Awake at Last
The next day, Harry found himself back on the beach, feeling a mix of anticipation and worry bubbling in his chest. The sky was overcast, the horizon a blur of grey where the sea met the clouds, but the beach still held a strange sense of peace for him. It had quickly become his escape, a place where he didn’t have to answer to his relatives, where he could breathe without fear of harsh words or sharp blows.
He had managed to sneak some food out this time. After cooking for the Dursleys, Harry had tucked a small portion of the meal, a couple of slices of toast, some eggs, and a bit of bacon, into a napkin and carefully slipped it into his old school bag. His heart had raced the entire time, knowing if his aunt had caught him, the consequences would be severe. But luck had been on his side today, and no one had noticed. Now, as he stood on the familiar beach, the salty wind tugging at his hair, Harry clutched his backpack to his chest, hoping this small offering might help the silent man.
When he arrived at the log, the man was still there, just as he had been every time. His figure looked even more fragile in the daylight, as though the weight of the world had pressed down on him for so long, he might crumble at any moment. His gaze, fixed on the endless horizon, hadn’t shifted in the slightest, and yet Harry felt like there was an unspoken bond forming between them, a strange but powerful connection that made Harry want to help him more than anything.
Harry gently pulled the food out of his bag, his fingers trembling slightly. Despite the cool air, the food was still warm, as if it had just come off the stove. He hadn’t expected that, but then again, strange things had been happening lately. He didn’t question it, figuring it might be part of the odd abilities he’d been noticing ever since he came to this beach. Maybe it was connected to how the blanket had dried or how the man had started to warm up yesterday. Whatever it was, Harry wasn’t about to complain.
He approached the man carefully, as he always did, not wanting to startle him. His bare feet sank into the soft sand with each step, and the closer he got, the more his heart ached. The man’s eyes were still haunted, distant, as though he were trapped in some invisible prison, unable to break free. Harry knelt beside him, watching his face for any sign of recognition, but as usual, the man didn’t move. His body was still, save for the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
Without a word, Harry placed the small bundle of food in the man’s lap, arranging it carefully so it wouldn’t topple over. He stared at it for a moment, hoping the warmth might somehow reach the man. There was no immediate reaction, just the steady, rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Still, Harry didn’t feel disheartened. He had learned not to expect much from the man, not in the way of conversation or even acknowledgment. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.
Satisfied that the food was where it needed to be, Harry stood up and brushed the sand off his knees. His gaze lingered on the man for a few more seconds before he turned toward the shoreline. He wasn’t sure what to do next. There was a lot running through his mind, questions he couldn’t quite grasp, and the ever-present fear of his relatives finding out he had been sneaking out again. But for now, none of that mattered.
He jogged to the edge of the beach, where the wet sand met the water. The tide was low, and the cool waves lapped at his ankles as he crouched down and started to mess with the sand. He used his fingers to dig little trenches, forming a maze-like pattern in the wet earth. His mind wandered, but it kept drifting back to the man. Harry wondered if he had even noticed the food, or if he would ever eat it. Part of him wanted to check, to see if the man had taken even a small bite, but he resisted. He didn’t want to intrude, not after all the kindness the man had unknowingly shown him by simply being there.
The wind picked up, ruffling Harry’s already messy hair as he shaped the sand with his hands. He dug his fingers into it, letting the wet grains stick to his skin. For a moment, he forgot about everything, the Dursleys, the beatings, the punishments that waited for him at home. Out here, on this quiet beach, it was as if none of that existed. Only the gentle roar of the sea and the company of the silent man filled his world, and for Harry, that was more than enough.
After a while, he glanced back over his shoulder at the man. The food was still sitting untouched in his lap, but the man hadn’t moved, hadn’t even blinked from what Harry could see. Despite this, Harry wasn’t discouraged. He had learned patience over the years, and if it took time for the man to accept the small offering, that was fine. He had all the time in the world out here, at least for now.
With a quiet sigh, Harry turned back to the sand, letting the cool water swirl around his ankles as he continued to dig, his thoughts drifting between the calm of the sea and the quiet figure sitting behind him.
Suddenly, a voice whispered softly in his head, startling him.
“Left,” it said.
Harry froze, glancing around in confusion. There was no one else nearby, just him and the man sitting on the log, unmoving as always. His heart skipped a beat as he searched for the source of the voice, but the beach was as empty as it had been moments ago. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore.
"Left," the voice repeated, a little more insistent this time.
Harry frowned, turning his head slightly, but nothing had changed. It was only him and the man, just as before. He stood up slowly, brushing the wet sand from his hands. His eyes darted around the beach, half expecting someone to appear out of thin air. But no one did.
"Hello?" Harry called out softly, his voice uncertain. He felt silly, talking to what seemed like thin air, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something strange was happening. The voice, whoever it belonged to, sounded familiar. It was the same voice he'd heard the day before, when he’d nearly drowned.
For a moment, there was only silence, and Harry wondered if he had imagined it all. But then, the voice spoke again.
“Huh?” It sounded confused now. “You can hear me?!”
The words were louder this time, almost a shout. Harry blinked in surprise, his heart starting to race.
“Yes,” Harry said hesitantly. “I mean… I heard you yesterday too, when I was drowning.”
There was a pause. The voice suddenly sounded panicked, sobbing as if overwhelmed by emotion.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked, his worry growing. The voice sounded hurt, distressed in a way that tugged at something deep inside him.
The response came through broken sobs, filled with both disbelief and anguish. “I’ve been here since you were one, and you’ve never heard me before!”
Harry’s heart skipped another beat. The voice wasn’t just some random stranger. Whoever it was had been with him for years, watching, waiting, and yet he had never realized until now. His breath caught in his throat as he stood there, trying to make sense of it all. What did that mean? How had this voice been with him his whole life, and why hadn’t he heard it until now?
“I- I don’t understand,” Harry stammered, glancing around the beach again. “Who are you? Why haven’t I heard you before?”
The voice didn’t answer right away. Instead, it wept softly, the sound echoing in Harry’s mind like a wave crashing against the shore, filled with years of loneliness and desperation. It was a sorrow so deep that Harry could almost feel it in his own chest, tightening like a band around his heart.
Finally, the voice spoke again, this time shaky and uncertain. “I don’t know,” it whispered, almost as if it were trying to make sense of the situation itself. “Maybe your near-death experience caused it... when you were drowning. The magic you did after... it was strong, so strong. Maybe there was a block, something keeping us apart that broke when you were close to death or something.”
Harry gasped, his heart racing as the word magic lingered in the air. He immediately shook his head, panic rising in his chest. “Don’t say the m-word!” he hissed, glancing nervously over his shoulder, even though he knew his uncle wasn’t there. “If anyone hears you say that, I’ll get the beating of a lifetime from Uncle Vernon.”
The voice trembled, as though struggling to find the right words. "I... I forgot," it whispered, the weight of its realization hanging heavy between them. "I’ve been here all this time, since you were just a baby, and I know... I know what your uncle does when you say the m-word. But... it's been so long, and I—I forgot how bad it was for you."
Harry's stomach twisted at the thought. How could someone forget something like that? But the voice’s tone wasn’t dismissive, it was sorrowful, filled with regret.
"You’ve been with me this whole time?" Harry asked, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.
"Yes," the voice replied, soft and broken. "Since you were one. I’ve seen everything, heard everything. I know how much it hurts when he gets angry. I just—" it paused, a hiccup of emotion stopping its words. "I forgot how terrified you are of... them."
The voice hesitated before speaking again, its tone shifting to something darker, more intense. “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about it,” it said, low and simmering with a dangerous edge. “All those years, watching them hurt you. If I could’ve gotten out, I wouldn’t have hesitated for a second.”
Harry froze, feeling the air grow heavier. “W-what do you mean?” he asked, unsure if he wanted the answer.
“I mean, I would’ve ended them,” the voice said, the words sharp and precise. “Your uncle. Your aunt. That fat cousin of yours. All of them. They don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”
Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. The voice’s calm, cold fury was a stark contrast to the gentle sadness it had expressed just moments ago. It was terrifying, but at the same time, a part of Harry couldn’t deny the small, shameful flicker of satisfaction at the thought of his relatives paying for everything they’d done to him.
“I’d have done it in a heartbeat,” the voice continued, unrelenting. “One snap of my fingers, and they’d be gone. No one would hurt you again. No one would lay a hand on you.”
Harry swallowed hard. “But... but you can’t,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “Killing them... that’s not...”
“They deserve worse than death,” the voice interrupted, its tone chilling. “You know they do. All the nights they left you starving, the times you couldn’t sleep because you were too scared, he’d come in and-” The voice cut off abruptly, a growl of frustration slipping through. “I know what they did to you, Harry. I’ve been there for all of it.”
Harry felt sick, his stomach churning. It was true. He’d thought about it before, hadn’t he? When the pain was too much, when he felt like he couldn’t take it anymore. But this... this was something else. The voice wasn’t just angry, it was seething with a vengeful, almost gleeful hatred.
“I could do it,” the voice whispered again, coaxing now. “Just say the word, Harry. I could make it stop. Forever.”
“No!” Harry shouted, startling himself with the force of his own voice. He stood up, the sand falling from his hands. “You can’t. I... I don’t want that.”
The voice paused, its tone softening, though the intensity remained. “You’re better than they are. You shouldn’t have to suffer like this. If they’re gone, you can be free.”
Harry shook his head, backing away from the water, his mind racing. “I’m not like them,” he whispered, more to himself than to the voice. “I’m not like them.”
The voice sighed, disappointed but still simmering with unspent rage. “Fine,” it muttered, though Harry could hear the cold hunger lurking just beneath the surface. “But if they ever hurt you again, I won’t ask next time.”
Harry shivered, unsure whether the voice was making a promise or a threat. Either way, he knew this was far from over.
“What’s your name?” Harry asked, shifting his weight in the sand, curiosity piquing in his young mind.
“It was Voldemort,” the voice replied with an unsettling calm, “but you can call me Marvolo.”
Harry frowned; confusion etched on his face. The name meant nothing to him, just a collection of syllables that hung heavy in the air. To him, it was just another mystery to unravel, another piece in the puzzle of his existence.
“Why did you keep saying left?” Harry asked, his voice small amidst the crashing waves and the whispering wind.
“Well, there’s a little rock over there that’s practically radiating… magic,” Marvolo replied, hesitating slightly before the last word.
Harry looked to his left; curiosity piqued. He began to walk, following the direction Marvolo indicated until he was told to stop.
“There!” Marvolo exclaimed, and Harry looked down. Sure enough, nestled among the glittering rocks and shimmering leaves lay a jewel that took his breath away. Its brilliance was captivating, a radiant object that sparkled with a light all its own, like a captured sunrise reflecting off the surface of a still lake. The colours danced within its depths, gold, silver, and deep blue, swirling together like a living rainbow.
As Harry reached out, the jewel seemed to pulse with warmth, its glow illuminating the darkening forest around them. It felt alive, whispering secrets of ancient times and lost stories. The air hummed with an energy that wrapped around Harry like a comforting blanket, filling him with a sense of wonder and excitement. He could almost hear faint echoes of laughter and joy from those who had once touched it, a connection to a world of beauty that felt just out of reach.
Behind him, the man on the log turned in shock, his eyes wide as he trembled even more. The sight of the jewel seemed to trigger something deep within him. Harry, sensing the man’s distress, ran over to him, concern flooding his small frame.
“Who is he?” Marvolo asked urgently, but Harry ignored the voice, focused on comforting the sobbing man.
He proffered the warm food he had brought, holding it out like an offering. To Harry’s surprise, the man moved, his shaking hands reaching for the food. He began to eat it, tears streaming down his face as he cried, his heart pouring out in a way that Harry could feel, resonating with the emotions of despair and relief intertwined.