Creature Comforts (h.p.)

1

Throughout his childhood, Harry Potter had always had one particular ethos drilled into him. Don't ask questions. Simple and to the point; and backed up with negative reinforcement exceedingly effective. So effective, in fact, that he dared not ask about the feathers that would occasionally sprout over his body, or the smoke that poured from his nostrils when he got mad, or the flickering flame that would occasionally occur at the back of his throat.

He found himself assuming that it happened to everyone and that it was a taboo to mention - which he decided after one time in which he received a particularly vicious beating when a feather fell to the table from his arm as he served dinner. Vernon had watched the tiny blue feather dislodge from its resting place just below his shoulder and flutter gracefully onto his plate and proceeded to turn a terrifying shade of purple.

Vernon's belt got a lot of use that night.

The first clue he got that these occurrences might not be so normal was in fourth year, when he woke up with several of the same blue feathers scattered on his duvet. He was flapping it in the air to dislodge them when Neville walked in from the bathroom.

"Harry, why are there feathers all over your bed?" The timid boy had asked. Harry was confused.

"Does that not happen to you?" He replied, plucking a small feather from his collarbone. Neville's eyes widened and he immediately left the room. They never spoke of the incident.

He began to feel something entirely bigger was wrong when he found his magic began fluctuating. Not from one day to the next, but within minutes he went from feeling unnaturally powerful to completely drained. It was exhausting and landed him in the hospital wing on more than one occasion. Poppy just couldn't explain it. none of it made sense. But something felt... off. It felt like something was trying to escape from him, but there was something in the way.

He had mentioned it to Dumbledore, hoping the man would help, but it turned out to be the wrong choice. Dumbledore had avoided the topic entirely with frustratingly vague insinuations, and from that day on shot looks at him frequently when the boy wasn't looking. It wasn't a kind of worried glance. The gaze was cold and calculating, like the man was sizing him up. The piercing blue eyes sent chills down his spine. These glares were not friendly.

But of course, the whole thing had to be thrust upon him for him to finally connect the dots.

That day in the summer before 6th year was an especially bad one. One of harry's chores was to unclog the toilet, the blockage consisting of a disgustingly ginormous lump of excrement, courtesy of Dudley. It had taken a tremendous amount of plunging on Harry's part and he was covered in toilet water by the end. Vernon had come home particularly mad; he'd lost out on a huge drill sale and was desperate for an outlet. Harry, cooking the usual Thursday night steak dinner, accidentally mixed up Petunia's and Vernon's (a fatal error, because Petunia enjoyed her steak cooked through and grey, where Vernon liked his medium rare). This was the first straw for Vernon. As Harry hurriedly switched the steaks, Vernon grumbled and muttered. Clearly trying to provoke Harry.

Harry fell for it.

"Bloody useless, just like your parents, all freaks... should've drowned you that day you were dumped on us... always making mistakes, ought to be punished more seriously... should've beaten it out of you..." Harry was grinding his teeth a bit, but nothing really pushed any buttons. That is, until his lump of an uncle moved onto Sirius.

"The blasted man, showing up on that bike... unruly... should've rotted in that prison... glad he's dead-" At this, some spark ignited in Harry and he just snapped. The loss of his godfather was still a bleeding wound in his fragile mind and he was sure he'd be mourning for a good while longer. Seeing red, he drove the steak knife into the table with such force that it became embedded about an inch into the wood before snapping clean in two. Of course, he had no idea that his eyes had quite literally begun glowing, or that inside his mouth sat several rows of razor-sharp teeth, or that points on his forehead were bulging like something was going to erupt from under the skin. All he cared about was setting Vernon in his place.

"You can insult me, hurt me," he growled, "insult magic, insult Hogwarts - but under NO circumstances will I allow you to talk about Sirius Black in such a way. The name leaving your lips is a disgrace to the man himself and he was a better person than you could ever be, you pathetic lump of lard." The moment the words escaped his lips his eyes widened and his anger-induced changes receded. If only the Dursleys could feel the magic pulsing from the boy; if only they could tell that the boy was a stone's throw from following through with what they were told to prevent at all costs.

They were simply too self-absorbed to fully register what was going on. By the time Vernon was dragging Harry up the stairs by the ear he'd fully convinced himself that he'd imagined the alarming changes.

Vernon threw the terrified boy to his bed and Harry knew better than to struggle. He removed his shirt and laid down on his stomach, mentally preparing himself for the awful pain to come. He heard the telltale slithering of Vernon removing his belt and tried not to whimper. He found himself reliving memories of his childhood. Memories involving very similar belts.

As the first few hits rained onto his back he found himself oddly warm. It took him a while but he eventually realised that it was his magic, wrapping around him and numbing the pain. He was immensely glad for the absence of the pain as he could still hear the harsh contact of the belt. Vernon was beyond furious. He seemed to be growing more and more furious as Harry didn't respond with the usual screams and cries, so he doubled his efforts. But the intense gathering of magic that shrouded harry coaxed him into a deep sleep so he wouldn't have to watch himself being tortured. Harry had the best sleep he'd had since Sirius's death as his uncle tore his back to shreds.

Vernon was lashing viciously at the boy's back, each blow carrying a surprising force behind it. Every hit he landed shook the boy's magical core. Every hit battered down the blocks trapping Harry's true power. And though Harry's back was reduced to nothing but ribbons of skin and sinew, he found himself suddenly feeling better than ever. The moment the magical bindings broke his eyes flew open. They glowed in the darkness of his room and he could still hear the belt swishing behind him. He was calculating how best to get out of this current situation when a sound rang through the room that made his blood run cold.

An owl was tapping at the window. Vernon's abuse ceased momentarily and Harry took his chance. This better be good.

He sprang up from his position, yelping as the magic dissipated and he felt the awful sting of his back. The window crashed open and he pelted at the owl, tugging the scroll from its leg. He could hear his uncle panting behind him. Hurry, hurry!

He scanned the page.

Gringotts-

Blocks-

Inheritance-

Portkey-

Portkey! Harry eagerly re-read the line in further detail, his breathing increasing in pace as he heard laboured footsteps behind him.

This letter acts as a portkey, and will be activated with the word 'revelio'. We hope to see you as soon as possible to discuss these matters further.

He could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he held the age in one hand. He needed to get out now, or face the livid man approaching him from behind.

"revelio," he spoke clearly, gasping as a fat hand came to snatch the page from his grasp just as it glowed blue.

Oh, no. anything but this.