Title: Full Moon Rising
Author: daemonwolf
Rating: PG-13
Distribution: ask, and ye shall receive
Notes: Hey y'all... sorry it's been so long since my last update. As I mentioned before, last week was all about the vacation down on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Oh hell yeah. But yeah, that vacation and the fact that I'm only just becoming re-acclimated to the school life were to blame for this last hiatus. Expect more in the future as the workload increases. I'll be blunt, I'm not certain if I'll be able to post more than once or twice a month in the future. I know I'm that bad now, but believe me, this senior year is NOT going to be one of the world's easiest. That said, I'll forgo my normal page and a half of review responses and simply say thank you. To one and all, you guys are absolutely awesome. HarryPFan001, Final Spirit, redragon6662, MORE!, Hakkai - Gojyo - Goku – Sanzo, Hermione21, Tara (thou strange child...), Mrs. Tom Riddle, Lunar Knight, Alicia Grinderwald, Shea Loner, and aleclovemax thanks bunches!
Full Moon Rising
Chapter Seven: And So It Begins
"Harry Potter! Get off your lazy arse and do the dishes!" The sound of his Aunt Petunia's voice shook six-year-old Harry out of a restless dream in which he had been running from something—it was always running, never walking, flying, or falling—by the light of the moon. As he rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes, he realized that if Petunia hadn't woken him this time, he would've discovered just what it was he was running from. He grimaced, baring tiny teeth in annoyance, and turned over on his side, just to irk his aunt even more for waking him. Slowly he counted down the seconds to his aunt's second call: "Five, four, three, two, one—"
"HARRY JAMES POTTER! DON'T MAKE ME GET YOUR UNCLE, YOU SELFISH LITTLE CRETIN!"
Face pressed against his pillow, Harry smiled devilishly. Ever since he was old enough to reach the faucet of the sink, his Aunt and Uncle had been adamant that he earn his 'keep' in the household and take over most of the chores his young and untried body could handle. It brought the boy much pleasure in the knowledge that he could get back by making the family wait as long as he could for their breakfast each morning. That particular duty had been added to his list just two weeks ago when he turned six. With a final grunt, Harry pushed himself up out of his cramped little bed in the cupboard under the stairs and ran a hand through his hair as he stumbled into the kitchen to do the Dursley family's bidding.
By ten years of age, Harry Potter had grown into quite the mischievous lad. At only five feet, he did not cut an imposing figure, yet he had earned the dubious respect of his classmates by pulling prank after prank on the teachers. He was well known for his ability to look completely innocent with a gaze that bespoke complete naivete one minute, and then regain a devious and conniving spark in his bright green eyes when the teacher turned her back. It was well known too, for his lack of tolerance for schoolyard bullies, especially when his cousin was involved. More than once he had come between Dudley and a potential target, ending the argument and sending Dudley running across the playground. The next day Harry would usually return to school with a black eye or a split lip, but always Dudley would cringe from his cousin for at least two days before resuming his normal bullying activities.
If anyone had cared to ask Harry's cousin just what he thought of the black-haired green-eyed boy, they would've discovered that Dudley was completely petrified of the boy. Not so much that he would refrain from his normal 'activities' but enough for Dudley to avoid Harry whenever he walked into a room at home. There wasn't anything remotely like the bullying instinct Dudley had, but something much more dangerous that gave Dudley goosebumps whenever Harry's gaze was directed toward him. He didn't know when Harry had gained that dangerous gleam, he just knew that the almost daily games of 'Pound the Potter' had dropped off when the two boys started first grade. Now at the end of fifth, Dudley didn't know what to make of his odd cousin. He had taken it upon himself to stay out of Potter's way whenever he was around, fearing the wrath that seemed to stew behind those bright green eyes.
On this particular day, however, those selfsame green eyes were dulled in boredom. After all, there were only so many times one could listen to the same speech about the same flaws in character without eventually tuning the entire thing out. And Harry had been hearing this speech since he was four. Before then he had been—impressionable—and apt to repeat whatever had been said to him, as the Dursleys had found out much to their chagrin on more than one occasion. Therefore it was of little surprise to the boy that he yawned loudly in the middle of his Uncle's rant.
Vernon, on the other hand, was so shocked he promptly forgot whatever the insult of the day had been and had to begin anew. "How dare you, Potter. You dare to put your needs," Vernon sneered, "above your cousin's? You dare to—"
Harry didn't know what made him interrupt—really. He had simply had enough of his Uncle's ranting and railing against every single thing Harry did wrong. Six years of rants and threats of sending him off to an orphanage had simply come to a head. "Yes Dursley, I dare," the boy spat, eyes suddenly blazing. "I dare because I'm sick of this. I'm not your bloody servant, Dursley. I don't have to bend to your every whim. I'd much rather rot in an orphanage than stay here!" With that, Harry pushed off from the stair post he had been leaning against to storm past a suddenly scarlet Vernon Dursley and out the door.
Outside, Harry glared at nothing. It wasn't his fault his Aunt had decided Dudley needed fencing lessons—and Dudley had decided he needed a target to practice on. It wasn't his fault Harry had actually paid attention to the instructor during classes and actually learned something while Dudley had been messing around in the back with a couple of cronies he had roped into coming with him. And it sure as hell hadn't been his fault that when they had been paired off, Harry's sudden jump to the left to dodge a thrust had caused Dudley to lose his balance and break his nose on the hard mesh of his training mask.
Feh. He deserved it, Harry thought, grinning to himself as he remembered the sound of Dudley's whimpers as he tried to stem the bleeding, only to discover that the mask hampered his way. With a sigh, Harry lay back in the grass as the knowledge of what the implications of his outburst were. 'Least I'll finally be away from those idiots, he mused, wondering where exactly his little speech had come from. It wasn't like him to snap so quickly. Ah well. Maybe someone in the family had a temper, Harry wondered, finally getting up out of the grass and wandering back inside where he knew he would face the full brunt of his relatives' respective tempers and whatever harsh punishments they could concoct.
Two weeks later, Harry was surprised to still be a resident of Number Four. Privately he figured the Dursleys wanted to keep their personal servant around as long as they could so they wouldn't have to do any of the normal household chores. The fencing lessons had stopped, however. Harry didn't care either way. Fencing or no, he knew he could still find ways to get under his relatives' skins without even trying, sometimes without even his knowledge.
"Boy! The post is here. Go fetch it."
Vernon's command shook Harry out of his musings, and with a bland look at his uncle, Harry moved to obey. He trundled down the hall at a leisurely pace before stooping to scoop up the mail where it had tumbled out of the mail slot. As he headed back to the kitchen, he thumbed through the rubber band-bound bunch of letters. Bills, bills, Congratulations!—looks like Petunia won her holiday getaway—wait. What was that? One letter stood out from the rest of the bundle. The envelope was yellowed and heavy, unlike the flimsy envelopes Vernon used to stuff his letters into. Curious, Harry halted in the hallway and sat down on the stairs to take a closer look. As he pulled the envelope out of its rubber band binding, he noticed something else odd about the letter. It was addressed to him. His curiosity even more piqued, Harry took a moment to wonder how the sender knew his room was in the cupboard under the stairs as he slid a thumbnail underneath the glue, tearing it open.
There were two letters. The first looked like an equipment list of some kind, but with items Harry had never heard of before in his life. The second, however, was a more normal sort of letter. Harry skimmed through it quickly, then more slowly, then read it a third time more thoroughly, not daring to believe what the letter was, in effect, telling him.
Dear Mister Potter:
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed you will find—
—Harry got no further as his uncle, curious as to why the boy had not returned promptly from the relatively short walk from the kitchen table to the mail slot, tore the letter out of his hand.
"Now just what is this nonsense? And why are you reading my mail?" Vernon read the letter much as his nephew had only moments before, his eyes moving thrice through the words on the parchment, trying to take in all the information. As he finished, he turned to glare coldly at Harry. Harry matched his uncle stare for stare until the large man had to look away. Harry allowed himself a small smile at that and held his hand out to his uncle. Vernon stared at the boy in confusion until Harry spoke.
"My letter, uncle." It wasn't a request. Vernon stared at the hand a moment longer, his own lips twisting into a sneer.
"I don't think so, boy," he hissed, "your aunt and I swore we would keep you from all this foolishness when we took you in. And you have only given us grief in gratitude. A pathetic little parasite like you doesn't deserve anything but the orphanage. And that's where you'll be going. Next week, in fact." Vernon towered over Harry as he perched on the edge of one step. "There will be none of this nonsense there, I promise you that!" With a triumphant gleam in his eye, Vernon tore the letter to pieces slowly, deliberately, watching for some break in the precocious ten-year-old's spirit.
What Vernon saw reflected in those eyes was not what he was hoping for.
Instead of the saddened eyes of a crushed spirit, the eyes that stared back at Vernon were rife with anger, hate, and an indignant pride that made Vernon take a step or two backward. "Bastard," Harry hissed, green eyes glittering as he rose in one smooth motion. Vernon stared at the boy as he moved from the stair where he sat to stand directly in Vernon's face—Vernon's chest, actually, as the top of the boy's head did not quite reach his uncle's shoulder. However, the height difference did nothing to deter the sheer volume of anger in the young boy's eyes. So much anger, in fact that Vernon could've sworn he saw Harry's eyes change color. On second thought...
They were! Vernon's own eyes widened in fear as he witnessed the transformation his nephew was currently undergoing. The disconcerting thing was, Harry didn't seem to notice, so fervently was he railing against his uncle's oppression while his eyes shifted to a golden yellow color. And that wasn't the only change occurring. As Vernon continued to watch, mesmerized, Harry's ears shifted, moving from their normal position to perch atop the boy's head and become pointed, like a cat's or dog's. His teeth grew, becoming pointed and looking more like fangs with each passing second. Vernon chanced a glance down the boy's body to see if anything else was changing, only to discover that Harry's nails had become claw-like—and was that fur growing on his arms? Vernon was petrified. He nearly peed his pants in fear... on second thought... oh crap. He had never been this afraid in all his life. As one of the top echelon of a large corporation, Vernon had dealt with powerful enemies with equally powerful connections almost daily. However this—this boy had quite literally scared him shitless.
As Harry stepped forward to make a point, Vernon couldn't handle any more. He turned tail, running around the diminutive eleven-year-old and up the stairs, liquid staining his pants and trickling down his legs as he went. Harry was slightly bemused by his uncle's sudden change in attitude, but as he turned toward the kitchen to ferret out some food, he caught a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror. What the—? A pair of golden yellow eyes stared back at the boy, framed by a mass of black hair and ear tufts on either side of his head. Odd... he lifted one hand to feel an ear tuft, and stared at it. The back of his hand was covered in brown fuzz, like he had grown fur. He also had claws. "Heh," Harry smiled, baring a set of teeth that would've made any vampire proud. He didn't know what had happened, but he wasn't inclined to complain. As he stared at his reflection, picking out all the nuances of his changed appearance, he noticed his eyes start to shift back toward their normal green. By the time a sound in the kitchen distracted the boy from his musings, his eyes had gone back to normal, the anger at his uncle all but forgotten.
The noise in the kitchen turned out to be his aunt, who had fainted when she saw Harry's new appearance. Dudley hadn't noticed a thing, as he was still engrossed in the television on the table. Harry got a few evil ideas in his head, but decided against them and went outside instead, taking care not to step on his aunt. As he stepped out into the summer heat, he noticed an owl sitting on his chimney. Strange... Harry mused, then was jolted from his train of thought by another of the creatures, swooping down to land on his shoulder. "Hello," Harry greeted the owl, somewhat bemused by the bird's odd behavior. The eagle owl only blinked at Harry a bit nervously and raised one of its talons to show the boy something. "What? Oh," Harry untied the envelope from the owl's leg, thanking it absently. Freed from its burden, the owl wasted no time leaping into the air to wing its way as far away from the dog-eared boy as it could possibly get. The snowy owl perched on the chimney quickly followed suit.
Harry watched both birds leave, amused by their behavior. He was very happy, happier than he had been in all his life at the Dursleys' house. Had he seen his reflection at that point, he would've noticed his eyes change color to a deep, almost indigo blue—but Harry was too busy staring at the envelope in his hand to do such a thing. The address revealed it to be a match of the one his uncle had torn to pieces. Eagerly, Harry slit open the back with one sharpened nail and pulled out the contents. He sat there, in the backyard for the remainder of the day, reading the letter and daydreaming of the year to come.
There. That's done... on to chapter eight, in which Harry visits Diagon Alley!