Hey guys here is a new story. I was given a challenge by The hazel-eyed bookworm to write a Harry Potter and Firebreather crossover so here it is. The first chapter is written by The hazel-eyed bookworm. Enjoy! Please review what you think.

Words: "Hello"

Thoughts: 'Hello'

Harry was still reeling in shock from the evening's events when he was sat in Dumbledore's office, barely acknowledging the old man's presence as he sat down in a chair before the desk. Sirius was dead. Gone. Lost behind the veil, killed by his own cousin, that b*** Bellatrix.

'I had her. My wand was trained on her. She was as good as dead, just two words. TWO words, and Sirius' death could have been...' Swallowing, Harry had to push back the rush of homicidal thoughts that surged to the forefront of his shocked mind, something that took far more effort than you would think from a Gryffindor. Pulling his attention to the Headmaster, and a conversation that he had apparently been on some form of auto-response during, he only caught the tail end of the old man's response.

"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human-" No doubt the Headmaster would have had further to say on the issue, likely some inspiration quote on the durability of the human spirit, or the supposed "power of love" that he always harped on about, but Harry found himself responding out of anger.

Anger and fear. Fear of the voices in his head, whispering the things he could have done to Bellatrix, things to make her pay. 'She killed him. She deserves it. You know the spell, Harry.'

Rising to his feat, Harry's green eyes seemed to glow in fury and fear, and a momentary flash of uncontrolled madness, glaring at the calm and serene visage of Albus Dumbledore he roared, "THEN I DON'T WANT TO BE HUMAN!"

A deep-seated silence followed that statement, and both Harry and Dumbledore appeared to be processing what was stated. Two faces, two separate expressions. One younger, a look of realization, then determination. The other older, shocked, concerned, regretful and what looked like a flash of anger.

"Harry, my dear boy, I am deeply sorry for your loss. As am I equally sorry for withholding the prophecy and its contents from you. I only wanted you to have a normal childhoo-" A raised hand silenced the Headmaster, interrupting him for the second time in such a short period.

"Stop, Professor. Apologies will get us nowhere." Harry's expressionless face unnerved Albus far more then the outburst earlier. The concern on his face deepened, and he brought his hands together cautiously, as if to not alarm a wild animal.

Seeing he had the professor's undivided attention, Harry continued onwards, "The Prophecy. Can it be wrong? Is there...Is there no way to get out of it?" Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, Harry's thoughts moved rapidly, thinking of any possible inclinations towards the affirmative, only to come to a crashing halt at the responding words.

"No, my boy. I regret to inform you that such things are set in stone...I have to ask the unthinkable of you, and after such a troubling time. Again, you will never know the depths of my sorrow." For the first time since Harry had come to Hogwarts, the venerable old wizard looked every year of his 115 years, and it almost made him desire to abandon his plans. Almost.

Nodding stiffly, Harry bowed his head towards the Headmaster, "May I be excused, sir? I'm...I don't think I can continue this conversation. Not so soon after..." Trailing off, he had to fight the quiver in his throat and voice, and the tears that formed in the corners of his eyes.

Seeing the shape Harry was in, the ancient wizard could only nod, "Of course, my boy. Go." And as he watched him leave, Albus felt a sudden wrongness in the air, as though something had occurred that should not have been.

Harry skipped the feast, and avoided his friends. He wasn't in the mood to speak, and he was sure they would understand. He'd see them on the train, but right now he had a plan to set in motion. Something that he hoped would get him out of this...destiny...that lay before him.

Opening his trunk he dug out a package, wrapped in plain red wrapping-paper, shaped like a small rectangle, something he could easily fit into the pocket of his robes. It had been a Christmas present from Sirius, one he had carefully hidden from Ron and the others, at the man's instruction.

Upon unwrapping it, he noted the worn mole-skin journal with a sense of wonder and doubt, 'Can I really do this? By myself? Remus couldn't be of any help, he was never there when they figured out the steps and transformations...'

Swallowing, Harry decided that he couldn't back out now, unless he wanted to be a part of this fate laid out for him. Opening the journal he dived into his chosen path. 'Steps to be an Animagus, by , Padfoot and Prongs...'

Two Months Later
In the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, illuminated by a simple set of candles, Harry Potter sat in complete motionlessness. Before him was the journal his father and his friends had written in, detailing their accounts of the difficult animagus transformation, a journal Harry had read well over a dozen times during his stay in Durskaban. Though his "family" had been relatively ...civil due to the Dementor incident last summer.

It had been difficult to avoid the guards at first, but upon dropping hints of studying and preventing future deaths, and clever usages of Sirius' name, something that still brought sorrow to his heart, he managed to get The Order to leave him alone. So as long as he didn't stray beyond the line of his property...Not that he had any reason to.
The transformation process had been progressing relatively quickly, at first he had thought he had been doing the whole thing wrong, but upon consulting the journal it appeared he simply had a knack for it.

He initially believed it to be something to do with his father being an animagus, but lately he felt like some foreign hand was guiding him. Pointing him in the right direction.
Later, he was proven to be completely wrong.

His form wasn't one of an animal at all, it was humanoid. No, scratch that, it was human. Why did he seem to have the transformation completely wrong, he had no idea. But the strange changes that started making their appearance prompted him to stop with the transformation.

Changes, transitions, those concepts had never brought Harry Potter any luck. Loved ones died and children were forced to play adult. Terror governed and misery ruled. You could say that Harry hated change for a long time, but he had yet to realize these changes in particular would change his life forever.

Once he woke up several days later in the middle of the night to extreme cramps. His whole body was tingling and tensing. It felt like he was being stretched and it was painful. There was nothing he could do about it though and so he simply tried to relax and get back to sleep. He brought it up with his aunt the next day and she hardly spared him a glance before saying he probably just hit a growth spurt. However he wasn't quite sure that you were supposed to grow several inches in just one night.

He decided not to worry about it. Who knows maybe puberty was more severe and happened more quickly for wizards than muggles?
His feelings of peace all changed when a week later Harry was working in the yard and everything suddenly went blurry. He took off his glasses and everything was once again in perfect clarity. He stood there not knowing what to do.

"Boy what do you think you're doing just standing about?" demanded Aunt Petunia.
Harry turned to look at her still at lost for words as to what was going on.

"What have you done to your eyes!?" she shrieked, her voice shriller than normal.

"What? What's wrong with them?" Harry gasped his hands immediately going to his face. He looked around for a reflective surface he could look into. What could possibly be happening to his eyes?

"We told you, you couldn't use any of that freakishness here!" she shouted.

"I didn't do anything. I swear. Aunt Petunia what's wrong with my eyes?" Harry begged feeling his panic rising.

For once his Aunt seemed to take pity on him or else even her prejudiced mind was able to realize that her nephew was truly terrified about what was going on.
"Your eyes are amber," she said.

"Amber?" Harry said feeling off.

"Yes, it must be some sort of freakish disease. Go to your room until it's other with, I won't have whatever freakish thing that's wrong with you affecting my Diddykins," she said

Over the next several weeks it was like revisiting the summer after his first year. The Dursleys kept him locked in his room and fed him through the cat flap, afraid that they would catch whatever disease was making his features change. He didn't have a mirror in his room so he couldn't constantly watch his face change. It made his infrequent trips to the look in the bathroom mirror all the more startling for the changes were all the more noticeable to him.

The changes seemed to have completed themselves around midway through the summer. He no longer had any muscle aches or pains and his features had settled and were no longer changing daily. The change had left him almost a foot taller, reaching six feet with a broader frame.

He now also possessed hair that was golden-blond in color. His newly acquired amber eyes changed in form, thinning. His face had lost his rounded appearance and now he had a thin face. What had worrying Harry the most was that his skin had hardened, then changed from a normal color to a slight orange hue. And let's not get started in the strange pattern that seemed to have developed, almost like scales.

Harry felt the growing sensation of hope as he finally escaped what he viewed as the claws of destiny. After all, if Peter can escape his fellow wizards for years, him being believed dead aside, Harry Potter can do the same, prophecy or no.

'Sorry, dad, mum, Sirius...I'm just not brave like you all. I'm only 15...and if the Wizarding World needs me to solve all their problems, they can go to hell.' Nodding to himself he stashed the journal underneath the loose floor boards, beside all the mementos he had from his various friends, and with one last conflicted looked, steeled himself to follow through with his decision.

Sneaking out through the window he had left conveniently open, using the excuse of Hedwig needing to send her letters to The Order, Harry climbed down from the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive.