that and I really don’t know what else it could be. I guess freakish business. Sometimes it feels like it’ll ‘splode out of me like a big poo and other times I don’t feel it coming at all. The funny business only seems to happen when I’m trying very hard to do something and it is very much not working. 

 

Like that time that I gotted stuck in the drain pipe at the park and the water whooshed me through and then upped me onto the grass. Or the time that I was so stopped up I felt my head would burst, but then I sneezed and my boogers turned into bubbles and floated away. Or the time that I burneded up Lightbulb in Cupboard got smashed and I was scared to walk but all the glass turned to softs when Aunt ‘Atunia yelled at me to get out of bed and started counting down from three. 

 

Sometimes it’s kind of funny. The funny business. Aunt ‘Atunia doesn’t really think it’s funny but that’s what she calls it anyway. I think maybe I have gardening angels like in the stories at Church, because the funny business only seems to happen when I’m hurt or sad or sick. 

I don’t tell Aunt ‘Atunia that because she will wallop me for being blast-a-mouse. And anyway, she seems to think that I am the one that’s making the funny business happen with my freakish trickies. But I’m not . After my boogers turned into bubbles, I tried for hours and hours to make other things turn into fun. And I didn’t make one fun thing. 

 

Aunt ‘Atunia says that the funny business is why I don’t get to go outside except for when all the Nosy Nellies aren’t watching. I go outside sometimes to work in the yard, but the only one who ever talks to me when I’m out there is Mrs. Figg, who sometimes babysits me, but I don’t think her name is Nelly, so she must be okay. She might be too old to be a Nelly, because she’s really old. Old as dirt. Older than dead doornail Greg.

 

I’m only allowed outside once the husbands are at work and the Nellies are busy with babies at nap time. I wonder if I will ever see the mailman and his dog again? I haven't seen him in forever and ever. I liked his dog the best, even though he had smelly breath. 

 

I think when I was an even littler kid, I used to go out to places like the store, but now that I have funny business going on, they keep me inside most of the time. Except for church. We go three times a week and sometimes more if I’m giving Aunt ‘Atunia a headache. One of the times is just ladies group and I am allowed to sit quietly in the corner like a mouse.

 

But the other two times is Mass, and it is stinky no-fun. There’s a lot of rules and boring chanting and always quiets and never funs. And we have to kneel down and stand up a lots. Diddy doesn’t go to mass with us. He goes to a room with other kids and toys where you can do a Loud and I don’t think there’s kneeling because he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. 

 

Aunt ‘Atunia says Toy Room is only for good children and not burdens, so it’s no use whinging about it. And especially since the funny business started, she wants to make sure I am always careful and quiet with her. 

 

It’s not all bad. Aunt ‘Atunia keeps a little pad of yellow paper and a baggie with three crayons in her purse for when my Louds or Wiggles get too busy inside of me. And if I can color quiet and remember to kneel when we need to, I can draw the whole rest of the time. 

 

Aunt ‘Atunia also carries a little wooden ruler in her purse. She never pulls it out at church all the way, but it’s a super secret code we have. She’ll opened up her purse and show me the ruler if I’m being Too Much, and I’ll remember to follow the rules. And if I can’t then she’ll give me a whallop in the bathroom. And I’ll get more whallops from Uncle Vernon once we get home for being a Barrassment.

 

I’m not sure what that means, but I think it might be a worser step than a Burden because he gets wayyyy more mad. 

 

That probably won’t happen much when I’m five since I’ll be big then.

 

I don’t like being whalloped by Aunt ‘Atunia or Uncle Vernon, but at least they don’t aim for my face. Diddy on the other hand…

 

Well, you really can’t blame me for running. I’ve now got belongings to protect from him.

 

Aunt ‘Atunia got so tired of me being squinty that she took me to a rummage sale down the street when old man Turner died. Mr. Turner had about 50 pairs of glasses and she had me try on lots and lots. The ones I have now are for an old man’s nose and are held on with a strap in the back, but things are a lot less fuzzy now. 

 

Diddy broke my glasses when he punched me in my moron nose and I got extra whallops for not taking care of my belongings when Uncle Vernon got home from work. Aunt ‘Atunia gave me some clear tape to wrap around the part that goes over my nose. It’s still itchy sometimes where the tape edges are scraggly stiff, but at least the sticky is mostly gone. 

 

But back to the running. That’s what I’m doing now. I’m zoomy lightening fast and Diddy can’t keep up. I used to think we were playing but it was never my turn to be ‘it’ for tag. I know Diddy can play because I’ve seen him and Piers in the backyard taking turns. So I’ve made up my own rules. I have to keep my eyes shut when I’m hided and only use my nose and ears to guess how far away Diddy is. It’s not too hard. He gets so mad when I’m hided that he whinges while running around looking for me. When I’m ready to run again, I can open my eyes. 

 

I’m in the side yard under the bushes, doing inside giggles as I hear him stomping in the yard. It’s tempting to let out a Loud, but I’m trying to catch my breath. He almost got me when I hid behind the fridge, but I scooted super fast when he got into the kitchen and managed to get away. 

 

I’m still there– the warm sun above me and the cool dirt below when I hear her for the first time. 

 

“You’re an odd one, aren’t you?”

 

Her voice is cool and smooth like milk in my ear. I open my eyes and look around for who talked at me. But I’m still alone. 

I sit up quiet quiet so Diddy doesn’t notice me and look closer as her musical laugh hovers in the air. 

 

“Is someone there?” I whisper. 

 

“Down here, love.” 

 

I look down and startle back as I finally see her– small and skinny and long, curled up in the leaves beneath the bush. No one had ever called me love . Aunt ‘Atunia says that sometimes when Diddy is being extra whingey and needs a cuddle. 

 

“Are… you the devil?” I ask. That’s the only talking snake I’d ever heard of. She laughs again and does a big wiggle. 

 

“No, but thanks for the compliment.” I’m not sure what she means. 

 

“Well, who are you then?” 

 

“Hmmmm” she’s quiet for a while, curling her tail around herself, “I suppose I’m just me.” 

 

That makes sense. I’m just me too. 

 

“I’m called Boy.” I say, making sure to get the emphasis right. I pop the B with my lips hard– maybe too Loud too. I listen but Diddy is over by the greenhouse and doesn’t hear me. 

 

The snake doesn’t respond. Maybe snakes don’t have names? 

 

“How are you able to talk?” I shuffle so my feet are criss cross applesauce under me and I can lean down to look at her silky looking scales closer. 

 

“My kind have always been able to talk, it’s humans that have a hard time listening.” 

 

Wait, what did that mean? Did she mean that it was me who was doing this funny business? 

 

I hadn’t done any in so long! And Aunt ‘Atunia hadn’t had to whallop me for loads of days. It could be July right now and I could be messing it all up!

 

I have to get away before someone catches me being freaky.

 

Quick quick I jump from the bush, ignoring the sticks that scratch me as I leave through the top instead of crawling out the bottom. 

 

Diddy hollers at me and charges, but I’m quicker than him. I lose some ground at the garden gate, quickly shoving my hand through the crack between woods to open the latch. But soon I’m running away from snake, away from house, away from Diddy who is still yelling behind me. 

 

I’m going to run until this bubbling, sick feeling inside of me is gone gone gone. And then maybe the funny business won’t happen at home and Aunt ‘Atunia won’t know. I can run to Church– it is a very short walk even though my legs are still little. I turn left at the sidewalk and put my body into lightening ninja mode. I am so very fast, my feet pounding against the pavement, the wind whipping my hair all around. I imagine the dust cloud behind me like I’m from one of Diddy’s shows, Thundercats. There’s one girl who can outrun time. I’ve got to be fast as her today.

 

Church is two streets away and I bet I can get there before Diddy can even tattle on me about leaving the yard. I don’t have an inside giggle anymore– it escapes and floods Loud LOUD through the air. 

 

I’m running so very fast that I don’t have time to think. I don’t have time to remember how Aunt ‘Atunia always stops and looks both ways and holds her long bony hand out for Diddy to hold while they cross the street. I’m running full of lightning when I get down to where Privet Drive stops and another street crosses. I can see the steeple down at the end of the street from where I am as my feet fly over sidewalk and then curb and then street. 

 

I’m running so fast that I barely even have time to turn my head when the Terrible Loud happens. There is a whoosh and the lightning inside of me ‘splodes everywhere, right as the bumper of the car is about to hit me.

 

All of a sudden, all of my fast turns into agonizing slow. I can feel the heat radiating off of the car's hood as it crumples around me, the stench of the oil and gas and smoke filling up the air. The car makes a terrible crunching noise as it’s lifted up up way over my head– the front end smooshing inward as if it had hit something huge. I blink and the moment of slow passes. 

 

And without me telling it to, my body flies forward, my knees skinneded against the pavement as I roll roll roll away from the car which flies end over end and lands in a big mess. My chest hits the ground and I feel like Diddy’s punched me in the stomach. I lay there gasping like a dying fish, rolled flat on my back like dead Greg, my legs curled up and feeling more than a little crunched. 

 

I don’t know how the car didn’t hit me. Maybe it did. I think I would have remembered that. But if it didn't hit me, what did it hit? The car is all crumpled and upside down like a dead beetle too. There’s a ton of white smoke spilling out of it and the horn is making a huge a’motion.

 

Someone is screaming and running over to me. A Nellie from down the street. I recognize her but don’t know her name. She is screaming for help over and over again and I want to press my hands to my ears. I can’t help her, and I don’t know why she is being Loud about it.

 

She grabs me suddenly and drags me off of the hot street and into the cool grass next to the pram she must have been pushing. I can hear her baby screaming it’s Louds too.

 

I try to roll over, but she pushes me back down. My knees are burning hot and tickling and I can feel scratches on my back too. I should be scared. But I’m mostly tired. I think maybe the car must have hit me after all. I feel like all of my energy is dried up and gone. 

 

I can hear footsteps running towards us and Father Michael appears above me, his tan face full of fear. 

 

“Sister Betty is phoning 999.” He tells the woman before sinking down to kneel beside me. “Hold still, son– help is coming.” I think I must nod, but I’m feeling worser than before. 

 

A man runs up, he’s so old there’s white hair jutting out of both ears. “How can I help?” 

 

“Please check on the driver,” the woman begs, “I only caught a glimpse of the accident, but he must have hit a pole or something, it flipped so many times!” 

 

I try to sit up again, but Father Michael settles me down, “You come in with your Aunt, right? Do you live around here?” 

 

I think I nod again. 

“I’ll run and go get her!” The woman volunteers and Father Michael agrees. 

 

“What’s your name, son?” 

 

I don’t want them to get Aunt ‘Atunia. I just need to rest for a minute and I’ll walk back home. It’s not far at all. Instead of answering I shrug. 

 

Shrugging is another of the offenses that gets a whallop, but maybe Father Michael doesn’t know that. 

 

“How old are you?” 

 

I hold up four of my fingers and he smiles down at me. I can hear a siren very far away. The police will be here soon. More faces hover, more voices call out. I feel a sharp ouch of scared go through my tummy. I don’t want to be here. 

 

“Do you live on that street? Privet drive?” He points in the direction of my house. 

I do a half nod and shrug again. 

 

My back is feeling much less burned now but my knees are made of fire. I can get home– I’ve got to. 

 

“Do you know your Aunt’s last name?” he asks. I shrug again.

 

“I think they walk up this street on the right-hand side. His aunt’s name is Petunia and she has another boy around the same age.” He tells the woman. She takes her pram and heads off in the direction he pointed. The sirens are getting closer. I can see more and more people pressing themselves into their windows or even coming out into their gardens.

 

I don’t have the energy to cry, but Father Michael must see that I’m upset. He cards his fingers through my bangs, pulling them up and revealing the ugly scar underneath. I wince as I see his eyes trace the unusual shape. I know what he’s seeing. The big splintering lightning bolt covering the left side of my forehead and traveling down my eyebrow and eyelid. Aunt ‘Atunia keeps my bangs long long so that she doesn’t have to see my ‘bomb-inable face. I think that means it looks like your face ‘sploded, which I guess is fair– it is a pretty large scar.

 

“It’ll be okay, son. We’ll get you taken care of– the ambulance is almost here. Until then, I’ll pray over you.” He begins to chant something in Church language, pulling a row of beads from his pocket and hovering his other hand over me. 

 

I have a sudden desperate hope that by the time either the ambulance or Aunt ‘Atunia arrives– that I will be as dead and stiff as the bug in my cupboard.

Notes:

Comments feed the machine, man. I don't make the rules, just the art

Chapter 3: Part 1 Chapter 3

Notes:

Chapter TW: Child abuse, verbal abuse and religious trauma.

I can’t look at her, but I feel her eyes boring into me like one of Uncle Vernon’s drills from work. It makes little pretend bugs crawl all over me to have her watching me like that. I want it to be over. 

 

I’d thought it was going to be okay. She hadn’t seemed mad when she ran up to the ambulance in her slippers, her hand clutched tight onto Diddy’s as he complained loudly. The medic was finishing up the bandages on my scraped knees while the other carefully cleaned a few scrapes on my back and shoulders.

 

The officers had a lot of questions for her, but she assured them that Diddy and I had been playing tag and I’d gotten out of the yard. Sort of true . She said that I loved church and was probably going to visit. Also, sort of true. But I could tell that she wasn’t wanting me to interrupt while adults were talking. She was being nice to them, but I could see the sharp ways her eyes would flash to me when they were writing– her mouth tightening at the corners. A warning. 

 

Father Michael chatted with me while the firemen cutted up the car and grabbed up the driver of the car. They whooshed him away in another ambulance fast fast. He told me not to worry, that the doctors would fix him right up, but that we could pray for him if we wanted to. I shrugged and sat through another few minutes of wondering what he was saying as he used the church language. I wonder if Fathers ever forget what they’re supposed to say and just fake the words. Cause all of it sounds made up to me. Dahmmity-mouse dibbit or bus nose-trust. Sounds real fake. But Father Michael clenches his eyes shut and holded onto his beads until his fingers are white around them. 

 

He holds my hand tight and I look down. His skin is darker like mine. Most of the nellies in the neighborhood have very light skin. He has tan skin and black hair like me. He’s an odd man out too. I think that’s why I like him the much out of all the Fathers. 

 

The tow truck backs into the road with loud beeps and I cover my ears as it passes. I do like watching the tow truck with its big crane. I watch in fascinataion as they start to try and flip the crunched up car. 

 

Aunt ‘Atunia is done answering questions and comes over to see if she can take me home. Maybe I’m still a bit of a moron, or maybe I hit my head because in that moment, I didn’t realize what I was in for. 

 

She’d thanked the officers and Father Michael for caring for me, and I’d felt a strange swoosh in my tummy. Father Michael even drove us the half block back to number four so that I wouldn’t have to walk with my banged up legs. It wasn’t until the front door closed, and she turned to me with her mouth scrunched up bad in a twisted thin line that I felt the Big Scareds. 

 

She gets right up close to me and then says something I didn’t expect at all.

“Dudley, go to your room.” 

 

Dudley? Does she mean Diddy? She must because he throws an almighty tantrum about it and isn’t consoled until he’s given a snack, a remote and no less than six kisses. 

 

I’m still in the entryway when she comes back downstairs, not daring to move as my stomach swoops with scareds and my heart pounds like a fist on a cupboard door. I want to run, but I’m not sure how far I’ll get with my knees in their mummy bandages. 

 

She grabs ahold of my arm– way up high by my armpit, so that I’m more dragged than walking and doesn’t let go until she throws me into a chair at K..itchen table. I grip onto the sides and steady myself, staring at the smooth sheen of polished wood in front of me. 

 

That’s where I’m stuck. Frozen like an ice cube as she stares and stares and stares. Maybe she’s waiting for Uncle Vernon to drive home from his work. Maybe she’s waiting for me to open my moron mouth and speak. But I can wait longer. I’ve gone days and days without talking to nobody.

 

 I keep my mouth shutted up, trying to get enough breathing done with just my nose. I keep my eyes focused on the table in front of me, refusing to cave in and glance her way. I can still see her a bit, if I open my eyes wide WIDE and peek in the corners. She’s just… sitting there. Staring at me. Finally, her words cut through the silence, quiet and harsh but as surprising as thunder. 

 

“What were you thinking ?” 

 

I go to shrug, but remember that it’s off limits here. Instead I swallow around the tight squeeze in my throat and choke out, “I didn’t mean to.”

 

Her lips purse and I can tell that she’s choosing to hit me or not.

 

“You killed that man.” She says and I furrow my brow. The man in the car? They had taken him to hospital in the ambulance, hadn’t they? “Do you know what that means?” 

 

I can’t answer that. My mind feels full of mud and clouds. 

 

“The doctors will make him all better.” I mumble. She’s said it time and again to Diddy. Kiss and make it better for small things or go to the doctors and make it all better.

 

“The doctors can’t do anything for him. You killed him.” 

I blink over and over again, trying to make sense of it. 

 

“Can they… won’t they…” I’m not sure what I’m trying to explain. When someone is hurted bad on Telly they go to hospital and get all fixed up better. Maybe she just hasn’t seen that show and doesn’t know yet, that the man will be okay because of the doctors. 

 

“There is nothing to do. You ran out into the street and now a man is dead.” 

 

I finally blink up and look at her. Her eyes pierce into me. 

 

“But he can come backed alive?”

 

She shakes her head. Why can’t he come back like in Telly? I feel a squirmy squeeze in my tummy, like I need to throw up cause I ate something bad. 

 

“But his car didn’t even hit me !” I say, using my Louds, needing her to understand. I show her a little me with my finger and a big car with my hand. I show her how it flew up in cartwheels before landing. “The car flewed up over me and I didn’t do anything!” 

 

She’s quiet for a long time, staring at me. Her mouth is all twisty. 

 

“We’ve been keeping something from you– Vernon and I.” She sits up a bit straighter and coughs. “A… terrible secret about you.” 

 

I feel like my tummy might fall out onto my lap. What secret? Why is it terrible? And what does this have to do with what we were talking about? I don’t say anything, but I pull my legs up so my knees are in front of me. I wrap my arms around them, and curl my toes over the edge of the chair. I don’t like secrets. 

 

She sighs and looks out the window. I wait for a long time while she stares, I wait and wait and I am almost bored when her voice cuts through the room again. 

 

“You’re a wizard , Boy.” 

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Notes:

Somewhere in scotland, Hagrid sneezes.

Please leave a comment, they help me to remember to post

Chapter 4: Part 1 Chapter 4

Summary:

Aunt Petunia reveals a worrying secret

Notes:

CW: This chapter contains religious trauma and verbal/child abuse.

“You’re a wizard, Boy.” 

 

I blink again and shift, uncomfortable. Is she pulling on my leg? No, she doesn’t do that. She usually calls me all kinds of horrible things, but not in a calm voice. And her voice is icy cold right now. I chew on the inside of my lip and try to understand what she’s saying.

 

Wizards are only Telly people. Before I can blurt a question she continues. 

 

“Your parents were the same way. But wizards… witches are wicked beings. Sinful. They have miserable lives and are destined for hell.” My eyes go huge. Sometimes the main talker, Father Thomas preaches about stuff like this, and I copy the slow nods that she and Uncle Vernon do. It’s a whole crowd of people nodding together like we’re at a rock-a-roll concert but in a slowed up machine. There’s a lot of nodding when he gets Loud about stuff like brimstone. He sometimes talks on a soap box apparently. I’m not sure if that’s so he’s taller or not, but people laugh when he gets off of it, so maybe it’s a joke.

 

I try to remember if I’ve ever hear Father Thomas talk about witches and wizards. I don’t think I have. 

 

“Why?” I’m not sure what I’m asking. Why are they miserable? Why are they sinners? Why am I one? 

 

“Because they go against God. They’re evil– every single one of them.” 

 

I stare into her cold brown eyes and chew on my lip.

 

“...but you said I’m one.” I mumble and her nostrils flare. 

 

“You are . But you have the chance to be something different. We can stamp it out of you, before it becomes… out of control.” 

 

I don’t like the sound of that. Stamping sounds… painful.

 

“How do you know I’m one?” He asks. Maybe they don’t have to stamp anything after all!

 

“You’re mother was one– from the time she could walk she was sinning. Doing evil tricks on me and making things… unnatrual things happen.” Aunt ‘Atunia shudders and closes her eyes, “We knew from very early– nearly right after your parents died– that you’d inherited their sin.” 

 

“I don’t do tricks !” I say sharply then flinch as her eyes darken. 

 

“You’ve got it in your blood, boy. We can see it. Strangers can tell there’s something different about you. Don’t you notice the stares?” 

 

I  just thought they hadn’t seen anyone with skin that was dark like mine, or hair that was so wiggly and up. Was there something else that was noticeable? Something I haven’t noticed? 

 

“I don’t…” I squeeze my arms tighter around my knees, “I don’t want to be a sinner.” 

 

“You’ve already committed a mortal sin.” She spits out, “Less than an hour ago.” 

 

I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat. What do I do?

She takes a breath and shakes her head a bit. 

 

“Your parents… when you asked I told you it was an accident, do you remember?” 

 

I try to remember, but it’s foggy. It sounds right. 

 

“A car accident?” I ask, feeling like it might be the right answer. 

 

She nods, “That’s what I told you. I wasn’t sure what to tell you. I didn’t want you to know. But you’re old enough now– obviously, old enough to do wicked things with that freakish power of yours.” She whispers that last part, sounding annoyed, “You ought to know how they really died.”

 

I grind my teeth together. I don’t want to know, all of a sudden. 

 

“They were killed. By other wizards.” 

 

We’re quiet for a long time. I can feel my heart pounding and my air whooshing in and out of me a lot. Finally I ask, “Why?” 

 

“Because they were evil. Your parents. And the people who killed them were evil too. That’s what this sin does to you– especially if you let it grow. It twists into your heart and turns you dark. You don’t want to be dark, do you?” 

 

I shake my head, not able to speak. I can still see her from the tears pooling in my eyes, but she’s all shimmery and blobish.

 

“Then you’ll have to repent.” She says. “You must. Or the wizards will come for you. They won’t have any mercy for you– not like God will.” 

 

I nod and the tears run down my face. There’s a big lump in my throat making it hard to breathe. I feel like my head is spinning. 

 

“You must pray everyday. Anytime you think of it, for forgiveness and to be healed of your affliction.” Her voice is stern. I nod again.

 

“We will speak with the elders at church about which prayers you will use for atoning for the murder of that man.” More tears fall out of my eyes– it’s like they’re fountains.

 

“And you’ll need to keep your body busy so you don’t have the energy for… funny business.” 

 

“It’s not funny business. Wizards do magic .” I manage between gasping breaths.

 

She slaps me across the mouth. One of my feet slip off the chair and I’m left reeling and trying to regain balance. More tears fill my eyes and the world goes all wobbly. 

 

“You will not ever speak that dark word in my house. Do you understand me?!” 

 

I nod, cupping my hand against the cheek that took the most hurt. A sob bubbles out of me and she raises her hand. I flinch away and choke on the sobs, forcing myself to keep them quiet quiet. She hates when I whinge. She hates a whingey me more than the regular me even. She lowers her arm when I’ve stopped– my breaths still whooshing fast, but under better control.

 

“I wish you’d never come to us.” She says, her voice dark and quiet. “You’ve been a plague on this house, on my son … just as my sister was one upon my own childhood.” 

 

I can’t look at her. My chest is on fire. I can feel the bad, evil swirling in me. The magic . I close myself back off– pulling my knee back up and hugging tightly onto it. 

 

I want Cupboard.

 

I stare down at my toes and notice a fuzz stuck to my sock. It’s black and I focus on it as she continues– her words cutting through me. 

 

“If you don’t change– if you can’t? You’ll lead a miserable life. Full of despair and loneliness. Unfulfilling.” 

 

The black fuzz wiggles in the air. I reach out to grab it but it fwooshes away from my fingers and dances over my toes. I frown at it. I’ve never seen fuzz like this…

 

“You’ll never have happiness. Or a real family. You’ll have your darkness. And then when you die– you will not go to heaven.”

 

I watch in fascination as the fuzz twists around my big toe and stretches out before swirling over to my other sock. It’s moving more like a snake, or smoke in the breeze. I swallow around the lump in my throat. 

 

“Are you listening to me?” She asks and I glance up at her. I nod and she is happy to keep ranting while I go back to watching my fuzz. 

 

It shivers and curls around my shaking fingers. What is it?

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

I shake my head. No, I don’t want any of that.

 

“No more funny business, then.” She says and I nod a lot. I want her to believe me. I sniff my snots back up and let out of shaky breath. When I look back down, the fuzz is perched on my big toe. 

"You will repeat after me." She says. I bite my lip and listen carefully.

 

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." 

I take a shaky breath and test out my voice.

 

"Thou shalt not..."

 

"Suffer"

 

"Sufder... a witch to... live." 

She's glaring at me.

 

"Again."

 

"Thou shalt not sufder a... witch to live." I say, this time remembering a little easier. 

She has me say it a few more times to make sure I memorized it lots and lots.

"Do you know what that's from?" 

I shake my head and she sighs. 

 

"It's from Exodus chapter 22 verse 18." 

When I don't say anything, she pulls her church bag to the table and grabs the leather bible from inside of it. It's big and old and she doesn't let me touch it ever. It was her mom's before hers and she got it when her mom died and went to heaven.

I wish I had something from when my mom died. 

She opens up the silver edged paper and flips through. 

She points to the letters on the page. I can't read them but she reads the verse I'd just memorized aloud again. 

"This is God's Holy book." She says, "These words are from him." She points at the verse. 

I bite my cheek again. I don't think it's very fair for God to call something a sin that you're born with. It's not like I choosed to have this 'funny business'. 

She takes the Bible from in front of me and flips through, finding other passages about witches and wizards, sorcerers and mentalists. There's quite a few, all saying about the same thing. Most of the words are way big, but I get the general idea that wizards are not good. 

The fuzz is curling around my ankle, peeking into the edge of my sock. 

I grab ahold of the fuzz and squeeze it as hard as I can. So hard it’ll be jelly when I let go.

 

But when I check my fingers, there’s no trace of the black smoke. 

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Notes:

...we're about to dive right into the deep end :)

Comments are my lifeblood btw

Chapter 5: Part 1 Chapter 5

Summary:

Summer is not a fun time for the Boy. CW: for neglect, physical & emotional child abuse.

Notes:

Ahh, the montage. This goes on for a couple chapters. I don't write a ton of montages, so this was a very interesting experiment. It definitely helps the process go much faster.

The sun is so hot my neck has gone crisp and stingy. I dig my fingers into the dirt, relishing the cool feeling down where the sun doesn’t reach. I grab ahold of the roots of the weed with my aching fingers and pull, ripping it from its home. Just like I had been when my parents were murdered for being evil. 

 

I feel the funny business inside me. It’s wacko how before I couldn’t feel it– or didn’t understand what I was feeling– and now that it has a name (even one that I’m not allowed to say), I am more aware of it. It seems to be swollen– like a knee that’s twisted funny– and now it only takes a tiny movement, the smallest of emotions, to set it right over the edge into ‘out of control’. I don’t like feeling like this. My chest is one big balloon full of funny business ready to burst out of me at any time. 

 

I toss aside the limp dandelion and wipe the sweat from my face with my sleeve. Some neighborhood kids ride by on their bikes, heading towards the pool- towels flying behind them like capes. I try not to stare at them. Really, I am lucky. This is the first day this week I’ve been allowed outside. 

 

I imagine the pool would be very nice. Aunt ‘Atunia sometimes takes Diddy and when they come back, they always look relaxed and happy. 

 

Maybe the stamping wouldn’t be so bad, if it got rid of all the funny business. Maybe I could go out then, once it’s all gone.

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Diddy’s birthday is a huge affair, and they have the party at Privet Drive in the garden. I’m in Diddy’s second bedroom today, locked up tight, but I can spy on it from the window. There’s a huge cake with a bright green candles and ice cream for the side. And he gets a ton of presents.

 

That night, when I’m scrubbing down the cake pans after dinner, I hear Aunt ‘Atunia talking to Diddy. She says that now he’s five he’s growing up and is a big boy. He stops whinging after that and helps carry his toys up the stairs. 

Maybe when I am five, I will be a big boy too. When is July? Surely all my freakishness will be stamped by them. Stamped to jelly, dead doornails.

 

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I waked up, gasping and sweating like I’d been running from something much scarier than Diddy or his weird friend Piers. It’s still very late– the house has no noise. I feel… wobbly. Like that feeling when you lay down in the sun and you can’t tell where you end and the light begins. Like my edges are not quite edges. I feel at my chest, the place where the funny business lives and find that my body is really there. My fingers still feel a bit like Telly static, though.

 

I wish this wasn’t happening. I wish I hadn’t killed that man. I wish that I hadn’t been borned with evil inside of me. Wish wish wish.

 

But Aunt ‘Atunia always says that wishes are pointless. That prayer has power, but only if you have faith. I’m not sure if I have that yet, but maybe I can try. 

 

I lay in the dark and the dust, hoping my prayers are not half as useless as wishes.

 

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I lost my first tooth. It’s little in my hand and I hold it carefully so I don’t losed it. I felt it start to wiggle after Aunt ‘Atunia hit me yesterday. I played with it and more and more blood came out. I don’t mind it too much– blood used to scare me but I’m big now so I know what it is. I got borded of playing with it with just my tongue, so I pulled it out with my fingers. A little piece of me.

 

I like it lots and lots, but I have heard Piers telling Diddy about a tooth fairy that will visit if you give her your tooth. She’d even swaped him a 10p and left with his front left tooth! 

 

 I have never seen a fairy, and I think I might like having a coin to keep. Plus maybe she will know I am magic too and stay and talk. Maybe she’ll even know how to keep my funny business inside me. That would be nice. 

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There is a fly buzzing around me. I am digging little holes again, sweat pouring downed into my eyes until they sting lots and lots. The fly divebombs my head, and I swat it away and sit up. Privet Drive is deserted today. No one else wants to be out here.

I don’t want to be out here. 

 

But Aunt ‘Atunia says it’s better for me to be tired, and tired only happens when there’s hard work.

 

She says that my sin won’t grow if I don’t feed it. I guess that counts for feeding me too, because I only get tinned soup or packet fish now and only twice a day. 

 

So far I haven’t done any “funny business” all week and I’m proud of myself. I’m also getting better and squishing it deep down inside of me.  Maybe if Aunt ‘Atunia had just explained when the funny business was small, I could have doned all the stamping myself. 

 

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The tooth fairy didn’t come to visit me. Maybe she can’t get into Cupboard. 

 

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Uncle Vernon is screaming at me again, but I am in my secret world. It’s something I started doing when I was little and so far I’ve built it up a lot. It’s like a little room inside of me where I can go. I can still hear him, but his Louds aren’t so much. I can’t really smell his breath or feel it on my face here. 

 

The little room isn’t like cupboard. It’s light and full of soft squishy things to lay on and the ceiling is made of stars. I can stay as long as I want here. It didn’t use to be like this– before it was small and dark like cupboard. But now I have made it nicer with my 'magination. I was worrying for a bit that 'magination and magic might be the same thing, but Diddy’s shows all talk about 'magination too and I don’t think Aunt ‘Atunia would let him watch stuff that’s evil.

 

I can sense Uncle Vernon leaning over me– his bigger body blocks me into the corner. But in my ‘magination room I am safe. I am the boss of this room. And there’s no uncles allowed in here.

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I wonder if I can find the postman and his dog again. My memory of them is very hazy, but I remember he was kind. Maybe he would take my tooth to the tooth fairy and return my coin to me. I take a small piece of paper from the trash and fold it so it makes a little pocket.

 

I don’t know how to spell, but I do draw a little picture of the man and his big black dog with a broken pencil I found on the sidewalk. I add a teeny tiny fairy and my tooth to the corner. I think he’ll understand. 

 

I sit and look at the picture, and then realize that if she does get my letter she won’t know how to get into cupboard for my next tooth. On the back I draw a picture of me sleeping in cupboard and then a picture of Door and point to Crack in Door. Hopefully she gets what I wrote. I make sure to add a picture of my tooth under my head so she knows why I need her to go in there. 

 

That’ll prolly work.

 

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My head is pounding like my brain grew spikes and they’re breaking out of my skull. Aunt ‘Atunia says that I’m not allowed to sleep yet, but I just want to lay down in cupboard. She says I can sleep tomorrow, but today I have to sit up. 

 

My stomach is upset. I already threwed up all over the floor once, and there’s nothing left inside of it. But it rolls and I keep spitting the nasty tastes out of my mouth and into the popcorn bowl she gave me. I lean against the kitchen cabinet and watch her work. At least it’s cooler in here than it was outside.

 

Luckily she said I was nasty and couldn’t be trusted around food tonight, so I don’t have to cook. I’m not complaining. I’m so dizzy I feel like a circus clown. All feet and no balance. 

 

So I’m letting myself get all floppy on the cool tile, being quiet and trying to remember what happened. I remember working out in the garden. I came inside for some water… I don’t remember what happened next? But then I was back outside feeling like my head was three times too big for my body. Why does it hurt so bad? Did I run into something? There’s a knot on the back of my skull. When I run my fingers over it, it hurts so bad I see little black dots. 

 

I moan as my stomach yells at me to throw up again. After the third gag, Aunt ‘Atunia sends me back to the bathroom for being disgusting, and I don’t argue. 

 

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Notes:

You comments and kudos matter. For every one, a giant "fuck you" will be delivered personally to a transphobe. Together we can make a difference.

Chapter 6: Part 1 Chapter 6

Notes:

TW: for physical/emotional child abuse & neglect + more religious trauma

The hurt comes before the comfort, just keep that in mind.

What is a gardening angel? They asked for one to protect me today at Ladies Group. 

 

I don’t know much about angels except they can take up the whole sky and are always telling people not to be afraid, so they must look pretty crazy.

 

Maybe they can help me with weeding? All of the ladies put their hands on me and prayed together for one, so it’s got to be important. 

 

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So far I have not seen the postman. Our regular postman comes, and I try to remember if my postman wears that uniform or something else. I feel like he was in a different color. When I try to think about it too hard, my head starts hurting. 

 

I have the envelope stuck in the Crack by Bed so that no one will find it. 

 

I’m starting to wonder if my postman is an imaginary friend.

 

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I wonder how long you can go without eating. I wonder if that’s how Greg got dead. I’ve checked him everyday after the accident and he’s been dead every time. I guess Aunt ‘Atunia was right. The man I killed can’t come back. Nobody can come back from getting dead. 

 

I wonder if the other wizards know that I’m evil for using my magic to kill him. Maybe they’re coming after me?

 

Well, if they do find me, maybe I’ll be dead. Diddy whinges about “starving to death” when dinner isn’t ready yet. I haven’t eaten anything in four days. Not since my funny business exploded and pushed Diddy away from me at dinner one night. I’ve never seen Aunt ‘Atunia turn the color she did, but she was white down to her lips. Diddy wasn’t even that hurt! He kept whinging about his arm but kept forgetting which one was supposed to be the hurted one. 

 

But I think maybe she was ‘magining that I killed him too. Luckily Uncle Vernon had still been at work or I would have gotten the whalloping of my life.

 

They haven’t said anything to me at all since. She tossed me in here and locked the door. I’m let out twice a day to use the bathroom, but she is silent and furious when she opens the door for me. 

 

The cupboard is quiet at least. I chew on a hangnail and rip it offed of me. The place where it was stings bad bad and I suck on my finger for a bit before chewing up the nail and eating it. Aunt ‘Atunia only left me 8 water bottles– two a day like normal– and I’m on my last one. My tongue feels dry and too big for my mouth. 

 

She let me out earlier to use the bathroom and I drank as much water from the tap as I could, but that was hours ago. 

 

I don’t want to bother her. I can hear that she’s cleaning– the hoover is on in the living room. She hates to be bothered. 

 

Gently, I push at the cupboard door. Locked. I figured as much.

 

I flop back down on my mattress and stare up at the bottom of the stairs. Maybe I can sleep until tonight…

 

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Ladies group prayed for me again. Some of them even cried. I don’t know what Aunt ‘Atunia told them, but they’re praying for my soul.

 

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I saw the postman– our regular one, not the one I have been looking outs for– today when I was outside cutting the hedges with a big pair of scissors. I asked him if he knew where the other postman went and he laughed and told me he was the only one for this route. 

 

I told him that this one had a big black dog and he told me he didn’t know of any postman with dogs. 

 

I don’t think he knows how to do his job very well. 

 

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The one good thing about outside work is that she leaves me alone for a lot of it, and I can hear the door open when she’s coming. 

 

Today instead of throwing the weeds in the compost bin, I hid in the bushes and ate them all. I like the dandelions the best– they are the crunchiest.

 

Aunt ‘Atunia calls greens “rabbit food” so I ‘magine that I’m a little rabbit hiding in the garden and eating all of the flowers. I use my big long ears to listen for Aunt’s and Nosy Nellies. My feet are fast fast and ready to run if I need to. 

 

The weeds are mostly leaves and stems. I crunch them and wiggle my nose like the rabbits on the telly. Some of them are bitter, but I just pretend that rabbits like that and it’s not too bad. 

 

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Diddy left his telly on when he went to Pier’s house today. I sneaked up the stairs when Aunt ‘Atunia was ‘resting her eyes’ in the parlor and watched some of it.

 

She didn’t even catched me a little bit. 

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The fuzz is back.  I don’t want to it be here. I’m outside in the garden and it’s twisting all around my fingers. I try to stamp it into the dirt, but it swoops around. I want it to go away. If Aunt ‘Atunia catches me being freaky, I will have to pay hell. 

 

I hadn’t ever thought about it but what would you even pay Hell? At Church we learned that Jesus paid for all the sins– I guess not magic , but maybe that’s different– so I just wondered what else there would be left to pay. 

 

I’m probably just being Moron again. 

 

I feel wobbly again, like my edges are blurring and sliding around. I should go in for some water, but Uncle Vernon is off of work for Saturdays so I don’t want to see him.

 

Before the accident he would whallop me for reasons. Nowadays, he doesn’t seem to need one anymore. 

 

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I got to take a bath today when I got in from the garden. She normally only lets me shower but there was a repairman fixing the downstairs bath so I got to use Diddy’s tub upstairs. 

 

She didn’t let me play with his toys, but that’s okay. I pretended my hand was a dolphin and swam it all around in the water. She left me alone so I stayed and stayed until the water was cold and my arms got all goosebumped.

 

When I got out I looked at myself for a longed time in the mirror. Diddy has one that hangs on the door and can show your whole self. My body looks different than how I remembered it. 

 

The sides of my chest have long lumps on them now. I can fit my finger into the grooves. I press on the top part and it feels hard like my bones in there. 

I have to be careful when I run my finger over the scrapy skin on my knees. The scabs are coming off soon and I pick at the edges. I stop when it starts to sting. 

I turn and look at the bruise on my back from where I got whalloped last week. It’s mostly yellow now, but there are a couple spots that are still purple. 

 

My face is the most different. My eyes look huge and my cheeks look sucked in. The scar over my forehead looks shiny and pink against my summer-dark skin. 

 

I look like the cartoon skeletons from telly. I frown at my reflection.

 

I thought skeletons were dead?

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Freak. 

 

Useless.

 

Sinner.

 

I can hear her words echoing in my head. I want to sleep. I’m so tired my eyes are burning, but every time I shut them her words get louder. My funny business is extra angry tonight. I feel like it’ll grow and grow and blow me to bits. 

 

She’d been so angry today. I’m just so tired. 

 

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Notes:

Only one more montage chapter as the summer flies by....

Comments feed the house-elves who's job it is to send hate mail to your local congressmen. And I like my house-elves fat.

(I'm doing this irreverant author's note at the end for some levity, and not just because I'm a tactless idiot-- I hope that's coming across.)

Chapter 7: Part 1 Chapter 7

Notes:

TW: Same as before. Lots of physical and emotional child abuse, neglect & religious trauma.

 

I hear the fast swoosh noise before the burning crack of pain hits my back. I howl and twirl around, reaching my hand back to try and sooth the sharp sting that radiates from my spine. Aunt ‘Atunia is there, holding something long dangling from her palm to the carpet. It’s the vacuum cord. I haven’t had this punishment in a long time.

 

 I quickly open the door to my 'magination room and dive inside. 

 

Black smoke. It’s filled completely– from the smooth floors to the starry ceiling with the swirling eddies of blackness. I can barely make anything out. This is my 'magination room, but somehow the freaky, evil funny business has leaked in here. 

 

I panic and try to find my way out, but I’m trapped. I feel like the smoke is closing in around me. I try to scream, but it fills up my throat and stomach, keeping my cries inside of me.

 

The wind picks up and the smoke billows around me until I can’t find my way anymore. It’s loud, like a million trains barrelling past. I fall to the ground and cover my head with my hands. 

 

I’m still screaming when the darkness covers me whole. 

 

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The cupboard is dark. It’s always dark now. Aunt ‘Atunia has put a towel in Crack in Door so that I can’t have any light at all. I’m so hungry. 

 

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Maybe the postman is my ‘magination only. Diddy has a ‘maginary friend named Cobbs. He doesn’t talk to him much anymore, but he used to lots and lots. 

 

Aunt ‘Atunia didn’t like it when I asked her about the postman. I thought that it might be okay because I had helped her all morning scrub the kitchen. She was even playing music on the radio and humming while we worked, so I thoughted she might be nice. 

 

I don’t know why she doesn’t like questions. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the dog. 

 

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Please go away. Please go away. Please go away!

 

Stupid magic doesn’t listen to prayers.

 

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My stomach growls. Stupid moron stomach! Aunt ‘Atunia hates all kinds of noise when we’re at mass, even the ones that I can’t stop! I hunch further over where we’re kneeled to pray and press my fists into my belly. 

 

She keeps the ruler at the top of her purse now. We go to the bathroom for a whalloping nearly every Sunday.

 

Today isn’t any different. My stupid stomach won’t stop making noise so she hauls me in there and smacks me a few times for being disrespectful. But it is nice, ‘cause then she makes me drink a bunch of water from the sink and my stomach stops hurting for a while. 

 

We get though the rest of service without any more whallopings, but I do see a few Nosy Nellies glancing at me when we get back. I keep my eyes down. 

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I dream of the postman. We’re at the park. He’s laying on a bright blue blanket, with a book on his chest while he sleeps. I sit on someone’s lap with my fingers in the smelly dog’s fur. I can feel sunlight warm on my skin. Someone kisses the top of my head. 

 

I’m somewhere else and there is screaming. Someone holds me tight tight– too tight! I can see red hair, and the world shakes as we run.

 

I wake up to Cupboard lit up with a green flash of light. It fades from my eyes and I squint around in the darkness. I am alone. 

 

I lay awake a long time after that one. 

 

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Leaves from the bush are not as nice as dandelions. They just mostly taste like dirt and are tough to chew. 

 

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There is Me and there is Not-me. Sometimes now I am the Not-me. Mostly at night when I can’t sleep and I think about how I got here. About how I was borned evil and my funny business grew up inside of me and now it’s breaking out. About how I am a Burden and most days Aunt ‘Atunia doesn’t want me to live here. How Diddy and Uncle Vernon definitely don’t want me to live here. Maybe I don’t want to live anywhere…

 

The Not-me is shaped kind of like me. I can’t see it at all, because the towel blocks Crack in Door and I don’t have any light. But I’ve tried to feel my arms when I am Not-me and I can tell that they are sort of there.

 

The only word I have to describe it is wobbly . 

 

Like my edges are not quite as solid or I am spreading out out and away from my body. The best part about being Not-me is that when I turn into it, I don’t feel the same. I don’t feel tired and sad or angry or anything. When I’m wobbly I’m just… kind of there. Kinda floated-y. 

 

It’s nice. I’ve never tried to be Not-me when I’m out of Cupboard. I’m worried that it might be a funny business thing and I’ll be punished. But… maybe if I become Not-me, I won’t feel anything at all… 

 

I’m always Me again when I wake up. So for now, I won’t worry about it too much. 

 

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Notes:

Last of the montage chapters for part 1.

Comments and Kudos are like feeding the jukebox that is my writing ability. I wish it we're pay to play but so far that's what's worked for me.

Chapter 8: Part 1 Chapter 8

Notes:

TW: Bullying, mentions of child abuse

Piers pokes me with a stick. He’s one of Diddy’s friends from down the street and he has a mean face to match the one my cousin usually wears. I wish that Aunt ‘Atunia would have let me clean inside today. Piers came over while I was pulling weeds and he hasn’t leaved me alone since. 

 

I pull out another rotten plant and throw it in the pile. My fingers are tired of this. How many weeds can one garden grow?

 

“I asked you a question!” Piers whingy voice starts in on me, “Are you too dumb to answer?”

 

I wipe the dirt from my hands on the oversized jeans that are cinched around my waist. They used to be pants, but Aunt ‘Atunia cut the bottoms off so now they’re shorts. Still they’re too big and they go down way past my knees.  I squint up at Piers.

 

“Is it true you killed a guy?” 

 

I feel my insides go icy and wobbly all at once. How did he know?

He laughs at me. He must see that I’m scared. I want to go to Cupboard.

 

“My mum says you’re going to hell, and if the Dursley’s know what’s good for them they’d dump you to the curb.” 

 

I frown down at the dirt. Maybe they should . 

 

I grab ahold of Bucket and start pulling the weeds inside as quick as I can. Piers continues, “What do you think the orphanage will be like?” 

 

I shrug my shoulders. I want him to leave. I’m nearly done, having pulled the weeds from the front beds and all the way round to the back. I’ve got a nice collection now, and if he doesn’t leave I’ll have to just throw them all in the compost bin. I won’t be able to hide any away to eat if Aunt ‘Atunia doesn’t have any lunch for me.

 

“Have you ever seen Annie?” 

 

I shrug again. I haven’t, but I don’t want him to know that. Maybe Diddy has it and I can suggest he watch it this week and do some super sneaking. 

 

I pick up Bucket and clumsily get to my feet. Compost bin is behind the small greenhouse. Once I’ve dropped this off, hopefully I can go inside and Piers will get distracted by Diddy.

 

He follows me. 

 

“In the movie the kids with no parents live in an orphanage. They have to live with a mean lady that doesn’t give them food or clothes or toys.” 

 

Well… at least not much will be changing if they do put me in one of those. 

 

I lift Bucket with one hand while opening the top of Compost bin. My arms feel wobbly and suddenly I’ve tipped the weeds too far and they spill all over the ground.

 

He barks out a laugh. I hear the back door open and Diddy calls out to him. Piers doesn’t move as I scramble to pick up the weeds quick quick. 

 

Diddy joins us. 

 

“What’re you doing?”

“Watching your baby cousin spill plants all over himself.” Piers says with a chuckle. 

 

“I’m not a baby!” I say furiously while stuffing the wilting dandelions back into Bucket. 

 

“Oh yeah? I’ll be six in a few months. You sure seem like a baby to me.” Piers sneers down at me. 

 

“I’ll be five in July! You’re not that much older!” 

 

Diddy and Piers exchange a look before cracking up. 

 

I stand up, clutching the bucket handle so hard my fingers shake. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from yelling at them. I can feel all of my funny business whirling around like a blender. 

 

“What? What’s funny about that?”

 

“July–!” Piers’ laughs cut off his words.

 

“What an idiot !” Diddy wipes tears from his eyes, and clutches his sides. 

 

“I’m not an idiot! Aunt ‘Atunia took me to the doctors and they said my birthday was at the end of July.” I rip open Compost bin and this time all the weeds get into it. I close it and a wave of hot, smelly air washes past me. They’re still laughing. I stomp one of my feet and go to push past. 

 

“Hey, Little Orphan Idiot – July was last month!” Piers howls with laughter and he and Diddy fall over into the grass. 

 

I glare at them for a moment, my funny business rising up to choke every breath and word from me. Then, I turn and run back inside. 

 

July… was last month? 

 

I missed it? 

 

I thought for sure that I would know somehow. That either Aunt ‘Atunia would say something now that we both know or that being a big boy would help me stamp out all my funny business. But now…

 

Now I know that I just feel the same as I did when I was dumb, old, four. 

 

Nothing has changed. I’m not any better or gooder or smarter. 

 

In fact , I think as I slam the cupboard door behind me, filling the small room with darkness, I may be worser than ever before. 

 

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Notes:

I think Piers is an underutilized character tbh. For someone with such a cool name, he's really not around much in the books.

Comments are my dandelions, y'all. They feed the writing machine.

Chapter 9: Part 1 Chapter 9

Notes:

MAJOR TW for physical and emotional child abuse in this chapter, but luckily, it's the last time that the Dursleys will directly interact with Harry (for a very long time, probably forever). Obviously child abuse/neglect will still be a theme in this story as Harry struggles to heal from his childhood, but things will begin to look up a bit after this.

If you don't want to read the on-screen depiction of violence, or would like to read the summary first to gauge if it is a safe chapter for you to read, head to the notes at the end of the chapter.

The loud clacks of her footsteps echo through the house, their beat matching the fast pace of my own heart. 

 

“Boy!” She yanks open the cupboard door, flooding it with the bright afternoon sun, “What have we told you about slamming doors?”

 

I don’t turn back to her. I don’t want her to see the angry tears that slide down my face. 

I’m hunched in the corner of Cupboard up near where my pillow lies on the skinny mattress against Wall. I can see one twisty red arm of Chanelle sticking out of Crack by Bed through the wobbly tears pooling in my eyes. Maybe she is trying to do a sign at me, but I don’t understand her. 

 

Aunt Petunia scoffs and grabs me by the upper arm, hauling me upright and out of Cupboard. 

 

“NO!” I screech and she lets out a similar shout, jerking back like she’s been shocked. I can feel the energy inside of me crackling, so maybe she has been.

 

Her face darkens as she cradles her hand to her chest. 

 

“That’s it!” She snarls, her voice scares me. She turns her eyes towards me and quicker than I can follow she grabs the scruff of my shirt and drags me towards the stairs. 

 

I fight back as she pulls me up the stairs, feeling the pressure of the freaky, funny business welling up inside of me with each step. I get away once, but she grabs onto my arm. I’ll be all purple and blue tomorrow, but I don’t care. I tug and twist and kick, but my socked feet don’t find purchase on wood or carpet. I’m making a terrible, freakish animal noise– like the one night when a fox had gotten its head trapped in some garbage in the bin. 

 

She throws me down on the landing and I kick out at her, my anger growing and growing as big as King Kong. I feel out of control, out of my mind–

 

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” I manage through choking, angry tears. 

 

She grabs ahold of one of my feet and drags me towards Diddy’s bathroom, ignoring me completely. I hear Diddy come in the kitchen door and call up to her, but she tells him to walk Piers back home and stay over there for a while. Her voice is stern and angry, even when talking to Diddy . He doesn’t whinge one bit, but he does slam the back door. 

 

No fair!

 

A little Fear worms inside of my stomach. It’ll just be us in the house alone if Diddy and Piers go. And I haven’t seen this big of angry in her eyes in a long time. Not since I killed that man dead.

 

She hadn’t really punished me then. Not… like with Frying Pan or Electric Cord. She’d said lots and lots of things, most of them mean or confusing. And she’d told me things that I don’t want to know. But this time, she is silent and it scares me. 

 

She pushes the door to the bathroom open and drags me inside. Then she steps over me, placing her back against the closing door.

 

All my air is great whooshing hiccups between sobs. I try to be quiet– she hates whinging– but I can’t hold them in anymore. I feel my edges start to wobble and slide as I stare up at her from the floor. 

 

“Pick up the toys,” She instructs, in a sharp whisper. For the first time I take in the bathroom. Diddy takes baths still and there’s lots of shiny colorful plastic things all around me. Things I’m not allowed to touch normally. I take showers in the downstairs bathroom and only have body soap. Diddy must have fourteen different bottles in all four corners of the tub. 

 

She claps her hands once– loud!-- in my direction and I jolt into action. I roll over and push up onto my knees. She slides a basket out of the corner and over to me. 

I wipe my leaking eyes and take in a shaking breath. My chest feels tight and the magic in it is bubbling and buzzing. But my fingers still work as I reach for the first toy– a boat. 

 

She doesn’t react as I pick it up and drop it into the basket. I grab a soldier, much bigger than the one downstairs in Cupboard and with lots of moving parts and drop him in next. Then a ball. A set of tub crayons. Water guns. More boats. 

 

I can’t stop my tears as they fall again and again onto my shaking hands as I work. She’s still not saying anything and I worry that she’ll wait till Uncle Vernon is home and let him do the screaming.

 

I can’t go into my secret world anymore. Every time I’ve tried it’s been filled with the fuzzy smoke. It never hurts me, but it makes me feel weird. Kind of like Not-Me, but also sick like I’m swimming through something gross. 

 

I don’t want Uncle Vernon to yell at me. Another sob bubbles out of my mouth and her patience finally snaps. Striding quickly over to me she grabs the last few items from around the tub and yanks the basket away from me.

 

“Strip to your pants.” She says and I shake my head. Big mistake. She whallops me about the ears and shoulders before grabbing ahold of my shirt and yanking it up. I fight her again, holding my arms at funny angles so it’s harder for her to pull it off of me. My socks and shorts are ripped off of me in a similar fashion. I try to wrestle past her, feeling my arms and legs shaking with the effort to keep the weird wobblyness of them at bay. She’s too strong for me and she hoists me into the tub. 

 

“Stay still or I’ll get the paddle!” She commands, her face looming above me. Without turning away she grabs ahold of the handle and turns on the cold water. Her hand moves down to pull on the stopper and she moves back just in time for the wall of icy water to rain down on me.

 

I holler and writhe– it hurts!-- but she doesn’t listen. She’s rolling up her sleeves and sinking down next to the tub. I try to clamber out of the cold spray, but she pushes me back in and keeps one arm firmly gripping onto my upper arm– keeping me trapped in place. 

 

Finally her words begin. 

 

“To behave so monstorously in front of your family is one thing. To be a miscreant when there are guests in the house ? Completely unacceptable .”

 

I wrack my mind about what she’s talking about. Me slamming Cupboard door? Yelling at her? Shocking her? Whinging up the stairs? Most of that had started after she’d been mad at him about the door, but she seemed to have known where they were going the whole time. 

 

And as far as Piers went, he’d heard plenty of whinging from Diddy when he’d been over visiting before. 

 

“Let me go! ” I beg, not bothering to lower my voice one bit. I’m way past proper behavior. I try to claw my way up but the tub is slick and my fingers can’t find purchase. She reaches behind her and turns the other knob. 

 

“You ungrateful little wretch! We took you in when you had no one, we feed you, we clothe you, we provide a roof over your head. You’d be out on the streets if it wasn’t for us!” 

 

I’m too far gone to stop my moron mouth, “GOOD!” I yell right in her stupid face. 

 

The water is warming up now. It streams over my back and head and I blink it out furiously, trying to keep the world from going watery.

 

“I should have turned you out the day you were left here. Should have told that horrible man what’s what. Instead, I foolishly thought you would be different. That we could raise you right– raise you to follow the Lord–”

 

The water is getting a little too warm now, I start wriggling around in earnest as her angry words echo in the bathroom. 

 

“But you’ve not made any progress towards redeeming yourself. In fact, you seem to be willfully disobeying at every chance you can. What have we ever done to deserve this!?” Her voice is shrill as she finishes. 

 

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME IT WAS JULY!” I scream right in her mean face, making my own face as angry and pinched as I can. 

 

She blinks a few times, looking confused. I use the opportunity to rally myself, wriggling away from her grasp and pushing myself up to sit. 

 

“July?” She asks.

 

“My Birthday!” I cry as the hot water cascades around me. “You knew and I still missed it!” 

 

Her nostrils flare. 

 

“So on top of everything else… you expect us to pamper you.” She purses her mouth and reaches over for the cold handle, turning it off. 

 

“There will be no pampering in this house, Boy. You will get exactly what you deserve and nothing more.” The water starts to sting–hot hot– too hot!- -and I try to scooch away from it. She grabs hold of me and flips me over. I bonk my chin on the edge of the tub and taste blood as sharp pain explodes in my mouth. I bit my tongue.

 

Hot angry tears roll down my face as I wail against the bottom of the tub. I can’t help the long wails that push out of me, as I get more and more scared. The water heats, higher and higher, burning bright licks of pain up my back and pooling around my body. I writhe again but she has both of her hands pinning me down. I splutter in the pooling water, arching my back to get my face away from it. New burning paths cascade over my head and face and I scream again.

 

The water is unbearably hot. I’m screaming loud loud– so loud my throat hurts.

 

My edges are wobbly again, shaking shaking shaking so bad as I struggle to stay Me. The Not-Me hasn’t ever been outside Cupboard. I don’t even know what it would look like in the light. Would I just melt into the drain? 

 

Just as I think I can hold it no longer, she grunts and reaches back, flicking the hot tap off. I collapse into the tub as the hot water drains around me. But it’s a short break before the icy spray is back. I howl again, a wild thing. The pain is different but just as bad. 

 

She allows me to move up on my side, but now the water travels in stinging paths down my chest and stomach. My back feels like it’s on fire as I stretch the skin taut to curl up. I’m gasping in the cold water, my teeth chattering around my bruised tongue. It feels like I could shake apart– like all of my body might become like the steam and float away from the tub. 

 

She’s not holding me anymore, but I don’t have the strength to move. Her hands both look bright red and splotchy as she holds them in the cold spray. 

 

She looks down at me, her eyes full of hatred.

 

“I don’t ever want a repeat of that behaviour again.” 

 

I shut my eyes but a stuttering, “yes, ma’am,” falls from my lips.

 

“You will clean up this mess, and yourself and go right to bed. If I see you before tomorrow, we can come straight back up here.” 

 

I nod in reply.  She straightens up and takes a moment to fix her hair in the mirror, before the door clicks open and she’s gone. 

 

I struggle to sit up in the cold water, my muscles stiff and painful. I reach over and twist the cold knob to off, panting and trying not to throw up as the water slowly drains in deep slow glugs. 

 

I try to stand but my back yells at me, and so I curl up against the cool tub. It was too cold before, but now without the water raining on me I can feel the heat radiating from my back and sides. My belly had luckily been spared the most of the pain- it had been pushed into the bottom of the tub and the water didn’t get there as much.

 

I must doze because the next time I’m aware, I can hear Diddy running up the stairs. He must be back from Piers’. If he comes in here, he’ll tattle that I’m not in Cupboard and she’ll come back and–

 

I shudder at the thought of being held down in the hot water again. I’m sure my skin would crack and peel away. 

 

I reach clumsily over the tub edge and find the oversized shirt and pull it in here with me. The tub isn’t all dry yet, but I don’t care. I push my head through the hole at the top and try and get my useless arms to go in their spots.

 

 It makes my back scream, so I just let them stay inside. The fabric makes each burneded spot ache as it flows down my back and I bite my lip hard to keep the whinge inside. 

 

I clumsily fall out of the tub and grab my shorts and socks, pulling them under the shirt too. 

 

As quietly as I can I ease the door open and listen down the hall. Dudley has a show on loudly in his bedroom, and I can hear dinner getting started in the kitchen. It’s much later in the day than I realized– the setting sun lights up the windows. 

 

I sneak quiet quiet down the stairs– carefully missing all the creakiest places. Still my feet feel like lead. Like all of my energy went down the drain with the water. 

 

The cupboard door is still open from where I got draggeded out. I stand before it for a moment, looking in at the small mattress, the few folded clothes and two books. Soldier sitting on the shelf. The dust swirling around like the fuzz does in my secret world. 

 

Finally I sigh and clunk my way down the last couple of steps into Cupboard. I’m able to carefully shuck my shirt before falling face down onto the mattress. I bounce and hiss at the flare of pain all over. I should have been more gentler. I don’t even have the energy to change into dry pants. I just lay on my rumpled sheets and stare at the wall. 

 

I hadn’t bothered to close Cupboard door and watch as the fading sunlight darkens the room. I dimly hear Petunia calling Diddy down for dinner, hear his clomping footsteps as the dust rains down around me. 

 

“Ewww what happened to you?” I hear through a daze. I don’t respond. Diddy tries again to get my attention, grabbing one of my trainers and throwing it into Cupboard. A small spark of humor runs through me– he’s terrible at sports and misses me by a mile, even from such a short distance. 

“Oi! Why’s your back all splotty, Freak?” I don’t have the energy to turn and look at him, nor do I want to. He’s quiet for a long while before scoffing and slamming Cupboard door shut.

 

I want to sleep. The room is dark and warm now, and I don’t fight my eyes trying to close. But my brain is extra awake and I can hear all the noises of the house. Aunt ‘Atunia and Diddy watching a show during dinner, Uncle Vernon’s return from work, the soft radio as Aunt ‘Atunia cleans up while Vernon and Diddy laugh their way out into the yard. Maybe I do doze, because I feel startled when I hear Diddy’s footsteps on the stairs again. 

 

“We’ll be up in a bit to tuck you in!” Aunt ‘Atunia calls, her voice full of love and affection. A voice she’s never used for me. I grimace as I try to roll over, or at least move so my head is on the pillow. It’s like all the muscles in my back and neck are locked down. 

 

Tears well up in my eyes again, and I can’t do anything as they dribble sideways down my face. 

I don’t want to live like this. No one loves me. I’ve been borned with evil in me and I can’t stamp it out. And I can’t stop doing things that get me punished. 

 

I hate myself. I wish I could just die so I could get it over with and just be in Hell. 

 

My throat catches in a sob and I shake with it. I shake and shake, tears slipping past my scrunched up eyes and into my hair. I choke on the sobs, feeling a sharp, desperate pain in my chest. Like it’s splitting open. Like the funny business is bursting out of me like a weed breaking the dirt. I cry and cry until my sobs catch in my throat and my stomach turns over. I retch over and over but nothing comes out of me. I cry past the pain and the fear and the loneliness. I cry until all of it is gone. 

 

Until I’m Not-Me again, floated-y and free from it all. 

 

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Well… I think my stupid moron wish had been finally answered, because the next time I open my eyes I’m still Not-Me, but I am also covered in flames. 

 

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Notes:

Summary: Aunt Petunia gets mad at Harry for slamming the door and he accidentally uses magic on her while she is punishing him. She pulls him upstairs and makes him get in the tub. She tortures him with hot and cold water while screaming at him. She leaves him to get back to the cupboard on his own. He goes to bed, still very hurt and soaking wet and wishing that he would die and go to hell. When he wakes up, everything is on fire.

A/N: No funny quips here after this one. Just remember that the tag is hurt/comfort. Many of the commenters have guessed the identity of the "postman" and the black dog ;) they will definitely be a big part of the comfort half of this story. Comments and Kudos make the fingers do the clicky-clacky on the keyboard. Also, I've never had a story have this many subs? Is that like a HP fandom thing or a recent trend? Should I be subbing stuff? hmmmmm

Chapter 10: Part 1 Chapter 10

Notes:

TW: fire

I should be scared but I’m not at all. I sit up, all the pain from earlier completely vanished. I’m not in Hell. Well, at least as long as Hell doesn’t look like the inside of Cupboard. But the flames are real– they’ve spread all over, licking over Bed and Shelf and up Cupboard Door. They’re even spreading to the stairs above me– the wood catching and darkening before my eyes.

 

Cupboard is brightly lit, little bits of debris, flaming strips of old wallpaper and plaster rain down around me as the fire rages. I look down, but I can’t see my body. It feels kind of like being Not-Me, but even weirder. Like I’m made of a cloud or… smoke itself. 

 

I sit still for a long time, watching the fire billow around. The stairs above the bottom of Mattress collapse and I pull away from the mess as the fire races out of the hole. I push forward a bit and watch as the flames start to lick at the neat line of family portraits hung carefully on the wall. 

 

The smoke alarms catch my attention, wailing in response to the bright orange flames. There are other sounds I can make out now too– it sounds like someone is screaming but from very far away. I can also hear someone stomping around outside Cupboard, but I don’t see anyone from the new window in the stairs. 

 

Part of me knows I should get out. That’s what you’re supposed to do when there’s a fire. Stop, Rock-a-Roll if it’s on you, but then run run run until you’re away from the house. I saw it once on Inspector Gadget when he had to use the Fire-Stingusher but that’s only for grown ups. 

 

But… I’m not scared. And the fire isn’t hurting me. I’m used to not feeling anything when I’m Not-Me, but there is something different about it this time. I do have a feeling, but it’s… hard to describe. All I feel is energy. Like I am a lightning storm.

 

Something lumbers past the stairs, moving slowly and picking its way across the splintered wood. I think it’s a monster at first– it’s large mouth gaping and its’ black and yellow body wavering in the heat from the flames. 

It’s in the moments before the spray of foamy water gushes into my hiding spot that I realize it’s a fireman. The torrent of water pours down in on me and I try to block it. It hits me and it feels like it goes through me. There’s no pain, but it’s like my body isn’t even there. Like I am only smoke and lightning, but alive. 

 

I’m yanked up suddenly, my body bursting up through the stairs– wood and carpet splintering and shredding around me. I feel the energy crackling as the fireman falls back, the hose shooting in wild arcs towards the ceiling. My body is moving on its own– smashing into walls and ceiling alike. The flames shoot upward with me– a great wave of heat and smoke and death. I cackle with the mad power of it- smashing all the photo frames down as I zoom around and around. I surge into the kitchen next, the flames licking the cabinets in my wake. I’m hungry.

 

I leap gleefully upon the sitting room curtains, watching them wisp away into nothing. The couch seems to shrivel into itself as fabric rends and curls back revealing smoldeirng stuffing. Another fireman runs into the room, his large boots making the room quake with each stride.

 

I hear his radio crackle to life, “Family is saying we have two children on the second floor, Side A, in neighboring bedrooms.” 

 

I swirl past him, free and unformed. I smash the telly and china cabinet out along the way. 

 

Hungry.

 

More.  

 

I am darkness incarnate, the wave of quick death in a ravine, the madness of a gale, the finality of a settling landslide.I am power and death and vengeance wrapped into one, and I am hungry for more. 

 

There is a tiny thing within me– like a weak fluttering hatchling, that shivers deep within my core. I will protect it. I will destroy all else. I am death. And I am merciless.

 

The screams of the engines, the powerful gushing of water, the smell of fear and burning flesh– I revel in it, live for it. The choking smoke and scorching flames are reaching the upper floor. The wood creaks and groans– a beast boiling from the inside out, howling its death song into the cool night air. Soon all that will be left of this place is memories and ash. I have done enough here- it is time to flee. To find a burrow and nestle down with the small beating heart I am sworn to protect.

 

As soon as I burst into the night air, there is a surge within me. The little creature is fighting for control– fighting to be free of the little room I keep him in sometimes. He is not yet safe here, but he’s also not in immediate danger. There is no one here that yet knows of me , and we can still fit within the body right now. So… I will find a good place for him to rest and give him back control. 

 

I surge forward, smelling the smoke filled night as I leave destruction in my wake. Car windows, cobblestones, dirt & debris burst beneath my touch. I don’t need flames to smash them into dust. I am death.

 

I tunnel into the cool earth of the open green space, finding a copse of trees and breaking back through the surface. There I will unravel myself, learning the shape of the body I was born in and putting it back into order. This body is… injured. That won’t do. I remove the imperfections– blisters and welts and bruises. I can’t fix it all, but I can take necessary steps in healing. I have enough energy for it today.

 

When the body is back to an acceptable form, I ease open the door and find him trembling in the little room. A sanctuary of sorts, that he’d built for himself, but that I have taken for my own needs. 

 

He doesn’t sense me exactly– it’s difficult to be corporeal within a mind. But he does sense that the door is open. With a cry he rushes forward and I don’t stop him from passing me. This room is… pleasant enough. It feels familiar but I’m certain it is not a real place. I swirl about the room with the starry ceiling, and curl myself down for a well deserved nap. 

 

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Notes:

Sorry for the late chapter :) I was traveling yesterday to spend the week with my niece!

Obscurous POV! He's been scratching to come out and play. There will be a few more POV shifts during the series, but this is the only one for part 1.

We're about to have a lot more characters on scene. Who do you think will find Harry?

Chapter 11: Part 1 Chapter 11

Notes:

TW: fire, injury, child loss (mentioned/possible)

The sky is orange. I stagger back down Magnolia Crescent watching the weird orange clouds and trying to remember how I got to the park. It’s really late– I must have fallen asleep in the shade of the trees…

 

I trip over some sidewalk that’s all cracked up, and skirt around a big chunk of missing road. What happened here? I follow the line of damage down the street, hopping over cracks and chunks of pavement. There’s even a tree that’s chopped right in half. I don’t remember going to the park– surely, I would have walked down this way– was this here earlier? 

 

But… why had Aunt ‘Atunia let me go to the park in the first place? I haven’t been anywhere but church or Number Four in ages and ages. Maybe I went there in my sleep? I’ve seen sleepwalking on the Telly. And zombies. But, I don’t really feel like a zombie and I don’t think you can come backed from that anyway. 

 

I round the corner for Privet Drive and stop, feeling my insides squeeze like I’m gonna throw up. There’s a line of firetrucks and police cars all down the street, and the orange glow in the sky is coming from Number Four… because it’s on fire. 

 

I feel myself go wobbly again and lean against a garden fence. I clench my fists tight in my shirt and tell myself I’m not allowed to cry. 

 

What is happening? Why is the house on fire? What do I do ? 

 

Neighbors have spilled out of their houses and into their gardens, the streets. I sneak along the wall, grateful for the hedges and creeping vines that hide me. 

 

Number Four is only a few houses down, and the closer I get the harder it is to breath. I can feel my hands shaking and my tongue feels like sandpaper as my feet keep moving towards the Dursley’s home. Will they all be dead when I get there? What if…I… ? 

 

No, I can’t even start to think about that. My brain starts feeling numb and more like Not-Me when I try to remember what happened earlier. 

 

I can feel the air leaving me and rushing back in, fast fast. My lungs burn with the smoke. I can feel the heat coming from the house, even as far down as Number Eight. I think a neighbor calls out to me, I hear a distant “Hey, Kid!”, but I ignore them and keep walking forward. 

 

I can see more of the house now– or what used to be the house. The front still looks familiar, but the whole side– near where the garden door leads to the kitchen is a blackened hole where two stories used to be. Diddy’s bedroom is right above Cupboard– right in that… crater in the side of the house. Wait… Cupboard ! Flames still flicker within the belly of the house- spewing thick black smoke into the night air. 

 

Cupboard is on fire! My heart clenches as I ‘magine soldier getting all of his melt on Chanelle’s burned wires. Greg will be gone– crispy and black like the earthworms on the sidewalk in summer. 

 

They were the only friends I had. 

 

A whoop of a loud siren startles me from my sad and I jump behind a bush as it passes and parks in front of Number Six, the lights still swooping around as the driver jumps out. 

 

I watch as he and another doctor in the back unload a long stretcher and some bags, not daring to make a sound. I don’t want them to see me. I don’t want anyone to talk to me and figure out that I’m supposed to be burnt to a crisp in Cupboard too. 

 

Somehow… some freakish way… I wasn’t in the house when it happened. For the first time ever I wasn’t locked in Cupboard at night, but happened to have camped out at the park? That doesn’t seem like something adults will believe– even if it is the truth. Aunt ‘Atunia always thinks I’m being tricksy when I’m just saying the weird things that happen. The cops would prolly ‘rest me and say I’m a liar. Well, I’m definitely a truther, I just don’t understand how it happened. 

 

When the ambulance doctors race off, I continue to creep towards Number Four, sneaking behind the cars parked on the street. A cat runs out from under one of them, right near my feet and I nearly jump out of my skinned. It darts off down the street and I have to take a minute to catch my breath.

 

I sink behind our neighbor’s car and watch the firemen work. They’re covered in gear and carrying thick hoses or ladders into the house. I can hear the house groaning like it’s in pain, the crackling roar of the fire, the spray of the water. There’s a flurry of movement and I watch as a team pushes a ladder up against one of the windows on the second floor, where I fireman covered in ashes waves for help. They work quickly and they’re soon helping to pull someone from Aunt ‘Atunia and Uncle Vernon’s bedroom window. 

 

Diddy…

 

He’s limp in the fireman’s arms as he straps him onto a thin bed before they lower him down out of the smoke. I hear a terrible scream– something that scares me and makes me feel very young all at once.

 

Aunt ‘Atunia is fighting to get to him– screeching and pushing her way out of the back of an ambulance, ripping a clear mask off her face. 

 

“My baby!” Her cries join the chaos, “No, God please , not my son!” 

 

I shudder, feeling a rush of cold flow through me. I’ve never heard her sound like this before. 

 

She fights and fights and they finally let her through. She runs to the firemen who are quickly pulling Diddy to the ground and then to an ambulance. I hear the big engine rev up as they whisk him inside. I can’t see any details from here. Aunt ‘Atunia is still wailing– a horrible sound that twists my guts up. I don’t know why it sounds familiar, but the shrieks sends goosebumps all over me . 

 

They’re going fast fast now– the ambulance workers loading everyone in and swinging the doors shut, before the lights and sirens flare to life and the van makes a U-turn. They whiz by my hiding place, and I find myself sagging with relief. 

 

My ears still ring with the echo of her cries, long after they’ve gone.

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Notes:

I hope all child abusers have the day they deserve.

My wife and I are having a writing retreat this weekend to get a lot of work done on this fic and a couple of other projects. I'm writing a lot of the comfort parts now, which is fun and satisfying after all the trauma.

Comment to help banish writers block in your area.

Chapter 12: Part 1 Chapter 12

I hear a strange slapping noise getting louder and look around in confusion. I don’t see her at first– she is very small as well, and I am very hidden. But I’m startled again as the slapping noise turns out to be the houseshoes of Mrs. Figg– the old woman from the neighborhood who watches me sometimes. She cries out when she spots me, clutching onto the bumper of the car I’m ducked behind. 

 

“Oh, thank goodness! We were worried sick!” I stare at her, trying to process what she’s saying. Who is ‘we’? She may have been worried, but I highly doubt Aunt ‘Atunia or Uncle Vernon were sick with it. 

 

She hauls me up and turns me around before dusting off my shoulders, her eyes scanning me. “Are you hurt? Can you breathe? Oh, for heaven's sake, let’s just get you checked out!”

 

Before I can answer any of her questions, she’s dragging me down towards the row of firetrucks. I try to tell her that I’m fine, but my voice is too small and my breath is coming out fast again. The flashing lights hurt my eyes.

 

The man’s booming voice cuts through the noise. He’s talking into his radio, “...possible gas main break– seeing damage to the roads and yards on Wisteria Walk and Magnolia Crescent– all north of current location. No gas detected at this time, but we’re bringing in another machine to check…” 

 

“I found him! The second boy– he’s here!” She shouts at one of the firemen and he quickly drops what he’s doing and rushes over to me. His visor is pushed up and he kneels down to look me in the eye. 

 

“Hey, friend! What’s your name?” 

 

I bite my lip and look over at the house. A large section of the roof collapses and a jet of flames shoots out of the front. 

 

“Hey- hey– look at me…” He’s got a deep, soothing voice, “We’ll take care of the house, we’re just glad you’re not in there. Can you tell me what happened?”

 

I shrug my shoulders and then shake my head. I don’t know what to say.

 

“Are you hurt?” 

 

Another shake of my head. 

 

“Were you in there when the fire started?” He asks, tilting his head to look at me closer. 

 

I shrug again. 

 

“Harry, dear– he just wants to make sure you’re okay. Were you in the house when the fire started?” Mrs. Figg is cradling the cat who’d scared me earlier. She leans down to look me in the eyes, “It’s okay to talk to him.”

 

I swallow around the lump in my throat and whisper, “I… don’t remember.” 

 

She frowns a bit, but not like she’s angry, “Where were you?” 

 

“At the park,” I mumble. She sends a questioning look towards the fireman who looks equally confused. 

 

“Okay, Harry. We can talk about it later. Right now let’s get you checked out and we’ll go from there.” The man says, and leads us towards the ambulance in front of Number Six.

 

The team of ambulance doctors joins us and they open the back of the van, the bright lights inside revealing white cabinets and a bed with straps. They have me sit on the bed and do some of the doctor stuff. With the arm band and the heart listener. They also shine a light down my throat and up my nose to look on the insides of me. 

 

They ask me again if I was inside the house with the fire, but I shake my head. I have a weird feeling like I’m lying this time. If I close my eyes, I can see the flames licking up the inside of Cupboard. A black and yellow monster with a hose. The curtains frying to crisp. I shudder and blink it all away. It didn’t happen. If it had, I would have been just as crispy as Aunt ‘Atunia’s floral curtains. It’s just my ‘magination playing tricksies. 

 

Mrs. Figg talks to a police officer, giving her information and pointing towards her house. The officer writes bunches in their notebook before letting her come back to the ambulance. 

 

Finally when they have checked me up, I am allowed to leave. Mrs. Figg wraps her shawl around me and turns me away from the house. But from the little bit I can see, I can tell that the firemen aren’t winning. The house is now all on fire– it pours out of the windows on the second floor and eats away steadily at the holes in the roof. My throat catches in a weird way like I’m going to cry and I shake my head.

 

I’ve never been happy once in that house. I have no business being sad now. Funny or otherwise.

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Notes:

Harry is found by someone who cares at last! But is this safety fleeting?

Chapter 13: Part 1 Chapter 13

Notes:

I realized that I completely forgot to post last week-- that's my bad :)

But hopefully this extra long chapter will make up for it! Finally a little bit of comfort after a very long night.

Mrs. Figgs’ house is the same as it always is. I feel weirdly out of place in it, though. It’s almost like it shouldn’t be this normal– like I’m something that has changed too much and no longer fit into what was once familiar. 

 

I look around and don’t see any of her cats. They must all be sleeping. I toe at a little toy mouse on the ground, and chew on my lip as she bustles about fixing tea and getting blankets for me to camp on the couch with. 

 

It’s too bright in here, even though it’s just lamps. I squint around the room, trying to ‘pull myself together’ like Aunt ‘Atunia says. 

 

“Is Diddy dead?” I ask as she hurries back into the room. My voice doesn’t sound like myself. She stops at this and looks at me with an expression I don’t understand. I think she might be sad, but it looks… way more upset than just plain sad. I look away with a mumbled, “...nevermind”.

 

She sets the tea tray down on the little table by the couch and pulls me over to sit down.

 

“Your cousin was hurt in the fire.” She says softly, “When they took him to hospital he was alive. And the doctors there are going to do their best to make sure he can get all better.” 

 

I nod. I don’t know why I feel so guilty. Can she tell? 

 

“Your uncle was also injured. He rode out in the first ambulance before they found your cousin.”

 

I’d wondered where he was. It had been strange not to hear him hollering at the firemen, telling them what to do.

 

“Your Aunt stayed behind to wait for the firemen to find… you both.” She says and pats my back, “She had to ride with Dudley to the hospital.” 

 

She’s using Diddy’s fake name too. I nod and she continues,

 

“I agreed to stay and ride with you, when they found you. But it looks like the firemen didn’t need to find you at all. You were safe…” She trails off, and takes in a shaky breath. 

 

I feel my insides squirm and know she’s going to ask again.

 

“Harry…” She’s using my faked name too, the one I use at the doctor’s, “Do you remember how you got to the park?” 

 

I chew on my lip and think my hardest of thinks. I remember… my back hurted? I remember my throat aching around whinges, and my chest feeling like it was gonna ‘splode into a million billion pieces. I don’t remember going to the park, but I must have. Maybe I’d runned away again? 

 

“I remember… going to bed.” I start, leaving out the part about whinging. I got the feeling that Mrs. Figg didn’t like it much either. “And then I woked up in the park, under the trees by the playground.” I start sounding more confident because the memories are more solid feeling. 

 

“When I got there I saw that the house was on fire and I hided because I was scared.” 

 

Her face is tight like when Aunt ‘Atunia is at church and I am on ‘thin ice, mister.’ But we’re alone and she doesn’t turn angry. Instead she wraps her arms around me and hugs me. 

 

“I’m sorry you were scared, and I’m very happy you weren’t in the house. They couldn’t get up the stairs to your bedrooms and your Aunt was in hysterics. We were so afraid we’d lost both of you.” 

 

She doesn’t mean lost like when you’re in the supermarket and can’t find your growndups. She means lost like killed. I’m glad of that too.

 

But I frown at her words. “My room isn’t upstairs?” I say before I can think about it and instantly regret it. She pulls back and looks down at me. 

 

“Your Aunt said you and Dudley slept in the bedrooms on the second floor? That she and Vernon were in the sitting room when the fire broke out and that they couldn’t get upstairs because the stairwell was on fire. Is that not true?”

 

I shrug again, not wanting to answer. That’s probably mostly true. 

 

“If you had been in the house…” She starts, “Would you have not been in your room?” 

 

I shrug again. Technically Cupboard is my ‘room’, but it’s not really what she’s asking. 

This feels like one of those lies that’s not really a lie but is. “I would have been in bed.” I say. “But I was out at the park instead.” 

 

She still looks like she doesn’t believe me. 

 

“Where is your bed,” She asks carefully. “Is it in the bedroom on the second story?” 

 

She’s caught me. I shake my head, chewing on my lip. 

 

“Is it on the second story somewhere?” I shake my head again.

 

“It’s downstairs?” This time I nod. 

 

“And you’re sure you weren’t in the house when the fire started? Maybe you saw it and got scared and ran out?” 

 

I… don’t think so. But I really can’t remember getting to the park. 

I shrug again. A luxury that she’s letting me get away with. Uncle Vernon would have whalloped me bunches already for being a Wishywasher. 

 

“I don’t remember getting to the park.” I say, trying to sound like I’m telling the truth. Because I am, but she doesn’t seem to believe me. “I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes…weird stuff happens to me.” 

 

I see her face change, she looks relieved, like I’ve said something she’s expected. 

 

“Well… weird stuff can happen to anyone.” She says with a sigh, “I’m just glad you’re okay.” She gives my hand a reassuring pat before grabbing a teacup from the tray and passing it to me. 

 

She fusses for a bit, making sure I have enough sugar and cream. I don't really get to drink tea, so I don’t know what to say when she says, “Is that how you usually take it?”

 

Aunt ‘Atunia says that I can’t have warm food or drinks, that it will upset my tummy. She always makes me a wait a long time after cooking to eat, because she doesn’t want me to make a mess. I feel embarrassed about telling this to Mrs. Figg– so I decide to just drink the tea. If it makes me feel sick, I can just run to the bathroom. I’m a big kid, I know how to handle being sick by myself.

 

I take a sip and it’s so good. Warm and sweet. I’m going to sip it and make it last. 

 

“I’ve got a few calls to make. I’ll let your Aunt know that you’re here for the night and we’ll figure out what to do from there. You stay here and get comfy and I’ll be back in a jiff.” 

 

I have no problem following her instruction while I sip my tea and snuggle deeper into the couch cushions. The tea warms my tummy and I start to blink sleepily. 

 

A thrill seeps through the cold numbness in my chest when I remember something.  Once when I was really little I stayed at Mrs. Figgs for the weekend and at night when she thought I was asleep, she came to tuck me in tighter and gave me a kiss on my forehead. I’d only seen that kind of thing in movies. No one ever touched my ugly forehead with even their hands and Mrs. Figg kissed me! 

 

I trace over the big scar, winding my finger over it’s jaggedy edges and following the longest line down over my eyebrow and eyelid. I gently play with my eyelashes, feeling the little gap where the scar hits the line and I have some of the lashes missing. It feels weird against my fingertip. 

 

She’d only done it the one time, but maybe if I pretend I’m sleeping, she might kiss me goodnight again when she gets back from her phone call.

I gulp the last of the tea, and scoop up a bit of extra sugar that hadn’t dissolved all the way in the bottom of the cup. I carefully set down the cup, and toss myself back into the pillows, pulling the blanket up around my ears. 

 

The house is very quiet and I try to settle my jittery body, but the lamps are still on and I can feel lots of emotions flowing around inside of me like cats chasing mice. I’m scared for Diddy, but excited about maybe not living with any of them for a good long while. I’m still worried about my funny business and hiding it from Mrs. Figg, but it seems calmer inside of me now, like it’s just as tired as I am. 

 

I shut my eyes tight and listen close for Mrs. Figg to come out of the kitchen. I can hear her murmuring on the phone, her voice low and gentle. I hear her hang up the phone. I expect the slap of her house slippers on the tile next, as she comes back into the room, but I wait and wait and she doesn’t come. I listen closer. Maybe she’s making something to eat? I hear a strange whooshing sound and then a man’s voice. That’s weird? Maybe she has a radio in there? 

 

But no, she’s replying, her voice sounding more anxious than it had on the phone. I can hear them going back and forth. Was there someone else in the house? I open my eyes and sit up, listening closer and closer, trying to make out what they’re saying. I can hear my fake name– why is she talking about me? Is it a police officer again? Maybe they figured out how I got to the park? Or… what if they don’t believe me? What if they… I feel a sudden swoop of fear as I remember the police officers questioning Aunt ‘Atunia and me after the car accident. What if they know about my funny business? What if they think I used it on the house!? What if they’re here to ‘rest me? 

 

I slip off of the couch and inch forward, glad I kept my socks on so I can be super stealthy.

 

“And he bears no marks of being in the fire? He is completely unharmed?” I hear the man’s gentle voice asking.

 

“No, no– I had the paramedics check him out, and he’s got no soot in his mouth or nose. Doesn’t look like he was anywhere near it.” 

 

“Little miracles, I suppose. Perhaps a case of protective apparation in his sleep?” 

 

Mrs. Figg doesn’t answer him. What the heck is a partition? Maybe it’s police talk for sleep walking? 

 

I shuffle closer to the doorway into the kitchen. She must have a lamp on in there, because the room seems to be bathed in a weird green light. 

 

“I will pay a visit to his relatives tomorrow, to ensure he can remain in their care. And we’ll have to strengthen the wards on your house in the meantime.” 

 

“Of course, Albus. We’re safe for the night?” 

 

The man hums and Harry pokes his head around the corner, his heart pounding. He still can’t see her or the man at all.

 

“The protection wards around the neighborhood are still up. We’ll just want additional ones on your house if he’ll be staying with you for more than a day or so. I’ll speak with Petunia tomorrow and make arrangements.” 

 

“And you don’t think this was an attack?”

 

“The wards would have prevented that sort of thing entirely. I’m sure the authorities will perform… I believe the term is an ‘arson’ investigation to find the cause of the fire. I suspect wiring or chemicals to be the culprit.”

 

“My street’s been torn up. They thought something might have gone wrong with the gas main, but they can’t find any leaks. Usually when the muggles can’t find a reason for something hinky, there’s something going on in your world.” 

 

What’s a muggles? 

 

“The ministry would have been alerted had there been magic performed in the neighborhood. The wards are particularly strong in your area, as it is highly populated by muggles.” 

 

She makes a funny sound like when Aunt ‘Atunia doesn’t like what Uncle Vernon said, but doesn’t want to argue. 

 

I step forward again, sliding behind the refrigerator. My heart pushing up into my throat with how many nerves are tangling up inside of me. All I have to do is peek out from behind the appliance and I’ll be able to see who she’s talking to.

 

“And you don’t think it could have been… well, I wrote to you about the car accident a few months ago– dreadful that was… and it could have been so much worse if the child involved hadn’t been wixen.” 

 

What’s a… wixen? She’s talking about me. I slowly push myself towards the edge of the fridge.

 

“We thoroughly investigated the accident as well. It seems that Harry was able to shield himself from being hit. None of the wards we have on him would have shielded as well as his own power. It’s perfectly normal at that age for those types of reactions to manifest. But… I don’t believe starting a fire unprovoked would be a protection reaction, as it puts the user in harm's way. Not to say that it couldn’t happen, but…”

 

Just peek out. Don’t be a chicken!

 

“It’s so hard not to say anything to him, Albus. If I could speak plainly… if I could explain about how it’s normal for this to be happening…” It sounds like she’s nearly in tears, “I can tell he’s holding something back, that he’s scared to tell me something, but I just can’t see what it is.” 

 

The man is quiet for a long moment, “I will speak with his Aunt tomorrow to see how much has been explained to him. If it seems to be the right time, then myself or Minerva will come to assist you tomorrow afternoon.” 

 

“ Thank you, Albus.” 

 

This is my last chance. I can tell from their voices that they’re wrapping things up. I take in a deep breath and peek one eye out from behind the fridge. At first I don’t understand what I’m seeing. Only Mrs. Figg is in the kitchen, her back to me as she stokes the small fire in the wood stove. Where is the man? 

 

“Is that all you need of me at the moment?” The man’s voice is still there.

 

“No, I just…” Mrs. Figg drifts off, her voice caught with emotion.

 

I hunch down a bit and peer at the ground. Maybe he’s fallen? But when I duck under where the table blocks my sight, I finally see who she’s talking to. His face is old and kind, but pinched with worry. He gazes up at her with a gentle smile, waiting for her reply. His white hair blossoms from around his face until it is wreathed in the green flames surrounding it. Because the man… is in the wood stove. He’s a part of the fire itself. 

 

My hand slips against the fridge as my knees give out. The man’s eyes, alight and twinkling in the flames snap to my own and I feel the sharp blue gaze pierce right through me. It’s like a bucket of ice has been thrown over my head. 

 

Mrs. Figg… is a witch. 

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Notes:

I'm working on a writers/creatives discord to motivate me to write this. Would anyone be interested in joining?

I'm going back to school soon so hopefully my week will balance out so that I'll have a dedicated writing time. Now if only I could stick with one project... lol

Comments are my lifeblood-- I love hearing your take on things or your predictions. It makes me so pleased when people guess right (or adjacent to right) about where this is going. Nobodies figured out the title yet which is really gratifying because it took a long time to make it.

Chapter 14: Part 1 Chapter 14

We stare at each other, the man in the fire and me. His face looks shocked at first, but he blinks quickly and starts to smile. 

 

“Ah— Hello there, Harry…” 

 

My fake name is all it takes for my legs to unfreeze. I quickly scramble up from the floor as I hear Mrs. Figg call out for me, but I don’t stop. I’m running like the day I’d runned to Church– faster and faster, through the house, out into the front garden, past her rows of gnomes and potted plants, through the creaky garden gate and out onto the quiet of Wisteria Walk.

 

I don’t stop then– they’ll be after me for sure . Witches and wizards! Right here in Little Whinging! Aunt ‘Atunia won’t be happy about this . But I’ve got more to worry about right now. They caught me listening, and now they’ll surely be chasing me. But… are they the evil wizards that killed my parents? Or… are they going to know that I’m bad now too and…

 

Would they kill me? 

 

I urge myself to move faster, feeling the cool night air burn in my lungs as my legs work and work and work. I turn left at the end of the street, not even knowing where I’m going. I can’t go back to Privet Drive. The Nosy Nellies there all know Aunt ‘Atunia and think I’m dirty rotten. They’d probably call the police. I can’t go to Church– Mrs. Figg knows we go there! She’ll look there. The same for the park. I was just hiding there earlier today, for goodness sake. 

 

I push myself onward, trying to stay out of streetlights and the road as much as I can. Luckily there are plenty of bushes and cars to hide behind whenever I feel like I’m being watched. But I don’t want to stop for too long. The wizard will surely be on my tail now. And what if he catches me and burns me up with his green fire?

 

The fear pulses through me, as I slam my socked feet into the pavement, running as fast as I can. Where to go? Where to go!?

 

The shops! There’s a row of them at the end of the neighborhood with big dark alleyways that Aunt ‘Atunia doesn’t let us short cut down. We almost always take the car anyway. But I remember seeing lots of boxes and trash by the dumpster there. If I can hide from the wizards until the morning, then I can ask the shopkeepers to call for help.

 

But… call who? The only people that I’ve ever stayed with are the Dursleys, Mrs. Figg and Uncle Vernon’s sister, Marge. And I definitely don’t want to stay with her.

 

The postman! They can call the post office in the morning. Diddy’s telly show Says-Me-Street said that when you’re lost look for trusted adults. Like police or postmen. He didn’t know any policemen, but the postman could help him! Maybe he could go live with him. He scrunches his brows in concentration, desperately trying to remember a name or anything that would help him. 

His footsteps stumble to a stop. Why would the postman want to take him in? Doubt churns in my gut as I look back down the dark street. I look up at the moon, big and bright and nearly full above me, squinting to make out the dim stars in the night sky. I don't know what I should do. I hug my middle, and crouch down, squatting under a wisteria bush’s shadow. 

 

There’s a crack and a bright flash to my left, behind one of the houses and it makes me stumble forward again, scraping my hands on the pavement as I scramble upwards. 

 

I’ll just have to trust that someone at the shops will know who to call. 

 

Maybe… they can call the orphanage to come pick me up? Yeah, that’ll be smartest. I’m sure Uncle Vernon isn’t going to believe my ‘crocka-many lies’ about being at the park. Even if it was the truth. This time he’ll send me to the orphanage for sure. 

 

But if I go on my own, maybe the wizards won’t be able to find me. If no one knows where I went but me, then I am secret safe.

 

The looming shops are now within eyesight. I slow down as I approach, a sudden shiver of fear running down me. The alley is much darker at night, and there’s not as many lamp posts here as there are in the neighborhood. The buildings rise up on either side and I can’t see anything down the gap. 

 

I try to ‘magine what was there. The big green dumpster at the end of the row, lots of boxes, a shopping cart. I glance around as I catch my breath. No one behind me, and just an old truck parked on the far side of the lot. I listen close close, trying to hear any noises from the alley over the sound of my pounding heart. 

 

The darkness before me looks ready to swallow me up. Maybe I should just kip near the storefront…

 

No. I’d be way to findable out in the open. There’s not even a plant to hide behind.

 

I gather all of my courages and step into the darkness. I don’t make it any further before a loud crack, like a firework, goes off right in front of me. Quick-as-a-light, a hand shoots out from the dark alleyway and grabs ahold of my arm, wrenching me around and pushing me back towards the storefront. I scream in terror– a scream louder than I’ve ever done before. I feel my throat burn with it as the pale face of the man comes out into the dim light. 

 

His eyes are black pools pushed deep into his pale face. He’s wearing tight black, billowing robes, and his face is set in a grim sneer. Dark hair frames his face as he stares down at me. 

 

No… not a man. A vampire !

 

“Potter” he says and I scream again, squirming and kicking. He’s much stronger than me and I feel another wave of icy terror grip me. 

 

“LET ME GO!” I screech, falling onto the ground and trying to roll away. His grip is firm and my arm burns as he yanks me back to my knees. I pull away as hard as I can as I try to crawl from him, but he’s much bigger than me. 

 

“Will–you– cooperate ! You foolish child!” He snarls, grabbing onto the back of my shirt. 

“I’m not here to harm you!” 

 

I don’t believe one dumb word out of his face. He’s definitely an evil wizard if I ever saw one. 

I have to get away. I yank harder, feeling my shoulder pop painfully as I twist around. 

 

“Stop this at once!” I’m making the trapped fox noises again. Just like I had… that afternoon…

 

Memories start to rush forward. The bright yellow tug boat falling from my hand and into the basket. The flames licking up my back and pooling around me as I struggled. No… not flames… 

 

The man grunts as one of my kicks land and he hauls me up. 

 

Not flames… it had been… water…

 

I snarl at him, feeling my magic swirl inside of me, faster and faster– just as it had when… 

 

…when Aunt ‘Atunia had held me down in the bathtub…

  No ! I feel a surge of power run through me as I try to shut the memory down. 

 

The man drops me abruptly as if he’s been shocked and stumbles back. 

 

I scramble to my feet as he pulls out a stick– no, a wand! – from inside his robe. 

 

“Calm down, Potter, or I’ll have to stun you!” I don’t calm down. Instead I run. I leap over the curb and start heading off across the parking lot. A flare of red light and a sharp sting in my back has me stumbling to the ground. My body doesn’t seem to be working with my brain anymore though, and my arms and legs feel heavy heavy. I’m thinking through maple syrup as I raise my head. 

 

I hear the crunch of his boots on the asphalt as he approaches and I try my best to rally. He rolls me over and scoops me up like I weigh nothing. 

 

“No…” My moron mouth whinges out.

 

“I’m… sorry I had to do that. You were too afraid to see reason.” His voice is gruff, but quieter- less angry. 

 

I squirm in his arms, trying to get my body to respond to me. It hurts. 

 

Another crack echoes through the night and I whimper in fear. 

 

“Do you have him?” A female calls out and the vampire turns to her. 

 

Wait… a vampire…

 

“Yes– he’s fine, he’s just– augh!” 

 

He yells as I manage to roll over and sink my teeth into his shoulder. He drops me suddenly and I feel the ground close up on me fast. 

 

And then… I am nothing again. A million billion tiny pieces woven into smoke. Beyond fear and pain and danger. The smoke closes around my senses and I know no more. 

 

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Notes:

Heheheeee bite 'em.

I don't know what Dumbledore actually expected sending Snape after Harry lol.

Chapter 15: Part 1 Chapter 15

Notes:

tw: emetophobia, mentions of child abuse

This is one of my favorite chapters. I really hope you enjoy it!

The first thing I’m aware of is the burning bile in my throat. I roll over and spit it up, my eyes screwed tight as the bright flash of pain shoots through my head. I vomit again, all the tea I’d drunk earlier whooshing out of me. It tastes way worser coming back up. When it’s passed, I roll back over, opening my eyes finally and taking in the sky above me. 

 

I shouldn’t have drunk that tea. Aunt ‘Atunia was right. Burdens can only have cold foods. 

 

It’s night. I can make out a few stars peering down at me through the moonlit clouds and tree branches. It’s quiet here, and I let my aching body relax in the cool grass while I try to remember what happened.

 

Everything seems like a blur. 

 

I push up on to my elbows and look around me. There is a path of destruction behind me– like something had trenched its way across the grass, uprooting bushes and trees along the way. It’s jagged– not a straight line at all and I lose sight of the line just past… the playground…

 

I frown in confusion. I’d been here before. This feels… eerily familiar. Hadn’t I… woken up here in this same spot earlier today?

 

Right… and I’d walked home and found… that the house was on fire? Why was I back here? 

 

I sit up all the way, my head feeling like it’s way too big for my body and if I tip too far, I’ll fall right over. That’s happened before, I just have to ‘toughen up’ like Aunt ‘Atunia said. No use whinging. 

 

It’s when I’ve sat up that I feel him. I don’t know how I didn’t sense him before. He’s sitting under the tangle of trees I woke up in earlier that evening. I get the eerie feeling that he’s much bigger than he should be. The trees look teenie as he sits among them.

 

I squint, trying to make out his features, but he mostly looks like a mix of beard and fur.

I blink, wondering if I’m dreaming. There’s surely not a… bearded bear watching me sleep in the park?

 

“‘Lo there. You took a bit of a tumble.” The creature speaks, his voice warm but concerned, “You alright?” 

 

I think I nod. I feel like… spaghetti that’s been cooked too long. 

 

I tense up as he shuffles forward, I can see him getting onto his knees. 

 

“No, no, no–shhhh -hhhhh! ” His words are alarmed but his voice is just a whisper, like he’s talking to a spooked cat. “Don’t be afraid.” He settles back down. “Was just gonna come out in the light o’ bit better, so yeh could see me, is all.” 

 

“Are you a wizard?” I croak out finally. He chuckles a bit. 

 

“No, not really.” He replies. What does that mean? 

 

“Do you have a wand?” I ask again, starting to see flashes of a thin pale man pulling his own wand from his robe. What… had happened after that?

 

“Erm… no, no I don’t. It’s just me.” 

 

“You know who I am?” I ask.

 

“Course, I do. Known yeh since you were a baby.” I frown at him. He’d known me… when my parents were alive? But he’s not a wizard?

 

“Who are you?” I pull my knees up to my chest and tuck my shaking arms around them. 

 

“Name’s Hagrid. I’m the groundskeeper at Hogwarts.” 

 

“What’s that?” I interrupt him.

 

“Oh, it’s kinda like a gardener, with some extra duties.” He says and chuckles. 

 

“No… what’s a Hog’s wart?”

“ Hogwarts,” I can hear the smile in his words. I don’t know why but I can feel the scareds leaking out of me and away, “It’s a school”. 

 

“Oh.” I whisper, not sure what else to say. 

 

“Listen, Harry. I want to make sure you’re okay. You…fell down pretty hard. Is it okay if I come over there?” 

 

Well, I am hurting lots and lots. And the man has been so nice so far. 

 

“Okay, but… slowly.” I say, feeling a bit of nervous in my stomach.

The man slowly gets to his knees and then, with a groan, his feet. He approaches very slowly and soon the whole sky is filled with his towering form. I feel the fear ratchet up again, but he must see it on my face because he crouches down again.

 

“Shhhh, I won’t hurt yeh, promise.” His voice is so soothing and he keeps his hands where I can see them. 

 

I can’t help a little sob from escaping. I’m really starting to feel my hurt now, and my bones ache like they’re on fire. I clamp my Moron mouth shut as my chest starts to burn with whinging wanting to come out. I can’t whinge. He’ll get mad. Adults always get mad. 

 

He leans in closer, looking concerned. I finally can see his face, and his eyes are like deep drops of honey. He looks like he laughs a lot– there are lines around them. 

 

I take big gulping breaths and rub at my eyes. I’m not going to cry. I can’t. 

 

He moves to sit back criss-cross applesauce and I watch him. I was right, he’s much bigger than a normal man. Big as the sky, and at first is pretty scary to look at. He had told me not to be afraid. So if he’s a truther, then he’s just a gardener…

 

“Wait…” I bite my lip, feeling a little wiggle of excitement run through me, distracting me from my hurts, “are you a gardening angel?” 

 

His face breaks into a grin and he laughs loudly, his belly jostling as he leans back. 

 

“Oh, no. No nothing like that.” He wipes his eye with his finger as he looks back at me, “Though I’ve been told the pumpkins I grow, are ‘simply divine.’” 

 

I feel a little foolish then, like I’ve said something Moron.

 

“But… a guardian is a kind o’ protector. And I’m here to protect yeh. So if ya want to think o’ me as a guardian angel, I wouldn’t mind it one bit.” He says kindly and I flush with embarrassment and maybe a little happy too.  I rub that last of the tears out of my eye. 

 

He’s here to protect me?

 

“Can you move all yer limbs? ‘Nything broken?” I wiggle around a bit, pushing my arms out in front of me. Everything is sore, but nothing feels like a sharp pain. I shake my head. 

 

“And how’s yer head– do yeh think yeh knocked it on ‘nything?” 

 

I shrug. That one’s harder to answer. It feels too big for my body, but nowhere is especially tender. And my ears aren’t ringing like the last time I got whalloped in the skull. 

 

“Is yer tummy still upset?” I shake my head at this. It’s still a little rocky, but I don’t have anything in there to sick up anymore. 

 

“Well, if yer feeling well enough to walk, why don’t we get outta here?” 

 

That pulls me up short. I don’t know about going anywhere with Hagrid. He’s nice, but… I thought Mrs. Figg was nice too. And she was tricksy.

 

Even if he’s not a wizard, he knows about them enough to answer my questions. 

 

“We can’t stay outside all night, ‘snot safe.” Hagrid reasons. 

 

Maybe he can help me get away from the wizards.

 

“There’s… people chasing me.” I say, clutching at my shirt front, “One of them putted a spell on me that made me limp noodles.” 

 

Hagrid makes a hrmm sound and shakes his head, “Well, I’m not gonna do that. I’m hopin’ yeh will come with me and we’ll see about getting yer something to eat and to bed somewhere safe.”

 

“Mmmmm… I’m not really ‘spose to go anywhere with strangers.” My breath starts to feel shaky again, like I’ll cry or whinge. 

 

Hagrid sighs, “Well, uh… I suppose that is a good rule to have. What if we could talk to your Aunt on the… tv-phone to see if it’s okay with her?” 

 

I shrug. I don’t know if Aunt ‘Atunia would be able to tell if he was an evil wizard or not. Or if she would think that anyone who knows about wizards could be anything but evil.

 

“I have a friend whose name is Dumbledore. And he’s the kindest and wisest man I know. And he cares about yeh a’lot. I think he could make sure it’s okay with your Aunt for yeh to come stay at Hogwarts fer a little bit until yeh can go home with her.” 

 

I frown, “Hogwarts… is a school for wizards?” 

 

Hagrid looks relieved, “It is. It’ll be safe there.”  

 

“But… wizards are evil… ” I whisper and I see him shift. His head tilts to the side and he starts to say something but all around us the popping firecracker noises happen. Lots of them . 

 

I’m strangled by the fear as it grips me suddenly in its vicious claws. I scramble back from him as he shouts in surprise, feeling my body start to go wobbly again. Not-me shifts along my skin, the black smoke pouring out of me and choking out my vision as I shake and shake. 

 

“Hagrid!” I scream, the fear gripping me tight. I reach out to him, my arm already surrounded by black tendrils of smoke. He reaches for me too–!

 

Red lights flash across the sky and I hear an anguished “No! Don’t hurt ‘em!” from Hagrid before my body splits and fractures into smoke and darkness again. 

 

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Notes:

This entire fic was concieved when I thought of this interaction between Hagrid and Harry. I had to build something around it, and found that there was a story there.

Would love to know your thoughts in a comment!

Chapter 16: Part 1 Chapter 16

“...Ministry will have to be notified that we have him. They’re mobilizing teams to scour the area for an obscurial.”

“--could force our hand on what to do. They’re not known to be lenient in these cases.” 

“Do they know who it is, though? Or are they looking for a muggleborn?” 

I don’t understand what I’m hearing. It sounds like they’re speaking in a cave– their words echoing around me. Aunt ‘Atunia had taken Diddy and I to a cave tour once a longed time ago. It kind of smelled like this too– like cold stone. Where am I?

“No matter what, we cannot hand him over to the Ministry. I doubt they will know what to do with him besides termination.” A stern sounding woman speaks. 

“What are we going to possibly do? Harry Potter. An obscurial!” Another woman’s voice, this one sounding very upset. 

“We will not panic, that’s our first step.” This voice sounds very familiar. I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids are too heavy. I start to take in the rest of my body and realize I’m in bed. 

“When news of this breaks, Albus…” She tapers off with a shudder, “He symbolizes hope and perseverance. I’m not sure society can deal with the heartbreak.” The woman sounds like she’s crying. 

“They will endure it, as they have weathered storms before.” I finally am able to place the voice. It’s the man in the fire. I should be scared. He’s a wizard. 

But… I can’t feel anything. It’s not like when I’m Not-me. I don’t feel wobbly. If anything I’m very solid and stuck firmly under the covers. But my emotions feel like they’ve been turned down and I’m not able to feel them as much. I want to sleep badly, but I have to hear what they’re talking about. 

“We will inform the Ministry that a magical creature has been captured in the Little Whinging area and that we are calling in an expert to assess the threat.” 

“They’ll never fall for that. So many muggles reported the same exact thing we saw, Albus. They’ll know it’s an obscurial.”

“There hasn’t been an obscurial in Great Britain for decades. We can waylay them for now,” 

“We can’t turn ‘im over to them! They won’t understand!” That voice is Hagrid’s. Hearing it sends an uncomfortable squirm through my tummy. He’d been so nice, but… they’d captured me. Had he been tricking me? 

“So we leave him locked up forever?” One of the women speaks with a thick accent, “There’s a reason the Ministry has such strict guidelines for dealing with this kind of thing. It’s unsafe to keep him here, or anywhere near any living thing. The risk, not just to being discovered by the Muggles, but to life itself is grave.” 

I try to wiggle my toe, but I feel like I’m pulling my muscles through taffy.

“I understand, Minerva, but what would you have us do?” The wizard sounds tired.

“He cannot stay here. The students will be back in less than a month!” 

“I agree with Minerva,” another woman chimes in, “If the wards fail… he could cause catastrophic loss of life.” 

I manage to crack one eye open. Everything around me is blurry. My glasses…

“We will work on securing another safe location for him. Our first priority is convincing the Ministry to allow him to stay in our care, and finding a team that would have a hope in treating him. I would like you to think through your contacts and come to me in the morning with anyone you think might be a good fit.” 

“Is… Newt Scamander still living?” A man chimes in. His voice sounds familiar too. 

“Yes. And I have already sent an emergency message to him, requesting his help. He’s probably the closest anyone has ever gotten to being able to heal an obscurial.” 

He can hear footsteps walking away from him. 

“Minerva. I need your help tonight, at the Ministry. Your sway with the DMLE will be invaluable. Poppy, if anything changes about his status, I want you to send for me immediately. When Severus has finished with the wards he’ll assist you in brewing. Hagrid, a word please?” 

As their conversation grows steadily quieter, I feel myself fading. There’s a whoosh and a cool rush blows over me. I have no idea what it is, but I cannot fight it when sleep comes again. 

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Chapter 17: Part 1 Chapter 17

Notes:

Hogwarts at last :) Another montage chapter. We get more Hagrid, Snape and finally....

TW: vomiting/illness, depression/PTSD, force feeding (through magical means).

Danger makes the hair on my neck prickle and I cower beneath the blanket. I know he’s there. The Wizard. He’s watching me with his bright blue eyes, as I hide under the bed. I haven’t explored any more of the room. When I’d woken and I could move again, I’d dragged the blanket down under the bed frame and hidden there.

 

There’s a shimmering wall between me and everyone that comes into the room. It’s like I’m in an upside down bowl but in the center of a large room with a high ceiling. Trapped like a bug in Aunt ‘Atunia’s kitchen. 

 

 I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Hagrid came in earlier and tried to get me to eat some of the food and water they’d left for me on the table. I don’t want to come out from the safety of the bed. And I don’t want anything to eat. It might be poison– they could be tricking me! 

 

Hagrid watched me, his face sad, until a woman came by and told him he was needed in the ‘Great’ Hall. The woman stayed a long time after that– she’s wearing an apron and a hat and puttering around a cauldron. She must be a witch, but she doesn’t seem like the ones I’ve seen on Telly. She doesn’t have any moles or a pointy hat or anything. She just looks… kind of like a nurse in an old timey movie actually. 

 

But now… the wizard from Mrs. Figg’s fire is here. When he’d come in, he’d used his wand to float the tray of food out of the bubble and put in something fresh. He’d made it float right down next to the bed for me.I haven’t even looked at it. My stomach doesn’t feel like I could eat anything anyway– it’s all tangled up and squirmy.

 

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

 

My head is pounding and my tongue feels like it’s two sizes too big. I blink slowly from where I’m laying against the cool stone floor, the blanket draped over my back and head. My socks catch on the rough stone floor as I fidget. The floor feels nice– it’s cold against my stomach– I feel as though it’s holding me, keeping my edges where they should be. 

 

It’s quiet, other than the soft sound of something bubbling in the cauldrons. I can’t see anyone from where I’m laying, and I’m too tired to get up and look. 

 

I’m sure someone is watching. Someone is always watching.

 

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

 

I need water. My stomach turns and I swallow bile. My throat feels like it’s on fire. 

 

I don’t want to think too much about fire. I’ve been having vivid dreams of flying through Number Four as it burns around me. I don’t want it to be true. 

 

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

 

“...severly dehydrated, but I’m afraid that forcing him will set it off…”

 

The nurse lady is talking. I turn my head to see the tall vampire man standing on the other side of the bubble. 

 

“Well, we’re needing to test the wards anyhow.” He sounds bored as he raps his knuckles on the shimmering surface, “Might as well get it over with.”

 

“I’m sure the Headmaster will want to try a different way…” She says as she stirs something in the cauldron. 

 

The man turns to her, “He’ll just get sicker the longer we cater to this insolence. Give him the choice and be done with it.” 

 

I close my eyes, I’m too tired to think.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

 

My eyes are burning and dry when I open them again. Hagrid sits criss cross applesauce within my eyeline and smiles at me when he notices I’m awake.

 

“‘Lo, there.” He rumbles out.

 

I frown a bit. My arms feel all limp again and my head is throbbing. I sigh and pull the blanket closer around me. 

 

“Harry… we need yeh ta drink somethin’. Can you sit up fer me?” His voice is very gentle, just like it had been that night in the park. 

 

I don’t want to sit up or drink anything . I want to lay as still as I can until I fall back asleep. 

 

“It’s good– fresh cold pumpkin juice. Do yeh… remember pumpkin juice?” 

 

I frown again. There’s a clear goblet sitting near the bed that I hadn’t noticed before. A bowl of soup and a large piece of bread sit on a tray not too far away. 

 

No, I have never had pumpkin anything much less juice . But it doesn’t look very good. It looks like an orange smoothie that’s sat out too long. 

 

“It’s sweet!” He insists as I bury my face back in my blankets, “It’ll help yeh feel better.” 

I shake my head.

 

“Listen,” he sighs, “Yer making yerself sick. It’s not healthy ta skip food or drinks fer this long. We’re here ta protect yeh, and we’re going ta have to step in if you won’t try it on yer own.” 

 

I don’t like the sound of that. Uncle Vernon has had to “step in” to make me do stuff before, usually punishments that I know are going to hurt. 

 

“This is ridiculous” the Vampire complains, “Pomfrey, if you won’t do it, then I will.” 

 

“Give ‘em a chance!” Hagrid says, his voice much louder than when he talks to me, “He can do it.” I peek out to see what’s going on. The Vampire looks angry. Even sitting down, Hagrid is still taller than him, and the man glares up at the giant. 

 

“He trusts us about as far as he can throw us, which in this form, is a dismally small distance,” The pale man argues, his mouth drawn tight in a sneer, “I doubt that will be changing anytime soon. Within a day or two we’ll have a dead kid on our hands instead of a broken one.”

 

“Okay… Harry?” The nurse pulls out her wand and makes a spoon full of soup fly towards my hiding place. “Let’s start with just one bite, okay?” 

 

No, not okay. I don’t want to eat anything they give me. Plus I can still see the steam coming off of the liquid– it’s way too hot. Aunt ‘Atunia says hot food is not for Burdens– that we will get a tummy ache. I threw up all the tea I had at Mrs. Figg’s, so I know she wasn’t tricking me on that one. 

 

I clamp my mouth shut. 

 

“For Salazar’s sake,” The vampire rolls his eyes and pulls his wand from his sleeve. Then with a quick slash and a complicated flick he disappears all the food in front of me. It takes a moment for me to realize what’s happened– for my stomach to cramp horribly as all of it goes inside of me. A startled whimper forces its way out of me and I curl around my tummy. It’s too much! I would have never gotten that much food from Aunt ‘Atunia and my tummy is not happy. 

 

I’m gonna barf. I clamp a hand over my mouth as I feel cold sweat break out all over me. My stomach twists again and I know it’s coming– I’m about to—

 

Smoke. Everything is smoke again.

 

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I don’t know how long I’ve been here. They’ve put food and potions into me lots of times now, and every time it’s gone badly. I’d spewed the thick soup out as soon as I’d woken up that first time, getting it all over me. Luckily, the times they’d forced me to eat after that, it’s only been a little bit at once, but my stomach still protests. I haven’t thrown up again, but my belly aches for a long time afterward. And because my tummy is small, she has to put food in there lots of times every day. I lie curled up under my bed, hugging my aching tummy until I fall back asleep. 

 

I’m understanding the pattern now– or at least understanding a pattern. The smoke happens and then I wake up somewhere in the room, feeling more tired than before. I don’t know what’s happening to my funny business. Before it felt like it was in my chest, but now all I feel is hollow. Like I can’t access it anymore– or maybe… maybe it died?

 

Finally squashed flat and dead doornails.

 

But there is a weird itch under my skin– and sometimes the fuzzy smoke leaks out of me and I go all wobbly and Not-Me again. I thought that had been a part of the funny business, but it’s still here. 

 

There’s long gaps in my memory. There’s a window in the room and I can never really tell how many days it’s been. I seem to sleep for forever and forever, but then sometimes I’ll wake up over and over again and it’s still night. Or maybe I’m sleeping all day? I’m tired every time I wake up. 

 

I’m not sure.

 

I don’t want to talk to them, and the couple of times I’ve tried to whisper even to myself it’s like the words get stuck to the inside of me. 

 

Hagrid visits a lot. He talks to me about what he’s working on in the garden and grounds and begs me to eat. One time he brought a big dog named Fang, but I hided under my blanket until he left. Fang isn’t like my postman’s dog– he’s big and slobbery and droopy-looking and not very fluffy at all. 

 

I get a different feeling around Hagrid than everyone else. I think he’s a little like me. Not… quite a person, but something else .

 

The Vampire doesn't visit much. I think he got in trouble when he putted all that food in me. Good. I don’t like him much.

 

The nurse is there almost always. I see her napping on a long couch by the window sometimes. She always says she’s sorry and to ‘take deep breaths’ whenever she has to put medicine or food in me. I wish she would just stop. 

 

There’s another woman too– a lot sterner than the nurse lady– her hair pulled into a tight bun, her arms always crossed. She always looks so sad when she sees me. She doesn’t visit very often, and hasn’t talked to me at all. 

 

And the old wizard– he visits sometimes. He asks for a status check and the nurse– who I think might be called Poppy– always says things I don’t understand. Something about high-door-ation charms? 

 

Sometimes when he visits I’m brave enough to drag my blanket over to the little bathroom inside my bubble. It’s the only place they can’t see me. It’s a tiny room with just a toilet and a sink in it, but I curl up on the ground and wait until he’s gone.

 

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. 

I wonder if the police are looking for me? I wonder if my Aunt and Uncle know where I am? Do they even care? 

 

Probably not. 

 

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I can hear water splashing onto the ground, as the room swims into focus. My teeth chatter and I can’t stop my arms from shaking. I’m curled up tight on the hard ground, but I’m not under Blanket or Bed. I’m out in the open. Exposed. 

 

I reach out and try to pull Blanket to me, but I can’t find it. 

 

I lift my head and look around. Everything in the bubble has been destroyed. 

Bed is a lump of twisted metal covered in shredded sheets. Blanket is torn into pieces and left all over the floor. The bathroom walls have been smashed and the sink is spraying water out in a fountain. And there’s blood. My head swims when I find the source. It’s pouring out of me, long deep cuts that are knitting themselves back together as I watch. With a whimper, I lay my head back down on the ground as more red pools around me. 

 

I can see the nurse at the door, calling out down the hall, her voice high and panicky. 

 

Tears well up in my eyes. What is happening to me? 

 

I want to be dead. 

I want to be dead!

 

I want…

 

I…

 

I am Not-Me.

 

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They’ve started to smell differently. Or maybe it’s that I’m starting to be able to smell better . The room used to smell like the cave– like cold stone and water. There were other smells too– especially when the nurse made stuff in her cauldron. 

 

But now I can smell everything.

 

Especially magic. The citrusy fizz of the bubble tickles my nose. The sugary sweet smell of the old wizard. The vinegar on the vampire. The smell of earth and magic that always wafts in through the door before Hagrid comes in. 

 

And magic itself seems to have a smell too– different spells leaving different traces in the air. Mostly it burns my nose and turns my stomach, but sometimes it’s light and doesn't hurt as bad. 

 

That’s how I know that someone new is visiting. I smell him first before he comes into the room. He smells like old pennies and chocolate, but his smell also burns my nose like spells do. Like he is magic. The same way that Hagrid is magic. Like me too. 

 

He enters the room with the old wizard and stern looking witch. She’s got a hand on his back, as he steps into the room, spots me and freezes. I duck under the covers and only let my eyes peek out. I’m back under Bed again– mended yesterday by the old wizard with a few flicks of his wand. I’m glad I have somewhere to hide. His smell pushes a big emotion into my throat, and I don’t know how to handle it. 

 

Why do I feel like I might cry?

 

He’s been crying. I can tell because his eyes are still red and watery. I don’t want to look at him, but I can’t not. He’s in a tan sweater and brown pants– so different from the other wizards with their long robes. 

 

There’s a lump in my throat and I try to swallow around it. 

 

Every step he takes, I can feel the tension leaving my body. I know him. I must. He feels… safe. Safer than I’ve felt in a long while. 

 

He’s like me. Like Hagrid. He is magic, but there’s something more. Something I can’t explain that draws me to him. I let the blanket slip down around my shoulders as I peer out carefully. 

 

How do I know him?

 

He’s holding a plain wooden cane and uses it for support as he sinks down to sit just outside the bubble.

Had we met at the grocery store? 

 

He sets the cane in front of him before pushing the sleeves of his sweater up, his eyes never leaving me. 

 

Had he been at the park? 

 

My mind tingles as I remember a blue blanket and dark fur. Someone kissed me on the head. He was asleep next to us, his fingers holding onto a bright yellow book. 

 

He clears his throat. 

 

“Hello, Harry.” 

 

I feel cold wash over me, but it’s not dread but realization. It’s my postman .

 

“I don’t know if you remember me at all, but we used to be good friends when you were a baby.” His smile is so warm and I feel a thrill of excitement shoot through me. 

 

Don’t go wobbly, I beg myself as I feel Not-Me threatening to come out. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, pulled out of me by the overwhelming emotion running through my body. 

 

“My name is—” But I’m too excited, and the answer rushes to the front of my mind and out of me in a relieved whoosh of a whisper.

 

“Moony.” 

 

My voice is broken and crackly for not talking at all for so long, and it feels too much like a whinge. The man’s form has gone all unsteady as the tears pool higher and higher. I can taste blood welling up in the cracks of my dry lips as I try to hold back a sob.  

 

His nostrils flare and his mouth goes thin and wobbly. I see a tear slide down one of his cheeks. Behind him, the woman startles and looks at the old wizard in surprise. 

 

“Yeah.” His voice breaks and his smile returns, but it’s quieter. More tears spill down his cheeks, and he doesn’t wipe them away. 

 

 “Yeah, kiddo. It’s Moony.” 

 

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END OF PART 1: Funny Business & Brimstone

Notes:

Is it a little inconceivable for him to remember Moony after all that time? Yeah. Do I care? Not at all >:)

I love Remus and this fic is going to feature more of his friendship with Lily, as I feel like a lot of Wolfstar raises Harry is more Sirius & James focused. I can't wait for y'all to see what I've got planned.

This is the end of Harry's POV for a little bit. We'll jump into Remus' for most of part 2 (with a few snippets from Harry here and there), as they grow closer the POVS will start switching more frequently.

I'm really pleased with part 1- I wrote it for last year's NaNoWriMo and have done a lot of editing to it. I may take a break for a few weeks to finish more of part 2, right now I only have 6/17 planned chapters written. But the itch to post may also drive me to start posting earlier than that, so we'll see.

And just like with every fic writer- I started a huge fic, so naturally my life has kind of been flipped around. I've decided to change careers after 8 years, and am going back to grad school. I'm hoping that this will mean I have more bandwidth for creative stuff like writing, instead of having to rely on weekends/holidays to have enough spoons to make art. That being said, your support and encouragement has been a huge help while I've been on this journey and I appreciate you more than you realize.

Thank you to my consistent readers/commenters. It's been amazing to have your continued support.

I do like that fan ficiton allows for readers and authors to interact. If you have a suggestion for something you want to see in this fic, feel free to drop it below. I can't guarantee that I'll use everything, but I love hearing peoples' ideas and seeing what clicks with the things I've already got planned. Very specifically, if there are any cute tropes/scenes with Harry/Wolfstar, I'd love to hear them.

Chapter 18: Part 2: The "M" Word | Chapter 1

Notes:

So.... the ao3 curse is so real.

I appreciate you so much for sticking around and for coming back to the story! I've written many of the chapters for pt. 2, so I think it's safe to start posting. I will try to keep up with a once a week posting schedule, but I am also attempting to not have to go back and rewrite a whole ton. As you're reading as I'm writing, that may not happen.

But by staying ahead of stuff, I can try and keep the rewrites to a minimum.

Where we left off. Harry, a freshly made obscurial has been captured by the Order and brought to Hogwarts, where he has malaised. Just when he feels that hope is lost, he recognizes a face on the other side of the ward. The postman he'd been waiting for, Moony.

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Part 2: The “M” Word

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“This is going to be very difficult to hear,” Minerava says, sitting close next to him. Remus feels very little these days, his emotions carefully numbed with precisely balanced doses of little white pills he’s grown very fond of. But even through the haze he has the smallest bubble of anxiety begin in his gut. He forces himself to shut it down. And it’s not as if he’s not used to hearing bad news. When he doesn’t react his old head-of-house continues, “It’s Harry. He’s here at Hogwarts.” 

 

He frowns. Why would that be difficult to hear? Unless… did that mean that something had happened? He glances up at her, then pulls his eyes forward to where Dumbledore sits, studying him. He’s uncomfortable in the mans’ gaze– not liking the way they judge him– sure that all his carefully guarded secrets are laid bare by those piercing eyes. 

 

“Has…” He starts but doesn’t even really know what to say. He changes the question, “Is he okay?” He feels a true squirm of anxiety in his stomach. It’d been about four hours since his last dose and the blessed numbness was starting to wear off. If something had happened to Harry…

 

Minerva looks to Albus before drawing in a deep breath. 

 

“He is not well.” She says and Remus sighs. Of all the people on this earth deserving of a break, it was that child. 

 

“‘Sorry to hear that.” He mumbles, the anxiety twisting, filling him with icy dread. He didn’t want to know. It was selfish, but he wanted to keep living with the story he’d told himself. That Harry was better off without him in his life, that he was safer where Dumbledore had placed him. That he was kept away from all the darkness and torment that seemed to follow him, and maybe one day when he was older and at Hogwarts– if Remus was still alive, then maybe they could be something in each others’ lives.

 

“I’m sure Poppy is taking good care of him.” He says, the words hollow in his throat. She’d always been a beacon of comfort in his own life. She would care for the boy. 

 

“Have you… read the paper recently?” Minerva’s words were carefully guarded. He frowned and fiddled with the hem of his sweater. Truthfully, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even picked up a newspaper, much less kept up with the headlines. 

 

“It was recently reported that a large magical disturbance occurred in a muggle suburb of London.” Albus spoke up, “That aurors were called to the scene?”

 

He’s hoping that Remus would put the pieces together himself, without either of them saying it. But Remus had not picked up a newspaper in years. He’d carefully curated the flow of information into his mind after the hypervigilance he’d grown accustomed to during the war. The consequence was sometimes being completely out of the loop. 

 

Had Harry been attacked? 

 

“I thought he was warded? That no one could find him?” Remus tried to keep the accusation out of his tone. Dumbledore had told him the boy was safe where he was. 

 

“His family home was warded– very heavily.” Dumbledore reassured him, “We had every reason to believe that he was safe there and would remain hidden until he was old enough to attend Hogwarts.” 

 

Remus felt a sick, hollow satisfaction rise in him. Dumbledore had been wrong again. He ached with vindictiveness, like peeling a scab you knew would still bleed.

 

But… it was Harry paying the price for Dumbledore’s miscalculation this time. Again. 

 

“He’s here, though? He’s okay?” 

 

Minerva clasped her hands in front of herself. “He is here. We’re keeping him in the room of requirement for safety.” 

 

Safety? They were dancing around the subject. He really hated it when people did that, especially to him. He’d already gone through the worst news someone could. All of his friends dead, and at the hand of his partner, who would be locked away for life for his crimes. Everyone gone. In one night.  What could they possibly say to him now that could even compare?

 

“Please just… tell me what you must so that I can go.” His voice is hollow.

 

Minerva frowned, but Remus was too tired to really care.

 

“We would like you to see him–” she started and Remus felt the anxiety bubble over.

“No–,” It rushed out of him in a desperate sigh, an instinct really- a knee jerk reaction. 

 

Dumbledore had made it perfectly clear that Harry would not be safe with him. That he was not, nor would he ever be, a fit guardian for the child. Remus had agreed wholeheartedly– even if a part of him had felt regret and shame at the acknowledgement of his own shortcomings. 

 

“Remus, he needs someone who can connect with him…” Minerva’s voice had a desperate edge to it, “He doesn’t trust us.” 

 

“And you think he’ll trust me? I’m as much a stranger to him as you.” He can’t help the edge of anger that laces into his words. He turned his eyes to Dumbledore, pushing past the discomfort as they made eye contact and his soul was pierced by the shrewd gaze. 

 

“We think he may trust you because you and he have similar… backgrounds.” 

 

He frowns at her, trying to put the pieces of what she’s saying together. Similar backgrounds? Shitty childhoods, maybe? 

 

“Harry was not attacked.” The Headmaster says, his weary voice breaking the silence, “He perpetrated it.” 

 

A cold chill runs through Remus’ body. His mouth is suddenly far too dry and he feels as if bands wrap around his chest. He shakes his head. 

 

“What?” He wheezes out, feeling all at once that his chest will cave in when he hears what Dumbledore has to say.

 

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this.” Dumbledore sounds truly grieved, and Remus feels bile rise in his throat. He’d used that same tone of voice when he’d found him after news about James and Lily, Peter and Sirius had broken. Had it really already been four years since he’d lost them? 

 

“Harry is an Obscurial.” 

Notes:

dun dun dunnnnn

leave a comment if you're so inclined- I love interacting with y'all!

Chapter 19: Part 2 Chapter 2

Notes:

Thank you to all the well wishers that welcomed me back last week :) Y'all that meant so much and I am really happy to be posting again!

We're finally properly getting into Remus' headspace and it's a bit of mess!

CW: Drug addition, suicidal ideations, talk of child loss (expected), grief/trauma etc. Just your garden variety "everything's fucked up" salad.

Part 2.2

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He felt the little white pill stick in his throat – the chalky coating making it hard to get down dry. He swallowed again and cleared his throat as they made their way down the hall, hoping that neither Minerva nor Albus had seen him take it. 

 

His throat was raw and the skin under his eyes felt chapped from crying. So much for being numb to all emotion– that had gone out the window an hour ago when he’d finally lost all semblance of decorum and cried into her arms. 

 

Harry is an Obscurial.

 

He remembered Harry as a baby– happy and snuggly and so new, untainted by all the darkness they were surrounded by. An oasis in the storm. He’d only been able to visit a few times. Lily and James had been in hiding for a few months before his birth, and they couldn’t risk the exposure. But he’d cherished the pictures and letters the boy’s mother had sent to them, dreaming of the day when the war would finally be over and they could get to know each other properly. 

 

He still had the photos in his bag, their edges worn and aged.

 

He tried to reconcile the part of himself that couldn’t– wouldn’t– believe what had happened to his friends. He sometimes woke up and forgot it all– basking in those few moments when sleep still clung to him and his friends weren’t dead. There were still dark nights where he wasn’t sure if he was real– if any of it was– or if he’d possibly been trapped in a nightmare or a curse. 

 

He felt like that now. 

 

This… couldn’t be happening. Lily and James’ boy– their hope, their salvation– had been tortured to the point where his own magic had turned against him and was killing him. 

 

And where was he when this had happened? Where had someone they’d considered a friend been? What had been more important than making sure that the last bit of them was safe and loved and happy. Had bumming pills and sleeping in alleyways to block out reality really taken precedence?

 

Guilt ate at him. 

 

“You said he’d be safe!”  He’d screamed in Dumbledore’s office, his throat aching to the point of tasting metal. 

 

They had no excuses. Just reassurances that they would be investigating what happened and that they needed to keep moving forward. 

 

The beast scratched beneath the surface of his skin. It liked the taste of blood– even if it’s his own. He barely paid attention to where they were walking, his mind whirling with what they had revealed to him.

 

Harry was five. He was an obscurial. He was dying.

 

 They couldn’t get him to eat or drink or get out from under the bed. They weren’t sure what had happened but he’d left two of his relatives on death’s doorstep. The obscurus was incredibly dangerous and he wasn’t to cross the ward under any circumstances.

 

Five. Harry was five. 

 

Remus had been four when he’d been turned. Tainted.

 

Harry’s life was just as over as Remus’ had been at that age.

 

Minerva stopped before a door and hesitated. Albus waited a few paces behind. 

 

“Are you ready?” She asked, her tone apprehensive.

 

No, he wanted to say. He’ll never be ready. It’s too much, too scary– a reality he doesn’t want to accept on the other side of that door. But, who else was there? 

 

Harry’s parents are gone, his godfather imprisoned, his relatives injured. And as far as wizard-kind cared, Harry was now less human than even Remus; His body puppetted by the parasite living inside of his magical core. 

 

It would soon kill him.

 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, knowing this was the beginning of the end. He’d survived immeasurable loss before. This was a familiar ache.

 

She opened the door and they all filed in. He felt her steady hand on his back, and tried not to cringe away. He hobbled forward with his cane, feeling more unsteady than usual. His knee twinged painfully as he drew closer to the dome of magic at the center of the room and he did his best to ignore it. 

 

There was a little pile of blankets tucked under the bed that shifted as he entered the space. He tried to keep his face neutral– he didn’t want to scare the boy any more than he’d already been. There was nothing he could do about his eyes, raw from crying.

 

He stepped away from Minerva and Albus, drawing as close to the edge of the ward as he could. He steadied his cane and used the support as he lowered himself down. A mess of hair and a small face peered out from the cocoon of blankets, staring at him. His breath caught as he looked into Harry’s eyes for the first time in years. 

 

Older and more expressive than before, but undeniably Harry Potter. 

 

The hackles of the beast within him rise, a low warning growl echoing through his psyche. 

 

Danger. Run away.

 

He ignored the wolf. It still sometimes growled when a wand was drawn too quickly or a stranger neared his camp. It was a decent judge of danger, but logic usually prevailed. 

The boy watched him with unfathomable emotion in his gaze as he clutched the blanket close. Remus moved slowly, careful not to startle him. He placed his cane down in front of him as he crossed his legs, and then pushed the sleeves of his sweater up. 

 

Remus took a final steadying breath and cleared his throat. 

 

“Hello, Harry.” He started, feeling emotion swell in his own chest. He was talking to Harry– his Harry! Even in this fucked up reality, there was still a thrill of excitement that ran through him– in front of him was a tiny crumb of what he’d once had.

 

 And though he was loath to risk the heartache, he longed to hold onto that piece. 

 

“I don’t know if you remember me at all, but we used to be good friends when you were a baby.” 

 

Well, somewhat true. 

 

They were fairly decent pen pals– he would write to the boy (and Lily), receiving crayon scribbles along with her responses. Other than a rare few times when he was between missions and when there had been enough safety precautions in place to allow them to meet in public had he actually held the child. 

 

A peaceful day in a park just outside of Caen comes to his mind. James and Lily had taken a big risk for Harry’s first birthday, and gotten a portkey to France. Just a few short hours outside of their protective bubble. Remus had nearly missed it– he’d just happened to be with Sirius when James’ owl had arrived inviting them to the impromptu party. He and Sirius had flown on Sirius’ old broom over the channel directly to the coordinates, desperate to get there in time. 

 

Cake and sunshine and snuggles. A day that the war couldn’t touch. 

 

Thinking back, it may have been the last truly happy day he’d had. The thought has his breath catching in his throat. He blinked hard and forced himself to focus on the moment and not get lost in reminiscing. 

 

He watched as the boy's eyes filled with tears. The edges of Harry’s form wobble for a moment- seemingly in two places at once, like the flicker in an old television. 

 

The control of his emotions was tenuous as best, and Remus swallowed around the lump in his throat, threatening to choke his voice from him. 

 

“My name is–”

 

“Moony–” 

 

The word burst from the child in front of him, who seemed to sag into the blanket. The word came out on a broken whinge, like he couldn’t help it. 

Ice water flooded through his veins. 

 

He knows me. 

 

Remus clamped his lips tight, trying to keep the sob from escaping. His eyes flooded with tears, and he didn’t stop them from running down his face. 

 

Harry knows me.

 

That little word- an acknowledgement, so full of desperation and longing. Just his name, but with it came a flood of grief and shame and hope– the emotions flooding through the hollow canyon of his chest like a flash flood. Filling up the hollow, lonely cavern.

 

Behind him he can hear Minerva and Albus reacting to this development, but he doesn’t have eyes for anyone but Harry. 

 

“Yeah,” The word slipped from him in a sharp relieved whoosh. He tried to smile through his tears, not wanting Harry to think he’d done something wrong. 

 

“Yeah, kiddo. It’s Moony.”

 

Careful, the wolf warns.

 

He watches as the boy leans forward, studying him, his curious face still obscured in the shadows beneath the bed. 

 

He’s got to say something– he’s the adult here. What were they wanting him to do here? He tried to wrack his mind for details from their conversation, but kept getting overwhelmed by emotion– his thoughts whirling.

 

“You’re so big now.” He said.

 

He won’t grow up. His brain supplies unhelpfully, and he quickly shoves the aching thought aside, cringing. 

 

“How old are you?” He asked. He already knew the answer, but he didn't know how to jump into the "I'm sorry I haven’t been there for you” conversation just yet.

 

Harry’s thin arm rose from within the blanket as he held out four fingers. The boy then stopped and frowned at his hand before his thumb reluctantly snuck out to join the rest. The movement wafted the smell of sweat and smoke in his direction. 

 

Remus nodded encouragingly and took a moment to wipe a tear from his cheek. He took a measured, careful sniff, trying to discern anything else from Harry’s scent. The lingering smell of smoke doesn’t quite mask the smell of healing wounds. He doesn’t see any bandages on the boy, but perhaps they’re covered with clothing on blankets. 

 

“Do you… are you hurting?” His chest aches at the thought. 

 

Harry’s eyes were huge and sunken into his little face. He looked haunted. He’d been here less than a week- it wasn’t enough time to hollow his cheeks this much. The boy had been starved long before he’d turned. Remus’ mind began putting together a very troubling picture. 

 

Harry shrugged and pulled the blanket closer around himself. The smell of blood intensified, and the wolf shifted beneath his skin, assessing its prey. He’d gotten very good at not reacting in kind. 

 

“I’ve heard you’ve had a hard time of it.” Remus said, bringing his elbows in to rest against his thighs. He leaned forward a bit as Harry tried to duck his head and avoid his gaze.

 

He watched the boy for a few moments, emotion swirling in his chest. 

 

“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” 

 

Harry’s eyes jerked up to his quickly before averting again. The kid had looked… startled?

 

Remus shouldn’t really be surprised. He himself had rarely been apologized to as a child. And even less often as a non-human. 

 

Harry finally shrugged, still not meeting his gaze. Remus took a moment to swallow around the lump in his throat and gather himself. 

 

“Do you think you can drink something?” He suggested and looked around. There are water cups and goblets of juice on the table and floor near Harry. He’s not sure how long they’d been sitting out.

 

Harry’s eyes slid to one of the goblets of what looked like pumpkin juice, and he made a face before pressing further into the shadows. 

 

“What do you like to drink?” Remus asks, careful to keep from chuckling at Harry’s reaction. He’d had his fair share of food aversions growing up and empathized with the boy. 

 

Harry shrugs again. 

 

“Maybe some apple juice?” That was a fairly standard Muggle drink, right? “Or hot cocoa?” 

 

Harry shook his head quickly. 

 

“Maybe you could start with some water while you decide?” He keeps his voice calm, hoping Harry doesn’t catch on to the hint of desperation. 

 

Harry seems to sink into himself, the blanket pooling up around his shoulders. 

He chewed on his lip, his eyes darting towards the glasses scattered around him. 

 

“I don’t want–” his little voice was cracking with disuse. He coughed and continued, “It’s magic.” 

 

Remus frowns slightly, following Harry’s eyes to the water. 

 

“The water?” He asks, keeping his voice light. 

 

Harry nods, turning his big eyes back to Remus. 

 

Remus almost opened his mouth to assure Harry that there was nothing in the water, but then thought better of it. He glanced back to Minerva, who stood watching the two of them anxiously. 

 

“Is there anything in the water? Medicine or potions?”

 

She blinked, unsure, and turned towards Poppy, whom Remus had not heard come in. The nurse shook her head and replied, “It’s just water, my dear.”

 

“Would you fetch some fresh, please?” Remus asked, and she pulled out her wand. He raised a hand and whispered, “without magic, please. A pitcher and a few glasses.” She looked between him and then over to the boy, seeming to realize what he was asking. Poppy left the room, and Remus felt a little relieved that Albus went with her. 

 

He’d noticed the headmaster had maintained his position close to the door.

 

Remus turned back to Harry. The boy watched them warily.

 

“I knew your Mum and Dad,” he said, “So did Professor McGonagall.” He motioned to the woman next to him and caught her shift uncomfortably in his peripheral. Harry’s eyes darted to her, but he sat up a bit, interested.

 

“They came here, to Hogwarts, for school,” he swallows and continues, “Your dad was one of my best friends. We grew up together.” 

 

He heard the swish of Poppy’s skirt as she came back into the room. He kept his face calm and polite as she brought the tray over. 

 

There are four glasses and a pitcher of cold water. He poured water into all four, and selected one for himself. He turned back to Harry as he raised the glass to his lips. 

 

He watches the boy's eyes dart to him and then to the water on the tray. He’s not sure if Harry realizes, but he’s leaning forward subtly, as if being physically pulled forward. 

 

He carefully kept the pity from showing on his face. He lowered the glass and smiled at Harry. 

 

“I can’t come in there right now,” He said, shooting a look toward Minerva. “But Professor McGonagall and I are going to have a chat and we would love if you’d join us.” 

 

He took another glass into his hand before leaning forward and placing both glasses through the barrier. He hears Minerva’s sharp gasp, but he ignores her. Harry is watching him, his eyes huge on his skeletal face. 

 

“You’re welcome to choose whichever glass you feel more comfortable with.” 

 

He looked over to Minerva, who is standing rigidly a few feet away. He beckoned her over, and she took a moment before approaching, her own eyes apprehensive. But when she reached him, she took hold of his outstretched hand, allowing him to guide her down next to the tray.

 

He picked up a glass and handed it to her as she settled her skirts and robes around her. He’s never seen her sit on the floor, and knows that he probably never would if she hadn’t understood the gravity of the situation. Harry won’t begin to trust them if they keep treating him like a monster. He’s had a lifetime of experience to know that to be a deeply ingrained truth.

 

People who are the most scared of you tend to act the most monstrously towards you. 

 

Remus took the last glass from the tray and took another sip.

 

“How are the muggle-born meetings going for next year?” He asked her. He remembered Lily mentioning that the first person she’d met from Hogwarts had been McGonagall– showing up in dingy little Cokeworth to tell her of a fantastical school beyond her wildest dreams.

 

She quirked her eyebrow in surprise at first, but then her mouth lifted in a smile, “It goes well. We only have four on the list this year, so I had an easy summer– finished by the end of June.”

 

Remus nodded, “I’m sure you’ve got some stories from your years of introducing our secret?” He leaned back, bracing himself with one hand on the ground, taking on a pose of leisure, though he watched Harry carefully in his peripheral. 

 

McGonagall raised her own glass as she hummed in agreement, “Some are quite spirited. Their parents take a bit more convincing that I’ve not escaped from a residential somewhere.” 

 

He laughed quietly and felt a thrill of excitement swoop through him when he caught sight of Harry slowly shuffling to his feet.

 

They kept talking in soft voices, trading inconsequential stories about Muggle life. He hadn’t realized that she was a half-blood too, but apparently her father was a Muggle preacher of some sort. His heart clenches as he thinks of his mother– she had been so captivated by the wizarding world, though she had no magic of her own.

 

Harry inched closer.

 

Remus tried not to squeeze the glass too hard, his anticipation building. He doesn’t want to spook him. 

 

Too close, the wolf whines, agitated. He hushes his instincts.

 

Slowly, the mass of blanket moved towards them, only the top of Harry’s head peered out to watch where he stepped. Once he reached the glasses on the other side of the barrier, he sinks slowly to the ground, the blanket pooling around him. 

 

Remus carefully smiled at Minerva and raised his glass to his lips, making sure to nod at an appropriate time as he subtly watched Harry. 

 

The boy is still for a long moment, his head now completely covered by the blanket. 

 

The wolf tensed for the inevitable attack…

 

Minerva finishes her glass, and he pours her another. He watched as a small hand reached out from the mountain of blankets and carefully grasped the glass he had previously drunk from. 

 

He watched the cup disappear underneath the quilted edge. 

 

Minerva let out a small relieved sound, and he smiled at her, lifting his glass in a silent toast. 

 

She lifted her own, and they drank.

 

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Notes:

Comments go a long way!

I've been working with my writing crew in the aHoW discord group and am FINALLY getting around to editing. I'm also doing an extremely detailed outline that goes day by day Aug 1985- [redacted] 1986. I'm hoping that will make things easier for me as the plotlines get more complicated!

Special thanks to Jess, Sølv & Jack for being the best writing buddies!

Chapter 20: Part 2 Chapter 3

Notes:

Okay a really REALLY short chapter because I had to split this next part into two and didn't have the spoons to edit the whole thing. It's finals season for school so I am slammed right now. I may have a chapter for this upcoming weekend, I may not. BUT I promise to reward those who wait patiently lol

Tags Note: I got a comment asking if Harry will die in this fic, as they'd noticed I hadn't put a tag warning. I want to apologize for any undo anxiety I may have cause by not tagging this fic correctly. I'll be adding the "eventual happy/hopeful ending" tag and the "minor character death only" tag. I won't promise no death, but I do promise that none of the MCs (and definitely no children) will be killed without LOTS of warning. I'm sorry that other fic authors do this, but I won't be springing that on people, as it's one of my own personal triggers.

That being said-- just because WE know that Harry will make it through this, doesn't mean that the character's do. There will still be conversations about Harry's prognosis, and likely death, throughout the fic until the end.

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Remus

 

“What does investigating mean exactly? The order? The authorities? You can’t expect the muggles to be able to handle a case this severe without access to Harry.” 

 

Remus' thoughts were swirling around as he paced in the nearly deserted teachers’ lounge. It hadn’t changed at all in the few years since he’d graduated. The comfortable chairs, roaring fire and dim light does nothing to soothe his raw nerves.

 

Dumbledore, to his credit, held in the exasperated sigh that Remus could see brewing. He couldn’t take their placating any longer. It was one thing knowing that Harry was an obscurial– that some horrible event could have suddenly triggered the state. But to witness Harry’s wellbeing– to see the skinny, shaking child who smelled of blood and smoke and a body uncared for. That was a new level of horror. 

 

“We are investigating. Myself, Minerva, and other order members. Trust me, we want answers as desperately as you are.” 

 

Remus barely contained a snarl. The pill had only made him heavy– it’d done very little to knock out the anxiety pounding through his veins. 

 

James had always accepted Dumbledore’s word as law and logic. 

‘And look where that had gotten him.’ 

 

Remus shook his head forcefully as the thought bounced unbidden in his mind. He took a deep breath and forced his fists to unclench. 

 

“They did this to him. This wasn’t just…” A freak accident. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, as the wolf scratched the surface. “Someone hurt that boy, for years.” 

 

Dumbledore leveled a steady gaze at him, and Remus felt the tenuous grip on his anger slipping. Where was Dumbledore’s emotion? Did he not care?

 

Minerva turned from the counter she had been leaning against, a fresh cup of tea in her hands.

 

“We are aware.” Her voice was choked, and Remus was grateful for it. At least he’s not the only one losing their mind with what’s happened. Before he could continue, she said, “We are looking into the family. There is a neighbor who is very helpful, and some people from a local church.”

 

“We will get to the bottom of what happened, Remus. We just need more time. One obstacle is the injuries his family sustained during the housefire. They are not well enough to speak to us.”

 

Remus closes his eyes, the smell of smoke clinging to Harry’s body floating to his mind.

 

“And Harry’s injuries are from the night of the fire?” He asked, gripping the handle of his cane until his fingers were white, “Why hasn’t Poppy healed him?” 

 

Dumbledore looked to McGonagall, who was frowning.

 

“Poppy’s scan did not show any injuries, past a few bruises, dehydration and malnutrition.” The transfiguration teacher said, and Dumbledore nodded his agreement.

 

“She’ll need to do another scan then. He’s been injured. Recently. I can smell the wounds.” He shakily lowered himself into a chair at the table. He wanted to keep pacing, needing something to do with the frenetic energy swirling within him, but his leg was shaking and the ache was pressing up his thigh towards his hip. He’d be too weak to stand if he continued. He very pointedly doesn’t look at them. He doesn’t want to see them react to the abilities his condition grant him. 

 

Cool light floods through the room as Minerva whispers instructions to a spectral cat. The lithe thing bounds from the room, taking the eerie light with it. 

 

There’s a mug of tea in front of him. He brought a shaking hand up to cup the ceramic and felt the warmth seep into his numb fingers.

 

“I know that the last few hours have been challenging.” Dumbledore rumbles, “And we are all anxious to understand why this has happened.” 

Remus swallowed the biting comment he was about to lob in the headmaster’s direction when he glanced up and registered the look on his face. It’s only been a few years since he’s seen the man, but he looks like he’s aged a decade. He looked… weary. Exhausted. The twinkle in his eye dimmed to near oblivion. 

 

“I know your trust in me has been tested. But please know that my intention for Harry was to grow up out of the spotlight. To be saved from both the weight of the public eye and the threat of further violence against him. I did not want this.” His voice is a whisper, and Remus notices his fingers trembling as he straightens his glasses. 

 

“Whoever did this to him is going to pay.” Remus promised. It was not a question, but Dumbledore nodded anyway. Remus gritted his teeth and breathed deeply– the acrid smell of grief permeating his nose. 

 

“Then tell me what we need to do.” 

 

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Notes:

Thanks again for reading! I got a kick from last week's comments. I really appreciate every one of them!

Chapter 21: Part 2 Chapter 4

Notes:

Making up for missing and short updates recently with this ten page behemoth.

The goal of this fic was to have short, frequent chapters, but sometimes there's just not a really good spot for a scene break and you gotta get stuff done.

Enjoy!

 

Remus

They talked late into the evening. Remus felt like he was clearing cobwebs in his mind, allowing more room for the swirling thoughts to move about. His chest was an open chasm, threatening to swallow him up. But he resisted. He couldn’t grieve yet– there wasn’t time. And he owed Harry as much time as they could get him. 

 

The ministry was sniffing around. They knew there had been Obscurial in Little Whinging. They were able to be seen by Muggles, which greatly complicated things. Dumbledore had stalled them, and they did not yet know the child was Harry. 

 

But the Ministry was wanting answers- wanting to quickly solve the problem. Remus’ stomach twisted at the thought of the execution rooms deep in the heart of the Ministry. He’d heard whispers from other wolves about why the Ministry had been built over the leylines in muggle London. The powerful, dark energies that they harnessed with the boost the leylines provided. He couldn’t– he wouldn’t— let Harry be taken by them.

 

They had gotten an emergency petition to await the Aurors taking the child into custody by agreeing to have an Obscurial Specialist review the case.

 

The only problem was the preeminent specialist was very difficult to find. For one thing, Newt Scamander was nearing 90. For another, he somehow still lived life mostly as a hermit– traveling around the globe, studying creatures. 

 

Dumbledore assured him that their best were looking for him. 

And they needed him, desperately. 

 

Preliminary scans showed that Harry’s magical core was still intact, a fact that had surprised Dumbledore. He theorized that because the Obscurous was so young, it hadn’t yet had time to syphon too much energy from Harry’s magical core, and damage its ability to heal. 

 

Remus had scoured the note-filled books that Dumbledore produced for him to review, along with notes from Severus and Poppy. There wasn’t much known about Obscurials. They were destructive and deadly- both for the host and for those around them. 

 

They were a parasite– both born from and meant to consume the magical core of their host. Dumbledore spoke of an Obscurial Newt had treated a few years after graduating from Hogwarts. How he, to Dumbledore’s knowledge, had been the closest to ever separating the parasite from the host while keeping both alive. 

 

That it had been theorized that the damage could also be reversed– that the parasite could be converted back into the core. But this was decades ago, with little research since then. Obscurials were so very rare, and they usually burned up so quickly.

 

No one could answer him on how long they predicted Harry to have left.

 

Dumbledore was very firm that he would not guess without the help of specialists. He did let slip that Harry’s Obscurial was different from others he had witnessed, but when Remus had questioned he simply stated that he did not want to speculate.

 

That had left a sour taste in Remus’ mouth. Dumbledore had always seemed to have many more plans than he ever shared with them. Sirius had been infuriated by this. Though… looking back perhaps it was a good thing that Dumbledore had kept things from certain order members. Look what Sirius had done with the information he had been given. Remus grit his teeth and pushed down the intense guilt and shame that came with remembering what Sirius had done to them all. 

 

Instead, he focused on Harry. 

Another barrier to progress in treatment was, of course, the stigma. Dumbledore had the decency not to look at him when he’d said this. 

 

He’d used to admire Dumbledore for being able to look past the stigma of his own condition. He supposed that during his time sleeping in Wolf camps at nineteen to see if any of the disenfranchised, desperate people had turned to Voldemort for protection, the shine of being accepted by Albus Dumbledore had worn off. At first, he’d felt lucky that there was someone in the Order that was perfectly made for the job of infiltrating the pack.

 

But there was always a little voice that reminded him Dumbledore had known the war had been coming. He’d known who he would need on his side. He wondered if it had truly been an act of good will for Dumbledore to finally allow a werewolf to attend the school. Especially when he’d met other wolves his age that had been bit during childhood that had not  been offered a spot at Hogwarts. 

 

The wolf inside of him was restless, agitated. He forced himself to move on, for Harry. 

 

He was leaning back in the chair, his hip and knee aching from the strain of staying in one position for many hours. His finger tapped the brim of his ever-full mug of tea, feeling the steam curl around it. 

 

He needed a boost, maybe he could take half a pill to chase away the ache and chill. 

 

“It is late.” Dumbledore’s voice broke the silence. “We have much to work through, but that can wait for another day.” 

 

Remus opened his eyes, and tilted his head down to look at them. Minerva sat, looking rather nervously between him and Dumbledore.

 

Hackles raised instantly, though he kept it from his face. 

 

“Before we get settled for the night, there is one more thing Minerva and I would like you to consider.” 

 

Remus looked between them, sitting up. His anxiety, which had simmered as they had put forth an actionable plan, sparked anew. He could smell similar fear on both of them.

 

Albus flicked his wand and a large file filled the space on the table before him.

The Headmaster promptly took the file, flipping it open before pulling out a thick document. 

 

“This is a copy of the Potters’ will, courtesy of Gringotts. We also have a current list of accounts, assets and holdings.” 

 

Remus blinked. He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected, but this was not it. He stared at the crisp edges of the will, stunned a bit by the size of it. Of course, James’ family had been very wealthy, but still… it almost seemed obscene. He was sure that the contents of his own will might fit within a couple of pages if he’d ever bother to make one. 

 

When he didn’t respond,  Dumbledore took it as a sign to continue, clearing his throat. 

 

“When Harry was placed with his relatives, I was assigned as his magical liaison by their accounts manager. That means that any communication with wixen entities, like Gringotts, would be mediated by myself.” 

 

Remus nodded. He’d never had reason to think of it before, but it would make sense for these instances. He couldn’t imagine a muggle completely cut off from their world being expected to navigate the owl post or floo network to speak to the bank, at least not until the child was old enough to attend Hogwarts and help their parents’ integration. 

 

Dumbledore let out a deep sigh and patted the tome, “I was alerted three days ago that a shift in the ownership of the vault and assets had occurred. They were having trouble finding the new beneficiary on the will, and asked if I was able to pass along the message.”

 

“Wait… why has the primary beneficiary changed?” He asked, frowning. Harry was ill, –he hadn’t died.

 

There’s a strained look on Dumbledore’s face, and for once the man does not have an answer. After a few grueling moments, McGonagall fills the silence. 

 

“Obscurous’ are not classified as beings.” She says, very gently, “And their hosts take on the classification as the Obscurous’ do not have a… dormancy period.” 

 

He could tell that she’s trying very hard to make this conversation bearable for someone who was also declassified as a being one night a month. Suddenly, he felt as if all the air had left the room.

 

“So, if I understand correctly, you’re saying that Harry no longer has any rights as a wixen?  He’s lost his inheritance because the ministry classifies him as a beast?” 

 

She gravely nodded her head, her eyes full of heavy grief. He understood the situation better than they may have realized. He’d been classified as both a beast and being since childhood, and has navigated a world set up to only benefit the latter ever since. 

 

He’d never considered himself lucky that the ministry classified him as a being for a majority of the month. 

 

“It is unfair, and when we do speak to the Wizengamot on Harry’s behalf, we will advocate for his rights to be reinstated. The wards here have been doing an excellent job at restricting the destruction the Obscurous causes. Additionally, there has not been a case in nearly 60 years. Progressive rights for many creatures have been reviewed  and updated in that time. The laws require revision.” 

 

Dumbledore spoke quietly, but his voice had taken on a strange hollow quality, his eyes nearly gray as he stared down at the paper in his hands. He came back to himself, closing his eyes for a long moment before he looked up suddenly. Remus was pierced beneath his steady gaze.

 

“The other beneficiaries have been given their portions of the inheritance years ago when the will was first read. Harry’s portion is what is being transferred to new ownership,” Dumbledore pauses for a moment, “...You have been named the primary beneficiary for the account.” 

 

Remus’ skin crawled as the words sank in. He stared at Dumbledore in shock. The man gave him little time to process.

 

“I know this is much to take in, and the accounts manager would like to meet with you to discuss further.” Dumbledore’s words played through the static in his mind, and he found his eyes wandering elsewhere as he tried to understand.

 

A scroll with numbers too large to comprehend, with addresses–multiple addresses– of estates, of yearly business revenue, records of bonds & trusts, and a long list of additional items stored within their vault was pushed in front of Remus.

 

“Remus?” McGonagall startles him out of his shock by using his first name. He’d been Mr. Lupin for a very long time with her, even after school. He hadn’t been Remus until the night she’d come to find him after all of his friends were gone and he was very near to it himself. He blinked rapidly as he looked up to her, feeling a bit like the room was spinning.

 

“This may be a blessing in disguise. I know that you have… struggled since graduating. You may be able to look back on this as a fresh start.”

 

A fresh start? His dead friend's money. Ripped from their son because the government restricted his rights. All because he was effectively being put on hospice because of a magical parasite that would eventually kill him before he ever got the chance to grow up. 

 

Remus wasn’t sure what this was, but given enough time he could come up with something more fitting than: inescapable death sentence.  Fresh start, indeed.

 

Bright green eyes squinting from behind tangled bangs looking out from the wrinkled quilt float to the forefront of his mind.

 

“What of Harry?” he chokes out, “Who will–” 

He couldn’t finish. Anxiety strangled the rest of his sentence.

 

Dumbledore’s eyes flicked to McGonagall, but she was focused completely on Remus.

 

“There is no one else, Remus.” She doesn’t answer his question directly, but he knew anyway. Hadn’t they said that earlier in the day? He was the only one that they could think of to try and connect with Harry. Everyone else was either dead, or locked away for life. 

 

He’s shaking his head. It was one thing to visit the boy, to support him as they figured out what to do. He was possibly the worst candidate to care for a young child, especially one with special needs. One who needed someone of strong moral fortitude to advocate for him with the Ministry. Someone who would be able to watch him die, without losing the last tether they had to their own sanity. Someone who could be strong for him.

 

Who didn’t rely on the next little pill to get them through the day. Someone who didn’t regularly sleep under a cardboard box spelled to repel water behind a fish and chip shop in Corwen. Someone who didn’t routinely fend off the urge to walk into traffic. 

 

He was perhaps even more unsuitable now than four years ago when Dumbledore had explained why a werewolf would not be a suitable singular caretaker for a toddler. Now he’d been alone for four years falling deeper and deeper into the career of killing himself. Taking very measured steps towards an inevitable end. 

 

And now they wanted him to take responsibility for something as precious and fragile as Harry.

 

He felt a bit of a hysterical bubble form in his chest, choking him as he processes what she’s said. 

 

There is no one else. 

But…

 

“I’m sure there are many that are… better. Someone qualified. A magizoologist or a healer or…” 

 

Dumbledore shook his head. Why is he doing that? The bubble bursts in his chest and Remus laughs manically, his body feeling loose and strung out as the laugh rattles through him. 

 

“Remus, we need to act quickly. Harry is in a very vulnerable state, and right now no one has claimed him.” 

 

Claimed him? Remus pants past the growing panic in his chest. 

 

McGonagall frowned but Dumbledore continued, “I know it sounds horrible, but as a beast he does not have the same rights to occupy wixen spaces. The Ministry could lay claim, take him into custody and dispose of him with very few barriers. But if he belongs to someone– to an estate– as awful as it sounds… he would be more protected. They would have to have multiple hearings to remove him from the estate. Prove that they’ve done their investigation and had the rights to take him into custody.” 

 

“So he’s property now?” 

 

Dumbledore sighed, “Remus– you know that we have to work within the boundaries of the law. This is not how I see him. I must speak this way so we can strategize outmaneuvering the ministry.” 

 

“So they do plan to kill him? But you need me to claim that he’s mine so that… that there will be paperwork involved? So they can make a spectacle of it?”

 

“So they cannot keep it a secret.” McGonagall interjected, her voice pleading with him to understand, “Harry’s best chance at survival is to rely on the public’s investment in his well-being. The Ministry will have a much harder time disappearing him if the world knows what they’re attempting to do.”

 

“I kept him in the muggle world to ensure he grew up away from his celebrity. But that same celebrity status may now protect him. He is beloved in our community, and when the time comes we will need to have the populace rally behind him. It will keep the Ministry from acting unilaterally.” Dumbledore says, staring down at the will on the table.

 

“So… get someone popular to take him in! I don’t want the money– I can… I’ll set it up to be a trust for him or prepay for the healthcare…” Remus was far out of his depth and he knew it. He has no clue as to the care needed for an Obscurial, much less a child.

 

“Remus,” Dumbledore’s voice was patronizing and Remus cut him off with a snarl.

 

“I am not suitable. You made yourself perfectly clear four years ago!” 

 

Dumbledore blinked slowly, taking in Remus’ anger. Remus clamps his mouth shut before he loses complete control of himself and stared deeply into those intelligent blue eyes. 

 

McGonagall interrupted the silent conversation, “The situation has changed drastically from where we were four years ago.”

 

Dumbledore holds up his hand and leans forward, “Four years ago I spoke to you of the Ministries restrictions on wixen placement. They would never have allowed it, even if you and I both know the care you would have taken in his upbringing.” 

 

He felt his blood pressure rising as the back of his head began to tingle, could hear the blood rushing through his ears.

 

He grins, his lips stretching over teeth in a grimace reminiscent of the one he wears on the full moon just as the shift comes upon him and his face elongates, “Well, we can see how well the Ministry approved placement went.” 

 

He doesn’t even recognize his own voice- the gruff snarl at the end ringing out into the silence of the room. Sirius had always been one to bite- cruel and vicious when hurting. Remus had only found this bravery in the cold lonely years without friends. He wielded it now as both a shield and blade. 

 

Dumbledore, for his part, had the decency to look defeated. 

 

Lunge! Bite! His anger merged with the wolfs’ instincts and he fights to not follow the command as it clashes into his psyche. He struggled to rein himself back in. 

 

“We do not yet know the source of his ailment. It is not always the family.” 

 

Dumbledore’s voice is very small. Remus finds himself shaking his head in disbelief. 

 

“I… I told you what Lily thought of them. How she was treated by her sister. How they viewed Wixen.” 

 

Dumbledore did not speak and Remus wrenched his eyes away, this time staring accusingly at McGonagall. It was obvious they weren’t going to entertain his circular arguing. He’d already yelled at them about this earlier in the day, and even he felt weary with the conversation. He pivoted. 

 

“And now after everything he’s been through, you’re giving him to another unfit guardian. I know nothing of children, even healthy ones.” 

 

“You will not be supporting him alone. He will have an extensive health team. We would hire help for every aspect of his care. Your role would be to support Harry, to connect with him.” 

 

He tries to keep his voice calm, to keep the bleeding edge of his pain from it, “I don’t have anywhere for us to go!”

 

Dumbledore leans forward and pushes the paper filled with addresses in his direction. The Potter’s estates.

 

“We will fit one of these to suit your needs. Harry’s safety, your safety will be carefully guarded.” A sour taste flooded his mouth at the thought of Lily and James having this same conversation in preparation for going under the fidelius. He very nearly pointed out the irony, but managed to control his tongue.

 

“Your confidence is misplaced. I can’t do this.” He bristled when he felt the sting of tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. 

 

Dumbledore sighs and stares into Remus’ eyes for an excruciatingly long moment. Then, without looking away, he waves his wand and the pages begin rapidly turning until they are nearly a third of the way through the document. The pages stop abruptly, leaving the will lying open like a book in front of the headmaster. 

 

“And what of their confidence?” He asked, his voice unbearably soft as he passed the papers over to Remus. 

 

He frowned, but reached out his hand to grasp the heavy tome. He watched Dumbledore warily for a moment, before curiosity won out and he looked down at the page. 

 

It’s complicated and written in legalese. But there is a list of names about halfway down the page that catches his eye. 

1. Sirius O. Black and Remus J. Lupin
2. Francis C.J. Longbottom and Alice G. Longbottom
3. Marlene J. McKinnon & Dorcas R. Meadows
4. Peter W. Pettigrew

 

“These are the list of guardians Lily and James hand selected for Harry.” Dumbledore intones. “At the time of their passing, due to the danger of Death Eaters, we thought it best for Harry to have an extra layer of protection by placing him in a non-wixen home. But do not doubt that they believed in you.” 

 

The tears flooded Remus’ eyes as anger and regret twisted their way around the spaces between his vital organs. 

 

“You’ll notice they’ve named me alongside the reason they’re not raising him themselves?” His voice was choked, stifled behind the lump in his throat. 

 

Lily, James, Peter. And just a few months before that Marlene and Dorcas a week later. Sirius. A list of seven quickly dwindled to three. 

 

“Well, it’s obvious from this who should be here. We can transfer the estate over to the Longbottoms. They’ll be much better equipped for this.” He croaked out, furiously wiping his eyes and letting the paper fall back to the table with a cathartic thump. 

 

He can’t look at them– guilt and shame colliding and melding with the anger inside of him. All of it tinged with a desperate panic that they may still be expecting this of him. This impossible task.

 

He realized that the room had been silent for too long, and forced himself to look up. They were both looking at him peculiarly, and he froze long enough for an errant tear to escape and roll down his cheek. 

 

He looked between Dumbledore’s weary expression to McGonagall’s stricken one, a prickling dread fraying his fragile nerves. He felt his mouth move, the anguished noise forming into a question he already feared the answer to. 

 

“What?” 

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Notes:

Ahhh, the burden of secretarial work and finance planning.

Sorry, Remus-- real life is coming to you with a swift kick in the ass.

More Harry and Remus interaction coming soon!

Chapter 22: Part 2 Chapter 5

Notes:

I was grinning while editing this. For someone who write a ton of hurt/comfort, I sure do like editing the fluff.

Remus contemplates their situation and Harry proves once again that he is a cinnamon roll.

Remus

 

Remus had the elves deliver food out in the hall, casting a stasis charm on the small cart that was left there. He looked through the selection, noting with a bit of surprise the vast range of dishes available. School was not in session, and he highly doubted that the teachers on campus needed this much food.

 

There were small trays filled with chicken pot pie, lamb stew, mashed potatoes with thick gravy, grill crisp veggies, half a glazed ham, cheese and toasty bread, fresh fruit and a small tea tray full of cookies- the white ones with the chunky sugar suffused to the top. There was even a little basket of fish and chips tucked away on the second shelf. 

 

He doled out little portions of all of it onto Harry’s plate, giving him a generous heaping of the chips and spooning ketchup onto the sides. He placed a secondary stasis over Harry’s food to keep it warm in case the boy wasn’t immediately hungry. 

 

He’d have to be strategic and remember to always cast outside of the room. 

 

He made a plate for himself and carefully carried them both into the room. Harry was right where he’d been when Remus had left, curled up under the bed. When he’d returned from the meeting, he’d tried to coax the boy out with hot cocoa, but the tea tray set undisturbed on Harry’s side of the bubble.

 

Harry had taken one of the glasses of water with him when he’d retreated earlier that afternoon, but Remus could see it sitting empty next to the bundle of blankets.

 

Poppy had told him that he’d refused to take his tea-time potions and that she’d had to spell them directly into his stomach. They had apparently been doing this for the last week at meal and medicine time. Remus, who had been on the receiving end of those spells before, knew that it wasn’t a pleasant experience. The cramps, the nausea… the gnawing anxiety knowing that the pain would happen again and again multiple times a day. 

 

Needless to say, he had begged her to let him try to convince Harry to eat something before she continued with this regimine. She had agreed, but warned him that Harry was very weak, and they couldn’t let him go too long without compromising his organ function. 

 

Remus reached the little camp that he’d set up for himself. He’d pulled a cushion from the chaise down onto the ground so that he could sit more comfortably and had piled his things next to it. He’d invited Harry to come sit with him, but the boy had refused– spending much of the evening vacillating between quiet observation and exhausted sleep. His wake windows seemed to be much shorter than a normal five year olds should be– becoming drowsy after only an hour or two and snuggling back down. 

 

It was late for dinner– probably close to midnight, but Remus hadn’t had the stomach for it earlier. He’d been too worked up after the meeting with Dumbledore. He pushed the bright ache in his chest away when he thought about it.

 

The pill had helped to dull the intense discomfort and panic he had felt seeping into his bones. He was truly the last one. Of all of the people Lily and James had chosen as potential guardians– he was really and truly the only choice. 

 

Fuck. This was all so messed up.

 

Movement above him caught his attention and he watched as the faux sky streaked with a meteor shower. The ceiling wasn’t exactly like the one in the Great Hall– this one seemed to project only the stars, no matter what time of day it was. However, there were windows inset along the wall that seemed to follow the normal pattern of the sun. It had been dark when Remus returned from the teachers’ lounge a couple hours ago. He wondered if there were meteors out there tonight. 

 

He looked away from the windows, and forced a smile when he saw Harry peering out of his little fortress. 

 

He moved slowly– his cane tucked under his arm so he could balance both plates making him a bit more unsteady than normal. He bent down and deposited the plates next to him. 

 

He sat as gracefully as he could, the old injury to his hip and thigh smarting after sitting on the ground earlier. The cushion helped, giving him a landing zone that didn’t hurt as badly as the stone floor. 

 

“Hungry?” He called over, holding one of the plates up in Harry’s direction. He deliberately pushed through the ward, feeling the magic tingle against his skin as his hand crossed the barrier. He set the plate down in the space Harry had occupied before. 

 

Harry paled and retreated under his quilt pile. Remus didn’t push him, not yet.

 

He would continue with his plan of mostly ignoring Harry after offering food or drink, in hopes that the tantalizing smell of the feast would do the job for him. 

Remus picked up his own plate and scooped up a bite. The moment the gravy and potatoes hit his tongue he felt his eyes well up. It tasted just as he remembered and nostalgia tugged at his heart. He chewed slowly, savoring the swell of emotions and the food in turn. The stress of the day threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed his anxiety down for the countless time and tried to focus on what he needed. 

 

There wasn’t much to do with getting things “set up” for an extended leave from his normal life. He supposed he might letting Shane– the muggle vagrant that sometimes shared his alley– know that he wasn’t actually dead might be nice.

 

But he had no belongings to gather, no apartment to sublet, no job to notify. Really, he’d arrived with all that he owned. A small bag containing the few clothes, momentos and toiletries he possessed, his cane, an even smaller pouch containing the round and oval pills he relied on and his wand. 

 

It was strange really. He knew that he would never be returning to that alley, and it had nothing to do with the long list of assets that he was now in charge of. It was both freeing and terrifying. 

 

The last days. 

 

He took another bite and let his eyes wander around the room. It was odd. He couldn’t ever remember being in here before. He remembered the weird tapestry with the dancing trolls from his time at school, but could not remember the door. And a room this size would definitely have been on the map.

 

He wonders if this room had been made after they had graduated. Otherwise, why would it not have been detected by the spell when they’d made it? It sent a pang of sadness along with the realization that the castle itself had moved on past their time. He supposed, however, that it was the nature of things. 

 

Perhaps Dumbledore had made this room specifically for Harry. An accommodation to help contain the beast, like the tree that had been planted to safeguard his own secret. 

 

Other than a few windows (which were obviously the ones spelled to mirror the exterior of the castle, as this was an interior room), the chaise lounge, a cauldron and worktable, the room held nothing else but the bubble. And the bubble had one of the hospital beds in it, and a small construction in the middle with a door- presumably a toilet so Harry never had to leave the space. 

 

He frowned and looked around again. There was… nothing else. No books, no toys, no change of clothes– nothing.

 

From what McGonagall had told him, Harry spent his days sleeping, staring listlessly at nothing or rampaging when the Obscurous took over. He wondered if they had tried giving him anything to keep his attention, or distract him from how miserable he must feel. He would have to fix that. 

 

Harry was also, apparently, completely terrified of magic, in any form. Which, for wixen that relied on it to do even the most basic of tasks, unfortunately made interacting with him safely very difficult. Remus rapped a knuckle against the barrier. 

 

Dumbledore had been very strict. He could not cross it under any circumstances. While Remus did somewhat agree that separating the Obscurous for everyone’s safety should be made a priority, he wondered how it would affect Harry- being locked up and isolated. He probably already felt completely alone, even without the physical reminder that he was different. Dangerous.

 

Remus had been dealing with those same boundaries– though usually social– his entire life. 

 

Remus felt eyes on him and saw that Harry had peeked his head up from under the blanket and was looking around. Harry yawned wide and blinked a few times. He’d been awake for less than an hour,but he looked exhausted. 

 

Pomphrey had apparently run another battery of tests on him that afternoon– all coming up negative. But Remus knew that his nose wasn’t wrong. There was a distinct smell of wounds– healing, but very real. Remus knew that however Harry was hiding the wounds from her detection, that his body was using a lot of energy to keep him stable. 

 

Poppy had insisted that the only thing that came up on her scan were a few healing scars from a spell she’s performed the day prior. Harry had a nasty fall the last time he’d transformed and cut himself up pretty good on the remnants of the metal bed frame. But she had stopped the bleeding, and knit the flesh back together easily.

 

They’d told Remus that perhaps he was still smelling the blood from that, but he wasn’t convinced. The smell lingered around the boy and intensified when he shifted. And it was fresh– like a wound that's healing, not like dried blood. 

 

He couldn’t figure out how any of her basic diagnosis charms wouldn’t be able to detect what was wrong. 

 

A frustrating problem, to be sure. But he felt that by earning Harry’s trust, he might be able to figure it out.

 

He watches from the corner of his eye as the bundle of quilt stirs and Harry crawls to his feet. He wraps the blanket around himself and Remus turns, offering an encouraging smile. 

 

But Harry does not come to sit with him and eat like he’d hoped. Instead, the boy stumbles his way to the small closet in the middle of the wards that Remus assumes is the bathroom.

 

He takes the opportunity to levitate a couple of sugar cookies over to the small table next to Harry’s bed and renews the stasis on them. He debates sending the whole plate, but he’s hoping Harry will choose to join him when he comes out of the restroom.

 

Harry returns a few minutes later, wiping water from his mouth as he slowly shuts the door. Remus watches alert and morbidly curious, a strange prickle running up his spine, as Harry is careful to turn the handle as the door closes, so it does so silently. Why did a five year old need to know to do that? 

 

It’s obvious immediately that Harry plans to retreat to his bed.

 

“Harry,” He calls out calmly as the boy shuffles away from him. Harry turns, his eyes huge in his sunken face. “I’ve left some cookies for you by your bed, but there’s plenty of dinner here if you want it.” 

 

Harry’s eyes wander over to where the warm cookies sit on the table, then back to Remus. He looks conflicted for a moment. 

 

“I’ve also got something to show you, if you’re interested.” He sets his own half-finished plate down and uses his cane to pull his satchel closer. He digs through for a moment before pulling out an old tattered book. It had been the only possession he’d kept from his old life– the one he shared with Sirius in that flat in Bristol. He’d had it on him– when everything had fallen apart. And he hadn’t been able to get rid of it, no matter if it took up space in his bag he really didn’t have. 

 

He held the purple cover out for Harry to see, worrying his lip a little at the tattered corners and the stain from where a bottle of ink had spilled on his travels. 

 

Harry took a step forward, his brows furrowed as he squinted at the book.

 

“It’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” Remus supplies, “It’s quite good. My mother used to read it to me. Do you want to look at the pictures?” 

 

Harry was taking small steps towards him, holding the blanket around him as a shield. Remus feels the wolf tense, but it doesn’t growl at Harrry’s approach this time. Satisfied with the bubble’s integrity, he supposed. 

 

Remus doesn’t push him, just settles back on the cushion as Harry makes his way over. The boy settles close to the plate, but not near enough to touch. Remus has to hold back a comment about it being okay to eat.

 

He did reach through the ward to nab one of the mugs of hot cocoa and sets it near Harry’s plate. Harry watched him, tense, but didn’t run. This close, Remus is blown away by how vivid Harry’s eyes are, sunken and tired as they are. Lily’s eyes. He wonders if her mother had ever read Roald Dahl’s to her? He wishes he had asked. 

 

Remus pulled the book open as Harry settled the blanket around him.

 

He turned the yellowing pages towards Harry to show him the funny depictions of the characters as he began to read. 

 

“These two very old people are the father and mother of Mr. Bucket…”

Notes:

For the purposes of this fic, I'm changing some of the real-life publication dates of Roald Dahl's work. Cause Matilda is gonna be SO HEALING for my lil man Harry J.

As always, comments fuel the machine. And coffee. But if y'all handle the comments, I'll handle the coffee.