~*Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling deserves all credit*~
When Nightmares Are A Good Thing
Chapter 6: Metamorphagus?
The week before his sixteenth birthday flew by with little regard for anything other than the reading and studying of his newly acquired books, and his weights/exercise routine. The weight portion now, of course, included Dudley of who was shocked when Harry began to give the daily "payment" Uncle Vernon provided to him. Dudley had clearly not understood why Harry would give away money to his bully of a cousin when his Uncle was giving him money for the first time in his life.
Harry slept only when he felt he couldn't stay awake any longer, and ate only when he pictured Mrs. Weasley force-feeding him while Ron and Hermione shot him looks of sympathy. In truth, it was very difficult to eat much without feeling sick, therefore, Harry allowed himself to stop eating just as soon as he felt nauseous, knowing even the Order's threat wouldn't be able to keep his uncle from pounding him to death, if he were to throw up on Aunt Petunia's perfect carpet. He did, however, come to enjoy the flavor of Uncle Vernon's coffee. Of course, Harry couldn't drink a cup whenever he pleased, but he could sneak a mug when there was some left over.
As far as letters went, Harry had received no reply from Remus Lupin, nor had he received anything from Dumbledore, Ron, or Hermione. Harry, so far that week, had only sent the necessary letter to the order and was returned a single parchment back, that read
Keep your head up, Harry.
To him, this seemed like a reverse attempt at urging Harry to write more information, but he knew better than to fall for it. He wasn't about to revert back to his childish antics of begging for information and to be taken away from his relatives. He knew the reason why he had to stay with his aunt and there was nothing short of a dementor attack that would raise attention enough to be taken away. No, he would just take his lumps as he earned them and so far, this summer at his relatives was probably what he needed or rather, what everyone else needed; a break from Harry. They must have been so annoyed with his whining and volatile mood swings last summer.
A strange feeling had occurred within Harry when he received no reply from the Headmaster: he was disappointed. Why this was so, Harry had no clue, but he felt it. It wasn't because he thought that the old man had anything important to say, he was sure.
This realization of conflicting emotions worried Harry. He was utterly clueless as to how he felt toward the old man. He had first been upset with him for abandoning him throughout the year and for ignoring his silent request to join the order. Then he was angry with him for forcing Occlumency lessons with Snape on him. When Harry had expressed his concerns, Dumbledore had merely ignored them as if nothing was wrong until that night at the Department of Mysteries only to tell him the secret he had asked about in his first year at Hogwarts. That he was predestined to kill or be killed by Voldemort. What hurt the worst was knowing how things could have been different if he had known that bit of information before his little escapade. Didn't Dumbledore trust him? Harry was not a weak person, he could have handled the truth and he most certainly would have accepted it much better had he been allowed more time to train for the final showdown without the pain of his Godfather's death.
Yet another sad frown passed over Harry's facial features. He couldn't really blame Dumbledore too much. He hadn't known that Sirius would die and thus, force him to tell Harry of the prophecy. With a shake of his head, the teenager drove the confusing thoughts out of his head.
Now it was a Monday, five days before his birthday. Harry had thoroughly read all of his new books and was currently debating which books deserved a second go, while he did his morning sit-ups and push-ups.
As he finished, Harry sat on his bed gazing at himself, for the first real time in at least a year, in the mirror on the door inside of his wardrobe. He stood up and walked over to it, studying himself. He was a skinny boy with messy hair and eyes of an abnormal shade. There were large purple bags underneath his eyes and the skin over his face seemed to be thin and hard. His upper body, however skinny he was, was very well chiseled despite the outline of what he assumed were his ribs. While undoubtedly small for his age, Harry turned his skin and bones body into a well-toned skin and bones body. When he had first arrived at Hogwarts, he was the shortest kid in the entire school. Now he wondered briefly where he'd be in the standings.
Harry sighed. He agreed with Mrs. Weasley on the fact that he needed to eat more. He knew that his poor health was taking its toll. It always did. He was always the shortest and skinniest of all the boys and most of the girls. If he were allowed to eat properly as a child, perhaps he would be of standard size already so that he wouldn't have to worry about eating and sleeping correctly in this difficult time of his life. Harry knew that he truly didn't care much about his appearance, but the Order and the Weasley's were certain to pitch a fit if they ever caught him in such a state.
Harry studied himself once more. If only his hair would cover up his scar. That would certainly help. Caught up in his moment of wishful thinking, Harry had closed his eyes and imagined how his hair would look if it was long enough to cover the lightning bolt shaped cut on his forehead. When he opened his eyes Harry was so shocked, he jumped three feet in the air. His hair was now touching his shoulders! A state of panic claimed the teenager as he tried to figure out how he'd accomplished the act. Was it the wish? Wandless magic? Or was he a metamorpagi? If it were magic, the Ministry of Magic would be swooping in any minuet now to take him to Azkaban.
Silently, Harry threw a shirt on, made sure his wand was in his hand and scribbled an apology to the order for being thrown into jail on account of accidental magic. Harry left the note on his pillow as he paced the floor in his room, waiting for an auror to either apparate or an owl to peck on the window.
After ten minuets, Harry started wondering. After fifteen, he was suspicious and after thirty-five minuets passed the moment he grew out his hair, Harry knew that since he had not received any notice yet, perhaps he was not in trouble. This obviously made no sense.
He had performed accidental magic before as a child and even in his teens. The ministry had even bothered to send an owl when Dobby, the house elf, splattered his Aunt's pudding in his second year. Why was it that he was issued a warning for Dobby's hover charm, and his patronus charm but not for his hair growth and other various incidents as a boy? If it weren't the escaped convict, Sirius Black, Harry would have been in trouble with the Ministry for blowing up Marge in third year. The only reason he knew this was because Fudge had brought it up during his trial last summer.
Maybe the reason he wasn't in trouble was Fudge's way of apologizing for his idiousy last year. Or, could it be possible, that is was because the Ministry was only able to detect magic due to wand signatures? No, that couldn't be. If the were so, the Ministry would not have noticed Dobby's magical performance. Come to think of it, Harry had no idea how house elves performed magic. Was it achieved wandlessly or were their powers invoked from some other form? Another possibility was that privet drive was being monitored for all magical signs. The latter seemed most likely.
Having assumed the answer to his own question as to why he did not received an owl from the Ministry of magic, Harry still had yet to solve the predicament that had started the whole mess. His hair was at a different length that was clearly noticeable. It was essential that his relations not see the change in his hairstyle seeing as they would know that it was caused by his "freakishness".
Harry weighed out his options. He could attempt to shorten his hair by imagining it the way it was before, or he could think of a spell in his head that would do it for him. His curiosity won out. Harry would attempt to perform metamorphagi skills.
Looking into the mirror for the second time that day, Harry closed his eyes and pictured how he looked before. Feeling nothing, the teenager opened his eyes to find that he was back to normal.
A shocked expression crossed his face as he remember how he had grown his hair out over night after a particularly bad hair cut from Aunt Petunia. Was he a metamorphous or was it all accidentally a coincidence that he could grow his hair at will?
To remedy that affair, Harry pictured the hooked-nose of his potions professor on his own face. When he opened his eyes he was surprised to find exactly what he had imagined! It was rather amusing, really, but as soon as he saw that he could do it, Harry replaced it with a nose much like a pigs. That too came easily for Harry.
For the next hour, Harry practiced all sorts of looks and disguises. It was all very simple. All he had to do was imagine it, and it would appear. Although it did take him more than a few tries to change his height and weight, not that he would ever use it around the people that knew him. He couldn't alter anything noticeable or it would be a dead give away to his newfound talent and disguise weapon.
The knowledge of his new skills made Harry wonder about the possibilities of him performing wandless magic. He quickly gathered his confidence in his decision to attempt magic without being expelled from Hogwarts.
He glanced around his room, looking for something to perform magic on. His eyes landed on the book he had been reading the night before.
Harry carefully selected a spell that was not only simple, but also one that he had no trouble in using. He thought 'Wingardium Leviosa!' in his head as he focused on levitating the book up.
The book rose upwards, on Harry's mental thought, and landed gently on his bed. Instantly, Harry panicked. He hadn't truly believed that he would be able to. He resumed his pacing as he waited to see if he would receive an owl for this act of magic. After twenty minuets Harry almost smiled at the realization that he was, indeed, a metamorphagus and able to perform wandless magic. Now he would be able to practice most of the spells he had read about. Another plus to this new found talent, was that in a duel or a fight Harry would still be able to defend himself if he ever lost his wand. Not that his wand would do any good against Voldemort, anyway. Unless, of course, Voldemort was able to choose a different wand because Harry doubted that any of the adults that knew him would allow him to go anywhere new Diagon Alley or Hogsmede with Voldemort having been outed.
Harry was just pulling up the sheet of parchment that had his "need to learn quickly" spells written on it when the boisterous voice of his Uncle elegantly drifted up the stairs.
"BOY!!! GET DOWN HERE NOW!!!"
A groan, a moan and thirty seconds later Harry found himself in the kitchen looking at a large box resting on the coffee table while his Aunt and Uncle eyed with warning, caution, and disgust.
"That box was delivered just now. Has your name on it. Now just who the bloody hell is 'Moody'?" said his Uncle in a huff.
"Mad Eye Moody? He's an old teacher of mine. I believe you met him at Kings Cross. Bowler hat, weird looking eye?" Harry spoke, choosing his words carefully as he pretended to look at the box with curiosity and surprise.
It seemed to have worked. Petunia went pale and Vernon went purple. For a few moments it looked as of neither could find anything acceptable to say, therefore, Harry timidly stepped to the box and "examined" it. Just as he was about to pick up the box and carry it up to his room, his Uncle found his voice again.
"Now you listen here, boy. I won't have you freaks sending things to MY home. There's no telling WHAT is in that box! Probably stuff that will explode or blow up!"
Calmly anticipating this reaction, Harry looked at his Aunt before he tore the tape off the top of the big box. He hurriedly ripped it open before Uncle Vernon stopped sputtering nonsense of outrage and came to his senses.
Peering into the cardboard container with Aunt Petunia leaning over his shoulder, Harry eyed pounds and pounds of clothes that looked to be his size.
Aunt Petunia's sharp eye caught the name brand and pulled one of the shirts out to be examined, as if to be determined as a brand imitator or a wizarding brand that shared names. When she was satisfied that the clothes were indeed "normal" she let the shirt drop back into the box and shot a confused look at her husband who's eyes were wide with shock at having a stranger (who had met and threatened him before) send his nephew decent clothing.
Harry hastily picked up the rather heavy box and hoisted it up onto his shoulder and climbed the steps to his bedroom before his relations could bombard his with questions concerning why he needed new clothes and why the clothes and things that had already been provided weren't good enough. He was halfway up the stairs when his Uncle bellowed, "BOY!"
Harry froze in place and turned his hips so that he was facing his Uncle and Aunt who were still scrutinizing him.
"Boy, tomorrow Marge will be visiting and I except you to stay in your room the ENTIRE time! We'll have none of your abnormality mussing up her stay this time! You will be brought your meals and let out only when we allow you to. Can't have Marge seeing you. We've told her you were made to stay at St. Brutus's year round. I'm sure you...understand this arrangement was made in all fairness."
Harry could feel the blood rushing to his face, but he clamped it down with an iron fist. After all, he wouldn't have to swallow her insults if he was imprisoned, yet again, for the duration of her visit.
"Yes, sir," was all Harry said in reply before resuming his attempt to escape.
When he arrived in his room, he shut the door and dumped the box's contents onto his bed where he began sorting through the pile and trying them on. All in all, Harry was rather pleased with his purchases. The extra smalls that he bought were very tight, leaving no air in between his skin and the fabric. The smalls seemed to fit rather snuggly, but after wearing Dudley's leftover baggy jeans and t-shirts, Harry welcomed the fit. It made him feel as if he weren't so skinny. The mediums were still kind of tight across his chest but was comfortably loose else were. The few larges were loose all around, but yet, they very an extremely nice look compared to the sizes he had been wearing!
The new wardrobe was folded carefully and placed on the floor to be packed into his trunk. Considering that his relatives were unnerved by the thought of a stranger sending Harry clothes, he saw no reason to waste his new clothes on them. It was then that he noticed a small cosmetic-like zippered bag. It was made of cheap black leather and had a handle at the side by its zipper. The contents turned out to be shampoo, shaving crème, a razor, and men's cologne. There was a note resting at the bottom of the black pouch. Harry picked it up and read.
Dear Customer,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as a frequent buyer! Please accept this free gift as a token of our appreciation. We hope to continue to benefit from your business in the future!
Harry snorted at the letter, imagining himself buying new clothes every month just to have something expensive to wear, like Malfoy.
The sun was just beginning to set as Harry finished magically rearranging, organizing, and expanding his trunk to fit all of his possessions. His books, of course, were left at the top of the pile for easy access.
That done, Harry allowed himself to gather his new toiletries and head to the bathroom seeing as he wasn't sure how long Aunt Marge would be staying.
When he was clean, he stepped out of the shower and studied the razor and shaving crème. Funnily enough, Harry had no idea how to shave. The directions told him what to do with it and so, Harry followed the directions guessing and inferring at how he supposed it was supposed to be done. He had once caused a "commotion" in the hallway, after being tripped by Dudley, that was loud enough to rouse Uncle Vernon, clad with white foam covering his chin and cheeks, from the bathroom to yell at him.
In all actuality, the nearly sixteen year old boy had no clue as to whether or not he needed to be shaving yet, but then he remembered his practice as a metamorhagus. He could control his hair pretty much on command, but facial hair was a little tricky. He did have, he noticed, enough to work with but it was stubborn and refused to do what Harry commanded it to. Perhaps by shaving, he would be able to gain some sort of authority on his own bodily features.
Five minuets later, a clean-shaven Harry emerged from the bathroom with only one minor cut. Had Harry been taught how to shave correctly, he would have known how truly amazing that feat really was.
The truth was, even if Harry could maintain his appearance by magic, he found it a tranquil act that required some concentration, thus, reliving some of his stress.
When he reached the door to Dudley's second bedroom, he lingered a moment before confining himself for nobody knows how long. As it was dark and Harry was already too tired to stay up another nigh in a row, Harry subjected himself to sleep the full night if he could.
Harry quickly did his nightly repetitions of sit-ups and push-ups before climbing into bed and sleeping.
The department of mysteries swam into view as the archway that held the dark veil came into focus. Harry stood, rooted to the ground as his Godfather fought his way around the room, dodging curses and mouthing hexes.
Somehow Harry just knew that something bad was about to happen. He had to warn him!
"Sirius! No! Sirius!"
Sirius, still alive and in mid-duel with his cousin, Bellatrix, turned his head away from the fight in order to look at Harry and to hear what he was saying.
"Watch out, Sirius! She's going to-"
Harry's sentence was cut off by his own scream as Bellatrix took advantage of her cousin's distraction and sent a curse at him, hitting his square in the chest.
Harry screamed when he saw the red light kill his Godfather.
The bellowing of his Uncle and the crack of a belt rudely awakened him as it rained down on his bare back, facing upwards in his small bed.
"Wake up you freakish boy! We won't have you screaming and stirring up trouble with the neighbors!"
Crack! Another blow was laid upon Harry's smooth skin.
"Marge is visiting tomorrow! You can't be bloody screaming in the middle of the night, boy!"
He was now fully awake and could tell by the immense pain that Uncle Vernon had been trying to get him to wake up and stop yelling for a few minuets already. Though speaking out in pain was out of the question, Harry did manage to turn his head to the side and glare at his Uncle.
The look and lack of sound was enough for his Uncle to stop his motion with the belt mid air. Then, as if he had a conscious, Vernon glanced down at the damage he had done, and winced but Harry knew the reason was not because he felt bad for Harry. No. He was scared of what would happen if Harry told Mad Eye, the stranger who threatened him and sent Harry name brand clothes. With out a word, the obese man strode out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Harry to wipe the blood of his back on the same t-shirt he had used on his wrist and stare at the blackness around him contemplating his life...yet again.
When Nightmares Are A Good Thing
Chapter 6: Metamorphagus?
The week before his sixteenth birthday flew by with little regard for anything other than the reading and studying of his newly acquired books, and his weights/exercise routine. The weight portion now, of course, included Dudley of who was shocked when Harry began to give the daily "payment" Uncle Vernon provided to him. Dudley had clearly not understood why Harry would give away money to his bully of a cousin when his Uncle was giving him money for the first time in his life.
Harry slept only when he felt he couldn't stay awake any longer, and ate only when he pictured Mrs. Weasley force-feeding him while Ron and Hermione shot him looks of sympathy. In truth, it was very difficult to eat much without feeling sick, therefore, Harry allowed himself to stop eating just as soon as he felt nauseous, knowing even the Order's threat wouldn't be able to keep his uncle from pounding him to death, if he were to throw up on Aunt Petunia's perfect carpet. He did, however, come to enjoy the flavor of Uncle Vernon's coffee. Of course, Harry couldn't drink a cup whenever he pleased, but he could sneak a mug when there was some left over.
As far as letters went, Harry had received no reply from Remus Lupin, nor had he received anything from Dumbledore, Ron, or Hermione. Harry, so far that week, had only sent the necessary letter to the order and was returned a single parchment back, that read
Keep your head up, Harry.
To him, this seemed like a reverse attempt at urging Harry to write more information, but he knew better than to fall for it. He wasn't about to revert back to his childish antics of begging for information and to be taken away from his relatives. He knew the reason why he had to stay with his aunt and there was nothing short of a dementor attack that would raise attention enough to be taken away. No, he would just take his lumps as he earned them and so far, this summer at his relatives was probably what he needed or rather, what everyone else needed; a break from Harry. They must have been so annoyed with his whining and volatile mood swings last summer.
A strange feeling had occurred within Harry when he received no reply from the Headmaster: he was disappointed. Why this was so, Harry had no clue, but he felt it. It wasn't because he thought that the old man had anything important to say, he was sure.
This realization of conflicting emotions worried Harry. He was utterly clueless as to how he felt toward the old man. He had first been upset with him for abandoning him throughout the year and for ignoring his silent request to join the order. Then he was angry with him for forcing Occlumency lessons with Snape on him. When Harry had expressed his concerns, Dumbledore had merely ignored them as if nothing was wrong until that night at the Department of Mysteries only to tell him the secret he had asked about in his first year at Hogwarts. That he was predestined to kill or be killed by Voldemort. What hurt the worst was knowing how things could have been different if he had known that bit of information before his little escapade. Didn't Dumbledore trust him? Harry was not a weak person, he could have handled the truth and he most certainly would have accepted it much better had he been allowed more time to train for the final showdown without the pain of his Godfather's death.
Yet another sad frown passed over Harry's facial features. He couldn't really blame Dumbledore too much. He hadn't known that Sirius would die and thus, force him to tell Harry of the prophecy. With a shake of his head, the teenager drove the confusing thoughts out of his head.
Now it was a Monday, five days before his birthday. Harry had thoroughly read all of his new books and was currently debating which books deserved a second go, while he did his morning sit-ups and push-ups.
As he finished, Harry sat on his bed gazing at himself, for the first real time in at least a year, in the mirror on the door inside of his wardrobe. He stood up and walked over to it, studying himself. He was a skinny boy with messy hair and eyes of an abnormal shade. There were large purple bags underneath his eyes and the skin over his face seemed to be thin and hard. His upper body, however skinny he was, was very well chiseled despite the outline of what he assumed were his ribs. While undoubtedly small for his age, Harry turned his skin and bones body into a well-toned skin and bones body. When he had first arrived at Hogwarts, he was the shortest kid in the entire school. Now he wondered briefly where he'd be in the standings.
Harry sighed. He agreed with Mrs. Weasley on the fact that he needed to eat more. He knew that his poor health was taking its toll. It always did. He was always the shortest and skinniest of all the boys and most of the girls. If he were allowed to eat properly as a child, perhaps he would be of standard size already so that he wouldn't have to worry about eating and sleeping correctly in this difficult time of his life. Harry knew that he truly didn't care much about his appearance, but the Order and the Weasley's were certain to pitch a fit if they ever caught him in such a state.
Harry studied himself once more. If only his hair would cover up his scar. That would certainly help. Caught up in his moment of wishful thinking, Harry had closed his eyes and imagined how his hair would look if it was long enough to cover the lightning bolt shaped cut on his forehead. When he opened his eyes Harry was so shocked, he jumped three feet in the air. His hair was now touching his shoulders! A state of panic claimed the teenager as he tried to figure out how he'd accomplished the act. Was it the wish? Wandless magic? Or was he a metamorpagi? If it were magic, the Ministry of Magic would be swooping in any minuet now to take him to Azkaban.
Silently, Harry threw a shirt on, made sure his wand was in his hand and scribbled an apology to the order for being thrown into jail on account of accidental magic. Harry left the note on his pillow as he paced the floor in his room, waiting for an auror to either apparate or an owl to peck on the window.
After ten minuets, Harry started wondering. After fifteen, he was suspicious and after thirty-five minuets passed the moment he grew out his hair, Harry knew that since he had not received any notice yet, perhaps he was not in trouble. This obviously made no sense.
He had performed accidental magic before as a child and even in his teens. The ministry had even bothered to send an owl when Dobby, the house elf, splattered his Aunt's pudding in his second year. Why was it that he was issued a warning for Dobby's hover charm, and his patronus charm but not for his hair growth and other various incidents as a boy? If it weren't the escaped convict, Sirius Black, Harry would have been in trouble with the Ministry for blowing up Marge in third year. The only reason he knew this was because Fudge had brought it up during his trial last summer.
Maybe the reason he wasn't in trouble was Fudge's way of apologizing for his idiousy last year. Or, could it be possible, that is was because the Ministry was only able to detect magic due to wand signatures? No, that couldn't be. If the were so, the Ministry would not have noticed Dobby's magical performance. Come to think of it, Harry had no idea how house elves performed magic. Was it achieved wandlessly or were their powers invoked from some other form? Another possibility was that privet drive was being monitored for all magical signs. The latter seemed most likely.
Having assumed the answer to his own question as to why he did not received an owl from the Ministry of magic, Harry still had yet to solve the predicament that had started the whole mess. His hair was at a different length that was clearly noticeable. It was essential that his relations not see the change in his hairstyle seeing as they would know that it was caused by his "freakishness".
Harry weighed out his options. He could attempt to shorten his hair by imagining it the way it was before, or he could think of a spell in his head that would do it for him. His curiosity won out. Harry would attempt to perform metamorphagi skills.
Looking into the mirror for the second time that day, Harry closed his eyes and pictured how he looked before. Feeling nothing, the teenager opened his eyes to find that he was back to normal.
A shocked expression crossed his face as he remember how he had grown his hair out over night after a particularly bad hair cut from Aunt Petunia. Was he a metamorphous or was it all accidentally a coincidence that he could grow his hair at will?
To remedy that affair, Harry pictured the hooked-nose of his potions professor on his own face. When he opened his eyes he was surprised to find exactly what he had imagined! It was rather amusing, really, but as soon as he saw that he could do it, Harry replaced it with a nose much like a pigs. That too came easily for Harry.
For the next hour, Harry practiced all sorts of looks and disguises. It was all very simple. All he had to do was imagine it, and it would appear. Although it did take him more than a few tries to change his height and weight, not that he would ever use it around the people that knew him. He couldn't alter anything noticeable or it would be a dead give away to his newfound talent and disguise weapon.
The knowledge of his new skills made Harry wonder about the possibilities of him performing wandless magic. He quickly gathered his confidence in his decision to attempt magic without being expelled from Hogwarts.
He glanced around his room, looking for something to perform magic on. His eyes landed on the book he had been reading the night before.
Harry carefully selected a spell that was not only simple, but also one that he had no trouble in using. He thought 'Wingardium Leviosa!' in his head as he focused on levitating the book up.
The book rose upwards, on Harry's mental thought, and landed gently on his bed. Instantly, Harry panicked. He hadn't truly believed that he would be able to. He resumed his pacing as he waited to see if he would receive an owl for this act of magic. After twenty minuets Harry almost smiled at the realization that he was, indeed, a metamorphagus and able to perform wandless magic. Now he would be able to practice most of the spells he had read about. Another plus to this new found talent, was that in a duel or a fight Harry would still be able to defend himself if he ever lost his wand. Not that his wand would do any good against Voldemort, anyway. Unless, of course, Voldemort was able to choose a different wand because Harry doubted that any of the adults that knew him would allow him to go anywhere new Diagon Alley or Hogsmede with Voldemort having been outed.
Harry was just pulling up the sheet of parchment that had his "need to learn quickly" spells written on it when the boisterous voice of his Uncle elegantly drifted up the stairs.
"BOY!!! GET DOWN HERE NOW!!!"
A groan, a moan and thirty seconds later Harry found himself in the kitchen looking at a large box resting on the coffee table while his Aunt and Uncle eyed with warning, caution, and disgust.
"That box was delivered just now. Has your name on it. Now just who the bloody hell is 'Moody'?" said his Uncle in a huff.
"Mad Eye Moody? He's an old teacher of mine. I believe you met him at Kings Cross. Bowler hat, weird looking eye?" Harry spoke, choosing his words carefully as he pretended to look at the box with curiosity and surprise.
It seemed to have worked. Petunia went pale and Vernon went purple. For a few moments it looked as of neither could find anything acceptable to say, therefore, Harry timidly stepped to the box and "examined" it. Just as he was about to pick up the box and carry it up to his room, his Uncle found his voice again.
"Now you listen here, boy. I won't have you freaks sending things to MY home. There's no telling WHAT is in that box! Probably stuff that will explode or blow up!"
Calmly anticipating this reaction, Harry looked at his Aunt before he tore the tape off the top of the big box. He hurriedly ripped it open before Uncle Vernon stopped sputtering nonsense of outrage and came to his senses.
Peering into the cardboard container with Aunt Petunia leaning over his shoulder, Harry eyed pounds and pounds of clothes that looked to be his size.
Aunt Petunia's sharp eye caught the name brand and pulled one of the shirts out to be examined, as if to be determined as a brand imitator or a wizarding brand that shared names. When she was satisfied that the clothes were indeed "normal" she let the shirt drop back into the box and shot a confused look at her husband who's eyes were wide with shock at having a stranger (who had met and threatened him before) send his nephew decent clothing.
Harry hastily picked up the rather heavy box and hoisted it up onto his shoulder and climbed the steps to his bedroom before his relations could bombard his with questions concerning why he needed new clothes and why the clothes and things that had already been provided weren't good enough. He was halfway up the stairs when his Uncle bellowed, "BOY!"
Harry froze in place and turned his hips so that he was facing his Uncle and Aunt who were still scrutinizing him.
"Boy, tomorrow Marge will be visiting and I except you to stay in your room the ENTIRE time! We'll have none of your abnormality mussing up her stay this time! You will be brought your meals and let out only when we allow you to. Can't have Marge seeing you. We've told her you were made to stay at St. Brutus's year round. I'm sure you...understand this arrangement was made in all fairness."
Harry could feel the blood rushing to his face, but he clamped it down with an iron fist. After all, he wouldn't have to swallow her insults if he was imprisoned, yet again, for the duration of her visit.
"Yes, sir," was all Harry said in reply before resuming his attempt to escape.
When he arrived in his room, he shut the door and dumped the box's contents onto his bed where he began sorting through the pile and trying them on. All in all, Harry was rather pleased with his purchases. The extra smalls that he bought were very tight, leaving no air in between his skin and the fabric. The smalls seemed to fit rather snuggly, but after wearing Dudley's leftover baggy jeans and t-shirts, Harry welcomed the fit. It made him feel as if he weren't so skinny. The mediums were still kind of tight across his chest but was comfortably loose else were. The few larges were loose all around, but yet, they very an extremely nice look compared to the sizes he had been wearing!
The new wardrobe was folded carefully and placed on the floor to be packed into his trunk. Considering that his relatives were unnerved by the thought of a stranger sending Harry clothes, he saw no reason to waste his new clothes on them. It was then that he noticed a small cosmetic-like zippered bag. It was made of cheap black leather and had a handle at the side by its zipper. The contents turned out to be shampoo, shaving crème, a razor, and men's cologne. There was a note resting at the bottom of the black pouch. Harry picked it up and read.
Dear Customer,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as a frequent buyer! Please accept this free gift as a token of our appreciation. We hope to continue to benefit from your business in the future!
Harry snorted at the letter, imagining himself buying new clothes every month just to have something expensive to wear, like Malfoy.
The sun was just beginning to set as Harry finished magically rearranging, organizing, and expanding his trunk to fit all of his possessions. His books, of course, were left at the top of the pile for easy access.
That done, Harry allowed himself to gather his new toiletries and head to the bathroom seeing as he wasn't sure how long Aunt Marge would be staying.
When he was clean, he stepped out of the shower and studied the razor and shaving crème. Funnily enough, Harry had no idea how to shave. The directions told him what to do with it and so, Harry followed the directions guessing and inferring at how he supposed it was supposed to be done. He had once caused a "commotion" in the hallway, after being tripped by Dudley, that was loud enough to rouse Uncle Vernon, clad with white foam covering his chin and cheeks, from the bathroom to yell at him.
In all actuality, the nearly sixteen year old boy had no clue as to whether or not he needed to be shaving yet, but then he remembered his practice as a metamorhagus. He could control his hair pretty much on command, but facial hair was a little tricky. He did have, he noticed, enough to work with but it was stubborn and refused to do what Harry commanded it to. Perhaps by shaving, he would be able to gain some sort of authority on his own bodily features.
Five minuets later, a clean-shaven Harry emerged from the bathroom with only one minor cut. Had Harry been taught how to shave correctly, he would have known how truly amazing that feat really was.
The truth was, even if Harry could maintain his appearance by magic, he found it a tranquil act that required some concentration, thus, reliving some of his stress.
When he reached the door to Dudley's second bedroom, he lingered a moment before confining himself for nobody knows how long. As it was dark and Harry was already too tired to stay up another nigh in a row, Harry subjected himself to sleep the full night if he could.
Harry quickly did his nightly repetitions of sit-ups and push-ups before climbing into bed and sleeping.
The department of mysteries swam into view as the archway that held the dark veil came into focus. Harry stood, rooted to the ground as his Godfather fought his way around the room, dodging curses and mouthing hexes.
Somehow Harry just knew that something bad was about to happen. He had to warn him!
"Sirius! No! Sirius!"
Sirius, still alive and in mid-duel with his cousin, Bellatrix, turned his head away from the fight in order to look at Harry and to hear what he was saying.
"Watch out, Sirius! She's going to-"
Harry's sentence was cut off by his own scream as Bellatrix took advantage of her cousin's distraction and sent a curse at him, hitting his square in the chest.
Harry screamed when he saw the red light kill his Godfather.
The bellowing of his Uncle and the crack of a belt rudely awakened him as it rained down on his bare back, facing upwards in his small bed.
"Wake up you freakish boy! We won't have you screaming and stirring up trouble with the neighbors!"
Crack! Another blow was laid upon Harry's smooth skin.
"Marge is visiting tomorrow! You can't be bloody screaming in the middle of the night, boy!"
He was now fully awake and could tell by the immense pain that Uncle Vernon had been trying to get him to wake up and stop yelling for a few minuets already. Though speaking out in pain was out of the question, Harry did manage to turn his head to the side and glare at his Uncle.
The look and lack of sound was enough for his Uncle to stop his motion with the belt mid air. Then, as if he had a conscious, Vernon glanced down at the damage he had done, and winced but Harry knew the reason was not because he felt bad for Harry. No. He was scared of what would happen if Harry told Mad Eye, the stranger who threatened him and sent Harry name brand clothes. With out a word, the obese man strode out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Harry to wipe the blood of his back on the same t-shirt he had used on his wrist and stare at the blackness around him contemplating his life...yet again.