Chapter Text
A year had passed since Harry finished reading his page and whilst the book had proved a bit more useful in his day-to-day life it still sternly refused to tell him more about Voldemort. Whilst this was… frustrating to say the least, he has still learnt more from the book. The first increase in information came about a month after he had read his page and was just about to give up on the book and look elsewhere when he turned the page and found a section called ‘a brief history of British wizarding society’ this section detailed major political movements and events in the British wizarding society since the founding of a school called Hogwarts, sadly however, the section did not include any way for Harry to contact or otherwise interact with the society.
The next boon the book provided him appeared about two months after the first, appearing once again when he was on the verge of giving up and attempting to destroy the book. This time it gave him information on his Aunt’s and Uncle’s lives. What they had both done in the past and whilst the book was still ignorant of their thought processes he didn't need to know what they were thinking to know that they’d rather the police not find out about the man they accidentally ran over and killed several years prior. A couple of hints about him possessing this knowledge were enough to be moved into Dudley’s second bedroom (to many complaints that dear Duddykins’ mother quickly hushed), he doubts that he will ever forget the look of pure fear that appeared on his relatives faces when they realised that he knew what they had done, there were no witnesses and they never even spoke about it between each other after that night, but he still knew, the fear was almost intoxicating, after they had spent years hiding what they truly knew about his parents and holding it over him as the spewed lies about freaks, he finally knew something that he could hold over them.
Now, Harry was a smart kid, he knew this and thus he was smart enough to know the book was attempting to manipulate him. It only gave him information when he was on the verge of giving up on it, probably out of a sense of self-preservation (if a seemingly magic book can even develop self-preservation instincts), because his giving up on the book would likely involve a quick trip to the Dursley’s lit fireplace (it knew too much for him to just throw it away and risk someone else finding it). But not only did the book likely want to continue its existence, but it was leading him to something he was certain of this, it contained more knowledge than he could ever hope to obtain without it, he only needed to master it, the book wanted him to use it and he wanted to use it so he saw no inherently bad sides to this deal. And that's without even mentioning the knowledge it has already given him, about his history, about his family, about his neighbours, Harry has never owned particularly much and he’s never cared much for physical possessions but he has grown to love being able to hoard secrets, for years secrets were the only thing the Dursleys couldn't take from him (probably why the book scared him so much and continues to do so) and now he is able to gain the secrets of others, seeing the fear that the loss of these secrets brings them, it is a power above all others he has possessed and is as such addictive (whilst yes a normal child would probably feel bad about this, but the Dursleys always did claim he was abnormal, and he was always so… inquisitive).
Harry didn't think about destroying the book a third time.
-TEOAAE-
As the months pass the book continues to provide Harry with the crumbs of knowledge, the information on the pages continuing to grow more detailed the more he reads. He has continued to learn more about his neighbours (and the various random topics the book keeps giving him, he did find the section on the inner workings and biology of the Siberian tiger oddly fascinating anyhow) and he will admit that he has maybe been a bit excessive in making his neighbours know that he Knows what they’d rather he didn't, but it just felt so good, Harry hasn’t felt good often in his life usually he was just drifting between hunger, pain and embarrassment so surely he deserves to feel good for once right, it wasn't like any of his neighbours ever bothered to try and help him, they only ever sat back and watched, now he’s just watching them back.
And watches he does, he watches as Mrs Peterson leaves her house after her husband leaves for work and enters number 7, Mr Jeffery's home, he watches as she leaves sometime later glancing around as she feels his gaze burrow into her, he watches as she catches his eyes in the window and her steps falter as she realises that she has been seen, that her activities are known, Harry can practically taste the fear. It doesn't hurt when she gives him roughly thirty quid a couple of days later (it may not be a lot in the world of adults, but for a nine-and-a-half-year-old child, she may as well have given him gold).
He watches as his aunt averts her gaze when he looks her in the eye, when he mentions an event from her childhood (that freakish boy trying to drop a branch on her, her sister making seeds bloom, the frog spawn incident), and he knows how she reacted to these incidents. With screaming and ranting and ‘Why can't you just be normal Lily’, he knows how whenever he performed accidental magic she would always check that it wasn't Dudley who did it first, presumably scared that the wizards would take her son like they did her sister. He knows that her hatred for her sister was partly jealousy, knows that she wrote a letter begging to attend Hogwarts only to be turned down, knows how once she bitterly admitted her jealousy for Lily’s ‘perfect looks’ once whilst drunk. And he sees how her face twists in barely concealed hatred and fear when he mentions this.
It is addictive.
-TEOAAE-
As Harry’s tenth birthday nears his desire to know does not abate. The book has continued to provide insights into the lives of others and Harry has officially stopped caring about how much of his own private thoughts are inscribed upon its pages, after all, he owns the book and even if someone does learn his secrets he will know just as many of theirs.
The book also gives him small snippets about Tom Riddles's life (he refuses to use something as pompous as Voldemort) from the orphanage to his Hogwarts years, he even learnt that Riddle gained his apparent immortality in his sixth year (apparent being the keyword, the book’s exact wording was to call it a ‘flawed method’) although the book still refused to explain the method used. Although it's not all well and good, Harry has noticed a substantial drop in the rate of his ‘accidental magic’ (at least that's what the book calls it) and even his page in the book has come to describe his magic as ‘being replaced’ with an ‘alternative power’, this naturally has lead Harry to a state of panic as the tool that he could use to actually defend himself from the quasi-immortal nut job was apparently dwindling (it was also one of the last connections to his parents he had but he wouldn’t admit how much that still meant to him, not even in his own mind with how he could feel the book search through it). But he needed to be able to defend himself either way, magic or not, and so he devoted even more time to trying to control the book, trying to learn less about the Asian Carpenter Ant (the Camponotus Nicobarensis as the book helpfully informs him) and more about the supernatural. He’s fairly certain that the book is not the same kind of magic as what he used to have, it just feels different, like the wizarding magic he used to have felt like a warm glow in his chest whereas the book’s feels cold and… clinical, like a scientist watching their subject without actually caring about the conclusion (it also feels like fear, the kind of fear when you walk into a room and everyone looks at you, but they all know you, they know everything), Harry is almost certain that his use of the book is the cause of his decrease in magical ability, it just too much of a coincidence for it not to be involved, the decrease in power started soon after he actively started pushing the book to give him answers, soon after he started to crave the fear others felt when he Knew their secrets, soon he would know what this all meant, the book wasn't from the wizarding world, it was something else and soon he would know exactly what that meant, he must know. Still it’s not all bad, he no longer needs glasses thus allowing his bright green eyes to gaze upon the world around him without any barrier, his aunt has frequently demanded he not look at her anymore, he still does it’s too fun not to.
-TEOAAE-
It is the day of his tenth birthday, this year his birthday fell on a Sunday so he didn't have to worry about school that day, thus giving him all the free time in the world (turns out blackmail is an excellent way to get out of chores) to do his favourite hobby.
People watching
Ok, maybe it was a bit more creepy than people watching after all when you spot someone people watching you usually don't flinch away from the weight of their stare as they look at you as if they knew all of your secrets (which, in this case, they probably did).
But still, it wasn't the worst thing he’d ever done.
The place Harry likes to people watch is from the swing set at the local park, the park is situated on top of a rather large hill and watches over a sizable portion of Little Whinging allowing him to see quite a lot, he often sees the happenings of the town as if he were far closer than he was but he guesses that this was another boon from his book. He just sits up on his hill and watches as everyone goes about their day.
He watches as a sick man recoils at finding maggots in his food.
(it tastes rotten)
He watches a man be crushed by the metal of his own car pressing close in an accident outside of town.
(it tastes like dirt)
He watches a child scream as something grabs his leg from the shadow in a room.
(he could not tell what the flavour was)
He watches a man cleaning the gutters of his house fall from the ladder, and keep falling for far too long.
(it tastes like ozone)
He watches a woman jump at a voice no one else can hear, before taking the medication she knows won't work.
(the flavour keeps changing but the flavour also doesn't exist and never existed)
He watches an old lady in her house, sitting alone as always as the windows fog up.
(it tastes cold, but gentle)
He watches a man glance at someone next to them at the bus station, the other has been following him and its skin is worn wrong.
(The flavour is hidden beneath the flavour of another, it is now the new flavour)
He watches a man open another bottle and wonders when he lost control of himself.
(he feels the need to cough at the sensation of webs down his throat)
He watches a woman cook as a flame from the oven catches to a tea towel, in the process of trying to put it out she has burnt some childhood photos.
(it's burnt, and sad)
He watches a man's hair stand on end, as an officer consumed by animalistic rage kicks down his door.
(the taste of fresh meat)
He watches as a young man leaves home to join the army, the song of blood pumping in his ears.
(The taste of blood)
He watches as a man looks at his muscles in a mirror and worries that he will never reach his goal.
(the taste of pork with a bitter aftertaste)
He watches a daughter bury her mother, and fear when it will be her turn.
(There is no longer a flavour, it's gone)
He watches a man listen to a radio show about the atomic bombs and watches as the man fears for tomorrow.
(it tastes un-ripe, like a fruit not yet ready to be peeled)
He watches them all, and he feels full.
He goes home, content.
-TEOAAE-
Despite all he sees and all he knows he is still human, he is forced to remember this when he gets home.
There’s no one waiting for him when he first enters and so with no distractions he ascends the stairs, and just as he turns the corner to head towards his room his sight is filled with the wood of a cricket bat.
*thump*
Harry hits the ground in a heap before glaring up at his attacker, it's his uncle.
“I have had it with your nonsense boy, me and pet take you into our home and you do this to us”
*slam*
The bat is slammed down onto his legs and Harry choked a scream
“I wanted just to be rid of ya when you arrived but Pet decided you deserved a chance”
*slam*
His arm cracks against the floor
“And then, despite our efforts, you’re still a freak you’re still turning your teacher's hair colours, you’re still appearing on rooftops”
*slam*
His tibia cracks
“But that was fine, we’d be shot of you when you turned eleven anyway”
*slam*
*crack*
His humerus breaks
“But then you… you got even worse”
*slam*
A hit to his chest
“You start knowing things, things you shouldn't know, me and pet never even talked about the car incident how could you have known”
*slam*
Another hit to the chest, his ribs rattle
“You start watching us, do you think we don’t notice the looks you get from the neighbours”
*slam*
*crack*
One of his ribs breaks, and he feels it pierce a lung.
Harry looks back up at his uncle and immediately realises his mistake when he sees the look on his uncle's face, there is fear yes, but it is mostly anger.
For the first time in close to a year, Harry truly fears his uncle might kill him.
His uncle catches his eye and bellows
“Stop looking at me like that you little monster”
*slam*
*crack*
The bat impacts his skull again and all Harry sees is darkness.
-TEOAAE-
Harry doesn't know how long it's been when he wakes up, all he knows is the pain he’s in and the blood he keeps coughing up is not good. He is laid in a heap on the floor of his bedroom beside the book (how did the book get there, he distinctly remembers putting it in its hiding place) and the sight of the book ignites a rage in his stomach.
This was it, this was how he died.
Not at the hands of a self-made dark lord with daddy issues, but at the hands of his fat uncle who doesn't even have it in him to finish him off.
And there's so much he doesn't know yet, he doesn't know what exactly is different between wizarding magic and the powers of the book, he doesn't know why different fears have different flavours, he doesn't know why he wanted to make people afraid or at least watch whilst they were afraid.
But he wants to.
His whole life is described in four words.
But he wants to.
He doesn't eat as much as his relatives, But he wants to.
He doesn't know as much as the adults, But he wants to.
He doesn't know how to survive a wizard attack, But he wants to.
He doesn't think he’ll survive that night, But he wants to.
He doesn't know everything the book has to offer, he hasn't given himself to the book entirely to find out, But he wants to.
And so he does.
He weakly reaches towards the book, the eye no longer staring heavily forward but twisted upwards, if it was on a face it would be grinning a grin full of teeth, and before he even touches the book it flips open revealing a new page titled-
‘The eye, beholding, it-knows-you, the ceaseless watcher, it-videt-te, the watcher, المراقب, it-doesn't-blink, nunca deja de mirar, חסר עפעפיים, सर्वे दृष्ट्वा, feiceann sé gach rud, all sight, үргэлж хайж ‘ -
And that's as far as he gets before every line of ink that is written on the page peels open to reveal eyes of every size, every colour, and every species gazing at him. He stares back. They all stare at him he stares back they stare at him he stares back they stare at him he stares back they stare at him he stares ba-
He blinks and is consumed by agony so blinding he can’t even scream before his vocal cords tense shut silencing him. His very being is watched, his every neuron dissected and the findings studied under a dispassionate eye, the space between and within his every atom measured and remembered. And he knows, he knows this is it, this is what the book wanted all along, this is what he walked towards. And then he Knows, he Knows every thought currently running through his uncle's head (he hadn't expected to go that far, he’d been passed over for a promotion and had too much to drink when he got home, what is he going to do with the body).
When The-Knowing reaches his forehead he feels a pain centred around his scar, and suddenly he Knows what a Horcrux is and how one got in his head, he feels as it is dissected and removed with ease, after all, what is a fragment of an egomaniac compared to a god. He feels years’ worth of a magical education flow into his head, and it is just as useless as the facts about the moths after all he Knows that he is no longer able to use magic like that, a wixen is rarely able to become because their magic protects their souls from the influence of the fears, but due to Harry’s survival as a child that barrier was damaged, The Eye does not yet know how his magic will change his abilities as he becomes, it only knows that he will be different from its usual servants, and that the hopes of wizardry he had clung to are now worthless, this would excite it if it were capable of excitement.
And finally Harry’s eyes close as his injuries catch up with him and he breathes his last.
And hundreds of eyes of various colours, sizes and species open.
And in a tower in Scotland, a name that had begun fading from a book over a year ago finally disappears completely.