*sweatdrop*
Basically, I didn't like my first attempt at this (the one posted over at The FanFiction Forum), and I didn't like my second attempt. So, I think this'd be my third attempt. It's not that new for you people who may have already read the first attempt, but it is rather different. I've changed some things around to hopefully make it progress more naturally. Hasn't been beta'd by anyone, so there's probably some mistakes... anyways! Enjoy.
UPDATE! The full first chapter is on the second page of this topic. If only it didn't take me a year to finish. >.< Must... write... faster.....
- SPOILER: The Original Snippit Here - Show Spoiler
- Disclaimer: I own a 1996 truck, a bed, two sofas, a chair, three full sets of dishes, eight towels, twenty-three computers and assorted computer components, a large selection of science-fiction books and movies on DVD, and my clothing. Possibly a bit more. However, I don't own Harry Potter. At all. I mean, I don't own even a little bit. I'd like to, you know. Don't though.
Yuki-onna
By Stendec Hitarumonwa
BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN
Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in the Azkaban fortress, escaped during the night, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.
"We are doing all that we can do recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we ask the magical community to remain calm."
Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.
"Well, really, I had to, don't you know," claimed an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he won't breathe a word of Black's true nature to anyone. And let's face it-who'd believe him if he did?"
While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse. Continued on page 3.
Harry Potter stared at the portrait accompanying the article in a mild shock, almost wanting to shiver under the dead and empty gaze of the gaunt man. His skin looked a clammy white, and Harry decided that this Sirius Black could be mistaken for a vampire. Was that what happened to people who were put in Azkaban? If it was, maybe death would be more merciful. Flipping the Daily Prophet open, Harry quickly located the rest of the article, accompanied by the picture of a dank stone room with a few bones on the floor and, interestingly enough, a shabby old newspaper.
According to Ministry sources, the escape was first detected during a routine security check at breakfast, Azkaban's wards revealing that an individual was missing. Upon reaching the corridor with Black's cell they discovered a simple opened door with no signs of a struggle.
"It is the opinion of the Ministry that Black must've had help in his escape," said the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones, when questioned, "though we're still investigating just how this help was able to circumvent the security in place."
When asked, Gawain Robards (head guard of Azkaban) noted that Black seemed remarkably unaffected by the dementors throughout his imprisonment and that he had begun to act strangely obsessive over the past week, causing the guards to believe he was finally falling prey to the power of the dementors. Gawain refused comment on just what it was that Black was obsessing over, but unofficial sources inform us that he would frequently mutter in his cell, "He's at Hogwarts." And "It'll finally end." standing out as his seemingly favorite sayings.
This reporter believes that Black is intending to finish what his master started by murdering the Boy-Who-Lived, perhaps as an act of vengeance for the defeat of You-Know-Who. If Harry Potter is reading this, I plead with you - stay hidden, and keep yourself protected. Sirius Black cannot be allowed to succeed. See page 7 for additional information on Azkaban and dementors. For Ministry-suggested defense strategies, see page 9. More information on Black's crimes is available on page 13.
He blinked as he finished the article, put in a daze by the accusations. If the paper was to be believed, his life was now in grave danger thanks to an escaped Death Eater. Harry frowned and he flipped to page thirteen, ignoring the brightly flashing advertisement for Zonko's Giggle Cream as he scanned the list of crimes recorded for the fugitive. Murder of thirteen people? One of them was a friend of his parents, too, according to the article. Now he was after Harry-great. Just great. As if fighting Voldemort his first and second years of schooling wasn't enough, now it seemed that he'd have to take on one of the Dark Lord's greatest supporters in his fourth year.
Honestly, he'd gotten his hopes up that the trend would be broken when his third year at Hogwarts was relatively safe and uneventful. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that year, a werewolf by the name of Remus Lupin, was actually competent, and aside from Snape and the Slytherins making trouble, it was almost what he thought a normal school year should be. Learning, worrying about homework, and spending time with his friends. While the adventure with Buckbeak the hippogriff was a bit much, he had brought it upon himself to save the blasted thing, so he couldn't really complain.
Well, at least he now knew about Black and he'd be able to prepare himself thanks to his subscription to the Prophet (one of his better ideas, he thought in a bout of smugness). Of course, he still didn't know quite how he was going to prepare. If only Hermione was here - she'd know what to do. Maybe he could write her a letter? Merlin knows Hedwig could use something to do with her time. Deciding it couldn't hurt, Harry grabbed a piece of paper, swiped from a drawer in the Dursley's study, and he sat as his desk. He clicked his ballpoint pen and wrote a quick greeting.
Dear Hermione,
What should he write though? He couldn't very well ask "How should I fight off a murderer?" Something told him that a question so blunt probably wouldn't go over very well with the brainy witch. Really, he supposed what he needed was to try to find some magic he could practice at home without alerting the Ministry of Magic to what he was doing. Considering the trouble with Dobby two summers ago, he didn't expect there to be much at all, if anything. Though, he supposed that Dobby could have purposefully made the Ministry detect it, thinking that it was Harry that'd cast the levitation charm. In fact, that made quite a bit of sense, given the stubborn house elf's desire to keep him from returning to school that term.
What then-? The glass at the zoo! Of course! Or the time he'd accidentally burst all the light bulbs in the house. There was also that time he accidentally moved himself onto the roof of the school, and what about that time that his hair grew back overnight when his Aunt had given him a particularly nasty looking trim? The Ministry didn't detect any of it. In fact, the only thing they really had seemed to pick up was that odd house elf's spell. Of course, he hadn't attempted any spells with his wand. Given what he was told at school, they'd almost certainly be aware of that, and he'd rather not call down the wrath of the Improper Use of Magic office upon himself. Using what he knew then, Harry felt it rather safe to assume that the Ministry could only detect underage magic that was performed with a wand. A spell placed on wands, perhaps? If that was the case, then he'd have to learn magic that could be performed without his wand, especially given that he didn't know how to acquire a wand that couldn't be tracked. Build a wand? He didn't even have a clue where to start for that.
What kind of magic could he possibly use without a wand though? From what Hermione had mentioned of it, wandless magic was rare and only the oldest and most powerful used it with any degree of frequency. Even the teenaged Tom Riddle had to resort to stealing and using Harry's wand in the Chamber of Secrets. Thinking of that-why hadn't Tom used Ginny's wand, anyways, aside from the fact that Harry couldn't use his wand if he didn't possess it? Harry shrugged. It wasn't really important right now, and he was getting off topic.
He could fly on his broom without being accused of underage magic. That was out though, since there's no way he could fly about without being seen by any Muggles. Plus, it wasn't like he was going to fly Black to death or something. Of course, flying would be good for escape at the very least. He didn't know much about Black, but he was fairly certain he could out-fly someone if he needed to. He could also use his invisibility cloak to hide, assuming his enemies couldn't see through them like Professor Dumbledore? How could he do that, anyways? That was out though, so what else could hide him? Polyjuice potion - of course! Looking like someone other than Harry Potter would be the best solution, wouldn't it? Though, he couldn't really go to classes like that once school resumed. It wouldn't really help over the summer either, considering he completely lacked any way to get his hands on the disgusting and thick liquid-not that it was much easier to get when he was at school.
From what he remembered of their research, the obscure potion was the only really reliable way for someone to alter their appearance, without a wand at least. Even with use of his wand though, he didn't trust himself to try any human transfiguration, and the glamour charms they read about were easy to detect. A simple Finite Incantatem would dispel one, anyhow. Not really very useful. Finally, there was a rare trait gifted to some witches and wizards that was supposed to let them alter their appearance with will alone-metamorphmagus, if he remembered correctly. Supposedly they could alter anything they wished, from the length of their hair-hell! They could probably change their gender if they really wanted. All by simply using their minds a bit. Harry wished he had the ability for how simple it would make things, but it wasn't like he had ever shown any of the signs. He was rather certain he'd notice turning into a girl, or perhaps having his hair turn purp- his hair! Wait! His hair had grown back in a single night after that horrid cut, and, now that he thought of it, it hadn't been cut since yet it was still the same length. Not only that, he hadn't really grown any taller since he started Hogwarts. Ron had sprouted several inches, and while he supposed he could just be that short, Harry was hoping for a growth spurt sooner or later.
Chances were decent then, as he thought about that, that he was a metamorphmagus, right? That was a great start to his planning. Unfortunately, even if he proved to be a shape shifter though it wasn't as if he was going to defeat Black and his accomplice by transforming. The most he could do is hide and escape, and he didn't think himself great enough to evade conflict forever. Merlin knows conflict's found him fine enough the past few years. Given that, he'd have to learn how to defend himself somehow, and without his wand at that. He might be able to use his wand in a true conflict, of course- self-defense and all that, but he couldn't exactly practice, and without practice there simply wasn't any way that he'd be able to stand up against the hardened criminal.
Still, he was left questioning what kind of defense he could possibly hope to form without a wand that would hold off another wizard. Harry sighed as he leaned back in his chair, starting to get a headache from all this thinking (he wasn't Hermione, after all). The odd teleportation he used at his Muggle school would come in handy if he could master it, but that was, like flying and hiding, only good for escaping from conflict. Breaking glass, the only other ability that came to mind, was utterly useless. Even if it came into play somehow, Black could thwart him with a simple Repairo.
Harry looked back down at the paper and he clicked his pen open again. He had a good question now, and he bet his hat (not that he had a hat, much to his sadness) that Hermione could a suitable answer.
Dear Hermione,
How's your summer been so far? It's dull here. The Dursleys have been pretty quiet so far and they've kept to themselves. Same as last summer, actually. I think they're a bit scared of me after hearing the story of how I killed the basilisk with Gryffindor's sword, even if they don't quite know what a basilisk is. Though, I suppose a few comments about becoming good friends with the Weasley twins always help, given the fight a couple summers ago.
I know you've got a subscription to the Daily Prophet, so I won't bother telling you about Sirius Black here. Instead, I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Given that he's after me, I'd like to practice defending myself- but I can't do that with the whole underage magic bollocks. From what I've seen though, they only detect magic used with a wand. So, my question is, what kind of offensive or defensive spells could I use without a wand?
If possibly I'd really like to be able to just cast spells with my hand or something, though I suppose everyone would do that sort of thing if it were possible. Past that I'm not really sure what I'd do, though, I suppose I wouldn't be writing you about it if I knew, right?
Buy any books you think would help, please. I'll gladly pay you back as soon as I can get to my vault.
Your Friend,
Harry
Looking over the letter, Harry nodded. Hermione would probably love the task, there were books involved after all-of course, he wasn't sure how successful she'd be. It made him think though-he actually was becoming good friends with the Weasley twins, and they were the two most creative and talented prank artists he had ever met. That they were the only prank artists he had ever met was beside the point. No one could deny that they were talented though, and that had Harry thinking. Maybe they could help as well? They might even know something already, given that they were raised around magic. Smiling now, Harry grabbed another sheet of paper and he twirled his pen in his hand before starting a new letter.
Dear Fred and George (or is that George and Fred?),
I've got a bit of a dilemma, and I thought that the two of you might be able to help. As you might've seen in the paper, Sirius Black escaped and I'm supposed to be his target. Unfortunately, I don't think I could fight him off very well with what I know, and I can't exactly practice casting over the summer.
That said, I was hoping that the two of you, geniuses of rule breaking that you are, would know either how I could get around the Ministry's detection with my wand, or wandlessly use magic that could be used to attack and defend myself. From what I've seen so far they can't detect wandless magic.
Thanks,
Harry
P.S. In case Ron still hasn't figured it out, tell him that you don't have to yell into a telephone for it to work. He's tried calling twice now, and he's yelled constantly both times. It'd probably be for the best if I simply don't get any more calls this summer.
After rereading both letters, Harry nodded and he scrounged around his desk for a few moments before managing to retrieve a couple of envelopes which he quickly titled and stuffed with their respective letters. He licked each and sealed them, the process reaffirming his hatred of the taste of glue, before carrying them over to Hedwig, the owl having started to look rather animated in anticipation of having something to actually do.
"Hey girl," said Harry, grinning down at his familiar as she gives an enthusiastic hoot. "I've finally got something for you to do. A letter to Hermione, and one to Fred and George if you can find them- I think they're still on that trip to Egypt. I told you about that, right? They'd won it last year, but they didn't take it that summer because they wanted to give Ginny a nice, quiet summer as she recovered. Anyhow, you'll need to wait for a reply from the Weasleys. Not Hermione though-I'm sure she has some way to get things to me."
Hedwig hooted again in response and she held out her leg, prompting Harry to smile and tie the letters into place. "Thanks, Hedwig. Fly safe. I'll be sure to keep my window open."
Once he finished seeing Hedwig off, Harry sat down on his rickety bed and he frowned, wondering what to do now that he was waiting on his friends. Obviously he could continue to think about possible ways to defend himself, but he probably wouldn't come up with anything that he could actually work on. No, he'd have to wait for the response from Hermione at least to practice his defensive skills. What to do until then? Flying while confined to his bedroom wasn't really an option, nor was hiding under his cloak like an idiot. He could study his school books, but he was really getting rather tired of looking at the things, and it wasn't like he could practice anything out of the books. Well-he could practice potions. There wasn't any way he'd spend his summer on that though. Really, he'd rather spend another summer gardening than devote his time to the 'exact art' and 'subtle science' of potion brewing. Besides that, his store of ingredients wasn't very impressive anyways.
Assuming he didn't suddenly gain the ability to light things on fire by staring at them, that only left one possibility and Harry smiled slightly at the thought of it. Learning how to use his metamorphmagus powers, assuming he actually had them, was not only useful, but it sounded fun. After all, who wouldn't want to be able to change their appearance at will? He could wander the neighborhood, free of his reputation of being a 'troublemaker' gained courtesy of the Dursleys' lies. If he could somehow get to London there was even the chance that he could browse Diagon Alley without being accosted for his fame-not to mention that Sirius Black hopefully wouldn't be able to track him down.
Racking his mind, Harry did his best to remember the text he read about metamorphmagi while he cursed his lack of interest in the subject at the time. The fact that stood out the most was how rare the ability was, apparently second only to being a parselmouth. Being a metamorphmagus was also somewhat related to being an animagus, he recalled, but that was pretty obvious, given that both were transformations. Metamorphmagi were supposed to have easier times learning to access their animagus forms thanks to a less refined self-image, or something. Harry didn't really remember the exact term, but that made enough sense to him. The change itself was, the book had stated, highly dependant on the will of the witch or wizard in question. Metamorphmagi were never really taught how to use their abilities simply because they learned how to transform through experimentation as they grew up. That made Harry wonder a bit, but he decided his lack of experience was probably just because of the treatment he received at the hands of the Dursleys and not due to any lack of power. He hoped, anyways. Shape shifting would be bloody awesome.
A mirror. He would need a mirror to watch himself to see if he was actually managing to do anything. Fortunately though, his wardrobe had a suitable, if a bit cracked up, mirror hanging on the inside of the door. He stood. Half a minute later found Harry sitting once more on his bed, the crooked chair he salvaged for his desk holding the door to his wardrobe open at just the right angle for him to see his reflection while he sat on the least lumpy part of the dull gray mattress.
"Right then, Harry," he muttered while absently rubbing a spot of dirt that had built up on the bridge of his nose, "let's do this-something simple like making your hair longer. You've done it before, so why not now?"
Facing the mirror, Harry started to focus. Shoulder-length hair was his goal. It was an incredibly girly style he had in mind, but he didn't care much considering his success would let him change his hair back just as easily. He stared at his reflection's hair, daring it to grow out. He pictured the target haircut appearing on his reflected self. The hair remained short and motionless. Frowning, Harry decided to try concentrating more on the task, his brow wrinkling as he stared forward. Several minutes later, still with no change, Harry sighed and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, silently cursing that he'd managed to work up a sweat without actually doing anything.
This obviously wasn't working and Harry refused to believe that he didn't have the ability, so a new approach was needed. Looking back up at his reflected visage, he pictured an invisible hand pulling on his mirrored hair and causing it to extend. When that failed to work, Harry pictured a hair-lengthening potion getting mixed into the hair. There was no reaction, and Harry muttered a quiet curse. This was supposed to be incredibly easy-after all, it hadn't taken any effort at all to grow his hair out when he wasn't even trying. He sat quietly for several minutes, thinking. Just how was he supposed to get this to work? He pictured a hair-lengthening spell racing out and hitting his reflection, quickly following that with another muttered curse word. His hair remained defiantly short and still.
"BOY!" The thunderous voice of his uncle broke his concentration quite effectively, causing him to jump slightly on the bed. "GET DOWN HERE NOW!"
Harry winced as he stood-it seems that the Dursleys weren't going to leave him in peace this summer. After giving the room a visual once-over to ensure there weren't any obviously magical items lying about, he closed the door to his beaten wardrobe and he quietly left the room, hoping this wouldn't take too much time away from his studies. There wasn't much chance of that though-the Dursleys preferred not to talk to him if they could help it, and as consequence they rarely involved him unless to berate him or give him additional chores around the house.
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It was past eleven in the evening when he finally returned to his room, completely exhausted and still slightly damp from the incredibly quick shower the Dursleys allowed him to take, refusing to let him sleep drenched in sweat because he'd have to wash his sheets more frequently. Harry was put through the metaphorical wringer today, his relatives seemingly trying to make up for the past couple weeks of leaving him almost completely alone. He hardly remembered to check his window for any owl post (frowning slightly at the lack of any, despite a lack of energy needed to read) before stumbling to his bed and quite unceremoniously collapsing onto it, sweet unconsciousness enveloping him the moment his head touched the wadded blanket that served as a pillow.
Two days of cleaning the entire house and yard passed like sludge before he was given any modicum of free time to continue his experimentation, a fact that Harry found incredibly annoying. When he had told the Dursleys of the situation with Sirius Black, they actually had the nerve to laugh and tell him that they hoped the killer hurried up so they wouldn't have to continue to feed him. The nerve of those people, honestly! It was times like this that he wondered why he kept returning to the miserable place. The Dursleys didn't seem to realize that Black would probably kill them along with him-he did murder thirteen people and work for the Dark Lord, after all.
The lack of a response from Hermione was a bit annoying, but he couldn't really find fault with it. After all, she had to research the subject, and it couldn't be that easy, otherwise all sorts of people would be doing it. Who wouldn't want wandless magic, after all? Anyways, there wasn't much point in being annoyed, since it wasn't as if he didn't have something to do in the meanwhile, considering his lack of earlier success with bending his hair to his will.
Harry sighed and he stood. Upon propping his wardrobe door open again with the wobbly old desk chair, he once more started the frustratingly ineffective process of attempting to grow shoulder-length hair. Staring at his reflection, he willed the mirrored hair to grow out while wondering why nothing was happening. He believed it could work, so why didn't it? Magic was based on belief, after all. Harry had thought about it almost constantly over the past twin days of work, and he hadn't a single idea on how to get his hair to grow. Not only that, he thought that he was probably trying too hard anyhow. After all, how was someone supposed to accidentally stumble across the ability if they had to spend hours thinking about it before getting it to work? There must be something here that he was missing, something crucial. What could there possibly be though? It seemed so simple-apply your will to your appearance, so he was willing his hair to grow out. Maybe he was missing a step that actually called forth his magic? That didn't seem to make much sense though. He didn't have to do anything special to summon his magic when he cast spells with a wand-it just happened. The same thing happened with his broom, really. All it took was a short mental 'up' and his Nimbus 2000 (a good broom, though he almost lost it in a storm last year) flew straight to his hand. Assuming the broom wasn't constantly reading his mind in case he dared to command it, that was a perfect example of his magic responding to his will, so-why wasn't it working here?
Growing more frustrated as the minutes ticked past, Harry growled at the mirror quietly, mentally demanding all the while that his hair do something at least. Grow! Change color! Fall out! At least do something! He'd rather have anything than just that short, unruly black mess that perched atop his scalp, but no, his hair just had to be stubborn. Stupid hair. Stupid tingling sensation. Stupid metamorphmagi! ...wait, tingling sensation? It was oddly cool, and centered about his head. Harry refocused himself on the task at hand and he looked towards the mirror, the sight of his reflection almost knocking him over with shock, and not a small amount of joy. His hair was growing! Not only that, it was growing like a nasty group of incredibly hardy weeds (perhaps Devil's Snare?). His hair seemed to be changing color too. He suppressed a laugh as, within moments, his head was completely surrounded in thick hanging spikes of hair, forcing him to hold several large clumps aside so that he could actually see to look at himself in the mirror.
Grinning, Harry carefully examined his reflection. It seemed his magic interpreted 'something' quite freely, for he didn't think he would've ever imagined something quite so... impressive. Numerous foot long spike-like groups of hair fell from his head in all directions, and in all colors. Neon orange hair? Purple? Lime green? Quite literally all colors it seemed, not just those Harry thought hair could come in. Harry noted a particularly bright and garish hot pink cluster that fell directly between his eyes. Who would want pink hair? He shook his head, feeling rather odd with so much weight upon his head. Continuing his examination, he noted that his hair had also twisted itself into a tasteless Mohawk, blending all the worst colors he could think of. The Dursleys, Harry decided, would absolutely loath his appearance.
Finally, as the euphoria of success wore off, he focused his gaze on the mirror, willing the hair to return to normal. Nothing happened, and Harry swore. This was not good-not good at all. What had he just done to get it to work? He hadn't really done anything differently, had he? He had been frustrated and he willed his hair to react, not really focusing on much of anything. How was he supposed to control it if he couldn't focus on something? Even looking at himself in the mirror seemed to be too much.
Wait a second-the mirror! Harry had always been focusing on the mirror when he was trying to change his hair! It hadn't worked, but then when he wasn't even looking at the mirror his hair grew! Thinking about it, he had to resist an urge to smack himself over the head, perhaps with a stick of some kind. Of course it wasn't going to work! He'd been going about it all wrong-trying to change his reflection and not himself. It was so bloody obvious now! The only way what he was doing would possibly work is if he'd somehow enchanted the mirror to show him with odd hairstyles, and that didn't seem very likely.
Armed with his fresh idea, Harry watched himself in the mirror while he centered his attention on the gaudy hairstyle. Change! At first he thought it wasn't going to work, but after a moment, the tingling returned! The sensation was odd, and Harry thought it might feel like someone wrapping a cool washcloth around a leg that had fallen asleep. The tingling finally faded, drawing Harry's attention back, and he stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was long and black, but tied back in a ponytail at the base of his neck.
"Wicked," Harry summarized for the empty room, smiling brilliantly at his reflection while he tilted and twisted his head all about to better scrutinize his new style. "This is the point where things get fun."
The boy issued an additional mental order and, much to his delight, a wave of bleach seemed to pass over his head, leaving him with almost-white blonde locks. It actually turned out a bit more bluish than he'd hoped, but then-it'd be odd if he got it perfect the first time, right? The blonde reminded him too much of Malfoy though, and he couldn't have that. Another thought and his hair was a spiky bright blue. Was he getting quicker? No matter, Harry thought it safe to say he had gotten down this part of the transformation at least, pleased with how simple it had become as he figured out the right way to go about it. If the rest of his summer went this well, he'd be ecstatic. More importantly, he'd be alive-even if he had the misfortune to come across Black. Harry shook his head. He could worry later, for now he wanted to have fun. What should he try to change next? Eye color was probably just as easy as hair to change, right? If he could do that, he could probably change the shape of his pupils as well. Probably wasn't the best idea to mess with that though, not having a healer around. He didn't really want to accidentally leave himself blind. Not to mention the questions it'd raise, the healers wondering just how he managed to cripple himself like that. Thinking about that, Harry decided it would probably be a good idea to tell one of his close friends about his metamorphmagus status-Hermione, definitely. Ron wouldn't be much help. He'd probably get jealous, really. Hermione though-she could most likely learn and perform any spells needed to fix his screw-ups and, knowing the girl, she'd even be able to come up with odd uses for the ability he'd never think of. Maybe he should visit her this summer? He'd have to get a suitable disguise first, of course.
How big of a change could he make? Having never really studied the subject, Harry wasn't sure just where the boundaries were aside from the knowledge that he couldn't transform into an animal-no, that ability was solely under the animagus header. He should really try to find out if he was an animagus at some point, but for now he was satisfied with this. Limits though... could he grow a tail? How about fur or wings? Could he shrink down to being a foot tall, or perhaps, enlarge himself to the stature of a basketball player? Harry was almost giddy as he thought of the possibilities, but another thought brought him to sigh. It wouldn't do to try anything like that at the Dursleys. Not only would they hate it, he wouldn't be able to explain it to the Muggles. With his luck, the government would take him away for testing.
Harry supposed he'd just have to wait until he visited Hermione to try. She could get him to St. Mungo's if he needed it, after all. At least, he was rather certain she could. Were the Grangers on the Floo network? He'd never thought to ask, since it wasn't like he could Floo over from the Dursleys. Other than that, his only option would be to hide away somewhere and owl Madam Pomfrey for help. He snickered at the thought, wondering what the healer's reaction would be if she had to treat him over the summer as well. No doubt she wouldn't be pleased. Really, Harry wasn't very excited about the possibility himself, though he couldn't refute that he'd rather face her because he made a mistake than face Black because he couldn't hide himself.
That still, of course, left Harry wondering what he should transform into. He'd like to find a form that couldn't be mistaken for him at all if he could. If you're going to disguise yourself, do it well after all. Something that'd change his entire body would be nice, especially for the practice. How would he do that though, considering he had to stay 'normal' for fitting in with the Muggle world? What about the scar, anyways? Focusing on his reflection, he narrowed his eyes. Moments later he smiled as the unmarked flesh of his forehead, almost unnaturally smooth and a bit pale compared to the rest of him, but otherwise fine. This would definitely help with things like Diagon Alley though, since people recognized him more for the scar than they did for his looks. Actually, he probably should visit the alley. He needed to withdraw some money from his vault and, perhaps, purchase some study materials? For that matter, he'd like to find somewhere else to stay until school started again come September, and he'd like to find it before next week when Aunt Marge was supposed to be visiting. Considering how rich the Potter family was supposed to be, he was sure he'd have somewhere at least. Perhaps Gringotts had a list? Did banks do that? He'd really rather avoid the Ministry if he could.
He needed a disguise though, and that brought him back to his thoughts about testing his limits. What was the opposite of Harry Potter? More importantly, could he even become something that was so far from himself? Harry narrowed his eyes slightly as he thought, several images whirling about in his mind. Harry Potter was short. He was thin, really thin-almost unhealthy about it, really. He had green eyes, a scar, and as he understood it, his face was shaped very similar to that of his father. The opposite of that then?
The opposite of his scar was taken care of already, removing it as he did. Only a faint tingle remained now, and that was easy enough to ignore. Logically, the opposite of his eyes would be red though. He didn't know that he wanted that color though. It seemed evil. Perhaps, hmm... blue? Right, so blue eyes. That only left-almost everything. Harry sighed. How was he going to shape his face or do something like that, anyhow? Suddenly he blinked. It was obvious! When he had thought 'something' earlier, his hair went crazy, and he didn't need to tell it anything else. What if he simply willed himself to be the opposite of Harry Potter? It was worth a shot, right? His magic should know what it needs to know, somehow, to make everything work out. Harry nodded and he closed his eyes, taking up an odd sitting position on his bed. He'd seen people sit like that before on an old martial arts movie, and it seemed interes-
"BOY!"
Harry cursed, opening his eyes again. What could they possibly want now? Sighing, he stood and he walked to the door to his room, opening it a crack. "Yes, Uncle Vernon?"
"Get down here, now! Your Aunt has work for you, and if you want any dinner you best do it quickly!"
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It was almost midnight when he finally returned to his room once more, completely exhausted. How could they possibly come up with so much stuff for him to clean? It was as if Dudley spent all his time going around, purposefully making messes for Harry to tidy up. The whale of a boy, fortunately, didn't seem smart enough to think of that though, merely taunting Harry and gloating during his normal chores. Falling onto his bed, sleep claimed Harry.
The next morning saw the Dursleys to the Zoo, and Harry couldn't be more pleased. No interruptions today! Perhaps he could finally get some work done? He stretched and stared out the window, smiling faintly in anticipation of a good day. It was nice and cool, strangely cool actually, with a slight breeze. He was getting used to the temperatures though. The summer was strangely cool, especially around Little Whining he thought. Forecasters on the television didn't have any explanation, but then, it wasn't cold enough to need one. Just a cold summer after all. Harry's uncle complained frequently, of course, but he did that about everything it seemed. Checking the thermometer he had outside his window, centigrade of course, Harry blinked. Eleven degrees? It didn't seem that chilly, and he'd slept with his window open. No matter, he was probably just used to the cold because it had never gotten warm. Better not mention things to Hermione though. No doubt she'd be furious if she knew he was sleeping with his window open after the nasty bout of sickness he went through in March. He still didn't know what that was about, but he wasn't going to worry about it when there was a murderer on the loose.
Sitting on his bed, wardrobe door propped open again, Harry closed his eyes and he began to clear his mind. That is to say, he tried to at least. He wasn't really sure how to do so, but he thought he had a good idea of what to do from the few movies he's watched and a book or two. It was pleasant, not thinking of anything. His mind was calm, and he felt cool and collected. Of course, it was hard not to feel cool with his window open. Harry shook his head briefly, and he started to focus. He pictured his body, and he imagined himself filling it with magic... wrapping it-enveloping himself with his magic. Finally, he issued his command. I don't want to be Harry Potter. Make me something else. Make me the opposite.
If the changes before were a tingle, this was as if his entire body was locked into a block of stone. He felt as if he'd plunged himself deep into freezing water, only to be hauled out later as a gigantic ice cube for the world's largest glass of soda. Was that what it felt like for all metamorphmagi? He didn't know if he liked the cold. Now it felt as if someone was chipping away at his block of ice, and it almost tickled. He felt as if he was being carved into a statue. Harry almost giggled at the sensation. He couldn't though. After all, statues couldn't giggle. They didn't make any noise. Did he do something wrong though?
Suddenly, Harry could move again, and he opened his eyes, having to blink several times at the influx of light. He looks over at his wall clock. 12:49? Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. It had taken him ten minutes for this? Well, a bit less-there was the time he had spent clearing his mind, after all. Just what had changed, anyhow? He knew he felt different. Harry stood, noting his balance seemed... off, and he turned towards his mirror. The boy almost fell over.
Who...? Harry couldn't believe the reflection was accurate. That wasn't him! It was someone else! There wasn't any trace of Harry Potter left. Sirius Black would've had to have been watching him change to connect the two of them. In retrospect, Harry was also glad he had put off getting dressed until he tried the change. His clothes might still fit, they used to be Dudley's in the distant past after all, but he didn't want to chance anything and be forced into wearing the boy's more recent, even larger clothes. The person in the mirror blinked, seemingly flaunting their long, black, and slightly curled eyelashes. Their eyes were red. A deep red that reminded Harry of fresh roses, and that brought a slight smile to the Boy-Who-Lived. It was nice to see that the color was possible without seeming evil. Long, straight, and silken black hair framed the person's face, and what a face it was-blemish free with skin that was only slightly pale... soft, without being too rounded... puffy lips with a hint of extra redness to them. Harry only wondered one thing as he stared into the mirror.
"Why the bloody hell am I a girl?"
A hand came to her throat and she rubbed it slightly. Her voice was... well, it certainly wasn't what she was expecting. Of course, Harry didn't really know what to expect. She certainly hadn't expected to become a girl, and that had happened. It was a nice voice though, she thought. Melodious? That word seemed to fit. It was a bit higher than her normal voice, and it'd take a lot of getting used to. Looking at her reflected face, Harry had to admit it at least fit her appearance well. Finally, the girl looked down at her body, only to blush almost immediately and turn her head away. There was a naked girl in her room. She was the naked girl in her room! Definitely a girl! Harry hadn't gotten a very long look, but it was enough to know that, without a doubt, there wasn't a spot of Harry Potter left. She almost laughed when she realized she was the first girl she'd seen naked.
Slowly, Harry turned her head back towards the mirror, blushing brightly and feeling oddly warm, particularly-no, she wasn't going to think about it. Trying to be detached about it, the neo-girl stares at her reflection (taking a lot longer than strictly necessary, detachment be damned). Though she wasn't an expert, Harry couldn't help but think she had a great body, with just the right proportions and a flawless complexion. If she were a boy at the moment, she knew her where her attention would be focused... not that it wasn't focused there anyways. She brought her hands to her breasts, cupping them gently. Was she a B cup or a C cup? Harry honestly didn't have a clue. After all-why on Earth would a boy have to know something like that? The only think she could really tell was that they looked too large to be an A, and they seemed sized just right to her body. At least, in her opinion they were perfect. Honestly, Harry found it a bit creepy just how good looking of a girl she'd become. She was like some sort of model now-probably not the best for avoiding attention. Though, at least no one would mistake her for Harry Potter! What now? The girl began to pace, absently noting that walking felt different now. She couldn't decide if she liked it, but it wasn't a bad feeling at least.
Would Fred and George have gotten the letter by now? Hermione would have already for sure-Hedwig was a grand owl. What would the Weasley twins make of this power, she wondered? No doubt they'd take horrible advantage of it, sneaking into the girls' dorms, pulling off pranks while looking like other people. Especially the second one-shape shifting must be great for pranking. It was probably, then, a good thing that the twins couldn't alter themselves like her (at least, to her knowledge).
A flutter at the window drew her attention and Harry turned, blinking at the sight of a rather plain brown owl perched in her window and looking a tad bit confused. She walked over to her desk, leaning slightly to get a better look at it.
"Got a letter for me?"
The owl blinked at her, tilting its head. Harry blinked back, wondering what it was doing. Wait-maybe the owl was confused by her transformation? It might make sense, though to be honest, Harry didn't have a clue how it actually worked. She closed her eyes, focusing on her appearance. The cold tingle returned, surrounding her entire body with a vague feeling of something before fading away. Harry's eyes open again and, looking down, he nodded. Changing back seems to work. He looked up at the owl.
"Sorry 'bout that. Got any letters for Harry Potter?"
This time the owl responded, holding out its leg. Smiling, Harry took the letter, and the bird flew off. Apparently, whoever had written him wasn't waiting on a response. He looked at the envelope-white with a coarse texture, his name written on it in dark blue ink in a flowing hand. It seemed okay, so Harry quickly ripped it open and he took out the letter, unfolding it. Ah! Hermione's handwriting was easily recognized.
Dear Harry,
My summer's been great! My parents bought a new family computer about a week ago, and we have an Internet connection at home too. There's a lot to read on the Internet, though, nothing about magic. I didn't expect that though, given how backwards wizards can be. Honestly, Ron didn't even know there's been a mission to the moon!
Enough about that though. This Sirius Black situation is serious. I've read about him, you know. He was actually friends with your parents before, well, you know. I hate traitors. I hope you're keeping yourself hidden away, Harry. I don't think he'd be able to find you too easily, but it isn't smart to risk it.
So, I've been researching all kinds of magic you can do without a wand, or things that the Ministry will allow, and I haven't had much luck. The references I can find all agree that it's incredibly difficult to use wandless magic of any sort. It takes an incredible amount of power and concentration, so only the oldest of wizards can use it. Aside from that though, it seems the most common form of wandless magic used to be elemental manipulation before it fell out of style. Apparently it was easier to do things like that than to use charms, transfiguration, and the like. I've got a book on it, though I can't get it to you yet. The owl I used is fast, but she's really weak. Don't tell her I wrote that though, or she might peck me.
I also found out that the Ministry can't detect internal magic... things like an animagus transformation, you know? But that's so hard I don't think it'd be useful at all. No one could learn to transform themselves as quickly as you'd need to, right
Write again soon! Or call me, you have the number. Unlike Ron I actually know how to use a telephone. Maybe I can visit sometime?
Love,
Hermione
"No one could learn to transform themselves this quickly, hmm?" Harry couldn't help it and he let out a short laugh at Hermione's expense. "I should be offended, being called a no one like that."
He sat the letter on his desk before walking to the edge of his bed and sitting. Harry leaned back, supporting himself with his arms. So-what now? Hermione had found something, but she couldn't get it to him. Maybe she'd read it to him over the phone? He snorted. She probably would, but Harry thought that listening to her voice for so long would put him to sleep. No, there must be a better solution. It's too bad Hedwig was still chasing after the Weasley twins, or else he could just send her after the book. The boy looked down towards his floor, eying a particularly loose board. He kept a supply of sterling tucked away, withdrawn as galleons and exchanged at Gringotts in case he ever needed to buy something in the Muggle world, or perhaps if he needed a bargaining chip for the Dursleys. Should he use it? A taxi could easily take him to Hermione's house, and it'd give him something to try his new disguise for.
Harry nodded and he jumped to his feet, focusing on changing himself and smiling faintly at the cool sensation that envelops his body, tingling in a way that almost tickles. Almost too quickly it faded and Harry blinked, turning to look in the mirror. Almost immediately she looked away quickly, blushing. Yes, the change had worked. It seems it was getting quicker and easier every time. Though, probably not easier-Harry thought he was simply getting better at it. Getting caught shouldn't be a problem now, she hoped.
There was one problem with the disguise though, and she frowned as she thought of it. Clothing! She barely had anything to wear when she was himself, let alone a girl whose body was a different size altogether. She was beyond certain that the Dursleys wouldn't be any help, as they only left her Dudley's old clothing. If it barely fit on her male form, it certainly wouldn't work now. Harry looked up at her ceiling, thinking about what to do.
She vaguely remembered reading a sentence or two about clothes in the old book's passage about metamorphmagi, but she'd be damned if she could recall whether it was positive or negative. There was an easy way to find out though, of course, and Harry idly wondered why she hadn't just tried it already. Deciding to get it out of the way, she closed her eyes and called forth a mental image of herself, that alone taking a bit of time given her unfamiliarity with her feminine body. Quite a bit easier was the process of picturing suitable clothes over herself and willing them into place, but then-she had gotten quite a bit of time to grow familiar with women's clothing thanks to her Aunt Petunia forcing her to do the Dursleys' laundry in the past. Happily, laundry had been stricken off of Harry's list of chores shortly after the start of her first summer home from Hogwarts, her aunt stating that she didn't want to 'give the ungrateful little freak any time to mess about with things'. Oddly, Harry was still forced to cook breakfast and lunch most days. Didn't her aunt know that there were plenty more potions that worked in foods rather than when added to clothes?
Harry was getting off topic again though. She opened her eyes, turning to peak at her reflection. Yes! She wasn't naked anymore! While a part of her was rather upset by the turn of events, she couldn't be happier. The girl tugged at her skirt with her hand, rubbing the fabric with her thumb. It was incredibly soft, almost like silk. Finally, Harry could have decent clothes! This would definitely make things easier, letting her get away with not buying anything to wear. She sighed in relief at not having to go shopping for girl's clothing.
The girl blinked. Why was she a girl, anyways? It wasn't as if she needed to be for a disguise to work, and it seems like it would've actually been a bit easier to stay a boy. Oh well, it'd work for now, and she could always change later. Harry smirked at a thought-Hermione would be incredibly confused if she showed up as she was. It'd be a perfect way to introduce her to the ability. She bent down, prying up the loose floorboard and grabbing out her stored loot. Really, all she did was grab her shrunken trunk. Everything of value was kept safely within, with her money in the second compartment. The deluxe model she'd ordered during the past school year was definitely worth every galleon, sickle, and knut. Harry would have to thank Hermione again for introducing her to mail-order catalogs. She tapped the top of the trunk, expanding it to full size. She tapped the trunk again, causing the lid to click and pop open, revealing a mostly empty compartment (having, aside from a cobweb, a small bag of owl treats). Nodding, Harry took only a few moments to pack away Hedwig's cage. She closed the trunk, opening it again by poking it in a different way. This time it contained two books, a stack of papers, and two sacks of money. She put Hermione's latest letter inside, setting it neatly on top of the stack of papers, and the girl withdrew the smaller of the two bags before blinking.
She needed a pocket. Harry checked her reflection in the wardrobe mirror, frowning slightly. Her white blouse was pocket free, and her dark blue skirt? Definitely no pockets. If only she was wearing je... duh! The girl smacked herself lightly on the head before focusing lightly, a cold feeling enveloping her legs, suspiciously lacking a tingle. Her reflection had jeans now and she nodded, stuffing the small bag of money into her left rear pocket. Her wand fit into her right rear pocket nicely, and Harry took a moment to admire her reflection. The tight denim fabric made her legs look good, if she did say so. She shook her head, turning back to the trunk, closing it, and shrinking it to look like a book with a touch.
Now packed and ready, after slipping the shrunken trunk into a pocket of her jeans, Harry slipped out of her room and downstairs to the kitchen, not having any trouble at all thanks to the absence of her relatives. It took her a few moments of looking through the directory to find an appropriate service, but soon she was on the telephone, waiting for someone to pick up at the other end.
"Rorschach's Lot Chauffer Service. Your wish is our destination. Can I help you?"
"Um, hello." Harry replied, feeling slightly nervous now. It was, now that she thought of it, the first time she'd ever tried ordering something over the phone. "I need transportation from Little Whining to London."
There was a slight pause. "How many people, and do you need a round trip?"
"Just me. Um... no round trip."
"Right. Well, we've got a V.I.P. car in the area if you'd like to pay for it, should be about a ten minute wait. Otherwise we can dispatch a standard-rate car, and it should take about half an hour to arrive."
Harry smiled. The Dursleys would probably be home in fifteen minutes or so she thought, so the ten minute car was brilliant. It wouldn't be much fun to wait at the park. "I'll take the V.I.P. car, if that's alright. How much will it cost?"
"V.I.P. from Little Whining to London? Depending on where in London, about sixty pounds I'd think. Is that alright?"
"It's fine." Sixty pounds? Harry probably had over six-hundred with her. "Have the car pick me up at Number Four, Privet Drive please."
"Yes, ma'am. Would that be all?"
"Yes, thank you. Good day."
Finally done, Harry sat the phone back on the base and she looked around the kitchen. It was, of course, spotlessly clean in a way that seemed almost unnatural. A bowl of fruit sat directly upon the middle of the small dining table and she frowned at it. What was the point of that, anyways? Her aunt always insisted on fresh fruit, but Dudley and her uncle never touched it. She tried taking a banana once, two summers ago, but her aunt went barmy over it. Eying the fruit again, Harry took an apple and she bit into it. Her relatives would get mad, but she didn't care at the moment. After all, she was about to leave, and she didn't plan on returning anytime soon. She was leaving home for good.
The girl blinked, snorting at that before breaking out into a musical laughter, almost choking on her apple chunk. Home? As if! Living there was more like a stay in an internment camp than a home. Besides, home is where the heart is, and she didn't have any love for her relatives. Swallowing, she took another bite from her apple, enjoying the flavor. Fresh fruit was definitely an improvement over her usual summer diet. Harry looked up at the clock-a minute had passed. Why did time have to go so slowly when you were waiting for something?
The girl stepped outside through the kitchen door into the yard, frowning at it. The unnatural cleanliness was worse outside, though the chilly breeze was nice. Everything was much too neat though, if you asked her. She would know too, having been made to trim the grass to conformity with a pair of scissors before. This wasn't how nature should be, and it almost made her feel sad. What had happened to the wild in wildlife? Shaking her head, Harry walks around to the front of the house, ignoring the almost plastic-appearing bushes. She noted that it felt a bit cooler as she walked around the front-good. Maybe, if she was lucky, some of the plants would get too cold and die? It wasn't very nice to the plants, but at least it'd introduce some variation. Now out front, she sat on a garden bench.
Harry's thoughts wandered as time passed, waiting on the bench. Could she transport herself around magically? Teleportation was a major element in a book she had read three or so years ago, and that'd certainly save time and money. She'd need to look into that later. Knowing the Ministry though, she'd probably have to wait until she was a certain age and pass some test to be allowed to do it or something silly like that. Governments, she decided, were annoying. Other than teleportation, she didn't expect anything from magic. After all, it wasn't as if there was a magical bus or something she could call. That idea was just silly. Flying was out simply because so many Muggles would see.
What about a name? She hadn't thought about it until now, but a girl could hardly go around calling herself Harry without being a bit odd and the last thing she needed was to draw attention to her disguise, especially when the attention would be in the form of the name Harry. No, that was right out. Absently, she focused, and a denim jacket appeared over her blouse, buttoned up half-way and matching her jeans. She looked around cautiously a moment later-good, no one saw that... stupid Harry, using magic in broad daylight. A name though-Harriet? Too similar. Lilith? No, that just didn't seem right. Plus, it was pretty close to her mom's name, and she didn't want any odd connections like that for a psychotic person to put together. Neva? ...wait, what? Neva? Where did that name come from? Certainly it wasn't a name she'd ever heard of before.
The sound of a gentle horn brought her out of her thoughts and the girl blinked. Looking up, she had to resist the urge to smack herself at the sight of a car in the driveway. How did she expect to stay alive if a bloody vehicle could sneak up on her?! Shaking her head, she stands, walking over to the car.
The driver rolls the window down. "You's tha one who's orderin' a vippie cab?"
"Vippie?" She blinked. The man's accent was certainly odd. Still, so long as he could drive, she didn't care. Nodding, she walked to the left rear door, opening it easily and sliding in. The interior was... nice. Deep burgundy leather, with a mini-fridge that doubled as an arm rest between the two sides.
"Ah, sorry, miss." The driver turns to face Harry, giving what he seemed to think was a charming smile. The girl smiled back hesitantly as he continued. "Jus' what I like'n ta call it. I meant ta say V.I.P. o' course. Ta London, yeah's?"
"Please. I'd like to get to-"
"Don' worreh 'bout it! You's can just tell'n me when we's gettin' there, right? Don' be worryin' you's perty head, none." Still looking back, the driver shifts the car and it starts backing out of the driveway. It's very smooth, the girl notes. Looking in the small refrigerator, she withdraws a can of Coke. May as well enjoy herself. "Mah name's Orang Hutan, by the by. Everybody be callin' me Orangutan though. ... guess'n it isn' much o' a difference. Wha'chu called, miss?"
"Neva." She blinked, though the driver, having turned back to face the front by now, missed it. The newly rechristened Neva took a small gulp of Coke, swishing it around in her mouth briefly before swallowing it. For being in a car's mini-fridge, it was cold! "You can call me Neva."
"Ah'right! I'll let'chu know when we's almost ta London, s'okay?"
Nodding pointlessly, Harry closed her eyes and she relaxed back into her seat, smiling faintly. The trip was going smoothly. Actually, it was really smooth. She'd have to remember this car model if she ever bought one, because it felt even nicer than the rides she's taken on her Nimbus 2000. Assuming there wasn't a wizard involved, secretly enchanting the cars, it was pretty amazing.
She was almost asleep, about seven minutes later, when it happened. A feeling of dread shook her and she sat bolt upright, straining against her seatbelt as she looked around in a panic. What? What was it?! There! The girl's eyes widened as she turned to look out the window to her right. Headlights! A car! It was coming too fast; they were going to be hit! She started to struggle with her seatbelt. Harry Potter, Neva, whoever! She couldn't die now! If a car crash couldn't kill her parents, it sure as hell wasn't going to do her in! A horn sounded as she began to yell and the driver finally turned his head, eyes widening. It was too late though.
There was a sickening crunch of metal and the car started to lurch to the side, even as the passenger side crumpled inwards like a Styrofoam cup being squeezed by a tense sports fan. Oddly, Harry felt detached as she continued to struggle with her seatbelt. The metal was horribly cold, almost frozen feeling. Why was that? A spark! She heard a spark somehow. Suddenly, though she didn't know how, she felt an immense heat spring up from nowhere. The gas tank, she decided. Bloody hell.
The residents of Little Whining found themselves with something to talk about that night indeed, much to the delight of the housewives who cared naught for anything but appearances and gossip. After all, it wasn't every day there was a car crash just outside the town-especially not when the crash leads to a massive explosion that manages to not only completely total the cars, but severely injure several bystanders and utterly wreck a used car lot with flying debris.
Yes... it was a good night to be a gossip in Little Whining.
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Author's Notes: Comment, review, build statues... I don't care. Well... I do care a bit I guess. I like comments. A lot. So please comment. Now. ... I mean it. ........... please?
