Illuvianists

Truth Untold

“Daniel… Damien? Roessow? Helloooo, can you heaaar me? It’s mooorniiinnnng, mooorooon. Wakey Wakey, Mr. Mister” Harry came around to a bright light pinning his eye balls with swords and a rude voice sing-songing in his ear. He groaned slowly as he rolled over and attempted to open his eyes.

“Oh, good, you’re up. It’s, like, 10 AM and I’m sure you have some person looking for you by now. C’mon, Danny or whatever your name is, I gotta get you home. It’d be rude to leave you here in London with no means to get home. Up, mister.” He didn’t bother to correct the person as he got his pupils blasted, before giving in, closing his eyes, and sitting up.

“Whrglmih?” he muttered. The silky voice who had been prodding him from sleep asked for clarification. “Where am I?” he repeated. He began the process of getting his eyes back to working normally. Open, ouch!, close, repeat. Meanwhile, the voice (Whom he was getting glimpses of, and was very pretty) was snorting at him.

“What, do you not remember last night at all? I know you don’t do this often, but I feel like a loser now for taking a person to a rage who can’t even remember that he went. Gosh. You’re in London, Dopey. Hmph.” London? How in Merlin’s name did he get to London? What had happened last night?

It came back to him in flashes. A whirls of colors, giggling. A sickly sweet drink. Heightened senses. Dancing. A blowjob. Multiple times. By different freaking genders.

“Oh shit.” The girl- Clarissa?- snorted.

“I knew it’d come back to you sooner or later, dumbass. Finally. You live in Privet Drive, Surrey, too, in case you didn’t know. Gosh.” Harry’s head positively hurt by now, eyes and ears aching. He felt sluggish, like he had a few too many hours of sleep, or had been given a double dose of Dreamless Sleep. He ignored the fact that he didn’t remember dreaming, and had had a good sleep without nightmares.

“Well, come on, then. I have an urgent matter to attend to. Like, life-or-death urgent.”

With that, she gripped his arm, and a peculiar portal of lit darkness appeared in front of her. She dragged him in, and a vaguely familiar sensation enveloped him- falling while still. Debilitated as he was, he couldn’t make heads or tails of it before they were spat out at the park where this mess started from. Or rather, where he voluntarily agreed to let this happen to him. The light hurt his eyes.

A quick “Bye!” was all he got before that odd, odd portal-thingie made its appearance again and swept his companion off. He was already regretting last night.

{°~<^>~°}

Still blinking furiously, he took stock of the situation. He had just been deposited in Little Whinging’s park by an aforementioned oddly dressed girl whose name was either Clarissa or Volet or neither, aching and drowsy from a night of drugs and drinking and oh-my-god almost having sex. He was now expected to go back to the Dursely’s and… what? Pretend that last night hadn’t happened? He thought carefully on the idea for a while before deciding it acceptable. Perhaps, if he was lucky, she would come back for him. That would be fun, despite his regrets this time. He just wouldn’t take so many drugs this time. Stick to the alcohol. A hangover must be better that what he had now, right?

Now, you must understand that at this particular moment in time, Harry had something akin to a light hangover (Not that he had any idea what a hangover actually was, mind you), combined with the after-effects of the numerous drugs that he had imbibed upon at The Party, amounting to a monster headache, slowed reflexes, and a general numbing of the body and mind. So by the time our poor human had stumbled and tripped his way to the house, it was quite near eleven O’clock on a Saturday morning.

His relatives were Not Happy.

{°~<^>~°}

Harry practically fell into the front foyer of the Dursely’s house. He wasn’t all that silent about it, either. Luckily, the TV in the living room had its volume turned up so high, it was a wonder that the neighbors didn’t barge in, complaining. His head was really fuzzy, and he slammed into a door rather painfully. The noise wasn’t helping him. Blithely reaching for the handle, he was pathetically spat out across the floor, doing a spectacular face plant right into the hardwood floors, not only breaking his nose with a sickening crunch, but also sliding, rather incidentally, right between the family of three sitting on the couch and the television which was blasting his over-sensitive eardrums painfully. He could feel the eyes on him for a few scant moments before Uncle Vernon started yelling quite clearly right over the TV set, a rather impressive feat in Harry’s eyes.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS, BOY? BEEN GONE ALL NIGHT! ABSOLUTELY NO CONCERN WHATSOEVER FOR US! THOSE BLOODY FREAKS OF YOURS DARED TO COME INTO THE HOUSE AT AN UNGODLY HOUR AND DEPRIVE ALL OF US OF SOME MUCH NEEDED SLEEP! HOW DARE YOU!” Harry violently flinched, unintentionally slamming his head into the stand and knocking the telly over. The extremely large, flat screen, very expensive, top of the line new telly over. On him.

Glass shattered, both that of the television screen and of the coffee table. Plastic broke into hundreds of shards, glass splintering into thousands. An alarming zap was heard as the device was violently pulled from its plug unwillingly. There were screams, shouts, fire smoking, bellowing, yelling, and quite possibly sirens in the mix. The last thing Harry caught sight of before he descended into unconsciousness was the look of Vernon’s fat face – a shade of red that made traffic lights look dull.

{°~<^>~°}

He woke up in his room. The window had been boarded over with plywood, throwing the room into darkness, but the lamp had been left on, allowing him to see. His belongings had been somewhat rearranged. Hedwig’s cage was conspicuously missing from its usual perch of the desk. The desk itself had been cleared of all parchment, quills, and ink wells. His trunk, he noted, had been moved into his room, sitting neatly next to the desk, upright. Upon testing them, he found that both his arms and legs had been bound with rough twine at the wrists and ankles, digging into his skin irritatingly. The bed had been stripped of the sheets, and replaced with plastic, which he was currently placed upon.

All of this was extremely alarming, but what set off both the alarm bells AND the red sirens was that he was unharmed, except for perhaps the odd bruise that he had created unwittingly by himself by crashing into things. His nose was still broken, and there were a few glass shards sticking into him in places, but there were no more added injuries to his person. Even the over sensitivity and headache he had suffered from before was gone. He had expected at least a black eye. He didn’t get the chance to dwell on this unexpected circumstance before he heard the many locks on his door clicking open.

He had only moments to gather himself before Vernon stomped into the room, face still as red as a stoplight. He swore that the whale growled at him before bringing a baseball bat up and threw it down over his legs. They didn’t snap, but instead bruised horribly, eliciting a groan of pain from him. The fat thing that was standing over him brought the bat down on him twice more before one of his legs broke with a sickening snap. He then made the mistake of pulling off a muffled yell, apparently mistook for attempted speech.

“Do not even speak to me, freak. You, who has been nothing but a doddering freak, a heavy burden to MY perfectly normal family! We took you in, clothed you, fed you, and what do we get in return? NOTHING! Nothing but you ruining our possessions! Do you know what those freaks did while you were gone? THEY DEMANDED TO COME IN AT THREE OCLOCK IN THE MORNING AND SCREAM AT US! US! For not knowing where you were. And when they dared to threaten us, US, I called the police on them for breaking and entering. And DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DID, FREAK? THEY DID FREAK THINGS TO THEM! Made them act all loopy and sent them away! WE COULDN’T GET THEM OUT OF THE HOUSE UNTIL SIX AM! SIX AM! And now you come back here, drunk, like your no good parents and your even WORSE godfather!”

Vernon had jumped on him at the beginning of his little speech and started pummeling him. Hard. Fists broke his nose further, his jawline cracked, ribs were bruised, legs kicked and jumped, with the plastic providing a crinkling soundtrack through it all. His breath came in short, shallow gasps as he struggled to get enough air to function past the quivering mass of fat on top of him. Vernon was still monologuing.

“And that’s when I decided, that since all of this fuss was because of YOU, boy, it was YOU who ought to pay for it.”

While those ominous words were still ringing in the air, the pummeling stopped and Vernon rolled off of the bed and pulled him into a sitting position against the wall. The twine was digging into his skin, burning every time he moved even just a little bit. He watched his uncle go towards the closet and open the door, revealing his precious Hedwig with blood running down her white feathers.

“You are a nothing, freak. You aren’t good for anything, thing. You aren’t a boy. You’re a freak, an abomination. A thing. You have been neglecting your duties, and have made Pet cook and clean when she shouldn’t have to! Ungrateful thing.”

Harry was shocked. His uncle had clearly gone off the deep end, going bipolar like this! And he… he was the the madman’s mercy… shit. Dumbledore, any day now! He did his best to ignore any thought about Hedwig.

He turned next to his trunk, the bat in his hand.

“I attempted to burn this freakishness, but the freak things have made it impossible. So I’ll destroy it.”

Vernon first moved it into the center of the room, proceeded to spat at it, and then opened it. The first thing that was on top of it was his wand.

“Since I refuse to let you go back to your freak school, you’ll have no need for this flimsy piece of wood, eh?”

With that, he snapped it in two, phoenix feather broken at the middle. Harry cried out, feeling something snap inside, too. Vernon growled at him to shut up, before shredding anything and everything inside the trunk in front of his eyes. When the trunk was empty, he smashed that, too, laughing all the way through it. His album, torn and scattered across the floor. His invisibility cloak, scissored into pieces. His wand, snapped into so many pieces that they were splinters, feather befallen the same fate. His robes and clothing were burnt to ashes, books torn to snowflakes. What remained of Sirius’ mirror was thrown across him, causing further injury. The transfigured clothes on him were ripped off and burned as well. Ink-wells and quills stained and scattered across the floor. Potions ingredients thrown in the closet and the cauldron followed them, causing an explosion from combined ingredients. The body of his owl was surely beyond decency now. Acrid smoke permeated the air, a grey sheet of potentially deadly gas. But Vernon seemed to breathe it in without harm, so Harry ignored it.

Vernon the Whale stood there, surrounded in his own creation of destruction, grinning and cackling, delighted by his own actions and the sorrow and shock clearly displayed upon his nephew’s face. That creepy, creepy grin still adorned his face as he crept closer to the bed and pushed Harry down and rolled him over.

“And now, freak, I will show you what you will be doing for the next two years to pay for what we have done for you-and what you have done to us.”

With that, he pushed down his underwear, his last remaining article of clothing, and heard the metallic sliding of a belt being undone. The pig only grunted from that moment on as he pushed past skin and muscle. Harry panicked. He tensed up as his uncle’s enlarged family jewels pushed past his last reserves and started to scream. Surely someone would hear him. His guard, for one.

He writhed and wriggled, trying to get out from under the pig’s massive weight. The only thing that his frenzied screaming managed to attract was Dudley, looking at the scene from the open door. He was dressed in his pajamas and stroking himself to arousal. He closed his eyes and screamed and struggled harder. Must get away. Must be free. Get me away! Get me away! Get me AWAY!!! He hoped his magic would do something, anything, but nothing happened. The pig sucked in a breath, panting. Spreading his disgusting sweat all over him. Animal. Uncivilized, bloody animal. Yuck. The pig thrusted once, twice, thrice more and something heavy was put where it should not be allowed to go.

He screamed louder yet, literally feeling his vocal chords as they vibrated to new heights. Pig seemed to have recovered enough to pull out –thank god- and give him a fist to the head.

“Shuddup, freak. It’s not like this is new. Freak.”

Harry fell silent and froze, the pig’s words taking all of a second to assimilate.

Snap.

{°~<^>~°}

Looking back, the real breaking point was when the pig had muttered about betting that his ‘No good, sucking, good-for-nothing freak of a criminal and drunkard, whom should have been hung godfather’ had done this to him, too. Hindsight may provide 20/20 vision, but only if your eyes were open. Anything past that was sensations, beginning with an audible snap, like a bone breaking, and an uprising of magic.

Swirling. Burning. Broken. Angry.

Bold. Free. New. Vengeance.

Green. Red. Orange. Dark.

I will be renewed. And nothing shall hold me back.

{°~<^>~°}

When he woke up, the house had been burned to a crisp, along with what few belongings that might have been salvageable. There were three skeletons in the ashes, one a pile of thin bones, one skeleton found gripping his pelvis, along with one very broken up skeleton. Harry suspected that it had been quite tortured by the time the owner of the bones had died.

The Order had taken him away to Headquarters, still in Number 12, London. The reminder of his godfather wasn’t appreciated at all, although he didn’t show it. He just curled up on the bed and wept. Wept for the new memories flooding through his mind, the loss of something he never knew he had, never knew he lost. For the loss of his ignorance, his bliss of being dreadfully uninformed.

He wept for the loss of his very identity.

And heaven help any who tries to hold me back, for I will have no mercy.

{°~<^>~°}


Continue Reading

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.