What's with Harry?
Written by Raven
Disclaimer: Not mine
AN: New story. Not finished with my other one...YET. Damn. So, tell me what you think of this one. Even if you say I shouldn't continue it, I will. Because I just feel like writing, and I don't care if you hate it. Well, yes I do, but yeah...On with the story!
~
It was late August, summer before Harry Potter's fifth year. The sun was shining, not a cloud in the bright blue sky. The birds were singing happily in a tree outside his barred window. Flowers were blooming up and down the street. Some where off in the background you could hear children's laughter.
But poor Harry was locked up in dreadfully small barren room. The door leading into the hallway was locked with more than several locks from the outside. Even with the window open, and a barely traceable breeze, it was still stuffy in there.
In the middle of the room lay a tiny bed, a equally small desk pushed up against a white washed wall, and a dresser with only two drawers. There was also a vanityish mirror, hanging above the dresser.
And that is where we find our Harry. Standing in front of that mirror. Scowling, and making faces at himself. Occasionally poking at his pale cheeks, wishing them to change color. Or, trying to flatten his hair out a bit. Even squishing his nose to see how it would look if if was smaller. What every single teenager does in the world. Wizard or not.
Well, maybe he had more of a reason to do so than other teenagers. Receiving owls from his friends, Hermione, Ron, and even one right out of the blue from Seamus, the letters were cheerful. Ron and Hermione had even sent a few accompanying pictures.
This is were Harry's problem starts.
Looking the pictures over carefully, he noticed, how much they had changed in barely two months. Ron had shot up like a beanstalk, and had gained some sinewy muscles. He features had sharpened up, he skin had a light tan, and he started to get that roguish look about him. He looked like the epitome of male teen-dom.
If Ron was the epitome of *male* teen-dom, then Hermione was of the *female*. Her once boyish figure had now transformed into miles and miles of curves. Her hair was not the frizzy wild bush it used to be, it fell gently in curls over her broad shoulders. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.
Harry had gasped when he laid eyes upon the wizarding pictures. It was like he didn't know these two God-like creatures in the photos before him. He had to put them in a drawer of his desk. His eyes were drawn to the moving people, but he really didn't want to see them. He knew he felt happy for them, yet he felt sad for himself.
Because he hadn't changed like Ron, or Hermione (Even though he really didn't think his body was supposed to be like Hermione's a'toll). His body decided it didn't *want* to be tall. His body decided it didn't *want* fill out. And of course, being cooped up in a room all summer with no sun hitting his flesh, and hardly any real meals didn't help.
He was small, pale, and thin. He didn't look that much different from when his was in his first year. Well, maybe a little. His face wasn't as chubby as it was then. So, really all that happened was that he lost all his baby fat. Which was probably all he had to begin with. He decided that might have gained almost two inches in height in the past five years.
But it really didn't matter either way. He hated it!
"Ugh!" He through his hands up and stamped his foot, much like a little toddler who doesn't get exactly what he wants, or even some adults. He twirled around and flung himself dramatically on the bed. He buried his head in his pillow and let loose a scream. And then he did a bit a fake crying, and flipped over flinging an arm onto his forehead, much like the leading lady in a love film. He did manage to throw too much force behind his arm, and end up tumbling feet over head off the bed and onto the floor in a heap.
He jumped up quickly, "I'm okay." He said to nobody, but himself. A blush still crept onto his pale features giving him a lovely flushed look, even though he was all alone. Teenagers have the knack to blush anywhere, anytime, with or without living beings there.
Harry straightened his big clothes out. He really needed to go buy some. He was thoroughly sick and tired of these humongous whale skin hanging off his thin delicate (though *he'd* never admit that)frame. He ran a hand through his hair and sat gingerly down on the lumpy bed.
"I must ask them if they'll let me go a few days early..." Harry scratched his head, and decided to wait somewhat patiently for the next time his giraffe/hyena like Aunt Petunia would open the door.
~
AN: Review! Please... Oh these plot bunnies. Don't you just want to shove them under your bed with all the knives?
Written by Raven
Disclaimer: Not mine
AN: New story. Not finished with my other one...YET. Damn. So, tell me what you think of this one. Even if you say I shouldn't continue it, I will. Because I just feel like writing, and I don't care if you hate it. Well, yes I do, but yeah...On with the story!
~
It was late August, summer before Harry Potter's fifth year. The sun was shining, not a cloud in the bright blue sky. The birds were singing happily in a tree outside his barred window. Flowers were blooming up and down the street. Some where off in the background you could hear children's laughter.
But poor Harry was locked up in dreadfully small barren room. The door leading into the hallway was locked with more than several locks from the outside. Even with the window open, and a barely traceable breeze, it was still stuffy in there.
In the middle of the room lay a tiny bed, a equally small desk pushed up against a white washed wall, and a dresser with only two drawers. There was also a vanityish mirror, hanging above the dresser.
And that is where we find our Harry. Standing in front of that mirror. Scowling, and making faces at himself. Occasionally poking at his pale cheeks, wishing them to change color. Or, trying to flatten his hair out a bit. Even squishing his nose to see how it would look if if was smaller. What every single teenager does in the world. Wizard or not.
Well, maybe he had more of a reason to do so than other teenagers. Receiving owls from his friends, Hermione, Ron, and even one right out of the blue from Seamus, the letters were cheerful. Ron and Hermione had even sent a few accompanying pictures.
This is were Harry's problem starts.
Looking the pictures over carefully, he noticed, how much they had changed in barely two months. Ron had shot up like a beanstalk, and had gained some sinewy muscles. He features had sharpened up, he skin had a light tan, and he started to get that roguish look about him. He looked like the epitome of male teen-dom.
If Ron was the epitome of *male* teen-dom, then Hermione was of the *female*. Her once boyish figure had now transformed into miles and miles of curves. Her hair was not the frizzy wild bush it used to be, it fell gently in curls over her broad shoulders. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.
Harry had gasped when he laid eyes upon the wizarding pictures. It was like he didn't know these two God-like creatures in the photos before him. He had to put them in a drawer of his desk. His eyes were drawn to the moving people, but he really didn't want to see them. He knew he felt happy for them, yet he felt sad for himself.
Because he hadn't changed like Ron, or Hermione (Even though he really didn't think his body was supposed to be like Hermione's a'toll). His body decided it didn't *want* to be tall. His body decided it didn't *want* fill out. And of course, being cooped up in a room all summer with no sun hitting his flesh, and hardly any real meals didn't help.
He was small, pale, and thin. He didn't look that much different from when his was in his first year. Well, maybe a little. His face wasn't as chubby as it was then. So, really all that happened was that he lost all his baby fat. Which was probably all he had to begin with. He decided that might have gained almost two inches in height in the past five years.
But it really didn't matter either way. He hated it!
"Ugh!" He through his hands up and stamped his foot, much like a little toddler who doesn't get exactly what he wants, or even some adults. He twirled around and flung himself dramatically on the bed. He buried his head in his pillow and let loose a scream. And then he did a bit a fake crying, and flipped over flinging an arm onto his forehead, much like the leading lady in a love film. He did manage to throw too much force behind his arm, and end up tumbling feet over head off the bed and onto the floor in a heap.
He jumped up quickly, "I'm okay." He said to nobody, but himself. A blush still crept onto his pale features giving him a lovely flushed look, even though he was all alone. Teenagers have the knack to blush anywhere, anytime, with or without living beings there.
Harry straightened his big clothes out. He really needed to go buy some. He was thoroughly sick and tired of these humongous whale skin hanging off his thin delicate (though *he'd* never admit that)frame. He ran a hand through his hair and sat gingerly down on the lumpy bed.
"I must ask them if they'll let me go a few days early..." Harry scratched his head, and decided to wait somewhat patiently for the next time his giraffe/hyena like Aunt Petunia would open the door.
~
AN: Review! Please... Oh these plot bunnies. Don't you just want to shove them under your bed with all the knives?