I hate starting new chapters. Once I get going, the rest comes to me. But starting the chapter always has me stumped. I want to time-jump…

* * *

Words: 2,668

Chapter 7

July 31st 1986. Little Whinging.

Harry hated it when the post came. He knew he never received any letters, but a part of him always waited desperately, hunched over in his cupboard under the stairs, hoping that someone – anyone except Evan – cared that he was alive. If he was a Wizard, then shouldn’t someone want to write to him? He scrunched his eyes closed and sighed. No. No one ever wrote to him. But it was near impossible for him to stop hoping. He didn’t need stupid letters anyway. He had Evan.

Uncle Vernon came stomping down the stairs, and Harry trembled as the floor above his head began to shake. He muttered to himself, praying, begging the ceiling not to cave in on top of him. With a relieved smile, he opened his eyes. He was still alive and in one piece.

The front door slammed closed, and the cupboard door was wrenched open. Vernon reached inside and grabbed hold of Harry’s shirt. The boy was six-years-old that day, and instead of celebrating, he had been let outside to weed the entire garden and then shoved back into the cupboard without anything to eat or drink. The Dursleys hadn’t been very happy with him since Aunt Marge died. Harry didn’t know why Ripper attacked her, but his uncle seemed convinced that it was Harry’s fault. Harry personally thought it was Marge’s fault. After all, it was Marge’s dog that killed her. Saying as much, though, wasn’t a good idea: it had earned Harry three painful punches to the face.

The Muggle’s face was a dark purple colour. Harry winced. He knew his uncle was very angry when he stopped breathing long enough for his face to turn purple.

A letter was shoved under Harry’s nose. Against his will, a smile crossed his face and green eyes lit up with pleasure. “It’s for me?” He breathed. “Really?”

Vernon pushed the boy away, sneering. He ripped open the bright red envelope, and hurriedly pulled out the card. Without reading the front cover, he opened the card and clenched his hand around the empty envelope.

“Dear Mister Potter,” he read, his voice low and strained. “I heard it was your birthday. I’m sorry that you were too sick to attend the last two weeks of school, but I hope you’ve recovered by now at least? Have a great birthday. I’ll see you when school starts in September. Mr. Adam Grange.” Vernon swallowed heavily. “Who is this?” The man snarled at last.

“My m-maths teacher. He’s my t-teacher.” The bruises on Harry’s face stood out even more as he lost all colour he had. Trembling, and pale, Harry took a step backwards. “I didn’t tell him anything. I didn’t. I promise, uncle.”

Vernon mumbled something that Harry couldn’t hear. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides, and Harry watched with regret as his card was crushed into a ball. He bit his lip though. Asking for the damaged card back really wouldn’t be worth the punishment he’d receive.

“Go light the fire, boy.”

“The f-f-fire?” Harry stuttered. It was the end of July, and it was shaping up to be the warmest summer that Harry could ever remember experiencing. Why would his uncle want the fire lit?

“Yes the fire,” his uncle spat, “do as you’re told, boy!” Vernon raised his hand, intending to strike Harry across the face. Harry ducked down, scuttling past his uncle with his head tucked as close to his chest as possible. He hurried to do as he was told, grabbing the coal bucket from the storeroom in the kitchen and dragging it back into the living room. He left the room to grab some wood from outside, and brought that into the living room as well.

Harry set to work. He removed the fire grate, and lay two sticks of wood down before throwing a match in on top of them. When they had caught fire, he added a few lumps of coal and some more wood and watched it burn for a moment. He took hold of the fire poker, slowly removing it from its place hanging on the mantel, and prodded at the wood. The fire suddenly blazed brighter.

Vernon snatched the poker out of Harry’s hand. “Move, boy.” He ordered.

Harry shifted to the side, out of Vernon’s reach. He bit his tongue, the sudden pain taking up all of his focus and stopping him from crying out, “no!” as Vernon threw his first ever birthday card into the fire. Harry might have remained silent, but he couldn’t quite stop himself from reaching out a hand, hoping desperately to save the card. He watched it shrivel as the flames licked at its edges, and sniffled.

“You want it back, boy? Take it then.” Harry hesitated. “Hurry up!” Vernon barked. Harry leant forward, falling to his knees, and carefully reaching into the fire. He tried to find a place to grab the card, a part of it that wasn’t blisteringly hot, and his carefulness cost him. In the time that Harry spent inspecting the card, rather than just grabbing hold of it, Vernon slammed the poker onto the back of his hand.

Harry cried out, falling forward instinctively to curl around his sore hand. Vernon smacked him on the back with the poker, and Harry gave another cry.

“You stupid, worthless freak. You don’t deserve that card, not from a normal person.” Vernon snarled. He grabbed hold of Harry’s neck and pushed the boy forward, into the fireplace. Harry’s hands came out, trying to stop himself from falling into the fire, and he gave a horrible scream as his hands pressed down onto the wood and coal and flames. Vernon smirked down on him, but eventually pulled him back by the scruff of his neck. “Get into your cupboard, freak.”

Harry shakily climbed to his feet. Both of his hands were held against his chest protectively, the palms blistered and the skin of his fingers turning black. He gave a whimper as he walked, each movement jarring his arms.

“Happy birthday,” Vernon called after him, replacing the grate in front of the fire.

XXX

That night, once the Dursleys were asleep, Evan quietly opened the padlock on the cupboard under the stairs. Harry was wide-awake, the pain in his hands not allowing him to sleep. His aunt Petunia had come to him just before she went to bed, harshly wrapping some gaze around his fingers and hands, but not applying any sort of antiseptic cream. It didn’t matter to her that Harry might get an infection and lose the use of both hands, just as long as the neighbours didn’t see the burns.

Green eyes looked up at him, fluttering lightly as they got used to the sudden light. “Evan?” He asked softly.

“Come outside with me, Caen.” He held a hand out, and while Harry didn’t take it, he made no objection to Evan resting the hand on his elbow. The elder Wizard guided the child outside into the garden. “The wards are not active here. Only within the house proper.” The Death Eater said. “Give me your hands.”

Harry held them out. A soft smile flitted across his face as Evan waved his wand and whispered a healing charm. He could almost envision the skin and muscle fixing itself, changing colour and growing fresh and healthy over the bone. He rubbed his nose with one knuckle and winced. His hands still hurt, not as agonizing as when it happened, and later as the shock wore off, but there was still a dull throb, that flared brighter and more painful when his hand touched any other part of his body.

“Here,” Evan said, handing him two paracetamol, “I swiped them from the medicine cupboard upstairs.” He conjured a teacup filled with water and handed it over. Harry gratefully swallowed the painkillers and washed them down before handing the cup back to Evan. “Vanish it,” the man said, not reaching out for the cup. Instead, he handed over the Yew training wand that Lucius had sent him. It had arrived in the post two nights ago, a fortnight after Lucius had written to Harry about its purchase.

The boy took hold of the wooden handle. This would be his first time using it.

“Evanesco,” Harry said clearly. Harry gave a smile as the cup disappeared without a sound. The wand worked for him, better than using Evan’s wand did.

“Good.” Evan said. “Name a spell from one of your books?”

Harry had just started reading ‘An Introduction to Charms’, having finally finished ‘An Introduction to the Wizarding World: a Guide for Muggleborns’. The latter book seemed to go on forever, and yet Harry knew there was so much more he needed to learn about the world to which he belonged.

He cleared his throat and raised his wand. His eyes narrowed as he focused, trying to concentrate. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he said, being especially careful to pronounce it ‘Levi-Oh-Sa’. At Harry’s feet, several pebbles began to wobble, shaking and spinning around, but only one of them rose up into the air. It moved up, closer and closer to Harry’s wand, at a steady pace until at last it was hovering right in front of the boy’s face.

“Accio pebble,” Evan said with a wave of his wand.

“The Summoning Charm.” Harry told him, without waiting to be asked. “May I try?” He waited for Evan to nod, and once the man had, Harry waved his wand in an imitation of how he had seen Evan do it a moment ago. “Accio pebble,” he whispered, and he waited. The pebble, which lay in the palm of Evan’s hand, wobbled. It jumped a few centimeters, but then fell to the ground and stayed there, unresponsive.

“That wasn’t too bad for your first try.” Evan told him, moving to stand closer to the child. He patted Harry’s hand consolingly. “At least you got the stone to move around. Perhaps you could skip a few chapters, start work on the Healing Charms? They might come in useful.” He cast a look at Harry’s hands and the blood stained bandages. “Muggles,” the man spat, as if it was the worst curse word imaginable.

Harry gave him a slight smirk. “Muggles,” he said in agreement. “Especially those ones,” he said, pointing at the backdoor of Number 4.

XXX

September 1st 1986. Little Whinging Primary School.

Harry stood at the front gate, deliberating with himself. Should he go inside, or should he hide out here and hope that no one told the Dursleys that he was absent? Would anyone even care enough to tell the Dursleys? Mr. Grange might, but then again Harry hadn’t replied to the birthday card, so his math teacher might think he was rather rude and ungrateful. So he probably wouldn’t care much now.

Would Harry even have the same maths teacher as last year, this year, anyway? He wasn’t sure. Petunia and Dudley had gone into the school last week for a meeting between the teachers, and Harry was supposed to go, but both adult Dursleys refused to go with him. Harry had walked to the school alone, but the teachers had refused to speak with him without an adult present. So he had just gone back to Privet Drive.

All of the other children had disappeared from sight. A bell rang through the playground, and with a deep breath, Harry stepped off of the pavement and onto the asphalt that surrounded the school building on all sides. The gate seemed to rise up behind him the closer he got to the front doors of the school, trapping him inside. He didn’t want to be there, but Evan had insisted his education was important. Evan wanted him to go to school. Honestly, Harry wanted to go to school as well. He rather liked learning, he found it interesting and exciting, he loved learning new things. But he hated going to school with Dudley.

Harry ran inside, making it to the classroom door before the second bell. He had followed a few children that he recognized from the year before. Dudley stood in the doorway though, holding the door open for the teacher that was making her way down the corridor towards them. Harry tried to enter the room, but Dudley pushed him back.

“Get out of the way, freak,” he said. “Here you go, Miss Murphy.” A wide smile was fixed on Dudley’s podgy face.

She thanked him as she entered the room, but didn’t bother to check whether or not any more students followed her inside. Dudley let another boy into the room, but slammed the door in Harry’s face. Harry groaned, hearing the crunch of metal as the bridge of his glasses snapped when the door smacked him. His nose hurt, and a little blood trickled down onto his lips, but he ignored that. He pulled his glasses off of his face and frowned down at them. He couldn’t see without them, and they were broken into two parts now. How was he supposed to get through the first day back at school if he couldn’t see anything?

He knocked on the door, but no one answered. Harry waited for a few minutes, squinting through the A4 sized window in the door, but he couldn’t make anyone out clearly enough to tell what they were doing. He saw someone laughing in his direction, but he couldn’t be sure if it was Dudley, because a lot of the boys in his class were laughing at him.

The door swung open. “Mr. Potter, if you cannot be bothered to come to class on time, do not come at all. Go sit in the Headmaster’s office. Go, now, boy.” Miss Murphy said sternly, her hands on her hips. The Dursleys had warned her about this child a week ago. “And do something about those glasses for goodness sake!”

She shut the door again.

Harry sighed as he made his way towards the Headmaster’s office, feeling along the walls so that he didn’t bump into anyone going around corners. He hoped they had some sellotape or glue in the office. Maybe if he asked really nicely, Principal Harver’s secretary might help him fix his glasses.

“You!” Harver said, pointing a finger at Harry as the secretary let him into the office. “Already? Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head. He was already reaching out for the phone, calling to let the Dursleys know that Harry Potter had done something ‘freakish’, or ‘weird’, or ‘naughty’ again.

Harry’s eyes slid closed: he could already hear the conversation, before either party even begun to speak. He was well used to getting phone calls home; Dudley blamed him for everything. Harry had memorized the monologue. Fortunately, Social Services had picked up their visitation – apparently it was something they did every year. The visits continued during the school year, but became practically non-existent during the summer holidays. The Dursleys seemed to have known this. Vernon hadn’t hit Harry as much lately, afraid, maybe, of bruising the boy before school started up. With a visitation scheduled for the week after next, Harry was hopeful that his uncle wouldn’t punish him too badly.

The office door opened again, and Dudley stumbled into the room. He was red eyed and wet cheeked and there was a malicious grin on his face. “Sir, Mr. Harver, Sir, is that my mum?” The Principal nodded. “Harry slammed a door in my face, mummy!” He whined loudly enough for Petunia to hear over the phone. The sudden screeching was loud enough for Mr. Harver to need to hold the phone well away from his ear.

Harry cringed in his seat. Dudley reached over, waiting until the Principal was occupied with Petunia’s phone call, and punched Harry on the shoulder. “Freak,” he spat.

Harry slumped back in his chair, eyes squeezed closed. He really hated going to school with Dudley.

XXX

* * *

Thanks for reading. Please review, and I promise I’ll try not to take as long next time. Oh, and go read my new Supernatural/Harry Potter crossover.