The Depths of Darkness

Author's Note: I would like to say a BIG THANK YOU to Liz for acting as Beta for this story. It is greatly appreciated!!!

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Chapter One
The Problems with Coming of Age

Dear Harry,

There is nothing to worry about. These things happen. It is quite natural for a young witch or wizard to experience some physical changes during the weeks prior to their coming of age. The dormant magic within you will slowly become active and you will reach your full magical potential. I am sure that Miss Granger has sent you reading material on the issue. It could be quite beneficial to read through it.

Molly and Arthur Weasley have requested that you spend the last two weeks of the summer with them. I see no reason to deny them the request and therefore someone will be arriving on August 19th to escort you to the Burrow.

Enjoy the remainder of your summer and happy birthday

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

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Harry growled in frustration, the letter crumpling in his hand. That was it? These things happened? Scowling, he tossed the small ball of wadded up paper in the general direction of his wastebasket, not bothering to check whether or not it hit its target.

Enjoy the remainder of my summer? He thought angrily. How am I supposed to enjoy the rest of my summer when I’m the only one that knows something is seriously wrong with me?

He’d gone page by page through every book Hermione had sent him and still he had found nothing. It was like trying to read a newspaper in the middle of a rainstorm: completely pointless. Sinking onto his unmade bed, Harry sighed. He simply couldn’t figure out how everything had gone so horribly wrong in such a short period of time. The summer had started out just as every summer previous had. The Dursley’s had come to pick him up from King’s Cross Station looking as displeased to see him as he felt about returning to number four Privet Drive. All four members of the rather unhappy family had gotten back into Vernon’s newest company car and returned home where Harry had since been spending most of his time in his room making no noise and pretending he didn’t exist. After all, that was the way Vernon preferred it. Same old, same old, correct? Wrong! The trip home from the train station had been the end of what, for Harry, was normalcy. Since then strange things had been happening. Things no one had an explanation for. Things that were making his Aunt and Uncle glower at him all the more. Things that only continued to get worse as July 31st drew closer.

In another futile attempt to find answers, Harry grabbed the book closest to him, flipping through the pages almost frantically; his eyes scanned the words in the hope of finding something, anything, he had missed during his previous attempts. Perhaps this was some sort of vague Wizarding right of passage. Did Witches and Wizards do that sort of thing? The simple thought was enough to make him realize just how little he actually knew about the world in which he lived. He swore if he ever found the answer he was looking for he would spend every day in the library with Hermione in order to make up for his lack of knowledge, then perhaps next time something dire happened he might have a clue as to how to fix it. For all he knew, at the moment, this was some large scheme concocted by Voldemort himself to drive Harry absolutely batty. If that was true, Harry had to hand it to him. It was working splendidly.

During the days before a witch or wizards comes of age they may notice slight changes in their height, their hearing, their sight, and their balance. These are normal reactions to the inherent magical levels shifting and increasing within the body. The length of this process varies from individual to individual, ranging from twenty-four hours to seven days.

Harry’s problem lay in one single word: slight. Over the past week he’d experienced the change in height, hearing, sight, and even felt a change in how he carried himself. For someone who had never been extremely tall or had never been gifted with perfect vision this may have sounded like a blessing. The problem for Harry was that the level of these changes could in no way be considered as ‘slight’. He had grown over six inches in the last few days alone. His hair, while being ridiculously shiny and strong, was now down to the middle of his back. He could hear what was being said three blocks over. Worst of all, he could count Dudley’s nose hairs from the opposite end of a Quidditch pitch. By no stretch of the imagination was this normal and, having spent several years living in the magical world, Harry would have liked to think that he had a greater imagination than most.

Slamming the book closed in frustration once more, he threw it to the floor, the corresponding bang assaulting his, now, delicate hearing. The saving grace to Harry’s current predicament was the small fact that it did not seem overly difficult to control his new extended senses. He had been able to gain some control over how much he heard or how far he saw. Unfortunately, for Harry, while he could control the level at which he heard, he simply couldn’t control the pitch at which Vernon yelled.

“BOY!”

As the rather grating voice of his uncle pounded up the stairs, Harry’s hands slammed down over his ears, protecting them as much as he could. Something needed to be done about the situation, preferably before he started to bleed from his ears. He could only hope that once midnight hit everything would return to a relatively normal state. All the books had stated that the changes stopped as the witch or wizard turned seventeen. It was all he could do not to count the seconds.
Having climbed down the flight of stairs with some trepidation, Harry located his whale-like uncle reclining in the sitting room. Vernon’s rather large behind was currently squeezed into one of Petunia’s delicate looking chairs, the telly turned on, and a bowl of popcorn sitting on the stand beside him. “You called me?”

Round, beady eyes turned from the telly to focus on him, the disapproval and contempt quite evident in their shallow depths. If it was one thing Vernon Dursley despised it was anything that didn’t fit into what he considered to be a ‘normal’ life and Harry’s new hairstyle, among other things, certainly wasn’t on the list of things a normal person would condone. Unfortunately, for Vernon, there wasn’t a thing he could do to rectify the situation. They had been trying for years to rid the magic from the boy only to be chased down by rogue owls, terrorized by a half-giant, and confronted in public by a group of sketchy looking characters. As for Harry’s hair, Petunia had ruined three pairs of good scissors in an attempt to return it to an acceptable length. It was now another characteristic that the Dursley’s could add to Harry’s growing list of abnormalities.

“As you are well aware, Petunia is hosting a ladies night this evening. While we have guests, you will be in your room. I don’t want any nonsense like the last time. If I hear so much as a single sound come from that room you will wish you had never heard the name Vernon Dursley. Do I make myself clear?”

Harry only nodded as the irritating sound of his uncle’s voice burrowed into his ear. It took all his will power not to mention the fact that he had reached that particular point earlier in his life. The threat itself probably would have been much more effective before he had known he was a wizard. The Dursley’s were quite aware that Harry would never use magic against them, but they were not sure about others like him.

“Good,” Vernon responded, a slow smirk stretching across his face, which resulted in making his extra chins jiggle from the movement. It was a look Harry had hoped to never again see on Vernon’s face. That look meant Harry was about to get some information that he wasn’t particularly going to like. “It’s about time you made yourself useful, boy.”

Fighting the urge to shrink back was almost impossible as he watched his uncle push himself out of the chair, the material stretching and the wood frame groaning in protest. He was honestly curious as to how the piece of furniture was still standing. Surely there must be some sort of magical reinforcement holding the chair together.

Vernon’s meaty hand plunged into the pocket of his trouser, which only added to Harry’s desire to turn away and close his eyes. He was almost afraid of what the older man would produce. After a moment of digging around, Vernon’s hand reappeared with a scrap of paper and a ten-pound note. “Bastian’s Store. You’re to pick up these items and have them back here before it gets dark. We’re not going to wait all bloody day for them.”

Harry blinked and slowly turned to face his uncle once more, his eyes bouncing between the list and Vernon’s swollen face. He couldn’t possibly have heard right. “Excuse me?” he gaped, “I must have misheard you. I thought you said Bastian’s store.”

“You heard me right, boy!” was the snapped reply. Vernon sneered into Harry’s face, his breath smelling of yesterday’s dinner and making Harry’s stomach turn. “I want you back before its dark.”

“Bastian’s store is on the other side of town,” Harry responded, glancing quickly out the window to access the level of light that was left in the day. “I’ll never make it there and back before it gets dark. If you need it before than why can’t you just drive over and-“

“Are you questioning me?”

Vernon’s voice pounded against his unprotected eardrums, causing him to shrink back against the pain that jolted through his skull. “No sir,” He responded, holding his hand out for the money and list. Silently Harry was raging. Years of this behaviour had led to Harry’s rather decent ability to prevent his true emotions from coming to the surface, at least where Vernon Dursley was concerned. Hermione and Ron might be able to read him, but as far as Vernon was aware he was intimidated.

“You had best get a move on,” was the final sneered comment to come from his uncle, before the mass of flesh squeezed himself back into his favourite chair, a large, meaty hand reaching out for the bowl of popcorn.

Keeping his mouth tightly shut, Harry moved to the front door and slipped into his shoes. He would have given anything to be able to turn around, march back to the sitting room, and hex his sad excuse for an Uncle until he couldn’t see straight. The only thing keeping him from doing that was the possibility of being expelled for underage wizardry. As he moved out the door, he allowed himself a small victory by slamming it closed behind him with a shuddering bang, drawing the attention of everyone that occupied the street. Even the ringing in his own ears couldn’t dim the satisfaction he found in hearing Vernon curse him from within the house.

Sticking to the side of the street that was shaded by a row of large sycamores, Harry set off to his destination knowing full well that he was never going to make it before the store closed. Little Whinging was not exactly ‘little,’ as the name suggested. He continued to walk for several blocks, still silently fuming to himself until a sudden thought crept upon him.

The Bastian’s store …is a men’s shop!

As a suspicious feeling started to wriggle at the back of his mind, Harry pulled out the crumpled paper and scanned over the items on the list, nearly groaning aloud when he realized what was written on the small scrap of paper.

Men’s aftershave? Purple neck ties?

Nothing on the list was for Petunia. It was all Vernon and Dudley’s. Harry did have some sense of family. Had the items actually been for Petunia, he would have carried out his task, despite his grumbling. She was family. As far as Harry was concerned Vernon and Dudley were insignificant dots in a long line of insignificant dots. The familial bloodline could have continued to include Dudley but the boy’s resemblance to his father put Harry completely off the idea. Instead, he rather liked lumping them together into one massive blob.

As an irritated grumble escaped Harry’s mouth, the list was crumpled and deposited in the closest trash bin. The sun was already starting to set. There wasn’t a point in attempting to complete the errand. In a few hours he would be of age and he wouldn’t have to worry about what Vernon said or demanded. He’d be able to leave without permission. He’d be able to have his own life. Vernon could try to reprimand Harry for not completing the task given to him, but he did have a tendency to turn into a quivering windbag whenever Harry’s wand was in sight.

With each step that he took, Harry’s mind wandered further and further away from Little Whinging. His thoughts all focused around the following day, wondering if something else could possibly happen to him. Aside from the strange changes happening to him, there were other traditions that the Wizarding world kept. The books Hermione had sent had been frustratingly informative in this area. He had read that children of many Wizarding families would come into their inheritance when they came of age. With Sirius gone, he knew he would be receiving his Godfather’s property and the accounts connected to it, but what really drew his attention was the prospect of his parents leaving him something. Most pureblood families had an Ancestral home. Even the Weasley’s, at a point further back in their lineage, had owned one. He had always assumed that the residence in Godric’s Hallow had been the only residence of his parents, but he was starting to wonder. James had been from a pureblood family. Was there more to James’ history than he had assumed? If they did in fact have a large family home, he wondered if it might be safe enough to reside there, or more importantly, if it held some piece of his parents that he had yet to discover.

Lost in his own thoughts, Harry didn’t realize how much time had passed and that he had got further and further away from Privet Drive. He continued to walk and ponder his future as the noise around him gradually increased. Finally, the sound of a car horn blaring as a vehicle rushed past him brought him roughly back to his surroundings. Without realizing, he had walked straight into the busiest section of Little Whinging. Engines revved, horns honked, and the general buzz of conversations assaulted his hearing with far greater effect than the most insistent of Vernon’s screaming.

Clamping his hands over his ears, he retreated quickly, his eyes searching for a place where he could escape the brash noises. As he rounded the nearest corner, his eyes landed on the Memorial park. There were no swing sets or sandboxes to attract children and their parents, which meant that most people who visited the park did so simply to relax and take in the scenery. Ultimately, there would be a distinct lack of manmade noise.

He sighed in frustration as the noise of the busy streets could still be heard from the entrance to the park. He needed to get as far away from the houses as he could. He needed to surround himself in nothing but quiet and the light sounds of nature that the small section of wooded at the back of the park would offer. The sun had already slipped behind the trees, casting shadows around him, but he couldn’t be bothered with the approaching darkness. He simply wished for the harsh sounds to disappear.

The closer he came to the trees the less sound that reached him. Instead of the blaring of car horns, he could hear the light beat of a bird’s wing or the calm rustle of a squirrel’s tail brushing against a leaf. Sighing in relief, he let his hands fall from his ears as a soft humming surrounded him. He had never been this far into the park and yet he was suddenly surrounded by the strangest sense of welcome. As his fingers brushed the bark of the nearest tree, the sense of welcome changed to a complete feeling of serenity that he had never before experienced.

Harry relished the feeling as he moved further into the trees, stepping around them deftly. As he got further, his sense of his surroundings began to change. The soft humming had vanished. Instead there was utter silence and strange movements of light. Confusion quickly replaced the happy and light mood he had been sporting. The sun was beginning to set and despite the diminishing light he could still see clearly through the trees.

To his right, Harry once again caught sight of the rapid movement of light. Someone or something was there with him; the sight and sounds he was hearing only proved it. With each flash of light there was the corresponding sound of laughter: a child’s laughter. “Wait!” he called, hoping to have whatever was out there reveal itself. The moment his voice echoed among the trees the footsteps came from directly behind him, followed immediately by another set to his left. Each time the footfalls sounded the pitch increased. The corresponding flashes of light were now blinding.

The sound and light assaulted Harry’s delicate senses, bringing him to his knees, overcome with pain and nausea. His hands moved in a vain attempt to protect his ears from the piercing sound of laughter that had suddenly turned into shrieking. “Stop it!” he cried, desperate for the pain to cease. He had no defenses against the pain that attacked his every sense. All he could do was wait, his lips moving in a silent prayer that it would stop.

Unknown to Harry, there were two sets of eyes peering out from the safety of the trees, each pair watching him curiously. Neither one moved in an attempt to help him or protect him from the pain he was racked with.

“Is this the boy we have been searching for?

“It does not matter. He is one of us. Law decrees that we must take him back.”

“He doesn’t seem like much.”

“Neither did you when I found you.”

For the briefest moment a heavy curtain of annoyance hung in the air before a final comment was muttered. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Finally, two pairs of feet touched the soft earth without a sound, not even the leaves rustled in the passing of these individuals. With the delicate wave of a hand, a simple barrier surrounded Harry, offering a small reprieve from the noise. As the pain dulled, Harry cracked open his eyes and peered blearily up at his two rescuers. From what he could make out of their appearance they all but screamed wealth and elegance. Their clothing was like nothing Harry had ever seen. Flowing material combined with what appeared to be dragon hide covered them almost elegantly. Allowing his eyes to travel upward, he eventually found the eyes of each individual. They were like two sets of glowing beacons in the darkness around them. One set the deepest onyx and the other a piercing blue. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t read them. They were like a wall, protecting their most inner thoughts. “Who are you?” he asked, the sound coming out as a whisper.

“We are like you.” The voice was smooth and held the slightest trace of humour. “Or as I should say, you are like us.”

A sharp stab of pain shot through Harry’s mind as he attempted to process what he was being told. After the onslaught, his thought process and physical strength were almost completely depleted, leaving his mind foggy and his movements sluggish. “What’s happening to me?”

When a pale hand was raised, Harry’s immediate instinct was to pull away. The movement lasted for a fraction of a second before he was pinned in place by the strong gaze of a second set of eyes; these ones a piercing blue. He didn’t know to whom they belonged but he couldn’t look away. Slowly the hand moved forward again until the tip of a finger rested against the feverish skin of Harry’s forehead. “Everything will be explained after your change. Sleep long and well.”

Harry could feel the darkness of his unconscious creep up around him as he stared into those eyes and strangely enough he wasn’t frightened by it. It held a welcome like that of the morning sun and he let it embrace him completely, granting it the opportunity to soothe his pain. As he allowed himself to be wrapped securely in its protective grasp, Harry Potter knew no more.

to be continued ...