Chimeras and Dracolisks: A Harry Potter Fanfiction
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own any crossover references used in the story: all rights belong to their original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.
Plot: Thanks to the Basilisk, Fawkes and a dark secret, Harry's gone through some seriously twisted changes. As a result, he now welcomes his Dark Side and finds himself hungry for more: dear Merlin, what's happened to our hero?
Author's Note: So, I confess, at first, I did not want to start another new idea, but this one kept knocking at the doorways to my imagination and, well, what can I say? I caved and threw those doors wide open, so enjoy.
Also, get ready for some SUPER twisted changes to the norm, especially in the case of clichés regarding this particular theme of fanfiction.
You'll see what I mean.
Recommended Reads: Bonded, Apex and Silver King by JustBored21, Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin by The Sinister Man, The Best Laid Plans by Lowten, Changes by bayushi, Regretfully Uncaring by RMWB, Dakaath: Prince of Darkness by LT2000, The Dark Prince: Rebirth by TheDarkLover22, A Tale of Wings and Fangs by Okaze, The Unknown Power by La Monserga, A Darker Shade of Magic by TheSonofTartarus77, Stare of the Basilisk King by Zero Arashi Uchiha, Harry Potter: The Apex God by spartankiller117, Harry Potter the First Nemea Leonthrope and The Rise of the Drackens by StarLight Massacre
Key Pairing: Evil Creature Harry/Harem – Harry Potter/Hermione Granger/Parvati and Padma Patil/Su Li/Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour/Nagini
Other Pairings: To be determined
Normal Speech
'Thoughts'
'Mental Speech'
'Compulsions/Hypnosis'
/Parseltongue/
Chapter 1: It Started With An Itch
Harry couldn't sleep.
Now, in any other scenario, especially given where he was at that particular moment, this probably wasn't anything new to anyone who knew him, and knew that, for pretty much his whole life, sleep had eluded Harry; a good-night's sleep even moreso.
But, again, given he was in his bedroom in Number Four, Privet Drive, laid flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling of his small – read: cramped and way too claustrophobic – bedchamber, this wasn't anything new, especially considering he had to put up with the grotesque echoes of Vernon and Dudley Dursley's earth-shattering snores, as well as the rippling sounds of flatulence that left him wondering exactly how his Aunt managed to sleep through such disgusting noises.
Sleeping tablets was his best guess.
On this particular night, however, Harry was wide awake, staring up at the ceiling and feeling twitches pass through him whenever the dirty and noisy orchestra of human waste filled his ears, but, for once, the Dursley Philharmonic had nothing to do with it. Instead, he was lying there, trying and failing to return to sleep's welcome embrace, because of a single sensation that, even as he lay there in his bed, Harry groaned to himself as he felt it stirring once again.
An itch.
A twinge, like a muscular reflex, or a skin irritation, which seemed to start at the soles of his feet and, slowly but surely, travelling up over his body, making him twitch, flinch, groan and, silently, curse whoever or whatever was responsible for these odd feelings.
Then, as he had done for a while now, Harry consigned himself to one truth.
He knew where the feelings had to have come from.
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How could he not?
The being responsible for them had almost had him for lunch, and killed him in an empty Chamber beneath Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, before Harry's unkillable resolve to, ironically, not die and never give up had led to his victory.
Even so, although it had been a couple of months since the incident in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry still cursed the dead Basilisk for being partially responsible for this strange side-effect.
Well…the Basilisk and Fawkes the Phoenix, since it had been Fawkes' tears that had healed the wound on Harry's arm.
And probably started this whole insanity off, he wouldn't be surprised to learn.
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Ever since that night, Harry's sleeping patterns had gotten worse and worse, while he often found himself getting headaches, which had nothing to do with his scar or how Ron seemed to have gone back to being his usual ignorant self around Hermione, who also seemed to distance herself from Harry, for what reason he didn't know and, when he tried asking her once, she just blushed hard and ran as far away from him as she could get.
Then, there were the rushes of hot and cold that passed through him from time to time, as well as occasional moments where his tongue seemed to become supercharged, allowing him to taste things in the air.
One or two of which he didn't want to taste, such as when this weird side-effect had hit him during one of Snape's pathetic excuses for lessons.
One thing he could say for himself was that he'd never drunk so much pumpkin juice, as well as water and any other drinkable liquid he'd been able to get his hands on at the dinner afterwards.
But the questions of what was going on and why?
Those were the questions and answers that eluded him.
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Then, barely even an hour after he'd left Hogwarts, returned to the place he started to call Durzkaban and had to once again endure the love and family relationships and support from the Dursleys, the itching had started.
For a time, Harry had done what any sane person did when he got the itch: he scratched it, and it felt good, soothing even, but then, during one small moment of weakness, he'd been caught out by Aunt Petunia, who saw him scratching and, as the three morons were known to do, instantly decided Harry was doing wrong.
Her solution?
Try and drown him in a bath of ice-cold water, while Vernon made a song-and-dance routine of getting the rest of them fumigated, since, as was obvious to the Dursleys, Harry must have brought some weird freaky disease home to try and poison them.
In the wise words of Ronald Weasley: how thick could you get?
After he'd been thoroughly cleansed, and almost frozen to the bone doing so, Harry was told in no uncertain terms;
"If we catch you spreading your filth everywhere, your life won't be worth living, you disgusting little freak!'
Oh sure!
Harry was the disgusting one…of course, it all made sense: after all, Vernon was impersonating a large brass band with broken instruments, while Dudley had recently discovered the pleasure of his teenage flesh – as was evident by the screaming creaks Harry often heard from the fat piglet's bedroom – but it was Harry who was the disgusting little freak.
Once again, the Dursleys were proving to the world that they were real Einsteins…
NOT!
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Because of the not-too-supportive threat from his family, Harry had to endure the itching as best as he could, doing all he could in his power not to move or flinch, even a little, as the burning, skittering itchiness ravaged his flesh, burned away at his nerves and made his teeth chatter, grind and almost crack under the strain of trying not to scream in frustration.
Hence the reason for why Harry was unable to sleep, least of all in Durzkaban.
All he could do was lie there, trying to stay still, trying not to give in to the urge to claw at his flesh as though he was going to try and peel it off of his very bones, because of how aggravating the itching was.
And, in the meantime, all he could really do was wait.
Wait and hope that the itches stopped soon…
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Three nights later, Harry was surprised, if not relieved, to feel a sense of all-consuming calm wash over him as he lay in his bed, breathing a sigh of relief when, after what seemed like an eternity of scratches, one-sided threats and delusional relatives, at long last, his body felt…calm again.
In fact, not only did his skin feel calm, but so did his bones, muscles, blood and even his mind and soul; hell, even Harry's magic felt calm, normal and regulated, allowing the young boy to breathe a sigh of relief and contentment as he closed his eyes and succumbed to the darkness of sleep's beyond-welcoming, pleasurable embrace.
Or so Harry thought…as the sudden, earth-shattering, Ronald-Weasley-worthy-and-then-some snarling rumbles of his stomach indicated, forcing Harry's eyes open as quickly as he'd gone to close them.
However, as the snarling, bestial roars of demanding satisfaction and fullness tore through Harry's body, the young sorcerer didn't feel annoyed, disbelieving or even a little curious by this newest torment. Instead, his body seemed to move, as though he was acting on automatic pilot, as he rose up to a sitting position before, moving fluidly, as though his bones and muscles were made of water, Harry swung his legs off of his bed and drew himself up to his full height.
Had he been able to see his emerald-green eyes at that moment, Harry might have then noticed those same eyes changing in their sockets; what once had been emerald-green orbs now became two darkened orbs with oval-shaped, golden irises and black, slit pupils. At the same time, the young boy flicked his tongue out, as though he was trying to taste the air itself, before he turned and walked out of his bedroom.
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Behind him, as Harry walked out of the bedroom, he seemingly ignored the shocked, if not downright horrified cries of his faithful owl, Hedwig, as she saw something change about her human. Something that she saw, sensed and seemed to follow with fear in her heart as, for once in her life, she looked at her human and didn't see her Master and friend.
Instead, she saw, sensed and watched something that her avian mind recognised as one thing…and one thing alone;
A predator…
One that would see her as its prey, given the chance.
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The low growls of Harry's rumbling stomach seemed to be part of the mesmerising movements and guidance that made him move along the upstairs hallway, his eyes filled with a glimmer of dark, inhuman predatoriness, while his body seemed relaxed, yet coiled at the same time.
Every so often, his tongue flicked at the air, as though he was tracking a scent, while his hands remained relaxed and calm by his side as he walked from his bedroom door, past the guest room – which he knew would soon house his least-favourite Dursley, Large Marge the Alcohol Barge, as Uncle Vernon had kindly informed him at the end of term – and stopped outside the door to his cousin's bedroom.
A door that was ajar, causing the bellowing snores of Dudley Dursley to reverberate along the upstairs hallway, earning a dark scowl from Harry as he stepped forwards, entering the pig pen with surprising ease.
Not to mention a level of agility that was so calm and fluid-like, he didn't even cause the door to creak any further open than it already was.
Inside the bedroom, Harry's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of several rude, filthy-looking magazines showing Muggle models and a lot of busty females astride cars and other vehicles. To his mild disgust, Harry also noticed dried-out, crusty marks along some of the women's faces, as well as slobbery lip marks on their covered waistlines and their breasts, all of which made Harry wonder, again, how thick Dudley had to be to think he could even have half a chance with such goddesses.
'Well…soon, he won't have to worry about any of that,' thought Harry, smiling with a cold, predatory air as he pushed the magazines aside, giving him ease of access to Dudley's bed, and the sleeping giant of a blob monster lying between its sheets.
The poor, little piglet with the attention span, and brains, of a squashed gnat in the belly of a frog that had been run over on the motorway by an eighteen-wheeler didn't even stir from his slumber.
Not even when Harry craned his neck, causing his joints to click audibly before, impossibly, the Boy-Who-Lived's jaws suddenly parted, spreading wider than should have been humanly-possible as he leaned down and, with inhuman ease, predatory instinct and the demanding roars of his rumbling stomach pushing him forwards, Harry James Potter began to swallow his corpulent cousin whole!
His tongue snaked out as Dudley's head entered his mouth, giving Harry a taste of the fat bastard's flesh; a taste that soon caused a low, rumbling moan to erupt out of Harry as he pushed his head forwards, pushing Dudley's meaty skull deeper into his mouth. Deeper and deeper Harry pushed, and still, Dudley did not stir, not even when Harry slid over his many chins and, letting out a satisfying slurp and a beyond-sickening gulp, he began to feast on Dudley's semi-naked meaty offerings, also known as his young man's boobs and rolls of fat on his chest and stomach.
To anyone else, this would have been purely horrifying.
To Harry, however, it was a feast fit for a king: he could actually taste all the different kinds of food, mostly sweets, which Dudley had eaten, each one seemingly ingrained into his skin and his sweaty residue, flooding Harry's mouth with flavour as he continued swallowing Dudley whole.
And STILL, the fat lump didn't stir, even when Harry, acting on some primal instinct, rammed his cousin's meaty arms into his elasticated jaws where, all of a sudden, Harry's teeth started nomming and munching on Dudley's sausage-link-like fingers, savouring more and more of the flavour that passed over his taste buds.
'Ye gods,' thought Harry, taking another hearty gulp, which caused his chest to swell out, thanks to Dudley's large form now passing through his body and into his eagerly-awaiting belly. 'Who knew the pathetic weakling of a human could taste so damn delicious? More! I must have MORE!'
Now that Dudley was sliding his way down Harry's gullet, his head slowly passing through the opening into his cannibalistic cousin's empty belly, the young sorcerer found it surprisingly easy to lift the rest of Dudley's meat up into the air, letting gravity aid him. When Dudley's less-than-impressive, not to mention heavily-sticky dick passed over Harry's tongue, the boy let out a hiss of disdain, making sure to swallow that bit down as quickly as he could, if only to allow him to get back to enjoying his late-night feast.
Unfortunately, this seemed to be Dudley's cue to finally wake up from his sleep, not that he could do much except scream bloody murder – not that anyone but Harry heard him, with his fat head and part of his body now slithering down into Harry's stomach – as he found himself surrounded by a foul-smelling residue, as well as claustrophobia-inducing closeness, which crushed him on all sides.
He tried squirming free, possibly even to thump at whoever or whatever was hurting him, but with his arms pinned in Harry's oesophagus, Dudley could only squirm, scream and squeal.
Just like a pig, really, and he didn't even need the tail this time.
As Harry heard the muffled cries, and the feeble attempts to wrestle free of his ravenous hunger, he laughed coldly before, deciding to do the fat bastard, and his appetite, a favour, Harry tilted his head back as far as it would go, parting his jaws to their fullest length before, with a final, satisfying slurp, he let Dudley's meathook-like legs and sweaty, but surprisingly-delicious and smelly feet pass down his gullet, where Harry snapped his jaws shut and, letting out a sigh of relief, he looked down at his stomach.
As Dudley's body started to fall into his belly, Harry smiled thinly, if not coldly, when he saw Dudley's large mass cause his belly to swell, but not to a degree that made it impossible for him to move.
Instead, the feelings, the rushes of power, of strength, of dominance and, yes, even of satisfaction all flooded Harry's mind and body, while his hands found his stomach, which he began rubbing happily, licking his lips in satisfaction, as well as amusement as more and more thrashes and snarling demands and empty threats from his…his food resonated out of his stomach.
"Keep struggling, Diddykins," sneered Harry icily, sitting down on Dudley's bed as he laughed, continuously massaging his stomach as he smiled coldly. "It only makes me feel much happier and…hey! If it's any consolation, Popcorn, you were a very filling, very tasty meal! Be proud; you're finally proving yourself useful to someone."
As though the horrifying reality of what was going on had finally managed to pierce the pea-soup-thick fog that was between Dudley Dursley's ears, the fat piglet started sobbing profusely, his muffled threats and screams now cries for mercy and help from his cousin.
Harry, however, had other things to think about at that moment.
Like the sudden audible snapping sound, and waves of agonising torment that suddenly flooded his body, even as he'd tried to enjoy his full belly.
Consumed by this new torment, as well as the strange feelings that came with it, Harry didn't hear Dudley's screams as his cousin's body began to digest inside the belly of the beast.
Thankfully, for Harry, at least, the rest of the Dursleys heard nothing either as Harry screamed at the agony that racked his body.
Dudley's specially-reinforced mattress, as well as the beyond-thick duvets and pillows on the bed made sure of that!
Wow, talk about TERRIFYING!
What in the name of Magic has happened to our boy-hero, and not just the itchiness, but also this weird, newly-discovered cannibalistic appetite he's found inside himself?
What will he become, now his belly is full and, apparently, his mind is focused on thoughts of pleasing Darkness and Dominance?
Keep Reading to Find Out
Next Chapter: The pain ends, but a whole new beginning lies ahead for Harry: one that he intends to enjoy as much as he did his first huge meal since…ever! First on the list of objectives: making sure his loving family can't ask questions about the First Little Pig now trapped inside the Big Bad Wolf's belly…not that Harry's a wolf…
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