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guardians_song) wrote2013-04-24 11:25 pm
guardians_song) wrote2013-04-24 11:25 pm
Entry tags:
5 Lives Harry Didn't Have (PG-13, oneshot, explanations at end)
Title: 5 Lives Harry Didn't Have
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13 (swearing, some possibly disturbing content)
Genre: General/Angst
Word Count: 1527 (I - what?! HOW? Where'd all that come from?!)
Summary: /AU/ All divergences make Harry happier, don't they? Of course. Anything was better than the Dursleys... wasn't it?
Disclaimer: If I were J.K. Rowling, what would I be doing writing fanfic?
1.
Sometimes he wishes he hadn't gone with the nice lady who promised him a better life.
In a perverse way, he misses the confined, ordered world of the cupboard. He knew what would happen the next day, and he knew where he would sleep the next night. And he knew who wouldn't mind seeing him dead.
It's Dumbledore's fault, the friends of the lady - he never learned her real name - tell him. Dumbledore was the one who vanquished their lord, then botched the job when the new, Muggleborn-hating lord arose. It's Dumbledore who made it so they have hardly a friend in the world, it's Dumbledore who made it so the Ministries are their enemies, it's Dumbledore who made it so the enemies of the Ministries see him as the Ministries' ally. It's all that filthy Muggle-lover's fault, and when he's grown and he reaches the potential that was prophesied, he will rise and strike Dumbledore down.
But sometimes - and they tell him he can't really be faulted for this, wrong though it is, because it's the rubbish with which the Muggles filled his head - he wonders if they brought their troubles upon themselves.
And, deep down, he wonders if he's on the right side.
2.
It envies the human children.
It envies them their clear minds, their whole flesh, and their carefree hearts. It would not want to be one now - not with their miserable weakness and their pathetic grasp of the way the magic weaves - but it hates that its childishness was taken from it.
Its Mistress would say "its humanity", but it does not really grasp what a "humanity" was. It remembers childishness, however warped and faint the memory, and resents remembering.
But its Mistress is very clever, and its Mistress maintains strong discipline; its Mistress has taught it to hide in the world, to go about the children and pretend it is one of them, and to explain away the glimpses of wolf-fur beneath the sheepskin. And so it will continue the masquerade, smiling even as it hates, until the time comes for the uprising and Hogwarts, then all England, is claimed for the Dark.
And then the true rising will follow.
Sometimes, when the days are short and full of gray, and the memories of the old home are strong, and its envy gnaws upon what remains of its soul, and the weaklings look on in scorn and mock it, blind to the chained dragon beneath - then, it shuts its eyes and dreams of the world of the Muggles, wreathed all about in golden flame.
3.
His uncle drinks a lot.
He isn't really his uncle, he knows. But he's never let him know his name, and he never knew his father, so he thinks of the man as his uncle. Heaven knows he's been more of an uncle to him than his real uncle was.
Sure, he drinks. Sure, he doesn't really hold down a job so much as - well, he doesn't know how his uncle brings home money, or why he sometimes finds footstools and planks in place of the semi-fancy chairs and tables normally in their apartment. Sure - sure, he thinks his uncle might be a little mad. But his uncle's better than his real relatives, and he's grateful for that.
Besides, he doesn't want to slight his uncle. There's something about his face, even in his friendliest moments, that doesn't brook provocation. He thinks he might have seen something like it in a pit bull's face, once.
Friendly dogs, pit bulls. High tolerance for pain. Loving. Full of vim and vigor. Very intelligent.
Know they can tear you apart if you piss them off.
Of course, they don't do that if they're raised right. Only happens if they're maltreated and taught to answer violence with violence. Very human of them, really.
But he doesn't think his uncle was rai- He thinks the man's lived a hard life. He's always got the same stare as the homeless Vietnam vets. He won't talk about his past.
Except, sometimes, when he's really in his cups - he starts smiling and calling him James. And petting him, kind of. Telling him how he'll make sure they won't have anyone else to betray them, and how they should have always been together from the start. And he keeps smiling at him, and he doesn't listen to a single thing he says - you're such a kidder, James, and you've always had such a fondness for nicknames - oh, all right, James, I'll call you Harry if you want, but I know it's you...
Just... sit there and think of England. That's right. Sit there and pretend to be back in the cupboard, where things were horrible but they weren't freaky, where he always knew what was going on, where his aunt and uncle were vicious but not mad...
He's thinking maybe he'll ask his uncle for some of his liquor, someday soon. His uncle would like that, he thinks. His uncle likes it when he joins in on something his uncle likes - just like the old days, his uncle says as he claps him on the back, his eyes glistening with pride and glimmering with madness.
He feels like drinking a lot.
4.
He's a loyal servant.
He remembers what it was like to have a conscience - he can still feel the edges where the venom in his mind burned it away. He remembers what it was like to not want to hurt other people - there's only a sleepy, heavy numbness there, like the bite of an asp. He remembers what it was like to feel loyalty to anyone other than his Lord - that's all crushed now, swallowed and digested and discarded in a river of forgetfulness.
At the back of his head, words swirl across paper like the squirming of baby snakes. He doesn't remember what the words were, now. He just remembers the book in which they were written. The diary.
"You're happier now, Harry," his Lord, handsome as an angel and smiling like the speaking serpent, tells him, tilting his chin up so he can stare into his Lord's reddened eyes. "Don't you agree?"
There was so much bound within him, then. So much resignation, so much of a sense of right and wrong. So many chains, like the coils of a snake.
He can't remember why their removal troubled him so. He can't remember why he fought so hard, when his freedom was upon him, and why he struggled and thrashed and tried to get away.
All he can remember was that he cried and cried and cried for a headmaster who never came.
"Yes. I am."
5.
He's got great relatives - really, he does. They were a bit nasty to him back in the day - but that cleared up, and now everything is just smashing. Couldn't wish for a better cousin - though he could be a bit brighter, he supposes - couldn't wish for a better aunt - nag that she is - and couldn't wish for a better uncle - provided he doesn't keel over from a heart attack soon.
They were so worried he'd turn out badly. That's all that was wrong. Can't fault them for imposing a bit of old-fashioned English discipline, eh? But it turned out that was all unnecessary, and it was such an embarrassment when it turned out that way that he almost felt like he needed to apologize to them.
Not that he could blame them, after what a rotten sort his mother turned out to be! They'd told him, once they realized he wasn't going the same way. Horrid! Disgusting! Downright unnatural! Why, the miracle was that they'd agreed to take him in at all, when they'd thought he was certain to end up like that! What luck he didn't, eh?
No young man could hope for a better life. Except for one thing - and that's not his relatives' fault, really, it's just a trick of this queer weather they've been having. Some sort of weird meteorological phenomena - it's swamped most of England, now, and he's heard on the telly that it's just crossed the Channel.
There's this awful fog, see. Just makes you feel wretched and gray and foggy all over, and doesn't seem to ever go away. And at night, why, you start to think that all the lights are gone forever, that all the stars have been blotted out and the moon eaten up and the sun doused for good - that there will never anything bright or happy again - that you might as well walk into the black night and let yourself be devoured -
But that's queer, freakish talk. That's another problem with the fog, see. It makes good, simple English folk get all sorts of toffee-nosed poet stuff in their heads. It'll clear up as soon as the fog does, he's sure.
Bloody scientists! What does anyone pay them for? It's their job to get rid of this sort of thing, those big-headed freaks! What do they mean, it defies all scientific explanation? Well, it's their job to come up with one! And get rid of this damned fog! Now!
Author's Note: Written while listening to the Magi-Nation soundtrack's "Dream Creature" track. On repeat. About fifty times. *bangs side of head with palm* Yes, wordless tracks are much better for concentration, but they're far too hypnotic!
Explanations of the "lives":
1. Harry was spotted by Grindelwaldians and taken from the Dursleys; he now lives on the run, being raised as their new figurehead. He is pursued both by Aurors (who want to take him back) and Dark wizards (who want him dead).
2. Ha, this one... this one is one interpretation of a certain darkfic I'm writing. Harry followed in Ariana's footsteps - but, unlike her, was not well-tended during his degeneration, and eventually found shelter with someone much Darker than Kendra and Aberforth...
3. Sirius broke out early and rescued Harry. It didn't go well. (If it isn't clear - yes, they are somewhere in America. It probably involved several Confounded travel agents, security personnel, and ticket-takers...)
4. Harry got the diary rather than Ginny. It also didn't go well.
5. Harry was a Squib! And he thinks it went just smashing, and he doesn't give one toss for what all you bloody freaks think. Whatever d'you mean, this might be the most disturbing of the lot?
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13 (swearing, some possibly disturbing content)
Genre: General/Angst
Word Count: 1527 (I - what?! HOW? Where'd all that come from?!)
Summary: /AU/ All divergences make Harry happier, don't they? Of course. Anything was better than the Dursleys... wasn't it?
Disclaimer: If I were J.K. Rowling, what would I be doing writing fanfic?
1.
Sometimes he wishes he hadn't gone with the nice lady who promised him a better life.
In a perverse way, he misses the confined, ordered world of the cupboard. He knew what would happen the next day, and he knew where he would sleep the next night. And he knew who wouldn't mind seeing him dead.
It's Dumbledore's fault, the friends of the lady - he never learned her real name - tell him. Dumbledore was the one who vanquished their lord, then botched the job when the new, Muggleborn-hating lord arose. It's Dumbledore who made it so they have hardly a friend in the world, it's Dumbledore who made it so the Ministries are their enemies, it's Dumbledore who made it so the enemies of the Ministries see him as the Ministries' ally. It's all that filthy Muggle-lover's fault, and when he's grown and he reaches the potential that was prophesied, he will rise and strike Dumbledore down.
But sometimes - and they tell him he can't really be faulted for this, wrong though it is, because it's the rubbish with which the Muggles filled his head - he wonders if they brought their troubles upon themselves.
And, deep down, he wonders if he's on the right side.
2.
It envies the human children.
It envies them their clear minds, their whole flesh, and their carefree hearts. It would not want to be one now - not with their miserable weakness and their pathetic grasp of the way the magic weaves - but it hates that its childishness was taken from it.
Its Mistress would say "its humanity", but it does not really grasp what a "humanity" was. It remembers childishness, however warped and faint the memory, and resents remembering.
But its Mistress is very clever, and its Mistress maintains strong discipline; its Mistress has taught it to hide in the world, to go about the children and pretend it is one of them, and to explain away the glimpses of wolf-fur beneath the sheepskin. And so it will continue the masquerade, smiling even as it hates, until the time comes for the uprising and Hogwarts, then all England, is claimed for the Dark.
And then the true rising will follow.
Sometimes, when the days are short and full of gray, and the memories of the old home are strong, and its envy gnaws upon what remains of its soul, and the weaklings look on in scorn and mock it, blind to the chained dragon beneath - then, it shuts its eyes and dreams of the world of the Muggles, wreathed all about in golden flame.
3.
His uncle drinks a lot.
He isn't really his uncle, he knows. But he's never let him know his name, and he never knew his father, so he thinks of the man as his uncle. Heaven knows he's been more of an uncle to him than his real uncle was.
Sure, he drinks. Sure, he doesn't really hold down a job so much as - well, he doesn't know how his uncle brings home money, or why he sometimes finds footstools and planks in place of the semi-fancy chairs and tables normally in their apartment. Sure - sure, he thinks his uncle might be a little mad. But his uncle's better than his real relatives, and he's grateful for that.
Besides, he doesn't want to slight his uncle. There's something about his face, even in his friendliest moments, that doesn't brook provocation. He thinks he might have seen something like it in a pit bull's face, once.
Friendly dogs, pit bulls. High tolerance for pain. Loving. Full of vim and vigor. Very intelligent.
Know they can tear you apart if you piss them off.
Of course, they don't do that if they're raised right. Only happens if they're maltreated and taught to answer violence with violence. Very human of them, really.
But he doesn't think his uncle was rai- He thinks the man's lived a hard life. He's always got the same stare as the homeless Vietnam vets. He won't talk about his past.
Except, sometimes, when he's really in his cups - he starts smiling and calling him James. And petting him, kind of. Telling him how he'll make sure they won't have anyone else to betray them, and how they should have always been together from the start. And he keeps smiling at him, and he doesn't listen to a single thing he says - you're such a kidder, James, and you've always had such a fondness for nicknames - oh, all right, James, I'll call you Harry if you want, but I know it's you...
Just... sit there and think of England. That's right. Sit there and pretend to be back in the cupboard, where things were horrible but they weren't freaky, where he always knew what was going on, where his aunt and uncle were vicious but not mad...
He's thinking maybe he'll ask his uncle for some of his liquor, someday soon. His uncle would like that, he thinks. His uncle likes it when he joins in on something his uncle likes - just like the old days, his uncle says as he claps him on the back, his eyes glistening with pride and glimmering with madness.
He feels like drinking a lot.
4.
He's a loyal servant.
He remembers what it was like to have a conscience - he can still feel the edges where the venom in his mind burned it away. He remembers what it was like to not want to hurt other people - there's only a sleepy, heavy numbness there, like the bite of an asp. He remembers what it was like to feel loyalty to anyone other than his Lord - that's all crushed now, swallowed and digested and discarded in a river of forgetfulness.
At the back of his head, words swirl across paper like the squirming of baby snakes. He doesn't remember what the words were, now. He just remembers the book in which they were written. The diary.
"You're happier now, Harry," his Lord, handsome as an angel and smiling like the speaking serpent, tells him, tilting his chin up so he can stare into his Lord's reddened eyes. "Don't you agree?"
There was so much bound within him, then. So much resignation, so much of a sense of right and wrong. So many chains, like the coils of a snake.
He can't remember why their removal troubled him so. He can't remember why he fought so hard, when his freedom was upon him, and why he struggled and thrashed and tried to get away.
All he can remember was that he cried and cried and cried for a headmaster who never came.
"Yes. I am."
5.
He's got great relatives - really, he does. They were a bit nasty to him back in the day - but that cleared up, and now everything is just smashing. Couldn't wish for a better cousin - though he could be a bit brighter, he supposes - couldn't wish for a better aunt - nag that she is - and couldn't wish for a better uncle - provided he doesn't keel over from a heart attack soon.
They were so worried he'd turn out badly. That's all that was wrong. Can't fault them for imposing a bit of old-fashioned English discipline, eh? But it turned out that was all unnecessary, and it was such an embarrassment when it turned out that way that he almost felt like he needed to apologize to them.
Not that he could blame them, after what a rotten sort his mother turned out to be! They'd told him, once they realized he wasn't going the same way. Horrid! Disgusting! Downright unnatural! Why, the miracle was that they'd agreed to take him in at all, when they'd thought he was certain to end up like that! What luck he didn't, eh?
No young man could hope for a better life. Except for one thing - and that's not his relatives' fault, really, it's just a trick of this queer weather they've been having. Some sort of weird meteorological phenomena - it's swamped most of England, now, and he's heard on the telly that it's just crossed the Channel.
There's this awful fog, see. Just makes you feel wretched and gray and foggy all over, and doesn't seem to ever go away. And at night, why, you start to think that all the lights are gone forever, that all the stars have been blotted out and the moon eaten up and the sun doused for good - that there will never anything bright or happy again - that you might as well walk into the black night and let yourself be devoured -
But that's queer, freakish talk. That's another problem with the fog, see. It makes good, simple English folk get all sorts of toffee-nosed poet stuff in their heads. It'll clear up as soon as the fog does, he's sure.
Bloody scientists! What does anyone pay them for? It's their job to get rid of this sort of thing, those big-headed freaks! What do they mean, it defies all scientific explanation? Well, it's their job to come up with one! And get rid of this damned fog! Now!
Author's Note: Written while listening to the Magi-Nation soundtrack's "Dream Creature" track. On repeat. About fifty times. *bangs side of head with palm* Yes, wordless tracks are much better for concentration, but they're far too hypnotic!
Explanations of the "lives":
1. Harry was spotted by Grindelwaldians and taken from the Dursleys; he now lives on the run, being raised as their new figurehead. He is pursued both by Aurors (who want to take him back) and Dark wizards (who want him dead).
2. Ha, this one... this one is one interpretation of a certain darkfic I'm writing. Harry followed in Ariana's footsteps - but, unlike her, was not well-tended during his degeneration, and eventually found shelter with someone much Darker than Kendra and Aberforth...
3. Sirius broke out early and rescued Harry. It didn't go well. (If it isn't clear - yes, they are somewhere in America. It probably involved several Confounded travel agents, security personnel, and ticket-takers...)
4. Harry got the diary rather than Ginny. It also didn't go well.
5. Harry was a Squib! And he thinks it went just smashing, and he doesn't give one toss for what all you bloody freaks think. Whatever d'you mean, this might be the most disturbing of the lot?