Authors note: In this chapter, Harry is going through changes and facing up to things he repressed in the past. His emotions may fluctuate, but that is normal. I'm alluding to a lot of things, and if you don't understand something, I'll perhaps expand upon it in my next note, as long as you let me know.

I have an idea for this story, but suggestions for pairings and loyal friends are always welcome. I'll probably update within the next couple of days.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Lunch had long been and gone, closer to dinner now, and Harry sat on the cot in his room, listless and contemplating. He had finally had the growth spurt promised by his Potter blood, and could barely fold his legs under him without his knees hanging off the sides.

He shuffled closer to the wall, before giving it up as a bad job, and stood up to look at himself in the mirror. This was the summer he would turn 16, and his birthday would mark the culmination of his childhood. In the magical world, this was a very important event; usually, family would spend the month beforehand celebrating, and if the person was at school, it would be postponed, but never missed. His physical, mental and magical self would change, directed by his blood but more by experiences, and would be reflected accordingly. He would be, almost literally, a whole new person.

Had he forgotten his true self, ignored his real feelings, and fallen into the role Dumbledore had planned for him, he would have emerged the perfect Saviour.

But he hadn't.

Already, the changes had started, and already, he could see what he might become.

Tall and painfully thin, with sharp aristocratic features and steadily darkening eyes and hair, he was heading towards something he couldn't bring himself to care about. But he knew Dumbledore, and perhaps the general public would.

There were other things to consider as well, things he had hidden from even himself until now. Gifts he had forgotten, friends he had forsaken…

"No matter" he murmured, as his Aunt called him down for what promised to be a meal dominated by meat and other things covered in grease.

"Welcome back Harry…"

No matter indeed.

Harry removed the plates from the table with smooth actions speaking of familiarity. He avoided Dudley's outstretched foot easily, and hummed slightly to avoiding laughing at the fluttering of Petunia's hands as she brushed the food off of her Darling Diddy. Vernon's eyes tracked his every movement, as heavy as they had been all night.

It wasn't the first time his uncle had stared at him like this; eyes gleaming with a strange, black light-but it were the first time this summer.

Less amused, but still humming, he twisted and swayed as he made his way around the table, loading the remaining dishes into his already aching arms. He reached out for the gravy boat, but his grasping fingers were clumsy and instead of picking it up, it ended up tipping over, spilling thick globs of sauce on the tablecloth.

There was silence, and then pain. Vernon had reached over the table and grasped his hair by the roots, shaking him harshly, and causing him to lose his grip on the other dishes he had been holding. Dudley was silent and pale, and Petunia was looking away, but Vernon…

Dark rooms and flickering televisions. 'Sit, boy. Don't move.' Where was Aunt Petunia? Was she out? 'Oh, y-yes. Yeah… Don't move boy!' He didn't like this. He didn't like this. He didn-

Vernon was holding him stationary, staring silently at his face. He was smiling slightly.

"Clean it up, boy", he whispered. Gently untangling his fingers from Harry's hair, he gave the boy a small push, and then leaned back in his seat.

"An honest accident," he stated aloud, much to the bemusement and suspicion of Petunia. Dudley, not as stupid as he used to look, glanced worriedly at his cousin for a few seconds, before silently leaving the table. The television turned on in the other room, and Harry quickly began gathering the largest pieces of china.

Petunia left after a little while, presumably to attend to Dudley, and Vernon just sat there, watching Harry clean.

All the while with that same small, disturbing smile, Harry thought. A shiver of apprehension threatened to ripple through his body, buffeted by a deep, grim fury at the situation. Heat rushed to his cheeks, in direct contrast with the thin, pale line his mouth made, and he hurried to the kitchen to smother his anger and gather proper supplies.

His uncle remained in the dining room, not making a sound, a pocket of silence between the rapid beating of Harry's heart, and the murmuring voices on the television in the lounge. Still not moving, and apparently waiting for Harry to come back.

It was terrifying to Harry, despite his new resolve and developing self, terrifying because he knew what those looks meant, and terrifying because he knew he still had a fair while until his birthday. It had been years since his uncle had been like this, acted beyond looking, but he knew, after the commotion in the train station, that his uncle had had enough. He didn't know what would happen, now that he was fifteen.

Sure enough-

"Petunia, Pet, how would you and Dudley like to go out tonight, maybe see that new movie that's been so popular- the one about the aliens?"

He could hear his Aunt's surprised murmur of response, but not the actual words.

"No, it's a treat for our Dudders, for doing so well this year. And you haven't spent any quality time re-bonding properly yet, have you? He's growing up, a young man now. Things will have changed while he was away. Maybe he has a girlfriend now, a strapping lad like ours-"

More murmuring, and then a pleased hum from Vernon.

"I'll be able to catch up on the paperwork, watch the show on the Telly you think is too violent. Maybe calls some fellows from work."

Harry could hear Vernon's chair scrapping as he stood up, and hastily bent to look under the sink for the rags he should have already found.

Vernon stepped into the kitchen to collect his wallet from the bench, and just as quickly left.

Dudley's voice, much louder than his mother's, complained about just having sat down. But at the promise of more food and a rather hyped up movie, he relented, grumbling as he left to get his shoes.

A good ten minutes later, while Harry was quietly putting the last of the scraps in the bin, they were ready to go.

Dudley popped in to the kitchen, to grab the last soda in the fridge, and turned to leave. He paused a little before the door, turning to look at Harry, something old and vaguely familiar in his eyes, before jumping a little as his mother's shout broke whatever short spell had held him there. He shook his head a little, turned hesitantly away from Harry and murmured a quick, surprising, goodbye as he left.

The door slammed shut with an alarming finality, and Harry, standing motionless in the centre of the kitchen, could do nothing but wait.