CHAOS

The Beginning Of The End

The boy who identified as Freak grew up neglected, abused and hated by his relatives. He had been sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs for as long as he could remember. Forced to make every meal and only getting a minimum of food himself. Uncle Vernon punished him regularly, for doing something wrong, being to slow or just if he felt like it. His aunt forced him to weed the garden, clean the whole house and whatever else needed to be done. He would be locked in his cupboard without food if anything unnatural or freaky happened, not that he really knew what that meant. He stayed silent, never asking questions, knowing it would only lead to more pain. He wore Dudley’s old clothes which were several sizes too big as his relatives didn’t want to waste money on him. One day he was punished severely for dropping something. While his uncle was punishing him, he somehow set fire to the kitchen table. His relatives had been slightly afraid of him after the incident, but life quickly returned to normal. He grew to hate his relatives, often wishing for someone to take him away.

It wasn’t before he started primary school he learned his real name, Harry James Potter. He was bullied from day one by the other children for not even knowing his own name. No one had ever called him that, so how was he supposed to know? It had always been Freak or Boy. His cousin made sure none of the other children dared talk to him, thus he was never able to make any friends. Not that he wanted to befriend them, silently thinking they didn’t deserve his friendship. Harry started to hate his life. He hated his so-called relatives and often wished they would die in a car crash just like his parents. His hate grew and so did the pain in his scar. It would slowly start to burn whenever he got angry.

Harry was often pushed around or beaten up for fun both at school and on Privet Drive. One time he managed to get away by transporting himself onto the school roof. This lead to him slowly discovering that he was different. He was able to do things no one else could. He spent every free moment trying to control his powers, learning new amazing abilities and how to use them. He could set fire to things or levitate objects with his mind. He could make people hurt. He could teleport himself to places he had been before. He could read minds and see what people were thinking. He could do magic!

Seven-year-old Harry had gotten a haircut by his aunt. He didn’t like it, looking bald with very short hair. He sat in his cupboard, thinking he might be able to use his magic to grow it back. Concentrating, he silently wished for longer hair. To his surprise his hair grew instantly. It grew longer than it had ever been, reaching all the way down to his lap. He stared disbelievingly. Trying to wish for shorter hair worked when he visualized it in his mind, thinking of how he wanted it to look. He saw his hair shorten just as fast as it had grown. He sat on his small cot, growing and shortening his hair repeatedly before thinking he might be able to do other things. Visualizing another color, he changed his hair to white. Slightly startled that it worked, he slowly made his way through every color he could think off. Harry Potter was a metamorphmagus.

Eight-year-old Harry was no longer punished or beaten by his uncle or cousin. His relatives were afraid of him now. After an incident where his uncle had pushed him down the stairs, Harry had snapped and without pause used his powers, making his uncle hurt. The fat man had fallen to the floor withering and screaming in pain. His scar burned on his forehead. When he stopped, coming back to his senses, Uncle Vernon was lying unconscious on the floor, his aunt and cousin staring wide-eyed from the kitchen door. His aunt had taken his uncle to the hospital, apparently something, like a forceful pressure on his brain had caused an aneurysm. Uncle Vernon had been told by the doctor that he was lucky to be alive. His aunt and uncle had avoided him ever since. They had stopped forcing him to do chores or make food. His aunt had even given him Dudley’s second bedroom. They tried their best to ignore him and pretend he didn’t exist, which suited Harry just fine.

Nine-year-old Harry clasped his hands to his forehead as he felt a sharp pain. He was unknowingly absorbing the Dark Lord Voldemort’s unintentional seventh horcrux, becoming one with the soul piece. The years of abuse, starvation and his growing hate made it possible for the unknown horcrux to merge together with its host fully. Harry could feel his eyes and head burn as if someone had stabbed him behind his eyeballs. Tears streamed down his face as he sat, rocking back and forth, trying not to scream out in pain. A dome of magic appeared around number four, Privet Drive as the wards fell, cracking loudly in the air. The protection given to Harry by his mother’s sacrifice overridden and destroyed by the soul piece merging with his own. His lightning shaped scar slowly disappeared, sinking into his skin and leaving no trace behind. The pain slowly receded. He was amazed when he opened his eyes again. His eyesight was better. He could see everything clearly. It was like a pressure, that had always been present, had finally been removed. Harry traced his finger across his forehead, feeling his now flawless skin scar-free. He didn’t notice his eyes flashing crimson.

Ten-year-old Harry had changed. He no longer required food, having gone a week without eating before his aunt dared remind him of it. It had shocked and scared him slightly, not knowing what was happening to him. He tried to appear normal after that, eating frequently, even though he was anything but ordinary. He assumed it had something to do with his scar disappearing, remembering how painful it had been and everything that happened thereafter. He had paled drastically in the year that had passed. His skin was now an alabaster white, making him look unnatural and otherworldly. His pale complexion stood in sharp contrast to his jet-black hair that seemed to absorb the light around it. His hair reached the middle of his back. He had grown taller, looking more like twelve than the ten-year-old he was. He was still skinny with a lithe build but didn’t look malnourished. His features had sharpened giving him higher cheekbones and a slightly androgynous look. His eyes had brightened, and they now glowed, unknown to Harry, like the curse that had almost killed him as a baby. He kept his changed appearance a secret, knowing everyone at school and people he saw regularly would freak out if they saw him. He was a bit freaked out himself. He used his shapeshifting abilities to change his whole body back to its former self. To everyone else, Harry was still the small malnourished boy, with a light skin tone, normal green eyes, short hair and with a scar on his forehead. He even wore his glasses with normal glass, giving everyone the illusion that he hadn’t changed at all. He somehow felt it was better to keep it hidden.

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