His senses were alert to any change in breathing patterns after what had happened the morning before, but he wasn't prepared for what hit him only ten metres from the house.
The pain almost knocked him off his feet and he stumbled to a telegraph pole to steady him. It felt as though his entire body was being ripped apart, left from right and top from bottom. He could feel the bones inside him creaking and grinding as though being stretched as they tore themselves from their sockets. Agony tore up and down his spine as his brain sent confused signals out to his limbs. His toes curled in and his hands made tight fists, so that his nails again dug into his flesh. Pain… but not just any pain… self-inflicted pain drew his attention away from his torture, and he knew what he would have to do. And within seconds he was in the bathroom (how, he knew not) grasping Vernon's razor as another wave of pain hit him with just as much force as before. His vision clouded with red as he felt the sting of blood vessels popping in his eyes under the strain, and other places as well he thought as he noticed a thin trickle of blood come from his nose. Just slice it Harry, he thought desperately as he tore furiously at the bandage on his arm.
Finally it came off and Harry was surprised to see his old wounds had already healed to red scars on his pale skin. His whole body shook and spasmed as he tried to steady his hand and make the first cut.
The effect was instant. A relaxing euphoria took over his body and he sagged to the ground with relief. His eyes flitted shut, his mind emptied, and he slipped into a slight meditative doze.
He awoke to a pounding on the door and Dudley's voice yelling 'Mum! Harry's hogging the bathroom!'
He jumped awake and slowly got to his feet, knowing from his experiences the morning before that getting up too fast would result in dizziness. He looked down at his arm, which was now caked with blood; three fresh gashes already healing stood out against the red scars of the others. He gently washed off the blood and the mess he'd made around the bathroom and wrapped his arm in the bandage from before.
He reached for the doorknob but before he could turn it something made him stop. The razor… it was still sitting on the basin covered in blood. He ignored Dudley's wails and washed it before carefully placing it hidden in the folds of his bandage. He might need that later.
He quickly turned, and swung open the door, much to Dudley's surprise, and walked out straight into his room, ignoring anything they were saying. He shut the door and sat on his bed.
What the hell had just happened? Not even the cruciatus had caused that much pain. Could it be stage two of the changing? Perhaps he had dismissed that possibility to quickly.
Harry walked over to the book on wizarding development and looked for any more information.
'STAGE TWO the changing
When given the proper treatment, the afflicted person will generally remain in an unconscious state during the changing. The pain is dissipated using a simple yet effective painless potion administered during the first sign of stage two. If not taken the pain generally comes in waves of increasing intensity until the end of this phase. After this the changing is over and the witch or wizard's magical core is drastically changed for the better or worse…'
After this it continued with the finer point of the potions used.
Well that confirmed it. There was no excuse for this and there was nothing else it could be. Harry's first thought was to rewrite to Dumbledore and Lupin and to ask for help, but the book said the potion had to be taken at the beginning. It would be of no use now. And he doubted they would let him continue with his own method of treatment. Eventually he decided to write to them in the hopes that they would have something to help him. He hated himself for overworking Hedwig this much but he couldn't help it. He walked over to his desk and with one shaking hand he began to write. He got out three words before keeling over in his chair and falling to the ground.
His lungs felt as though they were being ripped from his body as every bit of air was squeezed from them. The backs of his legs felt on fire as his guts, he was sure, were turning inside out. He wretched in the corner of the room, load dry coughs racking his body as his stomach was empty and his mouth parched. It was then that he realized that since coming home he hadn't drunk anything but a single glass of milk. But that thought was quickly forgotten as he reached under the folds of cloth and gripped the razor tightly. Within five seconds four sharp red slashes appeared on his wrist and he lay there, a pool of blood gathering around him. His eyes were closed and he drifted off to dream.
He didn't wake to the frantic taps on the glass that was Hedwig, nor did he receive the four notes she held in her talons. Two undelivered to Remus Lupin, his own scrawl addressing the front of them, and two other identical ones, with the seal of Hogwarts, both with these word printed on them.
Dear whom it may concern
I regret to inform you that at present Headmaster Dumbledore is unavailable as he is off on business. I, the inbox, have consumed your letter and it will be read and replied to as soon as possible. I apologize for any inconvenience.
Sincerely
Dumbledore's inbox
All four letters fluttered to the grass as Hedwig saw her companion inside in a pool of his own blood. Despite her exhaustion at her constant letter delivery, she knew she needed to reach someone to help him. The muggle's would be of no use; they would either ignore her or hurt her. She needed someone she knew she could trust. Dumbledore and Remus Lupin both could not be found, and she wasn't sure it was wise to go to Grimmauld place just in case. Her thoughts went back to last year in the owlery; her only friend amongst the other brainless young owls was a dark black vicious looking Tawny Frogmouth owl from Australia. She belonged to one of the teachers, and despite the tawny's appearance he was quite a sociable bird. He spoke highly of his companion. It was her only thought as she desperately turned back to Hogwarts and flew at top speed. It was a long and cold journey, but one she had weathered many times before. She knew all the air currents for this time of year, and made it there the fastest she'd ever been before. Her first stop was the owlery, in the hopes that the Tawny would be there.
She found him, perched high in the rafters away from the breezy drafts and away from the other owls. She perched next to him and he already seemed to know what she wanted as he jumped off the perch and slowly flew out the window as though expecting her to follow him. She did and he leaded her to a narrow passage in the roof that she had seen before but never been curious enough to explore. It led down through the building, the tips of her feathers brushing the sides of the passageway, and she wondered how on earth the much larger Tawny could do it. Light lessened and Hedwig knew she was below the castle grounds from the stale smell of the air. Owls were gliding birds and it was getting more and more difficult to remain aloft in the thinning air. Finally both birds flew out the end of the tunnel and into a small dimly lit office. Hedwig flew to where to Tawny had stopped and looked around the room. Neat, to some degree, the walls covered in tattered manuscripts, small glass fronted cupboards filled with little vials of liquid. In the corner was a chair, in which sat a man in dark robes and he was sleeping. Remembering her mission, she flew over and grasped the hem of his sleeve and tugged violently like she used to do to her own companion. The man was instantly awake and alert and he quickly brushed the frantic bird off his arm.
'You're Potters bird!' he said with surprise before a scowl covered his features. 'Get out of my office.' He said coolly before grabbing Hedwig and shoving her towards the vent that she had just come through.
She squawked louder, the desperation was evident and made the man hesitate. It was enough for Hedwig who flew out of his grasp and began tugging him hard towards the door by the back of his shirt where he couldn't reach. Tawny flew over to the cloak stand and picked up a heavy woolen cape and threw it over his companion's shoulders.
'Syd? You're in this against me too?' he said knowing he would not be answered. But the man relented, obviously trusting of his own familiar. He grabbed a broom from beside the cloak rack and swept through the door, the two birds trailing behind him.
***
Meanwhile back in the Dursley's house it was night and Harry was not getting any better. Each wave of pain incorporated more and more of his body, and each time he literally felt as though he had spewed his guts up. How the Dusley's hadn't woken up yet he didn't know but he was beyond the point of caring. The first few waves felt like pinpricks to what he was feeling now. His back arched alarmingly with pain and his blood shot eyes rolled into the back of his skull, fingernails dug into the palms of his hands, so far that he was beginning to feel bone. In this position the blood from broken blood vessels in his nose filled his nostrils and then forced its way down into his throat, only to be retched back out in a spat of coughing fits. The pain was constant now, the only thing distinguishing wave from wave, being a brief recovery of motor skills in which he would slash at his arms in a desperate attempt to be free of the agony. It offered him only minimal respite now but Harry grasped to whatever relief he could. He knew he was going to die.
The slashes were irregular and ragged now, blood poured from them at a shocking speed but Harry didn't notice. He wasn't aware of the time that passed while he was on the floor though he felt sure it was hours, perhaps days. He even wasn't aware of the commotion out side his door as a strange dark man rang the door bell at midnight and the Dursley's angrily woke to answer it.
The pain almost knocked him off his feet and he stumbled to a telegraph pole to steady him. It felt as though his entire body was being ripped apart, left from right and top from bottom. He could feel the bones inside him creaking and grinding as though being stretched as they tore themselves from their sockets. Agony tore up and down his spine as his brain sent confused signals out to his limbs. His toes curled in and his hands made tight fists, so that his nails again dug into his flesh. Pain… but not just any pain… self-inflicted pain drew his attention away from his torture, and he knew what he would have to do. And within seconds he was in the bathroom (how, he knew not) grasping Vernon's razor as another wave of pain hit him with just as much force as before. His vision clouded with red as he felt the sting of blood vessels popping in his eyes under the strain, and other places as well he thought as he noticed a thin trickle of blood come from his nose. Just slice it Harry, he thought desperately as he tore furiously at the bandage on his arm.
Finally it came off and Harry was surprised to see his old wounds had already healed to red scars on his pale skin. His whole body shook and spasmed as he tried to steady his hand and make the first cut.
The effect was instant. A relaxing euphoria took over his body and he sagged to the ground with relief. His eyes flitted shut, his mind emptied, and he slipped into a slight meditative doze.
He awoke to a pounding on the door and Dudley's voice yelling 'Mum! Harry's hogging the bathroom!'
He jumped awake and slowly got to his feet, knowing from his experiences the morning before that getting up too fast would result in dizziness. He looked down at his arm, which was now caked with blood; three fresh gashes already healing stood out against the red scars of the others. He gently washed off the blood and the mess he'd made around the bathroom and wrapped his arm in the bandage from before.
He reached for the doorknob but before he could turn it something made him stop. The razor… it was still sitting on the basin covered in blood. He ignored Dudley's wails and washed it before carefully placing it hidden in the folds of his bandage. He might need that later.
He quickly turned, and swung open the door, much to Dudley's surprise, and walked out straight into his room, ignoring anything they were saying. He shut the door and sat on his bed.
What the hell had just happened? Not even the cruciatus had caused that much pain. Could it be stage two of the changing? Perhaps he had dismissed that possibility to quickly.
Harry walked over to the book on wizarding development and looked for any more information.
'STAGE TWO the changing
When given the proper treatment, the afflicted person will generally remain in an unconscious state during the changing. The pain is dissipated using a simple yet effective painless potion administered during the first sign of stage two. If not taken the pain generally comes in waves of increasing intensity until the end of this phase. After this the changing is over and the witch or wizard's magical core is drastically changed for the better or worse…'
After this it continued with the finer point of the potions used.
Well that confirmed it. There was no excuse for this and there was nothing else it could be. Harry's first thought was to rewrite to Dumbledore and Lupin and to ask for help, but the book said the potion had to be taken at the beginning. It would be of no use now. And he doubted they would let him continue with his own method of treatment. Eventually he decided to write to them in the hopes that they would have something to help him. He hated himself for overworking Hedwig this much but he couldn't help it. He walked over to his desk and with one shaking hand he began to write. He got out three words before keeling over in his chair and falling to the ground.
His lungs felt as though they were being ripped from his body as every bit of air was squeezed from them. The backs of his legs felt on fire as his guts, he was sure, were turning inside out. He wretched in the corner of the room, load dry coughs racking his body as his stomach was empty and his mouth parched. It was then that he realized that since coming home he hadn't drunk anything but a single glass of milk. But that thought was quickly forgotten as he reached under the folds of cloth and gripped the razor tightly. Within five seconds four sharp red slashes appeared on his wrist and he lay there, a pool of blood gathering around him. His eyes were closed and he drifted off to dream.
He didn't wake to the frantic taps on the glass that was Hedwig, nor did he receive the four notes she held in her talons. Two undelivered to Remus Lupin, his own scrawl addressing the front of them, and two other identical ones, with the seal of Hogwarts, both with these word printed on them.
Dear whom it may concern
I regret to inform you that at present Headmaster Dumbledore is unavailable as he is off on business. I, the inbox, have consumed your letter and it will be read and replied to as soon as possible. I apologize for any inconvenience.
Sincerely
Dumbledore's inbox
All four letters fluttered to the grass as Hedwig saw her companion inside in a pool of his own blood. Despite her exhaustion at her constant letter delivery, she knew she needed to reach someone to help him. The muggle's would be of no use; they would either ignore her or hurt her. She needed someone she knew she could trust. Dumbledore and Remus Lupin both could not be found, and she wasn't sure it was wise to go to Grimmauld place just in case. Her thoughts went back to last year in the owlery; her only friend amongst the other brainless young owls was a dark black vicious looking Tawny Frogmouth owl from Australia. She belonged to one of the teachers, and despite the tawny's appearance he was quite a sociable bird. He spoke highly of his companion. It was her only thought as she desperately turned back to Hogwarts and flew at top speed. It was a long and cold journey, but one she had weathered many times before. She knew all the air currents for this time of year, and made it there the fastest she'd ever been before. Her first stop was the owlery, in the hopes that the Tawny would be there.
She found him, perched high in the rafters away from the breezy drafts and away from the other owls. She perched next to him and he already seemed to know what she wanted as he jumped off the perch and slowly flew out the window as though expecting her to follow him. She did and he leaded her to a narrow passage in the roof that she had seen before but never been curious enough to explore. It led down through the building, the tips of her feathers brushing the sides of the passageway, and she wondered how on earth the much larger Tawny could do it. Light lessened and Hedwig knew she was below the castle grounds from the stale smell of the air. Owls were gliding birds and it was getting more and more difficult to remain aloft in the thinning air. Finally both birds flew out the end of the tunnel and into a small dimly lit office. Hedwig flew to where to Tawny had stopped and looked around the room. Neat, to some degree, the walls covered in tattered manuscripts, small glass fronted cupboards filled with little vials of liquid. In the corner was a chair, in which sat a man in dark robes and he was sleeping. Remembering her mission, she flew over and grasped the hem of his sleeve and tugged violently like she used to do to her own companion. The man was instantly awake and alert and he quickly brushed the frantic bird off his arm.
'You're Potters bird!' he said with surprise before a scowl covered his features. 'Get out of my office.' He said coolly before grabbing Hedwig and shoving her towards the vent that she had just come through.
She squawked louder, the desperation was evident and made the man hesitate. It was enough for Hedwig who flew out of his grasp and began tugging him hard towards the door by the back of his shirt where he couldn't reach. Tawny flew over to the cloak stand and picked up a heavy woolen cape and threw it over his companion's shoulders.
'Syd? You're in this against me too?' he said knowing he would not be answered. But the man relented, obviously trusting of his own familiar. He grabbed a broom from beside the cloak rack and swept through the door, the two birds trailing behind him.
***
Meanwhile back in the Dursley's house it was night and Harry was not getting any better. Each wave of pain incorporated more and more of his body, and each time he literally felt as though he had spewed his guts up. How the Dusley's hadn't woken up yet he didn't know but he was beyond the point of caring. The first few waves felt like pinpricks to what he was feeling now. His back arched alarmingly with pain and his blood shot eyes rolled into the back of his skull, fingernails dug into the palms of his hands, so far that he was beginning to feel bone. In this position the blood from broken blood vessels in his nose filled his nostrils and then forced its way down into his throat, only to be retched back out in a spat of coughing fits. The pain was constant now, the only thing distinguishing wave from wave, being a brief recovery of motor skills in which he would slash at his arms in a desperate attempt to be free of the agony. It offered him only minimal respite now but Harry grasped to whatever relief he could. He knew he was going to die.
The slashes were irregular and ragged now, blood poured from them at a shocking speed but Harry didn't notice. He wasn't aware of the time that passed while he was on the floor though he felt sure it was hours, perhaps days. He even wasn't aware of the commotion out side his door as a strange dark man rang the door bell at midnight and the Dursley's angrily woke to answer it.