Harry was frustrated. He might have unlocked the Animagus tranformation, but he could still barely get it to work. The book had said that he'd need some kind of surprising event so he could observe how his animal part reacted, but he was stuck inside a single room, bored out of his wits.

A few things had happened, but he was so used to strange occurences that neither the human nor animal sides of him had reacted with any more than a sluggish sigh. Firstly, he'd done a little more rooting around in his mind, with the potion to help him find anything he'd missed. It hadn't taken long before he'd been introduced to a sort of pitch black fog, which constantly darted around and attempted to break through a few walls. They held strong though, and it wasn't long before the darkness was trapped inside a locked chest, rattling inside it like a boggart.

Other than that, it had been a very boring holiday so far. A few letters had convinced both the Weasleys and Hermione that Harry needed extra sustenance, and the boy soon found himself almost literally waist-deep in cakes and all sorts of other sweets. From Hermione he'd received several eggs, bread, butter and promises for more. He'd started sneaking down at night to cook himself a couple of eggs, however he felt like having them at the time, then eating them as quickly as possible, washing the pan and sneaking back upstairs to have a dessert that Hermione would murder him for if she ever found out.

After that, he'd set up his cauldron and brew the lower-level potions, writing down the colours and effects of each stage and trying to figure out which ingredient did what, because none of the textbooks set by Snape had actually done that for whatever reason. It honestly felt more like a game than anything else. A game with no way to know if you've won, but a game nonetheless.

The biggest reason for Harry's frustration was lack of sleep. He had no clue when the Weasleys would pick him up, only that it would be during the day on the 21st of August. Because of his nightly activities, he now slept through the day, so he felt he could be forgiven for being a little annoyed. The envelope covered in stamps did help to alleviate his mood however, and by the time a gigantic bang sounded from the fireplace, he'd gotten over his need for sleep and felt he could soldier on through the rest of the day.

Vernon might not forgive his outburst though. Not because he'd punched someone across the room, or set the dinner on fire. It was because he'd hissed. Not parseltongue either, although he had been able to understand it so maybe he'd just temporarily gained an accent for a magical language spoken by sentient reptilian worms. It made as much sense as the rest of his life.

Harry was brought out of his musings as the fireplace let out another boom, dislodging some dust on the mantlepiece. He could vaguely hear a few voices that he remembered from the previous summer, as well as one that he'd known for a lot longer.

"-be Harry can hear us, Dad - ow - not in the ribs George!"

"Fred."

"Doubt it."

Harry sighed loudly as Vernon paled rapidly and followed Dudley out of the room. Apparently the parseltongue had been enough abnormality for one day.

"Mr Weasley, is that you?" Harry called, and without waiting for an answer, "The fireplace's boarded up, hang on, I'll vanish-"

"No, you'd get in trouble," Mr Weasley interrupted firmly, "and I'm not the best at vanishing charms... Stand back, I'll have to blast it!"

Harry groaned, good mood ebbing away a little. He knew the living room would be fixed with a simple repairing charm, but he doubted the same could be said of the Dursleys' minds. At least Petunia was the only one in the room; the two males hadn't come back to defend their household, and they probably wouldn't step foot in the living room any time soon.

Diving behind the convenient sofa, Harry clapped his hands over his ears at the ensuing noise as several splinters of wood, varying in size from bone-breaking to bone-crushing, flew overhead and impacted against the wall. After a few seconds of silence, he finally peered over the peppered couch at the bundle of robes that was the Weasleys. Fred and George extracted themselves from the mess and waved at him in unison, and he found himself waving back with a dumb grin slapped onto his face.

"Terribly sorry for the mess," a sheepish Mr Weasley addressed Petunia, who had retreated to the doorway just in time to avoid the barrage, and was currently swaying on her feet, shock written across her face. "I suppose I shouldn't have cast it through the floo. Did a good job but it was a little on the overpowered side." When he failed to get a response, the poor man's grin wavered slightly.

Ron broke the awkward silence, giving Petunia a dirty look as he remembered the bars on Harry's window. "Alright mate? Done your homework so Hermione won't pester you?"

Harry nodded with a chuckle. "I did it in the first week because I was so bored. Then I ended up making a couple of potions..." He trailed off uncertainly as Ron gave a look of betrayed disgust.

His worry was abated when Ron clapped him on the back. "We'll get you back to your old self in no time, so don't worry. It must've been traumatic here, for you to have turned so easily to the greasy side."

An older boy who Harry remembered as Percy scowled. "It looks like some people still need to learn to respect their elders," he sniffed importantly.

Fred and George winced. "And imagine mum's-"

"-reaction when she-"

"-discovers she's run out of-"

"-prefects!"

Before anyone could come up with a suitable reply, Mr Weasley coughed suddenly. "Right, well I think we're done here since Harry's got his trunk." Either Fred or George hauled the box off the ground to emphasize his point, grimacing at the weight of the various potions; Harry wasn't about to just throw them away, he'd worked hard on them. "I'll make sure everyone gets through before fixing this mess and apparating home. Can't have another Knockturn incident after all. You first Ron. From what I've heard, Harry will need someone to help him stay upright."

Harry grumbled incoherently under his breath, biting back the yawn which would remind his body of how long it had been since he'd slept. He only needed to stay awake for a few minutes longer, after which he could collapse onto the spare bed in Ron's room and get the rest he so desperately needed.

Done reassuring himself that all was not lost, Harry tuned into the world just in time to hear Ron shout "The Burrow!"

"Right, you next Harry. And remember to speak properly this time."

Harry mustered up a halfhearted glare at Mr Weasley, barely catching a hint of a smirk before it was replaced by a look of innocence. He took a handful of silver powder, probably more than was strictly necessary, and walked rigidly towards the fireplace. He threw the powder into the fire and stepped inside, yelling "The Burrow!"

Harry felt a lurch as he was sucked through the flames, and tried to tuck his elbows in more. He was a little worried that he's somehow gotten it wrong again, and given that Hermione had explained the process and told him that a pre-Hogwarts student could do it with proper intruction, he disliked the idea of finding himself in the Headmaster's office or somewhere equally embarrassing. When he was spat out, however, it was to the welcoming atmosphere of the Weasley residence.

Unfortunately, the top half of him was moving faster than the bottom half.

The next few seconds were confusing, what with Ron's yells, the roar of the fireplace, the various taps on the floor as Harry used who knew which limbs to keep himself from landing flat on his face. When the world had finally stopped spinning, Harry realised that his eyes had closed involuntarily and opened them to find himself miraculously upright, one hand against a wall. Ron was staring at him like he'd caught the snitch in three seconds, and across the room, Mrs Weasley was fumbling with a plate of sandwiches with a dumbfounded expression matched by two Weasley brothers that Harry hadn't met yet.

Harry sighed as he realised that he wouldn't be getting his sleep for a while now.

I feel like I've committed a crime by not letting Harry even slightly transform by now, but I want to emphasize (as not many fics do, my own Scared? included) how difficult the actual process is, requiring knowledge of several brands of magic, extreme patience, lots of spare time and a great deal of experimentation.

Luckily for both you and Harry though, I eventually decided to make it obscure enough that everyone thinks it's really difficult, but easy enough that a single fourth year can do it without anything else to do. My reasoning for Harry's free time is that his relatives are too afraid of his dogfather to give him chores, so he just sits in his room and practices.

My advice for the next couple of chapters is to take nothing in this fic for granted. Harry's mannerisms, the Author's Notes, Hell, even the title's hiding a very clever (in my opinion) joke. You could probably figure it out by looking through my profile page, even before he starts transforming.

Maybe I'm just tooting my own horn a little too loudly, but I'm actually proud of this fic, especially compared to my more mediocre (Play Dead) or just plain bad (For Want) fics.

Strangely enough, I either can't think of anything to write in this space or I think of too much. I'm going to stop typing before I double the length of the chapter.