Power He Knows Not

Grim Voices in The Dark

This is where we start slowly careening away from canon. It is a long, and gradual fall, one I am still figuring out, but I'm also writing a sequel to 'Bound by Soul' so my attention flops between the two, and as I have less direction with this one, it is taking longer to write.

If anyone has ideas they want to share about things that might fit the premise so far, don't hesitate to share. If nothing else, the feedback will inspire me to focus more.

Harry didn't slow down until he had reached the little park by Magnolia Crescent. Setting his trunk by the low wall across from the play sets, Harry sat down, trying to settle his breathing.

Why had he freaked out so badly? Not only had he blown up Marge, he had sent Uncle Vernon flying. He would surely be expelled. The ministry had said in their letter last year, if he was caught doing anymore magic he would be expelled. 

He rested his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands, only to hiss in pain as the shards of glass embedded in his palms dug deeper.

Why could he take every insult to himself just fine, he'd get a bit angry, but eventually brush it off, but once word about his parents had him flying off the handle.

A part of him knew. Deep down, he knew it was because he was scared. Scared that his father was the pompous, self important swine Snape always made him out to be. That maybe he wasn't the great man everyone said he was. And almost no one really talked about his mother. Maybe she had been disloyal to his father. What if James had been the jackass Snape described him as, and had forced Lily to marry him. What if she had chosen her own feelings, her heart, over her reputation, and Harry was the result?

But then why would everyone always say how much he was like James? Wasn't that why Snape hated him so much? Because he was supposedly exactly like James?

Harry felt his shoulders shake as his breath hitched. Why were Marge's words so painful?

Because she might be right? He didn't know his parents at all. He didn't know anything about them, except that he looked exactly like James, and his mother had the same green eyes he saw in the mirror, and his father was good at Quidditch. Nothing that told him who they were as people.

He slid off of the wall, curling his knees against his chest, as he choked back sobs. He pulled off his glasses to wipe his eyes on the end of his sleeve, trying to calm his aching heart.

"Harry?" A quiet, voice asked tentatively, sounding rough and underused.

Harry looked up, but without his glasses on all he saw was a dark shape half hidden by shadows, crouched a few feet away, not crowding him, but closer then he expected.

Harry squinted at the figure, momentarily forgetting his glasses were in his hand.

"Oh...Harry... how much you've grown." The voice was both happy, and incredibly sad, as if he, for it sounded male now that he was paying attention, was staring at the lost piece of his broken world.

A hand slowly reached towards him. Trepidation filled him, but he didn't move more then to flinch when the grimy feeling fingers brushed the growing bruise on his face where Marge had struck him.

"Are you alright?" The man asked, sounding so genuinely concerned, as if Harry... mattered.

And it hurt, that this stranger seemed to care about how Harry was. Not just a polite, obligatory 'how are you', he sounded as if it actually mattered if Harry wasn't okay. It made tears well up in Harry's eyes again, and he found he couldn't face this blurry figure anymore. Instead, he buried his face in his knees again, trying to suppress the tremors that wracked his body with each silent sob.

Wordlessly, the stranger shifted, and Harry could hear him getting closer. The next thing Harry knew, the man had pulled him into a hug, and Harry was crying into his chest, hugging him back, because deep inside he knew he was safe.

The man didn't say anything as he rubbed circles on Harry's back, running his filthy fingers through Harry's hair in a comforting gesture. The man stank. Like he hadn't showered in months, then got drenched, and rolled in a dumpster. But Harry couldn't bring himself to care. This man was safe.

"Don't worry, little Prongslet, I'm here now." He murmured softly, burying his face in Harry's untameable locks.

And it shouldn't have been comforting. It shouldn't have made Harry feel safe, because he didn't know this man. Had never met him before, couldn't even see his face clearly at the moment.

But it did, and Harry found the pain in his chest easing, as the man continued to murmur softly to him, comforting him.

When Harry finally finished crying, and had calmed down, he slowly pulled away so he could wipe his eyes and put his glasses back on. Looking up at the man, his face was still partly obscured by the darkness.

"Who-who are you?" Harry asked, his voice still thick from crying.

The man seemed tacken aback, but then Harry got the impression he was grinning sadly at him, just a little bit.

"No one's probably mentioned me," the man admitted, his voice sounding rueful, "my name is Sirius. Your parents named me your godfather."

The name sounded familiar, but Harry couldn't place it at the moment. Instead, he just stared at Sirius.

"You're my... godfather?"

Sirius nodded.

"I couldn't look after you the past twelve years. I did something stupid, got caught up in my own head, and ended up being framed for something I didn't do. But I'm going to set this right. What happened to your cheek?"

Harry shrugged, not really thinking as he answered,

"Aunt Marge hit me. She's probably still bouncing off the ceiling."

"She what!" Sirius nearly growled, making Harry jump a bit. Sirius sounded almost angry, which confused Harry slightly.

"She-she hit me. It was just a slap, really. I didn't really notice it much."

Harry lightly touched his cheek, realizing for the first time that it was throbbing painfully.

"She shouldn't have laid a finger on you!" Sirius was definatly growling now.

The sound filled Harry's chest with a strange, almost thick feeling, that made him want to hug Sirius again. Still, he shook his head.

"I lost my temper, and yelled at her. She was going to leave in the morning anyway." Harry dropped his head. He really couldn't control himself, could he?

"Uncle Vernon will be pretty mad, though." He almost whispered, fiddling with his sleeve cuffs.

"Harry-" before Sirius could finish, they both heard yelling from nearby, someone shouting Harry's name.

Sirius turned in the direction of the voices, and cursed.

"They might get the wrong idea if they see us together." He grumbled.

Looking back at Harry, he gently cupped his hand around his unbruised cheek, and pressed a hurried kiss on his forehead.

"I will find you as soon as I can. Stay safe, Prongslet."

With that he stepped back, and suddenly morphed into a giant black dog, nearly the size of a bear. Brushing his nose against Harry's arm one last time, Sirius the black, underfed dog, loped into the dark, quickly vanishing in the shadows.

The glass in Harry's hands was not there when I first wrote this and the previous chapter, but then I realized there would probably be small shards that stuck to his hands, so while they kinda vanish during the chapter, I'm going with Harry just tunes the pain out after a while.

Hope you enjoyed!

Bakeku67

Also, it is technically Wednesday, so I am neither late, nor early.

I am precisely when I mean to be.