Chimeras and Dracolisks
Disclaimer/Plot/Author's Note: SEE FIRST CHAPTER
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 Harry/Harem
Other Pairings: To be determined
Normal Speech
'Thoughts'
'Mental Speech'
'Compulsions/Hypnosis'
/Parseltongue/
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!
Chapter 2: Trust In Me! Just In Me!
Better.
Stronger.
Well-fed.
These were all things Harry could attest to feeling when consciousness finally stirred inside of him, so soon and so suddenly after, apparently, his mind and body had granted him the release of unconsciousness after enduring the horrifying changes going on inside of him.
As he felt the strength coursing through him, Harry flicked his tongue out, tasting the air, which allowed him to taste a strong, delightfully-tasty scent of power, which clung to the room, as well as a feeling of newness that flooded his body and his mind. He was also dimly aware of a low, content churning, as well as cracking and snapping sound coming from lower down, which was accompanied by a warm, nourishing fullness that seemed to emanate from his stomach.
Rolling onto his back, Harry cracked his eyes open, which allowed him to take in the sight of his mildly-distended stomach, as well as what looked like the last few struggles of his not-so-willing midnight snack, the taste of whom still danced on his tongue as he continued flicking it out at the air.
"Mmm…thank you, Dudley," said Harry, a part of him marvelling at the sibilant, almost-mesmerising manner in which he spoke; his voice, once high-pitched and weedy, was now low-toned, fully-broken – thanks to the throes of puberty – and edged by an enchanting, mesmerising whisper that seemed to make the very air itself take notice. "You were a useless cousin, a pathetic excuse for a human and a beyond-pig-ignorant waste of flesh…but, on the other hand, you were a tasty meal."
Chuckling mirthfully at his little joke, Harry pulled himself into a sitting position with surprising ease, before he looked down at his body; to his slight bewilderment, the first thing he noticed was how his once-overhanging nightclothes had now been completely and undeniably obliterated, leaving not even enough fabric on his body to make clothes for a doll's house, much less what Harry used to look like.
Second on the list of things Harry noticed was that, beneath the completely-ruined scraps of what used to be clothing, he now had the physical appearance and attributes of what could only be described as a God!
First, Harry noticed he'd managed to regrow pretty much all his body's muscles, improving upon average until his arms, legs, pectorals and abdominal muscles all looked like he'd never spent a day out of a gym, or doing sport. He even seemed to have a twelve-pack on his abs, while there was a healthy, if not alluringly-delicious glow about him that seemed to radiate warmth, desire, passion, lust and hunger all rolled into one.
Speaking of lust, Harry's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets when he noticed how his little friend, which he'd noticed wasn't much to write home about in his underdeveloped state; well, now it was thick, flaccid and seemed to have gained a fair amount of girth and length.
Never mind wand, Harry looked like he had a freaking sceptre between his legs, not to mention the large, reddish-coloured testicular organ hanging beneath it, emitting an enticing whisper of arousal and sweaty musk, which filled the air with radiance.
"Fuck me!" whispered Harry, before he laughed to himself as he mused, "Actually, strike that: when they see you, my friend, they probably won't even need me to say the words to do just that."
As he chuckled at the thought, Harry swung his legs over the side of what used to be Dudley's bed before, with a quick sweeping motion over his newly-restored, godlike physique, he brushed away the last strands of his clothes. With that done, Harry rose from the bed, which gave him a burst of momentary dizziness when he also noticed how his less-than-appealing body now stood close to six feet in height, if not an inch or two taller.
"Damn…this new me is going to be fun," laughed Harry, moving across the floor, rubbing his stomach all the while as he mused, "I don't know what has happened to me, but, I've got to say: I like it. Still, I can't go around naked, so…if you don't mind, Dudley? I'm going to borrow a few of your new circus tents…sorry, I mean clothes to cover up my body."
His stomach let out a protesting snarling churning series of noises in response, but Harry just patted his belly as he burped loudly.
"Nah, didn't think so."
Chimera
With some brand-new clothes – literally brand-new, as Harry had chosen some that hadn't even been taken out of the packages yet – covering his very improved body, and a feeling of new life and greater strength coursing through his veins, Harry made his way out of the bedroom, before he turned and, without needing to guess at what he was going to do next, he headed in the direction of Vernon and Petunia's room.
Deep inside of his mental state, Harry knew he should probably ask what was going on, but, with this new power washing over him, not to mention the strange instincts that seemed to have come with it, he found he didn't much care what had happened, or why.
All that mattered was that he finally looked like a real, fully-grown, happy and healthy individual, as well as a really powerful soul, which, given all the evidence, he'd known he was already.
And, if he was going to stay that way, he was going to have to do a little…in-house cleaning.
So, rather than fight it, Harry chose to surrender to the instincts that guided him.
As he stopped outside his aunt and uncle's bedroom, Harry flicked his tongue out again, this time tasting a disgusting stench of a pathetic excuse for humanity, while he also tasted unreciprocated lust and desire, which wasn't that hard.
Personally, Harry didn't even want to imagine how a fat, useless lump of man-flesh-prey-on-legs like Vernon Dursley had even managed to convince the sickly, probably-crush-her-if-you-squeezed-too-hard Petunia to conceive the meat digesting in Harry's stomach.
'Still,' thought Harry, stifling his breath as he opened the door while he mused, 'Had they not, I wouldn't have had the chance to have such a big, delicious feast, so, you know…silver lining.'
Stopping next to his aunt and uncle's bed, Harry drew in a slow breath before, again, letting instinct and power guide him forwards, he crouched down, so he was right in front of his Uncle's filthy features.
"Oh, Uncle Vernon?" said Harry, a small part of him then aware of an eerie, almost-musical lilt lacing his words as he smiled cruelly while he whispered to his sleeping oaf of an Uncle. "Wake up, Uncle…rise and shine…it's time for breakfast…"
Not surprisingly, Vernon Dursley's eyes snapped open at the mention of food.
But all he saw was a bright, mesmerising, almost-kaleidoscopic mass of emerald-green light, which rippled and shimmered before him…
Chimera
One Week Later
"Ah! Here we are, at last! And just in time: stupid weathermen never get it right…"
"Mmm," grunted Vernon Dursley, heaving his sister's suitcases out of the boot of the car, while Marjorie Dursley struggled to open her umbrella in a bid to shield herself from the deluge that had actually been following them since he'd picked her up from her home in the Norfolk Broads. Of course, Marge might as well have pretended not to notice as she complained loudly about her dogs, the weather, not hearing from her brother and how, apparently, she was being referred to yet another specialist for her alcoholism.
As for Vernon, he just grunted as he got to the door, which opened for them, admitting the two Dursleys, as well as Ripper – Marge's favourite bulldog – into the house; when Marge went to dump her umbrella, however, she scowled at her brother as he dumped her things by the cupboard under the stairs, where he proceeded to open said cupboard and kick the stuff inside.
"Vernon! What do you think you're doing? There are some very expensive outfits, and a vintage brandy I brought for my precious nephew's first drink, in those cases; why are you treating them like trash?"
"Because they are trash," said Vernon, though he said it with a surprising level of apathy as he slammed and locked the door, before he turned to his sister, who was now turning a whole new shade of purple – even for a Dursley – as he explained, "Also, since I can finally get a word in edgewise, Marjorie, you ought to know: Petunia and I have gone through this house with a fine-tooth comb and removed all traces of alcohol…well, of any alcohol that can be drunk, anyway. The only stuff left will kill you, but, since you seem so insistent on doing that to yourself anyway, I guess we can just call it a happy accident."
"What…what are you talking about?" asked Marge, before her eyes widened when, from the kitchen, a loud, fierce yelp of pain filled the house, "Is that my precious Rippy-poo? What…what was that? Why isn't someone listening? And…and where's it hiding, anyway, Vernon? My umbrella, my things…you'd better have my room ready!"
"Of course, dear sister," said Vernon, again with such apathy and emotionless voicing that it was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic. "As a matter of fact, we've been building it up especially for you; if you'll follow me, I'll show you where it is."
Marge just huffed as she followed Vernon into the kitchen.
Though not before her eyes widened when she saw something that could have only been described as her worst nightmare sitting at the table.
A raven-haired, emerald-green-eyed something, which had its head tipped back and its jaws closing hard around what Marge barely had a split second to register as her Rippy-poo's squashed-up face before the creature at the table closed its jaws and, tilting it…his head back as far as it would go, he gulped loudly, tracing the writhing bulge down his gullet before he patted his belly as he smiled, licking his lips happily.
With a black, forked tongue, as Marge then noticed.
"Ahh!" sighed Harry James Potter, licking his lips fondly as he smiled wolfishly.
"Now that's what I call a delicious birthday cake: thanks for bringing him, Aunt Marge…here, let me thank you…"
Marge would have screamed…
Were it not for the chloroform-laced rag that suddenly smothered her fat face, before she hit the floor.
The last thing she saw, as darkness rushed up to claim her, was Petunia kissing her nephew – aka the freaky little orphan son of two wastrels who didn't even deserve to copulate, as Marge had often said – on his forehead before she gently rubbed his stomach as he rose from his seat.
"Happy birthday, Harry; now, why don't you enjoy the rest of your party while we deal with the fat freak? And don't worry: we won't even think of blaming anyone, but ourselves…"
Chimera
"I…I can't…can't explain it, Officer…she…she just went…went crazy!"
"All right, Mrs Dursley," said PC Jones, writing up the last of what was, he already knew, an open-and-shut case on the domestic disturbance that his station had reported to him. "If we might start again…from the top?"
"Well," stammered Petunia, wringing a tea towel nervously as she explained, "Like…like I said, it…it was my nephew's big day…"
"Your nephew, a Mr Harry Potter?"
"That's right: he's grown so much thanks to a good life, you know? If we weren't related…"
"The point, please, Ma'am," argued PC Jones, although he did take a moment to appreciate what was, clearly, a well-respected family.
"Yes, well, as I said…it was Harry's special day and, as a treat, we decided to invite Marge to spend a little holiday with us; of course, my son, Dudley, couldn't be here since he's run away from home, because we stopped spoiling him and started disciplining him better. But, anyway, when she got here, her vicious dog assaulted my poor, innocent nephew; out of fear, Harry did the only thing he could think of. He kicked out at the dog and, through no fault of his own, save for adrenaline, I'd guess, he accidentally sent it flying into the woodchipper out back: Vernon hired it to build a special clubhouse for Harry, you see…you know: a place where he can indulge his teenage side, if you get what I mean?"
The officer laughed as Petunia went on, "Then, as Vernon went to store Marge's cases under the stairs, she…she screamed at my nephew and punched him: if he wasn't so strong and…and fast, she might have broken his jaw or something. Vernon managed to pull her off, but when she saw what happened with Ripper, she…she went insane: she grabbed the turps and…and the brandy from her case and then…then…she…"
'Like I said, open-and-shut case,' thought PC Jones, thanking Petunia for the information.
On the one hand, he knew he should report what had happened to the dog, or question the fact that Harry Potter, a boy who seemed to have popped up out of nowhere and become a well-loved member of the family, was very different from what he'd first thought.
He also knew he should probably pursue the history of the woman who had, literally, drunk herself to death, her apparent lust for the drink so intense that she ended up dowsing herself in the liquids, before taking a lit match to her heavily-inebriated body, and that was all she wrote.
However, whenever he tried to think of a reason to report things, the only thing PC Jones heard was a voice.
A soft, mesmerising voice, as well as ripples of eerie green light, and the same mantra over and over again…
'Trust in me…just in me…shut your eyes…and trust…in…me…'
Chimera
"He's gone!"
"Good," said Harry, scowling darkly as he craned his neck before he looked up from his studies, a look of apparent confusion in his eyes as he explained, "Next time, think before going ahead with my plans, you filthy human! The power I had to waste turning that lowly Muggle's mind to mush…you're just lucky you gave me a nice snack for my birthday treat."
"I…I'm sorry, Master," said Petunia, earning a scoff from Harry as he looked back to his work.
"Well, we both know it's Vernon's fault, Petunia: why don't you go and give him an ice-cold bath? He still reeks to high heaven of booze and blood: who knew that fat sow still had blood to spill?"
As Petunia left, Harry turned another page in his book – Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them – before he groaned, slamming the book shut just as quickly. "Damnit! I've gone through this thing more times than Hermione, and I still can't find an explanation for my serpentine skills, hypnotic stare, elastic jaws and carnivorous hunger…obviously I'm some sort of magical creature, but why can't the best magizoologist in the world know what I am?"
As he scowled at the lack of information, Harry scratched at his scalp, before he moved to scratch loosely at his arms, trying to figure out the mystery of what was happening to him.
As he did so, a few patches of pale, human flesh peeled away, revealing an eerie, reddish-golden-coloured dermal coating underneath.
One that lasted only a few seconds before, in a Wolverine-like manner, his itchy skin regrew, fresh and clean and new, leaving Harry to study the book, trying to find the answers inside, unhindered.
Chapter 2 and the changes continue to take hold of our hero, but what in the name of sanity is happening to the hero we once knew?
Like, for instance, what's with this more-than-willing descent into his own personal darkness, not to mention the powers and strange effects coming with it?
To paraphrase a fool: who is he and what has he done with Harry James Potter?
Keep Reading to Find Out
Next Chapter: After a summer without answers, Harry gets ready for his third year at Hogwarts, but, along the way, he encounters a fun, very interesting add-on to his already-impressive list of changes that have come with his own puberty;
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