Chapter Text
Prologue
Electric air followed him around like its own gravitational pull. It wept and mourned from him, covering every step on the ground and a light brush of his fingertips. Nothing in the old, broken-down house he once thought to call home could escape it. As though he were purposefully scorching across the old rubble of his past as he walked through.
The ground that he peered at from behind his aunt was dirty enough to cause the lines on his face to crease. Strange questions lingered in his mind as he tried to scan further behind the woman who claimed to have raised him. The house was previously well-kept, and it made him wonder just how much of it was due to his young, tired, frail hands. He finally allowed his eyes to fall onto his aunt’s shocked face. She looked more weathered than he remembered, beaten down. Solemn. She looked weak.
Harry smiled at the thought. “Aunt, you seem well,” he exclaimed a tad too cheerfully to be considered calm. “Well, aren’t you going to let your poor nephew in?” he questioned, stepping in despite not leaving enough time for her to answer.
“Y-you boy! What are you doing?! Get out of my house. You’re not welcome here,” her voice a shrill noise to his ears. Unfazed by her words, he continued to push his way through the narrow hall.
He stopped at the cupboard beneath the stairs, turning his head to face it. He noticed all the latches were locked and chained, just like they were whenever the Dursleys had a visitor. His head tilted in mock curiosity.
“Surely, you don’t have another small child locked in there,” he said, knocking on the door a few times, kneeling to peer through the vent slits. “‘Ello, small child, if you’re in there, just yell, and I’ll let you out—no need to be afraid of me.”
The woman who once locked him in there made a small choking noise. “No-why would-I would never-” was all she managed to fumble out before Harry rolled his head to look at her. His eyes were dark and cold, sending a deep shiver down her spine as he chuckled. Looking at her upturned face caused a small grin to form.
“Oh, I don’t know,” His grin widened at her blotchy red face, “Been askin’ myself that since I could remember—still got no answer. Unless you want to tell me all ‘bout why you did?”
He stood then, smile fading, remembering how much taller she used to be to him. How scary and frightening she was to the young child when she stood towering over him to lock him away in the dark, cramped cupboard that was his ‘room’. Now she looked like nothing but a bug that he could crush under his foot, given, of course, the opportunity.
“Now, now, don’t look so perturbed, Petunia,” he smirked at his own childishness, given the situation he’d constructed. “I merely came for a short visit. A quick reminder that I exist and that I am still very much alive,” he took a step forward, and she took a step back. His wand dropped from its place in the sleeve of his hoodie and settled in his hand. There was another step forward, another step back. Eyes flicked to his wand, then to his face
“Y-you can’t use magic! You're still underage! Those freaks will come to arrest you,” she squeaked out. Fear plastered her face like a coating of tar and sticky honey, freezing it in place. His smile returned. He slowly, achingly slow, pushed his wand into the side of her neck, digging it into her soft flesh, feeling her speeding pulse push against it.
“Not for long, Petunia, I’m almost seventeen. You’re best to remember that,” he pulled his wand back. He saw tears piercing her eyes, threatening to fall over like a shot of firewhiskey after a shot too many, and with that, he knew his task had been accomplished.
Frighten her, fuck off, start on the next step. The next step was far more important.
Harry walked out of the still-open door, breathing in the fresh air. He spotted a white-haired man leaning against the Dursleys’ car. Harry smiled at the small bat sitting on the man's shoulder. He patted Harry’s head affectionately. “You did well, kid.”
The air around him softened as the strange man with the small bat grabbed his arm into a Side-along, taking him once more from this cold, distorted house.
***
Draco was already eating breakfast when owl after owl dropped off the latest edition of The Daily Prophet. He picked up a paper that landed directly in front of Blaise. He stared wide-eyed and panicked at the front page. It couldn’t be true. This is wrong. A misstep. Something.
Draco could barely hear everyone’s gasps. It sounded like a buzz. Nothing comprehensible, not even when Blaise spoke and snatched the paper from his hands. His face was hot, and he felt dizzy. He was seething. But after a ridiculously uneventful couple of years, maybe this could be entertaining.
“He’s back?” He heard someone say, but he didn’t know who. His entire world felt like it had turned on its axis, and the mix of emotions ran through him like an ignition. The stone beneath his feet crumbled and shattered like a thin piece of glass.
Was this really true, or just another hoax? He didn’t know, but he will find out. Draco stood and left the great hall, bumping into someone. People sobbed behind him. Pathetic, he thought. He could hear Granger and Weasley muttering too. The school halls were just as chaotic.
It can’t be true. A ghost–back from the dead. That’s all. Nothing more than a ghost or a hoax. But something in him knew the truth. And he knew just who to ask to find out.