(Chapter one was fused with chapter two, which is why this one is marked as nr. three)
III
It was early afternoon and Molly Weasley worked in her kitchen with practised ease. It was the twins birthday today, and she wanted to make them a special supper in celebration. She smiled. How fitting her goofy lads' birthday happened on April first. It would be a nice, large gathering, what with the Burrow being the second headquarters of the Order. After the Death Eater attack, the Burrow had been rebuilt, stronger and safer than ever. Much stronger wards had been placed around the home as well, courtesy of Bill and Gringotts.
Of course, some people would not make it, busy on assignments, no doubt. She eyed Ron, Ginny and Hermione in the living room. Ron was quietly whispering to Hermione, who laughed silently and swatted him on the arm playfully. They were happy, it was clear and Molly hoped with all her heart they would have the chance to live their lives to the fullest, once the war was over. Ginny threw a pillow at them, which Ron caught in the face, resulting in a curse and a great belly full of laughter from the girls.
Molly smiled happily at her kids. These were good times in the Burrow, strangely enough. All of her children, aside from Bill lived here now with their significant others. Except Ginny, of course. She was still attending Hogwarts, her NEWTs coming up at the end of May. Even Percy had returned home when he found his senses and accepted the fact that You-Know-Who had returned.
There was one missing, though. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes before looking at the marvellous clock of the Weasleys. Originally, it had been equipped with nine hands, though more were added as the family got larger, one for each member. Most of them pointed at the word 'home', with the heads of Fred and George, along with their girlfriends, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet pointing at 'In Transit'. She hoped they would not be late.
The last one was stuck at 'Mortal Peril' and had remained there for the better part of two years now. Molly fought back the tears that always threatened to fall whenever she dared to look at the clock. She missed her boy so much.
While it was true Harry wasn't actually her son, she did think of him as her own. She certainly was more of a mother to the boy than that aunt of his. An awful woman, that one. She smiled sadly as she remembered the first time he came to the Burrow all those years ago. Those boys and their mischief, flying that blasted car to Surrey to rescue Harry. It was a good thing they did, though.
She trembled slightly; bars on his window, for Merlin's sake. Ill fed, as well. Who did such things to a child trusted to their care? Well, she and Arthur had always tried their best to make him feel a part of this family. Harry been happy about it as well. The magical sense of wonder that always played upon his face when seeing the most mundane of things was such an endearing quality, matched only by Arthur's similar expression when he discussed Muggles with his adopted son.
But she had noticed changes in him and they hadn't been good ones. A haunting look had found its way into his eyes after the fourth year at Hogwarts, and that awful thing in the graveyard with You-know-who and had gotten so much worse after the death of Sirius. Smiles rarely reached his eyes after that fateful day. She could hardly imagine what he was going through, even though she had lost her two brothers, Fabian and Gideon in the last war.
Difference was, she had been an adult when they died, thusly better equipped to deal with the pain and sorrow. And of course she'd had Arthur to lean on for support. Harry´d been just a boy and as good as alone in that awful Dursley house. And then, he had lost Dumbledore.
He'd already lost so much, yet he was the most selfless person she knew. He had already saved Ginny's life once, without a care for his own. And if it hadn't been for his vision of that snake's attack on Arthur... He'd willingly run into danger for a stranger, if he had the power to help them. Courageous and noble to the point of foolishness, was Harry Potter.
A lone tear ran down her cheek and she felt her husband wrap her in a hug from behind. She leaned into him, crying softly. She was displeased with herself, she was supposed to be stronger than that! Arthur kissed her neck behind her ear and stroked her hair softly.
"He´ll be fine, you´ll see. He´s a resourceful lad."
Molly turned to face her husband, her features composed once more. She laid a hand on his chest, a slight frown forming on her brow. She saw the truth in her man's eyes; he was trying to reassure himself, as much as her.
"That's just it, Arthur. He is just a boy and it's been so long. I'm so afraid for him. I keep thinking about him all alone out there, cold, hungry, perhaps even hurt. I cannot bear the thought."
With that she regained her composure and went back to her work and busied herself with the potatoes, expertly peeling them. Arthur looked out the window, frowning. That bloody boy had better be all right and he had better find his way home...
Later that night, once the festivities had run their course, Ron lay in bed and Hermione lay beside him, reading some book. The book looked heavy and long enough, that Ron knew he'd never, ever read the thing. Hell, he got bored even thinking about reading it. He stretched his hands behind his head and Hermione put her book onto the night stand.
She snuggled closer to Ron and kissed his lips softly. Ron's left hand wrapped around his lover and hugged her closer to him. He swore, he would never let her go. She was his. He didn't really know how they had ended up together, but a few months after Harry's disappearance, they'd ended up in bed one night and that was it, they'd become a couple.
"Dad caught Mum looking at the blasted clock again today. Did you see?"
Hermione winced. "Yes, I saw. She´s been doing that more and more often. She'll fret herself to death if this goes on for much longer. I also wonder all the time where Harry is, or if he's even alive at all. It pains me to say it, but he could honestly be dead, Ron. I don't think Riddle's killed him, he'd have made certain the world knew about it as soon as it happened. That might just win him the war outright, without further bloodshed. Much to his dismay, I'd imagine."
Ron grunted his assent at that last part. He knew Hermione's logic was sound, it usually was. But still, he refused to accept the notion his best friend might be dead. He could not. Annoyingly, they did not have any idea what had led to Harry's disappearance. The Order members stationed at Little Whinging had reported some sort of freak thunderstorm and lighting they'd never seen before.
As soon as they were able, they had gone to check on Harry, only to find him gone. There had been no evidence of foul play, no forced entry, no traces of magic, so they knew he had not Apparated and his wand had been left on his desk.
Hedwig had also seemed remarkably unperturbed, if unhappy. She was now in Hagrid's care. His friend's disappearance had also left Mrs. Dursley in a right state. According to Tonks and Lupin, she had spent almost a quarter hour screaming at them for not doing a better job of protecting her nephew. That she cared had surprised everyone quite a bit.
After all, her treatment of her nephew suggested the opposite. Even so, Harry was her last living relative, aside from her son and husband, so perhaps Harry had managed to find his way into her heart after all. He had a way of doing that.
Now, Ron missed his friend quite a bit, but he had a gnawing problem. There was a tiny part in the back of his mind that kept whispering to him every time someone mentioned Harry that, now that the bloody Boy-Who-Lived was gone, Ron finally had a chance to step out of Harry's shadow.
Make a name for himself as something other than Harry Potter's friend. Worst, however, were the times when the voice would tell him Hermione would always choose Harry over him in the end. That they were so much more compatible than Ron himself and her. But what Ron felt was possibly even worse was the fact that the voice wasn't wrong.
While Ron was lost in his thoughts, Hermione rested her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. It was slightly elevated. She knew why, certainly. Not only because Ron had always been easy to read and wore his heart on his sleeve. No, it was simply because she felt much the same, as did Ginny, she suspected. Their best friend was missing and there was not a single thing they could do about it. The Order had searched far and wide, with nothing to show for their efforts.
Once she and Ron became full Order members after graduating from Hogwarts, they too had joined in the search, their frantic despair deepening as days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Eventually the news spread, and there was widespread fear among wizards, a moment Tom Riddle had seized and attacked several towns and villages. Nothing major, but enough to announce his return without a shred of doubt. The attacks had been getting larger and more violent in recent months, however.
To those old enough to remember the first war, the first few weeks after Dumbledore's death were like gazing into the past. People disappearing, bodies found here and there, distrust forming among friends. Anyone could be under the influence of the Imperius Curse, after all. At first, measures were put into place to try and seek those individuals out, but it was hard work and slow.
Especially if the subject was skilled at Occlumency. And of course, the Ministry was corrupt, so after a while the funding was diverted somewhere else and the effort was halted. Knowing she wasn't going to solve any of this right then, Hermione turned off the light and went to sleep.
Ginny slowly eased herself into the bath and sighed contently as the water engulfed her. She relished this chance to be alone, to be left to herself, without the constant looks of worry her mother gave her. Well, almost everyone gave her these looks, as of late. Her mother was no better off than she was, always looking at that damned clock as if she was seeing it for the first time. Ginny had long since decided to leave the clock alone, as had most of the others. It wasn't as if looking at it would magically bring Harry back.
He was in her thoughts constantly, though. She kept dreaming such horrible things, Harry being dead, being tortured, Riddle displaying Harry like some sort of trophy on the Hogwarts grounds. But there were happy ones, too. Images of them living together, married life, with small children running about.
She missed him dearly, but it was the uncertainty, not knowing where he was, or if he was, in fact still alive that hurt the most. Nearly two years with no word. Nothing to cling to but the unreasonable hope that one day, he would come back to them.
He loved her, she knew, or at least he had, on that day when he broke things off between them. She'd always refused to acknowledge his reason for them parting ways. For her protection? Hmph. He was afraid Riddle would come for her, if he knew they were lovers. Well, let him come, then. She would gladly give Riddle a piece of her mind and provide a healthy helping of Bat-Bogey Hexes.
Smiling, she began to wash herself. What would Harry be like now, after all this time? Did Harry still feel the same way as he did back then? The smile was replaced with a frown. She desperately needed an answer. Starting during Neville's last year, she and him had been spending quite a bit of time together at Hogwarts and they were greatly attracted to one another. It did help quite a bit that Neville had gained a lot of confidence since he finished Hogwarts. Ginny wasn't shallow, but Neville had become much more desirable after he'd lost a bit of weight.
Neville had taken on a position as Professor Sprout's assistant, but he was really there to help McGonagall to keep an eye on things and relations between staff and students were not allowed, so they had not taken it any further than stolen kisses here and there. Yet. She felt somewhat guilty, even if Harry had no control over what she did with her life.
And he had ended the relationship, not her. She loved him still, and probably always would, but perhaps it was time to move on, to take the fledgling relationship with Neville further. Two years was quite a long time, after all.
Ginny stepped out of the bath and dried herself. She looked herself in the eye, in the mirror, while she braided her long, fiery red hair. There was another matter weighing on her mind, one about which she had reached a decision, and she would have to tell her mother soon.
She was joining the Order, no matter what her mother said. It was her right and she would not take no for an answer. In a few months time, she would be eighteen and out of Hogwarts in a mere few weeks and there would be nothing anyone could do to stop her.
Oh, her mother would yell and cry. He youngest child joining the war? Unthinkable. An absolute travesty. Ron and Hermione were doing their bit and the way Ginny saw it, she had no right to do any less, so long as she was able.
She stared out the window, her eyes noting the cars going by. They really were resourceful and innovative the Muggles, she had to admit. The things they had built, the amazing feats of engineering, all accomplished without the use of magic. Of course, to most Purebloods, some of the things the Muggles had at their disposal might seem like some obscure magic. She heard her oldest sister approach to stand beside her, also to look through the window.
"Thinking of Harry?"
"Aren't I always?" she asked. "He's not been around for some time. I'm worried."
"We're all worried. He's alright, I can feel it. The bond is quiet, if a bit turbulent. It grows weaker every day and I do not expect it to last more than a few days further, at most. His strength is incredible. It, more than anything, has helped me heal as well and quickly as I have."
The younger sister nodded and returned to her observation of the muggle world. So Harry was safe. She was glad of it and the news helped settle her heart. He usually came by every week, but he had missed several meetings. She stole a look at her sister's reflection in the glass and marvelled at the changes in her.
She had filled out nicely since Harry had rescued her and her gorgeous black hair had finally regained its lustre and the bright violet eyes were shining as they once had. And lastly, the familiar, mischievous glint that had been absent from those same eyes for far too long was firmly in place once more. Both saw the third sister's reflection in the window as she approached and stepped in between them, as had been her place since birth.
"Worried about Harry? Well, I can't say I'm not. I'm just happy you two found someone actually worth worrying over, sisters." The other two gave her a look, at which she chuckled. and raised her hands in defeat. She was just as worried as they were, and they knew it, too.
"How did the session go?" the youngest one asked gently.
"It went very well. I believe our dear older sister is almost at the end of her road to recovery. She draws strength from Harry and it has helped immensely. I'm confident the bond will disappear any day now. Usually a therapy like this takes months, at least, so it just goes to prove your strength, sister."
"I just wish he was here. I dislike him being out there by himself when I, no we should be there with him," the eldest confessed. Her youngest sister nodded slowly.
"We all do, sister. He would never allow it, as well you know. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to any of us." A comfortable silence followed as the three sisters watched on through the window as the Muggles went about their business, not even aware of the house that was strangely missing between 43 and 47...
At dawn, Harry quit the forest and found himself in a large meadow. He shivered slightly. Spring was well and truly upon the land, but it was still bitterly cold in the mornings. He had always liked the wee hours of the morning, the peace and quiet it afforded. It gave you time to think, to ponder the world and its trappings.
Harry took a deep breath, the cold, fresh air flowing into his lungs. No sounds, except his own breathing could be heard. At least nothing a normal Muggle, or wizard could hear, but Harry wasn't normal by any definition. Not any more.
He closed his eyes, raised his arms a little from his sides, palms forward, and focused on his breathing. A slow, deep and a steady rhythm. He felt the power of the earth, the air, and himself. Soon, he could feel small creaks in the earth as the last vestiges of winter, slowly, but surely left the soil. There was a squirrel in a nearby tree and a mouse scurried along the ground.
He could feel the trees moving, as if they were stretching towards the warmth of the rising sun. This was nature in its purest form. He never tired of this experience and he did it often, as often as possible, as Gryffindor had advised.
Every place was different, with it's own unique sound and feel, and he wanted to experience as many as possible. Harry lowered his arms slowly, opening his eyes as he did. He smiled at the sun and plunged himself into his memories as he crossed the meadow.
The young man entered the basement of Gryffindor's stronghold. The room was vast and seemed to serve as both an alchemical lab, as well as an armoury. Desks and tables, filled with various contraptions and containers lined the southern wall of the room. Shelves lined the other walls and in them, you'd find either flasks or books.
Over on the northern side, there were racks upon racks of weapons and armour, as well as several dummies, obviously meant to be used for training. Harry made his way over to the weapons and armour and examined them closely.
Almost every kind of weapon imaginable was stored there; knives, swords, axes, many kinds of pole arms and a pair of bows. One bow was very long while the other was shorter and the ends curved outwards. And lastly, several shields leaned against the wall. Eventually, Harry picked up one of the swords and swung it around a bit.
"You like those, lad? Of course you do," Gryffindor said jovially. "Every young man does, after all. The one you're holding, we called a Bastard sword, or a hand and a half sword. Light enough to use with one hand, big enough to swing with both. Over there we have a regular longsword and a pair of scimitars, brought to me by a travelling friend. A spear, and a staff as well. You look puzzled."
Harry nodded at Gryffindor, who was standing in a painting of a suit of armour this time. Harry continued to browse the various items stored there. These were quality items, it was clear. He had read that Gryffindor was a skilled duellist in his time, but to have so many...
"I find it a bit strange for a wizard to have so many weapons, when you could easily dispatch anyone with magic, powerful as you were."
Gryffindor inclined his head. "I was a very good swordsman. In fact I was one of the very best. I was very young when I started training my swordplay. My father thought it foolish, being a wizard himself, but my mother was quite happy. She was born to Muggle parents and came late into her magic. You must understand, Harry, that at the time, duelling, magical or otherwise, was a very common way of dealing with arguments. I was of the opinion that using magic in a duel against Muggles was unfair, not to mention dishonourable. Of course, if discovered, it would also cause all sorts of problems, as you can imagine."
"Yeah, that's true," Harry said with a nod.
"There's also the fact that most magical beings, such as giants, dragons, werewolves, vampires and many more are resistant to magic, some extremely so. An enchanted melee weapon is a much safer bet. At least when travelling alone. With enough knowledgeable and capable wizards, you can subdue almost anything. Every weapon you see here is made from a metal called Meteoritic Silverite. While the substance is extremely rare and expensive, it is well worth the price, since it is much stronger and more durable than regular silver."
"I'm sure you know silver is useless against werewolves and vampires, but the same goes for most of the supernatural creatures. Silverite is quite effective, however. It's the purity of it, you see. It is also readily imbued with magic, making it ideal for monster slaying. I suspect you will come in contact with some of those beings on your quest, so it would not go amiss for you to learn the sword and, perhaps the bow as well."
Harry looked at the portrait of Gryffindor with a very sceptic look. Swords? He did not have time to waste on learning to fight with something that looked like an unduly long kitchen knife. And yet what Gryffindor said made sense.
Harry knew he could not use his magic, since he'd left his wand at his aunt's house and as long as he was bonded to his own wand, he could not use another one. Family, those related by blood could somewhat get by with the wand of a relative, but it was never the same. A prime example of this was Neville, and the Weasley children. But what did Gryffindor have planned for him? That man was entirely too mysterious for Harry's liking.
"How do you plan on helping me? If you plan to, I must insist we get to it. I also should go get my wand, I won't be doing any magic without it. I was never any good at wandless magic. Wait, that's not a good idea; the Ministry is corrupt and they will most definitely not deactivate the Trace on my wand. So, I suppose I'll have to do without."
At that moment, Harry really hated that a wizard could only be bonded to a single wand at a time. So long as your wand remained whole, that was the wand you'd use your whole life.
Gryffindor was silent for a moment, then spoke in a grave voice. "I agree, we must make haste, but too much is folly. If you rush into this unprepared, you will most certainly perish. There are a few things I have planned for you, Harry and it will speed your progress greatly, but it will still take months, at the very least."
Harry did not like the sound of that. "But that's-"
"Harry, this Tom Riddle is quite clearly very powerful, much more so than you are at the moment, so the first order of business should be to lessen that gap, if we can. I happen to have a way to do so, but in order for us to be successful in that endeavour, we must do something about that body of yours. You're nought but skin and bones."
Harry looked down on himself, frowning. There was nothing wrong with his body! Sure, he was lean, well, OK, he was a scrawny little git. But he was healthy, he rarely got sick and even if he did, he always recovered quickly. Before Harry had time to reply, however, Gryffindor continued.
"As I said, I have a way to make you much more powerful, Harry, in an instant. Your body, however, will never be able to handle a sudden influx of power of the magnitude I speak of. Thus, we must enhance your body, and the only way for you to achieve that quickly enough is by consuming a potion Merlin and I concocted when Arthur was fighting Morgana.
There were dark and hopeless times in that war, where victory seemed impossible. We created this potion as an alternate plan. If we thought the war effort seemed lost, we would give the potion to the Knights of the Round Table, in a desperate plan to weather the storm. We never used it, though, as the war ended several weeks later."
"The reason I believe you must consume the potion is because of the way magic works within the body. As we grow older, we become more powerful, as you know. Some by quite a bit, others not as much. Magical power increases gradually over time, and the body slowly regulates it. Too much too quickly may cause unrepairable damage. There are techniques one can use to improve their body's regulation of magical energies and I will seek to teach you what I know, before you will be granted the power I intend to give you. But we must be very cautious in this endeavour."
Harry listened to Gryffindor with great interest. Finally, they were getting somewhere. This might be the answer to most of his problems. But there had to be a catch. No rose came without thorns, after all.
"But how does it work, exactly? What are the effects and how does it achieve them? Surely there are side effects from such an invasive treatment?"
"You are quite correct, my boy, there will be difficult hurdles to overcome once you've taken the potion. When we created the potion, we collected the essence of several beings and mixed them with ingredients meant to open up several points in the body and mind. Your body will fuse itself with these spirits. Imagine having the eyesight of the owl, hearing of the bat and the wolf's sense of smell. You'd have the agility of the cat, and vastly superior physical strength and endurance, compared to other humans."
Harry stared at Gryffindor. "This sounds too good to be true. There has to be something that prevented you from simply giving the potion to all the Knights," Harry said.
"Yes," Gryffindor said and inclined his head in acceptance. "Only those of the strongest will could ever hope to come through this with their sanity intact. We ran three tests and all of them failed. One died almost as soon as he drank the potion and the subjects that survived became feral and dangerous and had to be put down."
"Oh," Harry said simply.
"You see, the spirits within the concoction would try to overtake their minds. The potion itself was working correctly, but their minds were not strong enough. You must overcome their spirits and bend them to your will, Harry. Once you have done so, and I hope you can, the melding shall take place and you will acquire the traits I mentioned earlier."
Harry had a horrified expression on his face, as if he was seeing the man in front of him for the first time. He rubbed his arms slowly, shaking. "You performed those tests on humans? That's disgusting and wrong in so many ways!"
Gryffindor looked sharply on Harry, disapproval apparent in his eyes. "Don't be naive, Harry. Those were desperate times. The lives of those men, all of whom were willing participants, was a small price to pay, if it could lead to a victory against Morgana. War sometimes leads men down paths they never thought they would go; all for the greater good. I daresay you will find yourself at those same crossroads sooner than you think, and more often. Now, I ask you; what will you do?"
Harry cringed slightly. This wasn't fair. Why was Gryffindor being so forceful, putting him on the spot like that? Would he be willing to do whatever was necessary to achieve victory against Tom? No, that would not do. There were lines he and others on this side of the war could never cross, because if they did, they'd be no better than Riddle and his Death Eaters.
Harry sighed. The old man was right. He did not stand a chance against Riddle, and the potion was the only way he figured would come close to bridging the literal gulf in difference of power. In the end, he'd have to. He still wanted to make his point to Gryffindor.
"Where do we draw the line we must not cross, Gryffindor? When do we become no better than the ones we're fighting? This is precisely the time where we must hold to our morals and principles. If we forego them, we lose our humanity and if that happens, we might as well join Riddle and stop the war that way."
The old man acknowledged Harry's words with a nod, smiling. "A good question, an honest question. These are queries you must make of yourself, I agree. And we must forever seek the answer within ourselves. I fought in wars and I understand all too well how easy it is to fall. You must decide for yourself how far you will go for to obtain victory. I ask you this, however; is there any price too high, in order to vanquish evil such as Voldemort?"
Gryffindor let the question hang in the air, allowing Harry to ponder it. These musings were almost the same as the boy had voiced. Sometimes it helped to hear someone else voice your own thoughts. It could provide clarity. It took a strong man to ask himself such questions, and it took an even stronger man to actively seek an answer. Harry looked up at the older man resolutely, and nodded.
"I'm relieved you have decided to trust me and take the potion. I must warn you, however, that once you've taken it, the changes to your body and mind are permanent. There will be no going back to how you were before."
"I understand," Harry said.
"Good. Now, there are two vials left, they sit in the third shelf from the left. That's right, these ones there. Take one. I'm certain it is still in perfect condition, or at least it should be, if the wax on the stopper has not been broken. There's a rune etched on the wax, imbued with Helga's stasis charm, which should have fed of the magical energies in this place. Shake it firmly, please."
Harry rolled the vial in his hands and to his surprise, colours came to life in the small, cylindrical bottle. They swirled around as if they had a mind of their own. Harry assumed he was looking at the spirits of the beings Merlin and Gryffindor mixed in there. He fiddled with the vial in his hands for a while, looking at the glass tube with intense doubt.
This was it, the point of no return. What would he be like, once he'd swallowed the drink? Was there really no other way? Ignoring his doubts, he broke the seal on the vial carefully. Gripping the tip with his fingers, he opened it with an audible pop. A foul smell rose into the air, almost choking him. Harry looked at Gryffindor, an unspoken question in his eyes.
"It always smelled most foul, almost like curdled milk. No way to fix that, though. As with most potions and elixirs, any attempt to sweeten it will render the potion fruitless. Best to simply upend the bottle in one gulp, death waits for no man, as they say. I would advise you to remove your clothes beforehand, as they may be too small afterwards."
Harry eyed Gryffindor, his expression a bit stony. That brought a wry smile from the old wizard. Was now really the time for such jokes? The old man wasn't wrong, though. There was no time to lose and Harry removed his clothes, except his socks and underpants.
Harry swallowed the liquid in a pair of gulps and found the taste did not match the smell. It was much, much worse. Harry grimaced and nearly heaved as he placed the vial on a table next to him and shook his head in an effort to somehow lessen the taste. It was less than effective and Harry tasted his tongue even more than before. It was strange, he'd taken the bloody potion, but other than strong nausea, followed by a short bout of light-headedness, he felt much the same as before.
Soon, though, his heartbeat rose quite a bit, followed by a terrible headache. A very sudden and terribly sharp pain in his chest and abdomen brought Harry to his knees, clutching his torso the best he could. A scream escaped from his lips, as he felt like his head was being split open. Harry's hands went to his head as he fell to his side, writhing on the floor, the pain overwhelming; the Cruciatus seemed like a tickling charm compared to this.
The pain spread to his ears, eyes and limbs, even his lungs seemed as if they were on fire. Through the white hot pain, Harry felt as his face changed shape, his cheekbones, jaw and brow reshaping themselves. Even his ears and eyes seemed to change shape. He felt his hands grow bigger and his limbs and torso grow longer, and still the pain increased.
Then images and emotions began assaulting him. Memories not his own, of running around, chasing prey, flying through the air, hanging upside down in the darkness. There were images of wolfs, bats, cats, and humans and fish. It was all very distorted, and Harry felt as if he was losing himself, drowning in a pool of emotions and desires he could not comprehend.
Bloodlust, anger, joy. A craving for blood and raw meat. The sheer joy of running free, and swimming in the vast, blue oblivion that was the sea. A myriad of other emotions he clearly found were not his own kept assaulting him. Fighting this bombardment, as well as the pain seemed like an impossible task, and Harry could feel his breathing becoming shallower by the second.
He was dying from the shock, he dimly realized. He had to regain control over his mind if he was to make it through this ordeal, not only alive, but in control of himself. He focused on his mind and tried to block out the pain. He sought out and desperately grasped his own memories, memories that he held dear, and kept close to his heart.
Harry had always been master of his own mind and eventually the raw uncontrolled rush of emotions died down and Harry shut them down entirely, his mind his own once more. Then suddenly the pain stopped and he went completely limp.
Gryffindor watched it all unfold with great apprehension. This was so much more violent than he remembered. The other subjects had not thrashed about as furiously and almost certainly not for such a long time. Had the potion turned bad, despite the spell placed upon the bottle? Then Gryffindor saw as Harry's body started to rearrange itself.
At one point, Harry's face looked like that of a werewolf, and at another, a semblance of a bat and an owl. Alarmingly, Gryffindor noticed Harry's breathing had become dangerously shallow, and laboured. Then suddenly the boy went completely limp, his body completely still. Gryffindor looked at the boy, desperately looking for signs of life, cursing his inability to help the young man. Then Harry twitched slightly and opened his eyes, to Gryffindor's great relief.
Harry opened his eyes slowly and blinked several times before he turned his head to either side, noting his surroundings. Every joint in his body ached terribly as he got to his feet, but with gritted teeth and determination, he rose to his full height. He brought his hands up and examined them and found them to be much the same, albeit bigger. He saw his glasses on the floor and by reflex, bent down to retrieve them and put them on.
Everything went quite hazy the moment he put the glasses on and he removed them quickly. It was then he noticed how good his eyesight had become, and at that time, he also discovered his extremely sharp hearing. He could smell all kinds of different scents, smells he could not have discovered before all this. A buzz in the far upper corner of the room, a full eighty feet away turned Harry on his heel, and he peered into the shadowy part of the room. Harry stared for a full minute before shaking his head in disbelief and turn to Gryffindor.
"I can count the legs on the fly caught in a spiderweb in that corner there, Gryffindor. If I really focus, I can find and isolate its smell, and pick up several different frequencies of sounds the wings make as they flutter about. I can hear the spiderweb stretch as the fly struggles to break free, the ferocity of its efforts doubled from before, because the spider is returning to it's lair. It's really weird and uncomfortable."
Gryffindor simply stared at the boy in a mixed state of awe and apprehension. The cold fact was that he and Merlin had never reached this far in their experiments. The young man surely had a will the strength of steel, to be able to come through this ordeal, seemingly as sane as before. With this kind of mental fortitude, one moved mountains, built empires, led rebellions. But more than that, the transformation was utterly astounding. Gone was the skinny little boy, replaced by a tall, strong and robust young man. Gryffondor cleared his throat to grab Harry's attention.
"There is a mirror on the far wall. I believe you ought to go and see the changes for yourself. Fair warning, the change was much more drastic than anything I could have anticipated."
Harry nodded numbly and made his way to the wall to peer into the mirror and let out an audible gasp. Surely this was some trick, his mind must not have recovered as much as he originally thought. The man looking back at him in the mirror was tall, had a healthy tan and broad shoulders, with strong, well defined muscles.
His eyes, although still emerald green were a little bigger, had a slight slant to them, and they seemed to shine, as the the fire in the small fireplace led the shadows in a dance upon his features. And the pupils had narrowed into slits. His nose was mostly the same. His dark hair had grown longer, and framed a chiselled jaw, which angled down to a strong chin and a thick neck.
Harry shook his head, and ran his hand through his hair slowly, and froze. His hand caressed his right ear. Wide eyed, he angled his head to the left, and stared at his ear. It was pointy. Harry turned his head to the other side, and found the other ear to be the same, naturally.
Fortunately, they did not angle out from the head too much, but definitely more so than before, and they were very noticeable and larger. Harry let his hair fall, and ran his hand down the side of his neck and felt several bumps on one side, then the other. He asked Gryffindor about them and the old man told him they were gills.
Gills! Harry stared at himself in the mirror some more. The last part of his body to examine was his mouth, which Harry knew was not the same, as he had run his tongue around his teeth a moment ago. He opened his mouth, only to confirm what he had felt before. His canines had become slightly longer and more pronounced.
It was not terribly noticeable, unless he smiled, so a lopsided grin was the way to go from now on. The only thing that hadn't changed was the famous scar on his forehead and the colour of his eyes and hair. Well on the bright side, he was completely unrecognizable, which was a massive plus. Still...
Rubbing his face, Harry sat down in a nearby chair and let out a deep sigh. So this was it. This was the new Harry Potter. He had expected some changes, but nothing like this. Was he even human any more? Was he some kind of a hybrid, part man, part beast?
Sure, he had bested the spirits in the elixir, but could he be certain they would never return? He could not answer any of these questions, and neither could Gryffindor, Harry knew. The old man was treading the same uncharted waters as he himself was. One thing was certain, he was stronger than before, both mentally and physically, which would certainly come in handy in the coming months.
"So, Gryffindor, where do we begin?"
The old man was a bit taken back by Harry's demeanour. He was had seen Harry's reactions in the mirror, and had assumed the boy wanted to discuss what had happened to his body, but, apparently, that was not the case. Gryffindor assumed the boy had realized he knew no more than the boy himself. Practical and efficient. A good mix, and a solid foundation upon which to build.
"Sleep is what you will do, young man. Sleep. There's no use training or learning when you're like this, my boy. Go, rest. We shall continue in the afternoon. Or whenever you wake."
So, there you have it. Chapter three. As you can see, I have changed Harry's body quite a bit, but there are two things I didn't touch. The colour of his eyes, and his hair. To me, those are two things that should never be changed, as they are too big a part of who Harry is. If people change that, it completely ruins the immersion for me.
Some people change Harry's gender, and that's something I'm fine with, and in some cases, the heroine has red hair, and brown eyes, and I quite like that idea. She then has the hair of her mother, and her father's eyes, so that's cool.
Another thing I've always disliked is when Harry Potter, be they male or female is not the child-that-lived, unless, of course they've been transported to a different reality, but that's a completely different scenario. Potter being the child-that-lived, is completely central to everything the series is about, so it makes no sense to me, to mess with that.
Oh, and one more thing, being a Metamorph is Tonks' thing, so...
Anyway, these thoughts are mine, so feel free to ignore this and go about your lives :-) Thank you for reading!
