Unmanageable Mischief

- Chapter Three -

Harry's mind landed abruptly back within his bedroom in Number Four. Despite this fact, he felt as though his surroundings were completely unfamiliar.

'Where am I?' A small childish voice that he somehow recognized as his own echoed his distress. 'Where did Meema go?'

Everything looked so large than it had, (was it moments ago?), moments ago. From the rickety cauldron, which appeared to have been knocked over at some point, to the bedroom door covered in horrid locks, that had once filled him with anger but now made him afraid.

He knew he'd just seen these things, and yet his mind seemed unable to comprehend that.

He slipped under his bed as a loud strike of thunder sounded, sneezing loudly at the dusty floor. 'Stupid dust.' He pouted, not noticing the odd new sound he'd made between a yip and a growl.

His eyes scanning the room for any ways of escape or danger, he failed to notice that for the first time in fourteen years his vision was shockingly clear. His glasses broken on the floor in front of him.

Panic filled him as he found no places to escape, as even the window was barred. A part of him said he could easily destroy the bars with a bit of effort but the other part was more vocal. 'Meema said to never make excess noise, never leave evidence and to hide for as long as you possibly can.'

Harry couldn't remember who Meema was as his mind seemed to be in the process of rebooting, but his instincts screamed that he could trust this Meema's words.

A whimper escaped him as loneliness suddenly flooded him. Harry had never liked being alone. Hermione would sometimes point out the fact that he would always look over his shoulder when he had done something he was particularly proud of, almost as if he was expecting someone to be hovering beside him.

He'd always been able to tolerate the loneliness, though. Now, however, the feeling multiplied. A familiar feeling of wrongness telling him that he wasn't supposed to be alone. Being alone was dangerous.

As if reading his mind a sudden quake echoed from the earth.

BANG!

Something exploded outside his window spooking Harry from his hiding spot, he ran for the pile of miscellaneous things piled in the room's corner collecting dust.

Only to startle when he suddenly came face to face with a tall mirror. It had been the one he'd punched in a fit of anger last year. He hated being forced to look at his reflection and Marge's cruel comments had made him extra sensitive to the sense of wrongness he got when he looked at himself.

Now however there was no such wrongness, which logically shouldn't be. Likewise he began to question why he was only now noticing the changes in his physical form.

Staring back at himself, was not the cursed brown Potter hair which barely covered his iconic lightning scar, nor his scrawny tan frame, not even AK green eyes hidden behind a pair of too big round glasses.

No, it was a quadrupedal creature, one his lessons in Care of Magical Creatures failed to provide him a name of.  A fox of some sort, he was sure. He was small, likely no bigger than the average house cat.

With large black triangular ears, a short snout with a tiny black nose, and furry whisker-like tufts of fur that protrude from either side of his face. His green eyes had become a greenish viridian blue color, and closing one revealed red eyelids, together with circular red patches of fur resembling eyebrows.