Harry Potter and the Wandless Magic

Chapter Three: Aunt Marge's Visit

Author's Note: Yes, this will be a Harmony/Harmione fic though that won't be til much later. At this point, I'm not sure who Harry will be trusting besides Hermione. Watch and see.

Everything in bold is directly from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. All rights for Harry Potter and characters go to J.K. Rowling.

Harry sat in his room at Number Four Privet Drive in Surrey. With his eyes closed, he tried to concentrate on the magic within him. It had been nearly a week since he had killed the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets with the Sword of Gryffindor and defeated Voldemort for the 2nd time. It could be argued that he had done it for 3 times now, but Harry knew from Dumbledore that his mother's love had been the thing to save him from the killing curse when he was a baby.

As he moved further and further into the blazing fire that was his magical core, Harry could tell that something had once been wrong with it. Almost like the scars on his back and chest from Uncle Vernon's many beatings of him, there were thin scars on his magical core. Of course, being made entirely of magic, the scars were becoming fainter and fainter. Soon there would be no sign of them. What this meant Harry had no idea.

More to add to the list of things to ask Dumbledore, he thought.

Moving away from his magical core, Harry began to stretch out with the same sense he had directed inward. Ever since the train ride home from Hogwarts, he had noticed when magic left him. That had paled to his astonishment that he could feel a hint of magic in his room. There was also a hint in the cupboard under the stairs where his relatives had locked up his school things as soon as he was home. They were almost like echoes of his magic.

Harry wasn't sure if he could feel magic in the places where he had been simply because he had spent a bit of time there. It certainly made sense.

Even without the sensing of the magical echoes in the room, he could feel magic out in the yard and throughout the house. It was a different feeling, like scent of fresh air differs from the air inside the house. Both were breathable, but they simply smelled different.

One day, as he was thinking about these things while trimming the hedges, he found a small garden snake that was curled up in the cool earth. It hissed at him.

I wonder if I can still speak in Parseltongue now that the piece of Voldemort is out of my head. He shrugged and decided to give it a try.

"Come on out," he said, hoping for the best.

"You understand me?" a male voice hissed back in surprise.

"I can speak to snakes."

"How strange for a warm-blood. Why must I move?"

"Because the other . . . erm, warm-bloods will try to kill you if they see you under these bushes. They don't like things that slither."

"I can understand. I don't like things that walk."

"I'm not sure. I can only tell you that if anyone sees you, they'll try to—"

"You're hissing at snakes again, freak," a frightened voice whimpered behind him.

Harry's head snapped around to find his cousin, Dudley, standing there. He looked like he might be sick.

"It wanted to bite you, but I told it that it wouldn't want to ruin its appetite." Harry grinned as Dudley waddled off for the house as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. The young wizard's face fell just as quickly as it had risen. He would catch hell for that little stunt.