The Prequel: Part 2
This one's even shorter and even more disjointed than the last, and I didn't even write all of it, so I've got no excuse. The thing is, I know that this is going somewhere, and it is kind of getting to that place, but in a very off-kilter manner. Writing it, which I am doing every now and then in between other projects, reminds me somewhat of reading Titus Alone. You know that there is some intelligence controlling it, but it's all over the place. And scarily so. Except that I'm nowhere near as cool as Mervyn Peake.
Disclaimers: I don't own any of this, all of the characters belong to JK Rowling, the situation belongs to Stalin and the words are all Doctor Johnson's.
Exciting Feature! This installment comes with a guest writer. The brilliant fera_festiva is responsible for the opening segment involving the Prisoner, Sirius Black.
Harry Potter and the Brisket Loaf: First Blood
or
The Adventures of Young Harry Potter
Episode 2: Harry Potter and the Hidden Hole
Prisoner 1337-H4XX0RZ/Black, S could hear the train a-coming. It seemed to be rolling around the bend. He hadn’t seen the sunshine since fuck knows when, because here in Azkaban prison, time just kept dragging on - and yet the train kept on towards - where? Surely not San Antone - that was in America, wasn’t it? Or Mexico?
I should have gone to Mexico, Sirius thought.
And anyway - what the fuck was a train doing here, out on an island in the middle of the North Sea? None of it made sense.
He sighed.
When the Dementors were at their hungriest, and long fingers of darkness began to creep in through the cracks around the cell walls, strange things happened inside his head; new corners, new angles formed that hadn’t existed before; all the bad things came back, arriving in random, nonsensical order, combined with novel and bizarre images. Anything was possible at these times.
Today had been above average, in terms of how crazy he felt - he knew who he was, and why he was here, and the periods of madness had only been fleeting. In many ways, though, that was worse - the anger and the frustration and the deep, deep regret were clearer than ever, and there wasn’t even the comfort of creeping madness to snuggle into, to get lost inside. And every moment he heard his own words, echoing over and over.
“Come back, Alan, you wanker…”
No - wait - that wasn’t right, was it? He sighed again.
He was roused from this deep, dark well of darkness and stuff like that by a bell ringing, telling him it was time for the prisoners in his block to get up and go for a shower.
He hoped the six-foot-eight ex-bouncer with the tattoos, who was on the same shower shift as him, remembered to bring a soap on a rope this time. Having to pick up the regular soap was getting tiresome to say the least.
‘Haaarrryyyy, lissstten tooo mmmeeeeeee.’
Harry’s head was pulled violently back. He took a deep breath and then he was back. Back in the water. There was a terrible second of dead suction, and then the water swirled once more around him.
‘Haaarrrrrrryyy,’ the voice whispered again. ‘Find mmmeeeeeee.’
Harry was pulled out of the toilet again and thrown onto his back in the wet tiles, panting for air. Dudley laughed and walked off, but it was only the sound of those seductive, sibilant syllables that echoed around Harry’s brain as he lay there. Unable to get up again. Unable to care about moving.
But Harry was not the only one who was unable to move, for someone, somewhere, was dead. Not just anywhere in fact. Elsewhere in Harry’s school. This will be the mystery that Harry has to investigate. When he gets up.
It was Colin Peasbody, a bratty little kid that no-one really liked. He had a camera he kept taking pictures of flowers and insects with, a cheap thing with no real lens to speak of, which was how he avoided getting it broken all the time. Except now he was dead, his guts ripped from his body as if by a giant snake. One that liked to rip people’s guts from their bodies that is, which admittedly isn’t your giant snake’s normal modus operandi.
Normally the giant snake will go for the Crushing Coil Manoeuvre, coupled with the Attack-So-That-It-Looks-Like-The-Snake-Is-Being-Wiggled-Around-By-The-Person-It-Is-Attacking-Who-Is-Holding-It-By-Its-Neck-Just-Two-Inches-From-Their-Face-Attack. Occasionally even, when the giant snake is feeling particularly fruity, it might pull out the Dislocated Jaw Swallow Assault, often as a combo finisher with the Crushing Coil Manoeuvre. It’s a difficult keypad sequence, but it racks up the numbers above the snake’s head most satisfyingly, and produces a pleasingly sinister looking human shaped bump in the snake’s almost rubbery midsection.
Which makes it all the weirder that it looked like Colin Peasbody’s guts had been ripped from his body by a giant snake. And in the pattern of his guts? Well, there were some word’s weren’t there. There always are. They said:
‘The Hidden Hole is Open Again.’
Which is quite a lot to spell in guts, especially if you are a snake with no limbs, let alone opposable thumbs.
You might be able to do it if you were a robot. A Killer Nazi Robot From The Future, maybe. But that would be stupid now wouldn’t it?
No one really cared that Colin was dead. Except maybe his parents. The school blamed it on a gas leak. Harry didn’t even get to find out where Colin, who could possibly have become Harry’s friend, what with them both being miserable, hated loners, had gone. Then, next week, the caretaker’s cat died.
That was a real tragedy. Everybody loves cats. This time the only way that you could tell that the cat had been killed by a giant snake was from what had been written in the cat’s blood. Which was this:
‘Harry Potter Did It. He hatessss Commoners. Hissss.’
The ‘hisss’ being the major give away of course, what with how snakes are known to talk like and all, although there are other clues that make themselves available to the seasoned forensic examiner. Clues that tell you that we are definitely dealing with a giant snake, and not a robot or a bored sixth-former from the comp down the road.
When they found him, Harry was in the toilets talking to himself. His hair was wet and he stank of piss. Mrs Samways took his hand gently. ‘Harry,’ she said. ‘Who did this to you?’
‘The snake,’ Harry said. ‘My friend, it’s a snake, it says that she’s living under the school. In a hidden hole. There aren’t any hidden holes under the school are there?’
‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Samways. ‘How has it come to this? Let’s get you out of here.’ Mrs Samways sighed. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up and looked after shall we?’
Harry nodded quietly. Mostly to himself and to the words of his friend, the snake. Who told him that Mrs Samways was nice, that she would look after him, and that she might even help him kill Dudley. Although that might be pushing his luck.
Just then, a strange man walked in and took Mrs Samways by the arm.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ the old man said through a mouth obscured by possibly the greatest beard known to mankind, ‘but this just will not do. The child is being looked after just fine. here, let me ease your worries.’ And the man raised a wand to Mrs Samways’ temple, after goosing her for good measure, and all of a sudden she forgot all about her concerns. Harry and the snake continued their conversation in peace.
Join us next week for the next exciting adventure: Harry Potter and the Enigma of Being. Stay tuned.