Changeling

by

S.M. Connolly

Over the summer months, Harry notices many changes occurring to him. Mixed emotions; anger, energy, hurt, but also his skin has darkened and he's suddenly taking a size 13 shoe. Then those words are whispered. "He's your father."

A

Mentor, Father Figure, Family, Comfort, Maturation, Understanding, Comedy,

fiction.

"He'll have to go." Vernon, a large red faced man, hissed, failing to restrain his temper.

"Don't be ridiculous. What will the neighbours say? What will we say?" Petunia, his tall bony wife, hissed back.

"Excuses. We'll make excuses. God knows we've been making enough of them the last 13 years for the runt." His already red face darkened to a beet root in temper.

"You read the letter, Vernon. Don't you remember what that man said?"

Crouched on the landing, no less then 14 steps away, was "the runt". Thirteen year old Harry Potter crouched with his knees jammed beneath his chin and his hearing strained to pick up on the faint arguing voices below him. He had been squat in that position for 20 minutes now as his aunt and uncle spat insults regarding him back and forth. It wasn't unusual for conversation to turn to the subject of Harry. In the Dursley's household he was treated like a newspaper article open for commentary. While crouched on the landing, he heard continual reference to someone the Dursley's only called "that man". Vernon Dursley referred to a lot of people as that man, but a lot of those people did not involve Harry Potter and they certainly were not wizards. As the arguing voices subsided, Harry wedged his painfully cramped legs from beneath him and hobbled back to his small bedroom. As he shut the door behind him, his snowy owl Hedwig hooted from the window sill. Harry was pleased to see a small square of parchment tied to her leg. Untying it, he immediately recognised the untidy scrawl belonging to his best friend Ron Weasley. Harry hurriedly unfolded he letter.

Harry,

How have you been mate? Sorry for not writing earlier, Percy sent Errol off with a letter to his girlfriend, Penelope and the ruddy owl spent 2 weeks trying to fly home. Anyway, things have been well boring at home. Mum's going mad every day now at Fred and George. Just this morning she chucked their entire stash of home made potions out the window. The place reeked of rotten eggs for hours until dad managed to hose it all into the pond. I don't know what Fred and George are up to, but it must be pretty advanced, they hardly leave their bedroom anymore. You should visit real soon mate, I'll say it to mum and dad. They'll be delighted to have you round. Ginny too. I've got to go now anyway, Percy wants the owl again.

Talk soon,

Ron.

Harry continued to stare at the letter long after he had finished reading it. A longing pain ached deep within him. He missed Ron terribly. He had been at the Dursley's for just 4 weeks now and already it felt like an eternity. In a desperate attempt to recreate his home, Harry had scattered the contents of his Hogwarts trunk all over his room, even littering the floor with empty sweet wrappers. It was no use though, as the sight of even his potions text, the subject Harry loathed the most, made him pine for the wizarding world. Dropping the letter onto a pile of papers, Harry sighed. He stroked the soft feathers on Hedwig's wing and absentmindedly stared at his reflection in the long mirror pinned to his wardrobe door. He had gotten taller this summer. The baggy second hand clothes he had inherited from his whale of a cousin Dudley were now stretched across his body. The ends of the jeans now hung just above his ankles and Harry no longer needed to roll the sleeves of his jumper up. His skin had also darkened. The usual pale pinch to his cheeks had shadowed to a light olive colour. Maybe it was the now pink flush to his cheeks, of which Harry had been rather shocked to discover, but he also thought that his cheek bones had become significantly more prominent and his facial features a lot sharper. His eyes however seemed to be the only thing that did not change. As always, as everyone kept reminding him, they were bright green, just like his mothers. Harry scowled at himself and flopped onto his bed. Resting his hands beneath his head he stared at the ceiling, feeling his eyes droop heavily. The question of who "that man" was popped back into his mind. Who was this man and why had he been writing to the Dursley's? What had he been writing about? And why did his uncle what rid of him?

Harry woke roughly to the sounds of struggle from below him. He leapt from the bed, painfully stubbing his toe against his desk. Limping to the door he jammed his ear against it, listening for any sound. There was rustling coming from what sounded like the front room; Harry recognised the creak of the floor board beneath the rug. Low voices could be heard which he could not identify and then a bang and a roar.

"Don't you dare point that thing at me! Don't you dare! Not in my own home." his uncle roared. "Petunia, phone the police immediately!"

Harry heard another bang and a muffled noise. Faint whimpering came from outside his bedroom door. Harry quickly bent to peer through the key hole. His vision was immediately obscured by a large grey set of pants. Dudley Dursley was on all fours outside of Harry's bedroom door, peering down the stars, partially hidden from view behind the wall. It was he who was making the whimpering sounds. Harry rattled the door knob. It was shut.

"Dudley." he hissed, banging lightly on the door. "Dudley open the door and let me out."

The whimpering continued and Harry saw Dudley's pink face whip in his direction. His dark piggy eyes whirled quickly around the door, not resting on any point. "You." he whimpered, "It's all you. All your fault."

"What? Look just let me out ok."

"There here for you."

"Dudley open the bloody door!" Harry snapped, banging loudly against the door. "Now!"

Silence fell from below him. All sounds of struggle came to a halt. Harry pressed his ear to the door. The only sounds were those of Dudley's wheezing breath and his own heart beat thumping rapidly against his breast bone. The front room door creaked open and Harry heard sharp footsteps make their way toward the stairs. He peered out the keyhole. Dudley had vanished from the landing. Coward, was Harry's only thought. The stairs creaked heavily beneath the footsteps and Harry's heart hammered heavily in his chest. Beads of sweat erupted from beneath his fringe. Dudley had said they were here for him. Here to take him. Was it "that man"? The figure then suddenly came into view. Harry couldn't see the face but he saw a mass of tangled dark robes, draped across a broad set of shoulders. Harry scampered back from the door way, snatching wildly behind him in a desperate attempt to find his wand. His fingers roughly connected with the supple holly texture and he pointed it shakily at the door. The lock clicked and Harry swallowed heavily. Whatever or whoever was out there was making no attempt to reassure Harry, rather the event seemed painfully slow. The door creaked slowly open and the figure crossed the threshold. Harry's heart thumped erratically. The beads of sweat seemed to multiply and his wand hand vibrated humiliatingly.

"So this is how the famous Harry Potter faces threat." the figure sneered. His voice a silky, even tone of glee.

Harry stared. His mouth flapped wordlessly.

"Spit it out, Potter."

"Snape?" Harry croaked.

R&R

Tell me what you think. This is a short introduction chapter but rest assured, chapters will get longer from here on in.