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Chapter Text

Pity is something Harry loathed.

He much preferred the genuine glares and suspicious eyes directed towards him.

The Dursleys had certainly taught him the difference between expected, polite expressions and true, angry expressions.

Harry stared straight into the eyes of a concerned female teacher. He knew it wasn't a true concern of course. If this teacher were truly concerned, she'd actually reach out. If she were truly worried, she wouldn't just send pitiful glances over at him.

Harry snubbed the elementary teacher and picked up his tattered old backpack. He hugged it against his chest and used it as a pillow between the table and his torso.

School had ended over an hour ago. Dudley had some expensive, barbaric wrestling club after school, and Petunia certainly wasn't going to go out of her way and pick Harry up 'early.' So Harry sat in the late bird classroom with crying children and whining students.

When asked why Harry didn't take a club too, he would flash a fake shy smile and respond that he just wasn't interested. In reality, his aunt and uncle just didn't want to waste money on him.

To fill the time, Harry would doodle random lines and circles and boxes on little slips of paper that Ms. Tartaglia would lay on the table. He liked the shapes. He wasn't a good artist at any rate, in his opinion. He just enjoyed practicing how straight he can smear waxed crayon across the paper. He enjoyed the connecting of circle lines and polygons. It was soothing.

He felt a teacher tapping the table he sat at. Looking up, they gestured towards the door.

Now that Dudley was done with his club, Petunia was there to pick them up.

Harry got up from his chair and properly put on his backpack. As he left the classroom, he sent a small grin at the teacher that seemed to 'worry' over him. After all, he didn't want her to actually go out and tell somebody that he needed help.

The last time the school called home with concern for his wellbeing, he had been locked in the cupboard all day and then let outside at cold night to at least get his gardening chores done.

His aunt huffed when she saw him appear. She turned away and led Dudley and Him to the car.

On the car ride home, Dudley continuously pinched Harry's thigh. Dudley hurt Harry as he babbled about his day to his mom.

Harry kept quiet. (He did wince, however, much to Dudley's enjoyment)

When they finally got home, Petunia went to help and do Dudley's homework. Harry was sent to prepare dinner in the kitchen.

Harry mindlessly chopped up the small cloves of garlic and mini onions. He wondered idly if his aunt and uncle ever considered the possibility of him poisoning their meals. He wasn't going to, of course, rat poison smelled and Harry didn't exactly have access to undetectable and strong poisons. He's tasted dandelion and it's very distinctive in taste. They'd spit it out before they could ingest enough-

Lowly hissing, Harry yanked back his bleeding hand and inspected the cut on his right hand. He stuck it in his mouth and quickly turned to the sink to clean the blood off the knife.

He turned and saw a small spattering of blood on the cutting board. He quickly took a wet rag and rubbed it off before continuing the dish. His finger was scabbed over by the time he had everything in the pot.

Harry stood carefully on a stool as he stirred the soup he was preparing. Large chunks of beef moved against his wooden spoon. Harry was alight with this process of cooking. He liked seeing the shapes of the ingredients mash together or swim past one another.

When the soup was done, Harry turned the stove off and hopped down from the stool to get a large bowl for the dish. He carefully tipped the heavy pot forward and transferred its contained stew into the bowl. Harry picked up the bowl with two hands and steadily brought it over to the dining table. Luckily, Dudley had 'finished' his homework and was now busy screaming at a videogame on the telly. Petunia silently assisted in setting the table and arranging the chairs.

With the table set, Harry stood and waited for further instruction. Petunia scrutinized the hot soup before nodding and gesturing Harry over.

She picked up one of the small, cheap porcelain saucers and ladled in a small amount of soup before passing it to Harry. She mumbled something about "needing to feed him because those darn teachers gave her weird looks when she picked them up."

Careful not to touch his aunt lest he suffers full starvation, Harry took the saucer and drank it up.

After he took it to the kitchen and cleaned up, Harry was sent to his dank cupboard.

Harry didn't hate the cupboard as much as he hated his aunt and uncle. The cupboard was his and it was familiar and it didn't change the way Vernon did over the years. He even had a small little shelf that he could place his special things (He was careful to not put anything too special to him there, he didn't want his uncle taking it and using it against him.) Harry kept his favorite doodles of lines and dots there.

Harry quietly reached over and picked up one of the slips of paper on his shelf.

He stared at the graphite circle that took up the entire paper. It wasn't a perfect circle, it just was one of his best. However, tonight it looked more empty than normal. Harry felt as if he needed to put something into the circle. But what?

Harry placed the slip on his thin blanket. Squinting, Harry took off his glasses to clean them on the cloth. After he wiped off the grime, his reflection stared back at him. He brought it closer to his face and moved some of his hair out of the way.

Sometimes, he almost forgets how he looks.

With his hair messily swept aside, he noticed his scar etched on his forehead.

It was three simple lines. A zigzag. Kinda like a lightning bolt really.

Harry put his glances back on and picked up the slip of paper. Thinking back to his scar, Harry silently traced the shape onto the paper with his finger. Smiling, Harry lay the paper down and felt around his cupboard for a crayon or some graphite. Frowning, Harry realized he didn't have any with him. He foolishly put all of them in his school bag.

He relaxed back into his sitting position. He looked at the slip of paper sitting before him and then down at his hands. The scab from earlier didn't seem to heal as fast as it had covered itself. Harry raised his uninjured hand to pick at it.

The cupboard seemed to be getting darker as he heard his relatives say their goodnights to each other. He heard clicks that follow with one less source of light. Soon, the only light he had was a single slice of moonlight from the door window. It'd be gone by midnight. Harry felt wetness coming from his hand.

Squinting back down at his hands, he realized he had opened the wound up. Blood swelled around the cut and stuck to his fingers. Harry idly pushed his finger deep into the cut. It didn't seem to hurt, and now Harry just had blood all over his left hand's fingers. Harry looked down at the slip of paper illuminated under the moonlight.

Shrugging, Harry lifted his left hand to the paper and slowly drew his lightning bolt scar in the middle of the page. The middle of his best circle.

When he lifted his hand away, the shape immediately glowed and shone brightly back at him.

Panicking, Harry took his blanket and covered the glowing paper. It seemed to shine through the threads, but at least it didn't hit his walls.

Harry lightly gasped out and then worriedly remembered the presence of his relatives. Harry kept his hands over the blanket and turned towards the tiny air slits in his door in case his relatives happened to be there. Noone seemed to be there.

He looked back down in wonder at the still-glowing object underneath his sheet.

Had he done...something freakish?

Harry made a split decision and raised the blanket slightly so he could duck his head underneath.

He looked into the glowing paper and focused to see that what was really glowing was the lightning bolt he drew. It burned his eyes a little, but it was fantastic.

Harry heard footsteps above him and fearfully looked at his art. Was it art?

Quickly, he took the paper in both his hands and ripped it apart. Luckily, as soon as a fissure formed across the bolt, the light disappeared.

The sound he heard disappeared after a while and Harry heard silence followed by a flush and more steps. Soon it was quiet again.

Harry stared down at the shredded paper before him.

Was this...magic?

Chapter Text

The next day, Harry clutched the ripped pieces of paper and hesitantly buried it in the school playground. He wasn't about to let himself get in trouble for having magic in the house. Harry wondered idly if other things could be made with the shape on his head.

Harry sat in the back of the class with his tatty composition notebook, the margins, and corners of which began to fill with more and more shapes. Harry thought to himself that he'd figure all this 'magic' stuff out. He had to. It was going to make him different from everyone else-he just needed to figure out how.

Harry was startled out of his doodling by the teacher. She had walked over to him after she finished her lesson. The other students seemed to be working on the assigned classwork.

The teacher was a wild-haired brunette with blue eyes and clunky jewelry. She seemed older in her mannerisms in comparison to her face. She wasn't a considerably tall person but she definitely towered over this class of ten and eleven-year-olds.

"What are you doing Harry? Please work on the worksheet handed out, " she sounded disappointed in him. Harry didn't know what he did to have her expect more.

He shrugged and pushed his notebook away to slide the classwork closer to him. The teacher seemed to accept this as she left to go back to her desk in the front of the room.

At a closer look, Harry realized that the work was on basic geometry. Excited, Harry picked up a school-owned ruler from the middle of the table and began drawing out the shapes. His paper soon became decorated in almost-perfect polygons and shaky circles. Harry finished the questions early, but the opportunity to sketch out more shapes excited him. Harry put down his stubby pencil and smiled.

Sitting back, Harry admired the array of shapes splattered on his paper. Harry chanced a glance at the teacher and found her distracted. Harry cautiously picked up the pencil again and put his other arm on the table, an attempt to hide his sheet. Checking around the room and confirming no one was paying attention, Harry carefully drew a lightning bolt in the middle of one of his circles.

Nothing happened.

Frustrated, Harry began drawing bolts into the other shapes. Nothing came to life. Harry ended up with a page of shapes with bolts in the middle and a frustrated frown on his face.

He half-mindedly registered Dudley waving the teacher over and whispering something to her.

Harry roughly scribbled out one of the more perfect circles on the bottom corner of his page. Then, he pushed his paper out of the way and reached for his notebook-

"Harry. What did you do to your classwork?"

The stern voice seemed to be the only noise in the classroom. Harry looked up at the teacher who had come back to his table, his eyes misty and squinted in frustration. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Dudley grinning at him and the teacher.

Harry smiled awkwardly and mumbled out an apology. The teacher shook her head and picked up Harry's wild-looking classwork. She seemed to keep glancing between him and the paper with a worried look.

She placed the paper back down and took out her own pen to leave a note on it. When done, she placed it upside down onto the table and slid it to him. She huffed and walked back to her desk, sending a warning glare to the other students.

With her back turned, Dudley made an insulting face towards Harry and silently laughed.

Harry ignored Dudders and folded his arms on the table to set his head down. With his forehead against his forearms, Harry's mind went through everything that had happened last night. The science teacher earlier today gave him an idea.

Delete unnecessary information. Isolate the variables. Maybe it was because it was midnight? Does the time have to be exact? Maybe the circle had to be exact? There was nothing else on the paper- Was it the moonlight? Was it the blood?

Harry shot up in his chair, startling the poor girl at the table next over. A quiet apology and another awkward smile towards the teacher later,

Harry looked down at his healed hand. He didn't know exactly how fast cuts should heal. However, he did figure that a single night was way too fast.

Maybe he was imagining things. Though, the dirt under his fingernails confirmed that he had buried some sort of marked paper in the playground. Maybe he imagined the light?

Harry didn't think he was imaginative enough to think of such a thing. Especially with how disgusting and bad magic was, according to his relatives.

For the rest of the class, Harry sat in the back, mumbling things. The teacher noticed but she did nothing to shush him.

Finally, the bell rang and students rushed to leave the room and get to the car line. Harry took his time, knowing that Dudley had wrestling after school again. Dudley began to make his way over to Harry, causing him to tense, but the teacher quickly came over so Dudders decided to bail.

With Dudley gone, the only people in the classroom were Harry and the teacher.

Harry placed his chin on his right palm and nervously tapped the table with his right hand. The teacher silently pulled out another chair and sat next to Harry.

"Can you tell me what you were drawing during class Harry?"

Harry scowled, he didn't need to tell this lady anything-

"Do you feel like you're failing in my class Harry? You see, I happen to be Wiccan too and those symbols-"

"Wiccan?"

She startled and confusedly stared down at Harry.

"Wicca, Harry. It's a religion that I practice-you don't practice it?"

Harry shook his head no.

She straightened up in her chair and curiously picked up Harry's pencil. Harry slipped his notebook to her when she gestured for it.

She looked amused down at one of his doodle-filled pages. She then turned to an empty page and began writing something out.

Harry curiously watched as her face seemed to relax into a more older-sister look than a strict-teacher look. She looked calm and had a small smile.

She finished, and Harry looked at the notes she had written down.

'Elder Futhark Runes'

Harry gazed intensely at each symbol. He saw that his scar was part of the collection.

He looked up and studied his teacher, Ms. Lovely. He really should start using her name if she proves to be a good source of information. She laughed a little and sat down on the table. She smiled at his inquisitive gaze and further explained,

"That symbol you kept drawing is named 'Sowilo' and it stands for success. I think you were trying to make a rune circle? Where did you find this rune?" She asked

Harry shrugged and pulled up his bangs. Underneath, the Sowilo was carved into his forehead. Ms. Lovely gasped lightly and compared the scar to her drawn symbol. She frowned for a moment and looked straight into Harry's eyes with a serious expression.

"Did someone do this to you? Did you do it to yourself?" She demanded

Harry swiftly shook his head no and quickly replied

"No ma'am it was from a car accident I was in as a baby."

She froze after Harry replied and she apologized for asking. She then went and covered up the scar for him with a sigh. Then, she got off the table and half-mindedly dusted herself off. Leaning down, she placed her hands on Harry's shoulders.

"Tomorrow, if you behave in class and socialize with the other students, I will give you a book on runes."

Harry thought for a moment, he knew his relatives would never let him go to a library on his own. He also knew they would never get him a magic- was it magic? She seemed to not understand his urgency. Surely a freak would keep it a secret to themselves?

Slowly, Harry nodded.

"Deal," he said.

Chapter Text

Personally, Harry preferred the weekdays over the weekends. First of all, an entire day spent "at home" was an entire day of chores. Secondly, at school, Harry could spend more time doodling. Thirdly, Harry had to wait an entire weekend until he could go back to school and talk with Ms Lovely.

Harry angrily dug into the dirt. This was the fifteenth hole he's had to dig for a new plant and it's driving him insane. What was the point? What pride do these flowers give Aunt Petunia?

He was more angry that it was hot out in comparison to the chore, really. Harry enjoyed gardening the most out of all his chores. It was easy for him to get into grooming and pruning the plants. In some way, it also involved a little geometry. It was just a little annoying because the sun made him sweat and the sweat got into his eyes and-

Harry couldn't wait until he and Dudley got older. He heard that all middle schoolers had to do chores. Therefore, Dudley will have to do chores. Harry just started them early to earn his keep, he told himself.

Harry did his best to plant them equally spaced. The bushes and hedges were cut to shoddy but observably ninety-degree angles. Harry kept dirt and rocks off the sidewalk and driveway. Because of his attention to detail, he's set a high standard to reach all the time. Petunia knows how perfect Harry can get the garden, and she expects the garden to look consistent.

The annuals Harry is planting now are supposed to bloom into pretty purples and reds in the summer. That's about as much colour, other than green, that Vernon will allow in the garden. Petunia had a lily once. Harry had gifted it to her when he was seven but Petunia only scowled and told Harry to leave it outside in their backyard. Harry wasn't allowed to water it.

With the last hole finished, Harry planted the last flower and packed it into the ground. He smiled as he looked around the garden that he just updated. It looked pretty great, for the work of a nine year old. Harry placed the tools he used back in the weaved trunk near the hose, and knocked on the door. Soon, Petunia opened it and surveyed the garden. With a nod and a sniff, she let Harry back inside the house.

One of the best things about the gardening chore was that it was usually the last chore of the day. And since Harry had redone the entire garden, Petunia was the one to prepare dinner. This was because of a certain incident when Harry had passed out from exhaustion whilst cooking after gardening. Petunia deemed him too weak and useless to put to work after repotting plants.

Harry was let into the bathroom to do whatever he needed. Not showering of course, that was specifically for Sunday's only. He will get to shower tomorrow. Regardless, he did splash water over his face and bangs after washing his hands. Afterwards, He was led back to his cupboard to "rest."

Laying inside his cool, dark cupboard was more soothing than one would think. Time felt different within the cupboard. Harry idly poked himself. Not hard. Just curiously. Sometimes, Harry would look in the mirror or at his reflection and would get confused. His wrists were small but they felt strong to him. Not strong enough to punch someone, but definitely strong enough to dig holes out of the ground. Feeling his face, Harry wondered if his mum had soft cheeks like him. It was strange. He had strong cheekbones but such a round face.

Harry stopped examining himself and just lay against the door of his cupboard. He heard Petunia moving swiftly around the kitchen. He hopes that one day he can be as agile and perfect as Petunia. He looked towards the hand that had been cut the other day. The injury was gone. Harry wishes he had a book to tell him if that was normal.

Speaking of normal, Harry began thinking about Wicca. His teacher was a witch! She didn't seem like an actual witch. She didn't seem freakish at all! And she says she knows magic! That's almost blasphemous. Harry doesn't know what blasphemous means, but he remembers Petunia calling his dreams of flying motorcycles that.

Yesterday, Ms. Lovely gave him a paper with runes and their meanings. Harry wanted to use them immediately, but ended up getting taught how Wiccans use them by Ms. Lovely. It was different from what happened with Harry. There was no glowing or changes in temperature or wind. Ms. Lovely looked genuinely confident that the runes worked though. Harry tried to remember what runes she used, but he remembers her excitement at seeing him excited. He did his best to hide his disappointment, and didn't voice his confusion over the lack of visual change.

She still hasn't given him a book, but that was probably because he only tried talking to one other person yesterday. A little girl named May that stuttered through a greeting. She seemed nice, but afraid of him. Harry hadn't done anything in particular. No one has ever seen him actually do anything, but he was always there after Dudley did something bad. And he was always blamed for the problems in his neighborhood.

Harry refused to interact further, even with Ms. Lovely's disappointed sideyes.

Though he failed to start up a conversation with a classmate, Ms. Lovely still taught him more about Wicca. Some things she said made Harry feel guilty.

"We never want to hurt anybody, even if they are mean to us. We can't use magic negatively against someone," she had said.

Harry personally disagreed. He remembers turning a mean teacher's hair blue! Wouldn't that be considered hurting? The teacher had looked deeply embarrassed and frightened. Maybe Harry wasn't a witch. What if he was worse? Witches already sound bad, but he already broke their rules!

Harry got to practice stroke order of the runes with Ms. Lovely. She was very patient with him. He wasn't as good at keeping a consistent size than he was at straight lines. In the end, he could probably draw out five runes correctly from memory.

He realizes his eyes have closed as he listens to his Uncle and cousin talk about their days. He could hear their cutlery clinking and some of their chewing. It must be nice. He had already eaten today. An entire two slices of stale white bread and what was left on the lid of a thrown away jam jar. It was a good lunch. The jam was really sweet.

Harry falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Ms. Lovely teaches him all sorts of things about Wicca. Well, just the basics. Ms. Lovely, after calming down an angry Harry (angry because she refused to elaborate beyond basics), explained that it'd be improper for her to teach him deep Wiccan culture and religion without his guardians' permission and within the school. Harry thinks that it's an excuse to not deal with him. He tells her that. She scolds him for trying to guilt her. Harry stops himself from arguing further.

They still get to go over the basics together. She tells him stories of good morals and animal goddesses. Harry almost tells her about flying motorcycles and men the size of two. He tells her about talking snakes instead.

"You heard a snake speak to you Harry?" Her voice is lilted, and her eyes shine. Harry guesses that she is just indulging him.

"I did" Harry shrugs, "It told me to stop digging holes near its home."

Ms. Lovely laughs with all the air of just finding Harry cute and looks over the rest of the classroom for a moment. Harry and a couple of other kids, in groups and accompanied by other teachers, are still there. It's another day of waiting until Dudley's club is done. Lovely picks up a green crayon and idly draws a cartoon snake. As she draws, she teases him.

"'It,' Harry? Snakes have genders too, y'know"

Harry frowns and a little bit of anger seeps into his voice.

"I don't know. You and the other teachers haven't taught us anything about snakes in class."

"I'm not making fun of you Harry," she calmly responds with a stern look before it softens as she continues, "You don't really need to know the differences between a boy snake and a girl snake-"

"I want to know"

Ms. Lovely frowns and places down the crayon. She glances down at her doodle then back at Harry. She sighs, and places her elbow on the table, and then her chin on the palm of her hand. She smiles kindly and holds up the drawing with her other hand.

"I don't know how to tell the difference between a boy snake and a girl snake, though maybe you could ask the snake yourself next time," she says.

Harry's eyes furrow as he looks between the drawing and Ms. Lovely. He can't tell if she's lying and if she's mocking him. His annoyance must've shown on his face because Ms. Lovely begins laughing again.

"The snake wasn't green. My snake was brown." Harry says.

Ms. Lovely stops laughing and sets the drawing down. She smiles at Harry and picks up the green crayon. Holding it up, she sends an exaggerated thoughtful glance over it.

"I like green, Harry. It's a very pretty colour." She says, and the happiness attached to it confuses Harry.

Later, when Harry stares intensely at his reflection in the mirror, he agrees. Harry wonders if his parents had green eyes.

At home, Harry spends all his free time memorizing the Futhark rune alphabet. He repeats fables to himself when he gardens and cleans. He soundlessly mouths "Harm None" to himself whenever Dudley and his friends chase after him. Harry reminds himself that if he wants to be a Wiccan, that he'd have to stop doing freakish things.

The strange outbursts he used to have, happen less. Dudley stops tripping mysteriously and Harry ignores the snakes and their sadistic ideas for the most part. Pencils stop snapping from the table to his hand. It calms Harry, the idea that he can stop himself. Sometimes, when he feels too angry or too sad, he feels floods of something fluttery and heavy, at the same time, splash through his body in waves.

It starts to feel painful whenever Harry forces the strange inner surge of something away. Harry dreams of black mist and he gets headaches when he feels too emotional. Harry dreams of red eyes but no sound. Harry thinks his cupboard has been darker lately.

Harry keeps trying to make the runes do something physical and visible and existing. He experiments without Me. Lovely and his frustration gets worse with each failed attempt.

He waits and draws runes on full moons. But it doesn't do anything. They remain sketches.

Harry keeps trying. He angrily presses colored wax across the paper and silently demands it to do something. It does nothing.

He carefully memorizes stroke order and angles and every single thing he can about the runes and the way they look.

But for some damn reason, the runes don't light up or float off or sing or do anything remotely magical. He begins to think he isn't special after all.

Ms. Lovely tells him that he's been getting angrier. She tells him that she's worried.

Harry, of course, immediately denies it and slams his notebook closed. Ms. Lovely looks at him and shakes her head.

"It's okay to be angry Harry, but it's also important to be able to hold your tongue and review your situation first"

Harry clenches his little fists and spits in reply,

"What? Do you not want to hear me anymore? I can shut up if you want me to"

Another teacher sends him a glare from a table over. The teacher moves to get up, but Lovely motions her to sit back down.

"I really do like talking to you Harry. I'm just concerned for you. And that's a good thing. It means I care, Harry. Do you ever get concerned Harry?" She asks, probing.

Harry glares at her. Of course he's felt concerned! He's not-

His fists clench underneath the desk and his nails dig into his palms.

He's not some heartless weirdo! He feels things! He does!

Harry takes in a few steadying breaths, something that Ms. Lovely taught him a few days ago. Harry calms down and slumps guiltily into his chair.

"I'm sorry," he whispers

Then, Ms. Lovely is kneeling beside Harry. She doesn't touch him. She's never touched him. Harry snidely thinks that it might be because she knows he's a freak-

Ms. Lovely's arms wrap around Harry.

Harry jumps a little and shrinks away from her. He's unsure of what this hug means. It's. it's-

"I'm glad you apologized Harry, but don't just become angry with yourself," She whispers into his hair. She rubs his back, in a comforting motion.

Harry feels his own tears on his cheeks when he suddenly registers the hug as motherly. Harry hears his sobs come out and he tries to stop them. His hands unclench and his nails stop biting into his skin. His attempts to stop crying just make him sound more choked up. Ms. Lovely continues to console him.

"Shhh, Harry. It's alright. I just don't want someone as young as you, as creative as you, bottling up emotions and I don't want anger to be your dominant emotion. Harm None, Harry. Don't harm yourself either"

After a few moments, Ms. Lovely slowly moves to detach herself, but Harry's small arms immediately fly up and hug her back. She allows Harry to collect himself in her arms. Harry slowly calms himself down.

When he's done, Harry roughly wipes his face off with the back of his arm and silently draws futhark runes until Petunia comes to pick him and Dudley up. Ms. Lovely softly talks to Harry the entire time. He doesn't look at her, because he's embarrassed of himself.

Harry relaxes. He lets himself be. Harry talks back to the snakes and he realizes they aren't sadistic, just animalistic. Dudley has… accidents. But they are just accidents. Harry tells himself that he isn't the one making Dudley trip. Harm None.

When Harry suddenly finds himself on top of the school roof during a Harry Hunting session, Ms. Lovely worriedly walks him down and tries to get Harry to explain how he got up there. She smiles concernedly when Harry responds that "He doesn't know" with his own little smile.

The imagery of angry black mist stops popping up in Harry's head. The headaches stop and he becomes less angry. Less outwardly angry at least. There's a little less darkness and he doesn't feel like there's gas bubbling in his chest anymore.

When Harry finds out that Ms. Lovely had been fired for teaching "unauthorized" religion, he didn't cry. He does cry when Ms. Lovely says goodbye and he does cry when Ms. Lovely refuses to tell Harry where she lives and how to contact her through the phone. He calms down when she hesitantly slides him a piece of paper with her email on it. Harry doesn't have easy access to a computer, but the knowledge that if he tried to reach out, he'd be able to is comforting.

"Never stop feeling, Harry. It's not healthy to bottle things up, please remember that" Ms. Lovely says.

Harry will remember. But remembering isn't the same as actually doing what she tells him. So Harry bottles his too intense emotions up. He does it because he's certainly not going to snap at other teachers and especially not his guardians. He lets his anger out on weeds that have grown through the cracks of the sidewalks leading to the playground. He lets his anger out on rats and birds and other small, furry or feathery animals.

He lets his anger out on little pieces of paper. Through pencil and crayon and shapes and runes.

Harry's in his cupboard again when finally the sharp shapes he's memorized make the impossible happen. And Harry is sure he knows the reason it's working.

Looking down at the lit slip of paper, Harry silently admires the work of the Kenaz rune.

The paper is on fire. Harry's fingers are holding the slip, unaffected by the flame but absolutely in contact with it. Harry feels warmth radiate from his rune. He sees the fire sway.

The rune is working, and it's because Harry used blood to draw it.

It's a simple connection to make. He drew this rune out with the blood from a paper cut on his index finger, and when he finished the paper lit up in flames.

This is what he was missing. He was just too silly before, he thought the moon caused the first rune to glow. But now he knows! He's done magic again and now he's a confirmed freak but he's one with powers!

He's heard other students talk about fictional heroes such as Superman and Wolverine, but Harry's real. He's purposefully made something happen and now he's going to master it.

Harry rips the paper in half and lovingly places the pieces on his tiny shelf.

He's going to master these runes and he's going to make sure nobody leaves him ever again.