A/N: it took me longer than I expected to type this chapter. I wrote it out
between periods on Tuesday and Wednesday but I didn't get a chance to type
it until today. My Apologies. From now on I won't predict when I'll get
things done. I'm halfway through the next chapter. Enjoy.
Recap: he dragged his trunk to the door of the leaky cauldron and walked in, up to the bar. The whole pace was silent. Everyone was staring at him. "Uh, excuse me, umm, I need to stay for at least a night, probably more like several weeks. Can I get a room?" Tom the toothless old innkeeper recovered himself and gestured. "Come right this way Mr. Potter."
Chapter three
Harry followed him down the hallway, up a few stairs, and down another hallway. They were moving rather slowly because harry was having trouble with his trunk. 'So much for being the boy-who-lived. No one will even help a bloody boy-who-lived drag his trunk.
Finally they hit the end of the end of the hallway and tom opened the last door. Inside was a very nice room meant for the long-term stays.
"Will you be requiring anything else this evening Mr. Potter?"
"Uh, no, thanks. This is great, thanks."
Tom left Harry in the room and Harry promptly collapsed on the bed. Then he remembered something and he slowly raised himself up and looked into the full-length mirror across from the bed. His eyes got very big. He slowly, rather warily, stood and looked at himself. As he looked his mouth fell open.
Oh sweet mother of Merlin.
He looked.
He was.
His hair. shoulder length (but still messy).
His height. six inches taller at least.
The gashes and cuts on his face didn't look like they'd been obtained hours ago, try a few days ago. His body had changed in other ways as well. He had this cat-like grace that he'd never experienced before. He shrugged out of his robes and winced when he saw the state his arm was in. and yet. his arm too looked as though it had had several days of healing.
This was all wrong! A wizard's change at sixteen was not supposed to be physical! Yet here he was. Wounds healing at two or three times the normal rate, hair elongated, and an extra six or more inches of height. The grace of an assassin and he now noticed that the muscles he'd attained playing Quidditch, which had started to fade as he was nearly starved over the summer, were back and even more toned than they had been before he arrived at the Dursley's.
It was too much.
Whatever he'd inherited was way stranger than ANYTHING his friends, or anyone else he'd ever heard of for that matter, had gotten. He suddenly let out a loud yawn.
Ah well, he could worry about magic in the morning.
* * * * *
"Ouch. Who ran me over?"
Harry slowly rolled over groaning at the pain in his body. He was as sore as if he'd been hit by a car, which isn't all that far from being thrown through a glass door and flattened by a trunk, and his veins felt odd. His veins, yes veins, felt tight sort of. He felt seriously dehydrated. When he forced himself to stand up, carefully avoiding touching his right arm, he noticed that the cat-like grace of the night before was missing. In its place was a slow, painful, jerky way of moving that was very hard on his leg.
Looking in his mirror he got another shock. His cuts were entirely scabbed over. And there was this ache in his canine teeth. This persistent ache in his canines that just could not be ignored. It was increasing in direct proportion to the tightness in his veins and the soreness in his body.
And now all his little cuts and larger gashes began to sting and then to burn as though the nerve endings were on fire.
He pulled off the shirt he'd slept in last night, it had been a clean one then but certainly wasn't now, an inspected the burning gashes and cuts on his upper arm.
The dried blood on his arm looked so. strange.
Strange and something else.
He wanted to do. something.
The blood.
He wanted to. the blood.
He needed the blood.
Without any idea of what he was doing harry sprinted to the door, heedles of his injured leg, and burst through into the hallway. The first thing he saw was the wizard from the room across the hall.
Baecause his room was at the end of the corridor furthest from the main rooms no one heard the wizard's muffled squeak as harry grabbed him and dragged him backwards into an alcove.
No one heard harry's sigh of relief and. pleasure as he sank his canines, much elongated, into the wizard's neck.
And for some reason the wizard never knew why he woke up propped against the wall.
And harry, poor harry, finally knew what his inheritance was.
Recap: he dragged his trunk to the door of the leaky cauldron and walked in, up to the bar. The whole pace was silent. Everyone was staring at him. "Uh, excuse me, umm, I need to stay for at least a night, probably more like several weeks. Can I get a room?" Tom the toothless old innkeeper recovered himself and gestured. "Come right this way Mr. Potter."
Chapter three
Harry followed him down the hallway, up a few stairs, and down another hallway. They were moving rather slowly because harry was having trouble with his trunk. 'So much for being the boy-who-lived. No one will even help a bloody boy-who-lived drag his trunk.
Finally they hit the end of the end of the hallway and tom opened the last door. Inside was a very nice room meant for the long-term stays.
"Will you be requiring anything else this evening Mr. Potter?"
"Uh, no, thanks. This is great, thanks."
Tom left Harry in the room and Harry promptly collapsed on the bed. Then he remembered something and he slowly raised himself up and looked into the full-length mirror across from the bed. His eyes got very big. He slowly, rather warily, stood and looked at himself. As he looked his mouth fell open.
Oh sweet mother of Merlin.
He looked.
He was.
His hair. shoulder length (but still messy).
His height. six inches taller at least.
The gashes and cuts on his face didn't look like they'd been obtained hours ago, try a few days ago. His body had changed in other ways as well. He had this cat-like grace that he'd never experienced before. He shrugged out of his robes and winced when he saw the state his arm was in. and yet. his arm too looked as though it had had several days of healing.
This was all wrong! A wizard's change at sixteen was not supposed to be physical! Yet here he was. Wounds healing at two or three times the normal rate, hair elongated, and an extra six or more inches of height. The grace of an assassin and he now noticed that the muscles he'd attained playing Quidditch, which had started to fade as he was nearly starved over the summer, were back and even more toned than they had been before he arrived at the Dursley's.
It was too much.
Whatever he'd inherited was way stranger than ANYTHING his friends, or anyone else he'd ever heard of for that matter, had gotten. He suddenly let out a loud yawn.
Ah well, he could worry about magic in the morning.
* * * * *
"Ouch. Who ran me over?"
Harry slowly rolled over groaning at the pain in his body. He was as sore as if he'd been hit by a car, which isn't all that far from being thrown through a glass door and flattened by a trunk, and his veins felt odd. His veins, yes veins, felt tight sort of. He felt seriously dehydrated. When he forced himself to stand up, carefully avoiding touching his right arm, he noticed that the cat-like grace of the night before was missing. In its place was a slow, painful, jerky way of moving that was very hard on his leg.
Looking in his mirror he got another shock. His cuts were entirely scabbed over. And there was this ache in his canine teeth. This persistent ache in his canines that just could not be ignored. It was increasing in direct proportion to the tightness in his veins and the soreness in his body.
And now all his little cuts and larger gashes began to sting and then to burn as though the nerve endings were on fire.
He pulled off the shirt he'd slept in last night, it had been a clean one then but certainly wasn't now, an inspected the burning gashes and cuts on his upper arm.
The dried blood on his arm looked so. strange.
Strange and something else.
He wanted to do. something.
The blood.
He wanted to. the blood.
He needed the blood.
Without any idea of what he was doing harry sprinted to the door, heedles of his injured leg, and burst through into the hallway. The first thing he saw was the wizard from the room across the hall.
Baecause his room was at the end of the corridor furthest from the main rooms no one heard the wizard's muffled squeak as harry grabbed him and dragged him backwards into an alcove.
No one heard harry's sigh of relief and. pleasure as he sank his canines, much elongated, into the wizard's neck.
And for some reason the wizard never knew why he woke up propped against the wall.
And harry, poor harry, finally knew what his inheritance was.