Days, months, and years passed as Harry Potter turned 10 years old. He had grown into a healthy boy, at least four and a half feet tall, with skin now healthier and pinker than his once pale complexion, and green eyes that were now brighter, hiding something behind the mirth and playfulness. His jet-black hair still had the same haircut, and the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead remained a glaring reminder of his past, along with the round glasses that rested on his nose.
His living conditions, unfortunately, saw no change. He still lived in the same house on Privet Drive, though he had gotten one of the smaller rooms Dudley used for his toys. He had managed this by playing one of his dangerous games and using his great persuasion skills, that's all.
Still, it wasn't all jolly, living with his least favorite people in the world—the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon was still the bully he had always been, with his mustache and rotund body, which seemed to have become even heavier with time.
Aunt Petunia was still the same mean lady, always frowning and chiding him for the littlest of things. Her neck, unfortunately, hadn't grown longer, which would have been a spectacular sight. Dudley, on the other hand, was growing in all directions. He was slowly resembling his father, which was alarming, considering he was only 10 years old. He'd heard the school nurses whispering.
He kept his visits to Mrs. Figg a secret, which wasn't hard considering the Dursleys never bothered to ask him. He was, as always, fond of the cake she made and the judgmental little cats, and that was something that kept him going. He also realized that she enjoyed his visits.
He had many times asked her what Kneazles were, after finding out that there was no such breed of cats. She brushed him off, saying the books didn't reveal everything. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was a cat trader. He wondered why she didn't tell him—he could've helped her.
Another thing he had come to love about visiting her house was the books. Yes, those antique and silly books that Mrs. Figg had bought. Harry was quite elated when he discovered that she had acquired more books. She had just smiled weakly and told him to read them only at her house. He was more than happy to have more reasons to sneak away from the Dursleys.
Another one of his friends was Pip. He had gotten another dog, a clownish and energetic Sussex Spaniel, so it was double the fun playing with them and talking to Pip. He had nearly endless stories, which were fun to hear. ("Better than that Beedle!" he had said heatedly to Mrs. Figg.)
Regardless of the somewhat dull tone of his life, he managed. He didn't feel much regret that he didn't have parents like other kids. Of course, that didn't mean he didn't want any. He did, like any other child, but now it had become somewhat of a habit.
He even wondered whether his dreams about all those strange people were real. Whether the red-headed lady and the man with round glasses were real. Whether the green light in which those two vanished was real… He wondered—no, he felt—that he had, for some time, lived with his parents.
With some courage, he had asked his aunt and uncle about his parents' death. He figured that if they weren't there, they were most likely… dead. Their response was mostly a non-answer, which was what he had expected, considering how little they cared about him.
Still, he wondered and wondered… After all, a boy could dream.
--Mrs. Figg's House--
It was 5 p.m. in the evening. Harry and Mrs. Figg were sitting at the dining table. Several half-empty plates of snacks and biscuits sat on the table as they enjoyed their evening tea.
Unfortunately for Harry, his cake consumption was unjustly reduced by her, the reason being "unhealthy and not nutritious" if eaten daily.
They were both reading books. Before Mrs. Figg lay a book titled Befriending the Magical Felines by Clamella Felinet. She was reading it quite intensively, which was unlike her. She sure took her felines seriously.
Harry was reading a book titled Art of Dueling by Sorcerer Fascino Draoith. The words in the book were hard to understand, but he had help. It covered the history, rules, techniques, thoughts, and examples of supposed magical dueling.
When he read that it was about fighting between magicians (why did Mrs. Figg wince at that word, he didn't know), he was excited. But reading all about the origins and rules of dueling was a bit of a damper. He thought, who follows rules in a fight? But after reading more in depth, it kind of made sense.
He was now at the final part of the book, Notable Examples. He was practically vibrating with excitement, reading about famous duels described with interesting details. Harry wouldn't tell a soul, but after getting such a large influx of books, he had tried to chant something from one of them using a tree branch. And Dudley had caught him in the act, laughing as his enormous body jiggled. He had paid quite a price to shut him up.
Seeing how excited he was, Mrs. Figg couldn't help but be curious. She leaned forward but couldn't quite make out what he was reading. Unable to hold her curiosity, she asked, "What are you reading and getting so excited about, lad?"
Harry jerked. He looked up at her and grinned.
"I'm reading about the Art of Dueling! It's, it's so--very interesting!" he said, his tone higher pitched than normal. Sounding more like a boy his age who just got the newest toy on the market for his birthday.
"That sounds dangerous. I'm not sure you should be reading that—even though it's fiction," she said, correcting herself at the end. From what she had heard, dueling was a nasty business among wizard folk.
"No!? Its not that simple. It's very detailed. See—" And thus began his summary of the book. This happened with every book he read. If she asked or even showed interest, she would hear an earful of excited ramblings about it.
This time he told her about fictional duels, like Alberta Toothill versus Samson Wiblin in the national competition, or the duel of Chadwick Boot, Webster Boot, Isolt Sayre, and William versus Gormlaith Gaunt at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Or the most recent one, described in detail: on November 2, 1945, Albus Dumbledore defeated Gellert Grindelwald, the most terrifying Dark Lord! To Harry, it was like a fairy tale—the big bad guy was defeated by the good guy. Sometimes, it was simple for the young to separate people as "good" and "bad."
'Alas, reality of life soon sets in,' thought Arabella darkly.
After rambling for nearly half an hour, it was time to head back to the Dursleys. He took the book a bit reluctantly and opened the closet door. Another seven to eight books were stacked in the corner. He didn't understand why he couldn't just keep them on the shelves. Oh well, maybe she was embarrassed.
As he started arranging the books properly, he read their names:
The Standard Book of Spells by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
Aside from the history and herbs books, he loved them all. Although it was interesting to know about witches and wizards of old and strange plants that could chew your ears off, they weren't as engaging as the others.
Potions and magical theory were interesting. Various potions could put you to sleep for a long time or make pimples sprout on your face—it made him wish he could give one of these to Dudley. Magic theory sometimes surprised him, showing how magic flowed through wizards and could be felt. It reminded him of times when he'd done things he couldn't explain.
Transfiguration was hard to understand. But examples of people accidentally turning a teapot into an anteater that only ate sugar cubes were funny.
His favorite books, though, were about spells, beasts, and dark forces. The spells were weird, but reading what they did excited him so much that he had tried the spell for levitation. He tried it on a yarn ball and swore to Mrs. Figg that it moved, but she just pointed to one of her cats waiting for its yarn ball back.
He had also tried to find the beasts mentioned in the book, but she had scolded him and confiscated the books for a week. She made him promise not to wander off looking for these mythical creatures. When he saw kneazle in the book and asked about it, she stuttered and threatened to take the books away if he asked such silly questions.
The best book of them all was the one about dark forces. It fascinated him to read about creatures from normal stories, how to avoid them, repel them, and, if need be, kill them. Although it was a bit morbid, it was fascinating. He had to be content with it when he couldn't go out to find the beasts in the other book.
He sighed contentedly. These books were one of his sources of fun and entertainment. He had re-read them sometimes-- many times…but the options were limited.
After a while, as it was getting really dark, he bid Mrs. Figg goodbye. She was tense when he got near the door, though. She stopped him, opened the door herself, and only then relaxed, as if she had confirmed something. She turned to him and beckoned him forward.
As he, somewhat confused, stepped forward, she tied a small pendant around his neck.
"A lucky charm. I bought it after I read about it in the antique shop," she smiled as he looked at her.
Even though somewhat bewildered yet elated by the gift, he accepted it. As he went out the door, she called out after him.
"Go straight home, you hear? Don't wander around! It's gotten really dark!"
He waved his hand without turning back and hurried home. The night was truly peculiar, he noticed. It was getting unusually misty, so much so that it hampered his vision. Noises were also quite muffled.
His thoughts were still on the dueling examples when he saw something peculiar.
A group of people, with hunched postures, were standing over someone. The person lay on the ground, with one of them kneeling over him. Harry stopped in his tracks. The streetlight near them was flickering, so he couldn't see clearly.
As the light above them flared for a moment, he saw it: dark red blood pooling beneath the man, who had his eyes closed. Harry's heart started beating faster. Either his morbid fascination with dark creatures was getting to his head, or the one kneeling over the bleeding man was drinking the blood!
His breath hitched. He involuntarily clutched the lucky charm around his neck. But as he noticed them, they noticed him. The temporary flare of light had made their features clear. Those who were standing had loose, rotten skin, empty, hollow eyes, and wide mouths, with long, slender arms. They slowly got on all fours and began surrounding him.
Harry slowly inched back into the darkness, hoping to disappear. If he wasn't mistaken, they were Inferi—the dead walking by a dark wizard's spell. They resembled the creatures anyway. He had read briefly about the dark wizard who created it in A History of Magic.
But all the supposed Inferi suddenly jumped as a slow screech came from the kneeling figure. He was now completely surrounded. As his heart threatened to burst from his chest and the blood rushed to his head, he concluded one thing: "Silly antique books, my arse! These things are bloody real!"