Harry was awoken by Petunia's shrill screams. He sat up, his clothes
not wrinkled from the night's unmoving sleep. He groped around on his
beside table, searching for his glasses. He pressed them on his face,
the black rims visible for him, and felt estranged upon his nose.
That summer, just after school ended, Petunia had (Oddly enough)
Convinced Vernon to buy Harry a new pair of glasses, since his old
pair were worn to tatters.
Harry descended the stairs, half wanting to return to his room, and
half wanting to scream along side Aunt Petunia. As Harry pushed open
the white door to the kitchen he realised to trigger for Aunt
Petunia's distress. As much as he would like to believe that Aunt
petunia caught a glance of herself on the mirror, wearing only a
bathroom and covered in an ample layer of green face goo, Harry noted
that there was a slender, black cat sitting on the counter before Mrs.
Dursley.
Harry swooped in and picked the cat up, looking confusedly between
Petunia and the cat,
"Aunt Petunia?" He asked loudly, above her screams.
"It." Aunt Petunia stuttered, her screams halting. Her knees were
quivering. 'It Spoke." She whispered, before collapsing in a heap on
the ground.
* * * * *
"I don't see how any of this is my fault." Harry repeated,
voice remaining calm, to Uncle Vernon. Now that Harry was able
to look down on Vernon, his uncle found it exceedingly difficult
to lecture his adopted nephew.
"It's your kind of people." Vernon whispered harshly.
Temples bulging. He looked as though he would like nothing more
than to squash Harry like a bug.
"Vernon." Harry muttered in a warning tone, his height
adding to his authority, his flexing arm muscles not dimishing
the affect at all, " The Cat wasn't one of my people, as you so
charmingly put it."
Vernon's veins popped out from his neck and his face
darkened several shades of red, if possible.
Harry flashed Vernon a non-chalant grin, and sauntered up
the stairs, oblivious to Vernon's screams for him the return at
once.
It seemed that Harry had been changed by three months on barely
any wizarding contact, plenty of hormones and even more physical
labour.
not wrinkled from the night's unmoving sleep. He groped around on his
beside table, searching for his glasses. He pressed them on his face,
the black rims visible for him, and felt estranged upon his nose.
That summer, just after school ended, Petunia had (Oddly enough)
Convinced Vernon to buy Harry a new pair of glasses, since his old
pair were worn to tatters.
Harry descended the stairs, half wanting to return to his room, and
half wanting to scream along side Aunt Petunia. As Harry pushed open
the white door to the kitchen he realised to trigger for Aunt
Petunia's distress. As much as he would like to believe that Aunt
petunia caught a glance of herself on the mirror, wearing only a
bathroom and covered in an ample layer of green face goo, Harry noted
that there was a slender, black cat sitting on the counter before Mrs.
Dursley.
Harry swooped in and picked the cat up, looking confusedly between
Petunia and the cat,
"Aunt Petunia?" He asked loudly, above her screams.
"It." Aunt Petunia stuttered, her screams halting. Her knees were
quivering. 'It Spoke." She whispered, before collapsing in a heap on
the ground.
* * * * *
"I don't see how any of this is my fault." Harry repeated,
voice remaining calm, to Uncle Vernon. Now that Harry was able
to look down on Vernon, his uncle found it exceedingly difficult
to lecture his adopted nephew.
"It's your kind of people." Vernon whispered harshly.
Temples bulging. He looked as though he would like nothing more
than to squash Harry like a bug.
"Vernon." Harry muttered in a warning tone, his height
adding to his authority, his flexing arm muscles not dimishing
the affect at all, " The Cat wasn't one of my people, as you so
charmingly put it."
Vernon's veins popped out from his neck and his face
darkened several shades of red, if possible.
Harry flashed Vernon a non-chalant grin, and sauntered up
the stairs, oblivious to Vernon's screams for him the return at
once.
It seemed that Harry had been changed by three months on barely
any wizarding contact, plenty of hormones and even more physical
labour.