About the breaks, breakouts and bestowals

Christmas had never been Harry’s favourite holiday, even after two years at Hogwarts where he was able to stay at school for the holidays. Unfortunately, in his third year he wasn’t so lucky. All because of Sirius Black, the escaped criminal. Harry didn’t like gossip because he was too often the subject of it himself, but something had been said about Black that hurt him deeply. Apparently, Black had once been friends with Harry’s parents — and had betrayed them. And traitors were the worst kind of people, in Harry’s opinion. Even though he was a Hufflepuff, he was neither stupid nor naive. In his first year, perhaps, but the summer months with the beleaguered Dursleys had forced him to swallow his bitterness and accept the truth: no one wanted Harry. Not his only blood relatives, not his professors, not his gawking admirers, and certainly not his dead parents. Harry had Theo and Luna, as reclusive and lonely as he was, as victims of bullying. They — and Harry was immensely glad of that — at least had loving fathers. In Harry’s life, on the other hand, there was no acceptable adult he could truly rely on. Yesterday he had overcome his uncertainty and came up to Sprout. “Professor,” Harry said and turned to the Head of House. “Are there definitely no way we can stay at Hogwarts for the holidays? We could before—” Sprout was the loveliest woman, she was always there to help her ‘little badgers’, but she had a limit to her abilities like any teacher. She gave Harry a sad look. “Alas, Mister Potter,” the professor sighed. “The Ministry intends to search the school with aurors and dementors, those nasty things… There is no way the students can be anywhere near them, you understand, don’t you?” Harry nodded languidly. Yes, he understood perfectly. He’d had nightmares for a month after one single dementor. Green lights, the woman’s screams, broken ribs, the Dursleys… “I’m sorry you will have to part with your friends,” Sprout continued with a comforting smile. Harry sensed that she didn’t fully believe in that reason herself, but she was probably afraid to voice any other. Not wanting to get false hope and be punished for ‘deception’, Harry kept his home life private, only Theo and Luna knew about certain things. As a child, Harry cried out for help, seeking help from adults at school and even a policeman on the street, but Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia maintained the facade of generous adults who had taken the ungrateful orphan into their home. When Harry returned to the Dursleys’ house after his first year, not much had changed: his textbooks and other belongings were locked in a cupboard, he was given more responsibilities in the garden, forced to work part-time at the post office to cover his food and clothing costs. Harry didn’t complain, he knew how to adjust and make the best of everything. His patience was probably what got him into Hufflepuff in the first place. The money Harry had saved up, hidden from Uncle Vernon’s gaze, was spent on breakfast before his part-time job and second-hand trainers in good condition — at least these fit him, unlike Dudley’s worn-out shoes. At the end of the summer, Aunt Petunia received a letter by owl. Harry first thought it was his shopping list for second year, but it was addressed to his aunt. From behind her thin shoulder, Harry managed to make out ‘Dear Mrs Dursley’ at the beginning of the letter. Then his uncle dragged him by the ear to the upper floor and locked him in his room. He came back an hour later and whipped Harry in a way that only happened after very intense bursts of accidental magic, which unfortunately happened often at Harry’s younger age. Whatever the letter said, it made his aunt upset or frightened and his uncle extremely angry. Harry knew his place: no questions. So he didn’t ask. Returning after his second year had gone worse. Apparently, Uncle Vernon’s company had lost a sponsor or an important client shortly before, Harry never realised. His uncle blamed him, however. He always did. There had been no part-time work at the post office that year, so there had been no decent breakfasts and no decent trainers. But Harry learnt what a leather belt was from Uncle Vernon after two glasses of whisky. Then Aunt Marge arrived. Catching the change in Harry’s treatment, she didn’t hold back her temper. Well… and Harry’s patience had broken. His magic turned his aunt into a balloon and sent her circling over Little Winging while Uncle Vernon hysterically demanded she come down, threatened to strangle him and ran through the streets bouncing and swaying like Humpty Dumpty on the wall. The Ministerial staff had sorted it all out, erased Aunt Marge’s memory, but not the permanent residents of Number Four on Tees Street. Harry had dreamed of running away from home that summer, but the fear of returning after such an escape had made him wipe his nose and face the next day. “You look like shit,” Theo said, when he met Harry on the platform before third year. Harry then silently hid his hands in the sleeves of his robes — he had purposely asked for all of his magical clothes to be a little on the taller side. In fact, after Dudley’s baggy clothes, he found it hard to wear anything tight anyway. Harry felt more comfortable in loose clothes because they hid the bruises, scratches and burns he had received over the summer. His uncle had made a habit of hitting him on the arms with his belt or Dudley’s cane when he made a mistake while cooking. Sometimes Harry just wanted to pull a pot of hot broth off the hob and splash it straight at his uncle. So the scraps of vegetables and meat would hang from his walrus moustache and his skin would bubble from contact with the boiling water. He sometimes shared particularly bloodthirsty fantasies with Theo. The Slytherin had grown up with a loving father who was completely out of touch with society and didn’t always know how to properly care for a child. For example, Theo learnt words from the ‘Pureblood Wizards’ Handbook’ and ‘Divination of the Innards’ because they had vivid pictures, causing him to appreciate the darker side of Harry’s imagination now very much. Theo was also regularly sent to family friends who had children around the same age. Hestia and Flora hated Theo, but were very good at portraying friendliness in front of their elders. It all ended the summer after first year when Nott Senior witnessed them smearing Theo’s cutlery in Bubotuber pus. The man had averted a dangerous situation and explicitly expressed his displeasure to his friends. Theo shared this with Harry as a return gesture to the story of the strange letter and the consequences of receiving it. They’d met Luna at the end of second year, Luna’s first, after accidentally freeing the girl from the broom closet where her classmates had locked her in. Since then she had often sat down with Harry and Theo in the library, but for the most part, she was daydreaming and didn’t distract them from their books. The quiet, peaceful pastime suited everyone. A few times the three of them went for walks around the lake, and once Luna led them to a herd of festrals. Theo nearly threw up when he realised what kind of creatures were in front of him. Harry, thankfully or not, couldn’t see them, but he was happy to pet one. Theo sulked at them for a whole week, only calmed down by exams. Then it was no more petty grudges. Before returning to the Dursleys, Harry always tried to stay close to his friend, or friends that is. Peaceful conversations, rustling pages as they read together — it all filled Harry with incredible warmth. And then the holidays had begun… Third year was anything but uneventful. A wanted criminal had sneaked into the castle on Halloween, and all the professors had gone crazy. Even Snape started to look at Harry oddly, even though he had ignored him completely before. When Harry had heard the rumours about Black’s connection to his parents, he guessed that the adults around him had probably always known about it — and kept quiet. He was annoyed by it. He was annoyed with Black. He was annoyed by the order for everyone to leave the school for the Christmas break. He was annoyed by Christmas… Harry was pulled from his gloomy thoughts by Theo. “Father says it’s all rubbish. Black never supported the Dark Lord. Why would he go after you? And the Dark Lord—” Theo bit his tongue, and Harry pretended not to notice his reservation. The subject of the Dark Lord rarely came up between them, they had agreed on it at the very beginning of their fragile friendship. Luna seemed to care little about Theo’s father’s past and present at all, as much as about the rumours of his Lord’s impending return to his former power. The other students were whispering a lot in the common room, so Harry had some clue as to why Nott Senior was so certain about which side Sirius Black was on. Something was going on, and the fugitive ‘right-hand man of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’ was clearly not involved. Or had a secret mission of his own. Harry doubted Black was after him, though, or he would have gone to the Hufflepuff dungeons instead of trying to break into Gryffindor Tower. However, he didn’t want to get in touch with a madman who had spent over a decade in the company of dementors. Not even to clear up the circumstances of his parents’ deaths and the Dark Lord’s disappearance. “He had no reason to,” Harry admitted without much enthusiasm. “But that doesn’t make him any less dangerous to others.” Luna saved the situation by interrupting the pointless argument. She made them play a game of Battleship, where instead of ships they placed different magical animals on their field. The distraction helped Harry get his thoughts in order. He walked out onto the platform with a confident, steady gait. “I’d invite you to my place if I could,” Theo said in goodbye and handed Harry a piece of parchment. “This is… just in case. It’s not the most cosy place, but they won’t ask questions. Neither Muggles nor Muggle-lovers go there. Tell them you’re a friend of the Notts.” Harry hummed appreciatively. If only he’d known how soon he’d need shelter, he’d have gone straight there. The Dursleys weren’t expecting him so early, in the middle of winter, because he hadn’t dared to send an owl to warn them, but they had overwhelmed him with cleaning and cooking. Christmas passed in silence and solitude for Harry. He asked his friends not to send him any presents to avoid pissing off his uncle. One thing Harry hadn’t considered was that Aunt Marge was coming to visit the Dursleys on Boxing Day. This reminded his uncle of the summer’s events and doubled Harry’s household chores. The Aunt’s foul mouth didn’t make it any easier. Harry couldn’t just run out of the kitchen in the middle of slicing salad or turkey when she piled inside to mess around, or Uncle Vernon would slap him right back in the belt. He put up with it, put up with it, put up with it… “Are you still here, brat?” the woman shouted, catching Harry doing the dishes after another meal where he had no place to be. “I’m almost done, Aunt Marge,” Harry replied measuredly and placed the plate in the sink to be safe. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin Aunt Petunia’s best set. After a moment he praised himself for his foresight. A thick, hairy hand closed around his elbow and yanked. Harry turned to his aunt. Her face flushed from the alcohol she’d drunk, the string of pearls almost hidden in the folds at the nape of her neck. Marge was disgusting. “Diddykins already started getting interested in girls,” she grumbled. Harry backed away from the spit splatters, but her fingers clamped even tighter around his arm. He couldn’t break free without using force, and given Aunt Marge’s weight class, Harry was clearly losing… “Boys and their hormones! You, the disgrace of the family, probably wouldn’t know how to keep your dick in your trousers when some slut puts her knickers out in front of you!” Harry swallowed. He didn’t understand the point of all this vulgarity, but he didn’t like the threatening tone at all. “Yeah, just like your dead slutty mother… Good riddance…” she continued, and Harry felt the magic vibrating under his skin, fuelled by anger. “You, ungrateful jackanapes, will knock the lost wench up, and Vernon, God bless his good heart, will have to take care of the bastard. It’s a pity children can’t be drowned like defective pups!” Harry reminded himself to stay calm. They’d been through this in the summer: she’d insulted him and his family, he’d blown her up, received a warning from the Ministry and a beating from his uncle… But this bitch was deliberately pushing his buttons. He was only thirteen, he hadn’t thought about dating or girls, but Harry wasn’t about to let the Dursleys pry into his personal life. He moved as far away from his aunt as he could, so she felt uneasy to hold him back. “No, listen and don’t look away, brat!” Marge thundered, looming over him again, and Harry cringed at the smell of her breath. “I’ve been through this so many times with infertile studs, and it makes them as smooth as silk. Click, click, and no more problems with flawed offspring—” Harry felt sick. He’d finally caught on to what the nasty woman was talking about. “Let go, bitch!” A hard slap made Harry lurch, and the aunt’s next movement sent him tumbling onto the table. He tried to push the heavy body away, but the awkward position restrained his movements. Harry growled when he was slapped again and howled after the blow to his ear. “You rabid whelp!” Marge screamed and leaned her flushed muzzle close to his twisted face. “You should know, freak, I’ve already found the doctor who’s ready to operate. A few pounds on top will hold his tongue, won’t it?” Harry wriggled as hard as he could and froze in shock when a huge palm gripped his groin. “You won’t need that soon!” In hopes that Vernon or Petunia would be more prudent and drag this madwoman away, Harry screamed. Marge continued to beat and squeeze moans out of him when no one came, hissed threats at him and gave him such details that any maniac would have applauded. As a result, Harry’s brain simply switched off from what was happening. He didn’t remember packing his things, he didn’t remember calling the Knight Bus, he didn’t even remember how he got free. Harry’s memory had a hole a good hour long, and something told him it was better to let it stay that way for now. Harry found himself in one of the rumbling bunks on the bus, which Luna had told him about. His trunk was rattling on the floor next to him, Dudley’s old down jacket was hanging on the nearest coat hook. Harry’s face was very sore, it was burning between his legs and his knuckles were aching. There was dried blood under the nails, and Harry couldn’t decide whether he was hoping that by some miracle he’d fought back and scratched his aunt’s ugly face or that he’d worked too hard to fix his broken nose. Both possibilities were disheartening. After napping for a couple more hours, Harry got off at his stop. The entrance to Knockturn Alley on the Muggle side was disguised in much the same way as the one in the Diagon, only instead of a seedy pub, wizards were greeted by a funeral parlour. A pair of tall men, one of whom was definitely not human, followed Harry with sticky stares after — Harry’s school trunk was attracting too much attention here. The dark street was sparsely decorated with lively garlands and wreaths, the passers-by, if not looked like decent people or creatures, at least didn’t behave like savages. Some wanted to buy him a drink and wished him a blessed Yule, despite his frankly shabby appearance, others with snorts and chuckles offered him an unforgettable night. The inn, that Theo had left the address of, looked more respectable than the Leaky Cauldron, but apparently only because it was popular with rich men like the Malfoys who couldn’t bring home a mistress or lover. Harry didn’t care, he just wanted to throw his bones somewhere already and shut himself away from the world. As a friend of the Notts, he was given a discount and placed in a room on the third floor. Harry had his own bathroom, a comfortable bed and a decent wardrobe — better conditions than at the Dursleys’. Harry spent the first night suffering from nightmares. Ashamed as he was to admit his newfound fear, Harry had to check several times to see if anything had changed in his pants during the miserable hours he hadn’t been awake. Strangely, he didn’t feel nauseous after the bloody horrors he had dreamt. When he got to his senses, Harry sent a note to Theo to thank him for his help, and with the next letter wished Luna a Merry Christmas. He asked her for anything against nightmares. The local crowd had little interest in the scrawny teenager, but Harry wore a hood just in case: he didn’t want any rumours that the Boy Who Lived had settled in Knockturn Alley. In a couple of days he’d become familiar enough with the magical district to use the through passageways. One of them stretched past a second-hand bookshop, and Harry had the courage to look in there — he couldn’t stay in an inn for days on end, and if he did, at least he’d have an interesting book. The shopkeeper didn’t react to Harry’s arrival. There were only a few customers in the shop, each of them looking for something different, so Harry didn’t even think to fix the hood that had slipped down from his forehead as he pulled books from the top shelves. He was just saving ‘The Theory of Parselmagic’, which interested him, when a stranger’s hand rested on the cover. “I’m sorry, I took it—” Harry mumbled and looked up, swallowing thickly, “first”. Cold ruby eyes were staring back at him. The hood fell fully off Harry’s head and left him completely uncovered to the stranger towering over him. It instantly conjured up associations with Marge and Uncle Vernon. The man seemed a little amused by Harry’s fright, as his thin lips twitched. “Mis-s-ster Potter.” The stranger’s mouth stretched into a predatory smile. “What a surprise meeting. What on New Year’s Eve brings you here of all places? Satisfy my curiosity, please.” The man’s husky, incredibly soft voice was hypnotic, and Harry involuntarily flinched, tried to shake off the obsession, but something prevented him from moving even a step away from the stranger. He was attracted to him like a magnet. Only then Harry recognised the vertical pupils, greatly dilated, but utterly inhuman. A very unusual wizard, if not creature, stood before him. Otherwise he didn’t stand out — well, he was very handsome, but within the limits of human beauty, not like a vampire or a veela. His short black hair was a little damp from the snow, though still in shape, his dark green coat was buttoned all the way up, the neck was closed with a scarf up to his chin, and he wore thin gloves on his hands. Was he avoiding other people’s gazes or touches? “I—” Harry clamped his mouth shut, letting go of the book and finally backing away from the shady stranger. The obsession wasn’t completely gone, but it had weakened enough for Harry to run away if he got in danger. “I just walked.” “Jus-s-st walked, Mister Potter?” The man grinned and shortened the distance between them again. “You are interested in a very peculiar kind of magic. Do you know what this book is about?” The stranger stroked the decrepit cover in an almost loving manner. Harry thought the book hissed back at him peacefully. “Parselmagic,” Harry whispered. “I thought it would provide answers—” “Answers?” “M-my mate understands the snakes’ language.” Harry lowered his head to hide his excitement. “He’s afraid to go to the shops himself, but he wants to learn how to control that ability… I thought this book would be a good gift.” “Yes, it would be a priceless bestowal for a young Parselmouth who has not yet fully mastered his voice,” the man agreed, with a sparks of sincere amusement in his eyes when he caught Harry’s gaze. “However, warn… your friend that in the wrong hands, Parselmagic is a double-edged sword. It can cure ailments that ordinary magic cannot. For example, it can heal your eyes.” He reached out his hand to Harry’s face, but didn’t touch it. “Or it could turn your internal organs into snake organs, after which those will probably fail due to strain.” Images of recent events flashed through Harry’s mind: Marge had threatened him, and hurt him, he’d screamed and then hissed at her, he’d asked her to stop… and she had. Her heart, lungs, brain — everything in her stopped. Because of the aunt’s, ironically, dead grip on him, Harry was pulled to the floor after her and nearly lost his testicles. He had to dig his fingernails into her stiff arm to pull it away from his groin. That’s how the blood got under his nails. The stranger seemed to read his thoughts about organs failure, Harry jerked at the realisation. Theo had once mentioned that it was possible to train your mind against invasion, but not until you were sixteen. “Tell me, mister?..” “Riddle.” The man smiled. “Tom Riddle at your service, Mister Potter.” Harry didn’t respond to the smile. “Tell me, Mister Riddle,” he repeated, “can Parselmagic completely stop the vital processes in the body of… say, a pig? Would it kill the animal, or is the damage reversible?” “Humans are very much like pigs, Mister Potter.” A shadow of vicious anticipation spread across Riddle’s handsome, almost porcelain face, the sight of which sent shivers down Harry’s spine. “Pigs are probably more resilient, but a human being would die instantly from something like that. Especially a lowly, filthy Muggle who was pawing somebody, for example.” Harry spent the next minute leaping out of the shop and emptying the stomach in the middle of the pavement. Staggered, Harry heavily sank down on the steps of the bookstore. He felt sick. He… didn’t hate himself, and that made it even worse! Marge was going to castrate him like some kind of cattle, she deserved… deserved… Harry sobbed. He was lucky no one had yet made the connection between his aunt’s death and his running away from the house. Or maybe they were already looking for him, and here he was wandering around Knockturn Alley uncovered, a perfect example of a stupid juvenile criminal. The signs of his weakness were vanished by someone’s quick spell, and Harry caught sight of the tall figure. “You have aroused my curiosity, Mister Potter,” Riddle said cunningly, stepped around Harry and leaned towards him a little. “Our meeting is a bestowal from fate. I have not often been given gifts on this day, so I will hold this memory as a treasure.” Harry snorted and wiped his mouth with his sleeve embarrassedly. He couldn’t look any worse, no matter how hard he would try. His dignity had spewed up onto the street a few minutes ago. “Here.” Riddle handed Harry a book wrapped in yellowish paper. “I have written how to contact with me. Only your parselmouth friend will be able to read the writings. I would be glad to have the opportunity… to mentor the young man in his parselmage path.” The red eyes flashed with cold celestial fire one last time and turned to ordinary brown. Riddle stood up straight and moved away from Harry, still seated on the stairs and now clutched the precious gift in trembling palms. Didn’t that wizard want the book for himself? “You don’t even know me— my friend.” Riddle smiled sweetly, but his gaze didn’t warm. “I do not need to know him to help a fellow parselmouth. Perhaps he will help me one day.” He bowed his head graciously and turned round to disappear around the corner a few moments later. Harry looked in that direction for a long time as he recovered his breath. When he got back to the inn, he took a hot shower and had a snack, only then he unwrapped the gift from the creepy wizard who seemed to read his mind. In the package he found the very same book — ‘The Theory of Parselmagic’. A short note and an address were scribbled under the cover in elegant handwriting. ‘Young Parselmouth, let us pretend that this book is an olive branch between us, or a sword turned against. I am both generous and patient, therefore I give you a choice. Whether you accept me as a mentor or forever call me an enemy is up to you. But do not refuse the knowledge. Knowledge is power, and power is all that is valuable in this world. Perhaps with it, a third option will come to your mind. T. M. Riddle.’ Harry didn’t share his new acquaintance’s views on life values, but Riddle was right about something else. Knowledge was power. With that thought, Harry met New Year. He had the perfect gift for keeping his mind off the coming changes and staying in the inn. Soon his friends answered him. Theo had sent a folding knife as a present, and Luna — a strange-looking slime with glitter on it. Whatever the slime was, it was good for headaches and nightmares. On the day of leaving, Harry carefully hid the irreplaceable book at the bottom of his trunk and made a promise to himself: if he wouldn’t be captured by the aurors on the platform, he would write to the creepy wizard and ask him to teach him Parselmagic. Harry had nothing to offer in return, but he hoped the price wouldn’t become exorbitant to him.