Force of Will

Chapter 1: Ikimono Henshin

 

            In a normal town, there was a quite normal, ordinary street by the name of Privet Drive.  And on this street there were rows of houses, all very ordinary, especially the fourth house.  And in this ordinary house was a family known as the Dursleys, a family of three.  They were quite normal (thank you very much!), but they also held a secret.

 

            This secret was the fourth, unwanted resident in that small, ordinary house.  A resident in the form of a short, fifteen-year-old boy.  A boy who went by the quite ordinary name of Harry Potter.  Harry was slightly on the short side, possessing black hair and brilliant emerald green eyes.  He looked jus like any teenager might have, except for the scar etched in his forehead – a scar shaped like a lightening bolt.

 

            He was also a wizard – and it was this very scar that made him famous.  It was also the scar given to him by the very same man who killed Harry’s parents – the dark lord Voldemort.

 

            But Harry Potter was quite an unusual boy – even by wizard standards – and so it came as only a mild shock to him when he awoke to a large, tawny owl sitting impatiently on his chest.  Emitting a small yelp, Harry bolted upright, his emerald eyes wide.  The owl screeched as it lost its perch, tumbling to the foot of the bed as it narrowly avoided being squashed by the large, brown package tied to its legs.  Snatching up his glasses Harry gave the bird an apologetic smile as he leaned forward and freed the animal from its burden.

 

            The owl hooted once before fluffing its feathers and taking off, making sure to cuff Harry upside the head with its wing.  However, the teenaged wizard paid the departing bird little mind as he stared at the mysterious package.

 

            It couldn’t be a birthday present – his birthday wasn’t for another week!  And there wasn’t a note attached; nothing at all to say whom the package was from.

 

            Perhaps there was a note inside?  He tore the brown packaging apart, revealing a plain, black, leather bound book inside.  The spine held one word in silver lettering: Animagi. 

 

            Excitement and apprehension fluttered about in the pit of his stomach as Harry picked up the book, opening it.  There was no note inside, but on the flap of the book was an engraved name – the name of the book’s former owner.

 

            James Potter.

 

            Glancing up at the clock Harry grinned – two whole hours before the Dursleys woke up.  Two whole hours that he would spend reading a book that once belonged to his father rather than finishing that nasty potions essay.

 

            ‘The Animagus Spell, like so many other spells, was an accidental discovery.  It was discovered by one of the Dark Lord Grindlewald’s followers in 1944 Japan – hence the Japanese wording instead of Latin.  The spell, Ikimono Henshin, was found while trying to turn other wizards into animals – the theory goes that wizards lose control of magic when they transform.  Can you imagine the surprise… ’

 

            Harry sat there, curled up in his bed.  The minutes flew by as Harry felt himself absorbed – not by the words, however, but the fact that his father had once held this same book in his hands.  He could almost see it, out of the corner of his eye.

 

            His father, reading the book aloud to the rest of the marauders in some long forgotten room of Hogwarts.  His godfather, Sirius Black, would be sitting across from James, eager to go on a new adventure.  Remus Lupin would be sitting beside Sirius, worried.  Not for himself, unlike Peter, but for his friends.  This was, after all, a very difficult spell.

 

            ‘…While this spell is very complex, the Ikimono Henshin is also quite dangerous.  Unlike most spells, however, the greatest danger does not come from getting it wrong, but getting it right.  For any witch or wizard, no matter how powerful, runs the risk of – ’

 

“Boy!”  Aunt Petunia’s shriek jolted Harry out of his inner world.  Startled, he let the book fall out of his lap and onto the hardwood floor, where it closed with a dull thump.  He stood, the ends of his too big pajamas pooling on the floor, a trap for unwary feet.  Reaching the small dresser in the corner he changed quickly, not wanting to keep his aunt waiting.

 

            She was standing at the bottom of the staircase, her lips pursed as if debating something unpleasant.  “I forgot to get bread from the bakery yesterday,” her glare left no doubt that in her eyes, he was responsible.  “I would go retrieve it myself, but I know you would spoil breakfast if I’m not here to keep an eye on you.”

 

            She thrust a ten-pound note in his face, her fingers clenched around it as if afraid to give him the money.  “You know where the bakery is.  Get the usual – I know how much that bread costs, so don’t get any ideas.  And no funny business!”

 

            Her shout followed him out the door, but he paid it no mind.  Anyday he could spend outside and away from the Dursleys was a good day in his book.

 

            If only he knew…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            Dudley was a very curious boy.

 

            He was also porky, ignorant, and a bully – but the only thing that matters in this moment is that Dudley is a very very curious boy.  So curious, in fact, that he would actually take a peek at his cousin’s things when there was no chance of being caught.

 

            Now was one of those times.  Harry was out getting bread.  His mother was fretting over breakfast.  His father was in the kitchen balancing his time between reading the newspaper, complaining about Harry, paying bills, complaining about Harry, talking to Petunia, and – most importantly – complaining about Harry.

 

            Taking the rare opportunity, Dudley walked into his cousin’s room – walked, not sneaked, for sneaking was an impossible task for him to accomplish.  His eyes were immediately drawn to a plain leather book – a black book, which stood out from the pale, honey floorboards.  The floor creaked under his weight as Dudley retrieved the book, plopping down on the bed with an audible crack.

 

            Grinning at the possibility of breaking his cousin’s bed, he opened up the book and began to read.

            ‘The Animagus Spell, like so many other spells…’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            Today, Harry reflected, had to be the absolute worst in his life.  The lean, not quite fifteen-year-old wizard flattened himself against the dirty bricks composing one wall of a narrow alleyway.  His left arm was extended, palm pressed against the faded grey bricks, his right clutching a brown paper bag he recently acquired.  His right hand that should have been holding his wand, which he had left in his room.  Hindsight truly was a curse, if there was ever a time he’d sorely needed his wand outside of Hogwarts, this would be it.

 

            “Heeeeere, little boy!” A masculine voice cackled.  “Come on out and we can have lots of fun!”  The voice was drowned out by the jeers and laughter of his companions.  Cringing at the implication, Harry took a few steps back, not noticing the empty soda can until it was too late.

 

            “Gotcha!”

 

            Harry scrambled to his feet, his shoes scraping against the hard cement, just as the gang rounded the corner.  Not stopping to look he sprinted down the alleyway, unaware of the dead end awaiting him.  His mind, panicked, groped around for any idea to defend himself, but the only words he seemed able to remember were the words of the animagus spell.  But he couldn’t perform such a difficult level spell like the Ikimono Henshin – he didn’t even have a wand!

 

            Little did he realize that feathers were beginning to sprout all over his body, even as thoughts began bubbling up in some remote corner of his mind.  Thoughts that were more like images, thoughts like mice, and trees, and even grassy meadows.  Thoughts that couldn’t possibly be his own.

 

            And then all was black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            Dudley sat, for once entranced by written words instead of the television.

            ‘Unlike most spells, however, the greatest danger does not come from getting it wrong, but getting it right.  For any witch or wizard, no matter how powerful, runs the risk of losing his or herself.  It is in that possibility which lies the reason animagi-in-training are monitored so closely.  After all, if no one knows what happened to you, who could bring you back?  So, if you wish to try and become an animagus, please contact the Ministry by Owl, more specifically the Department…’

 

            And in a little alley of London, a red hawk took wing into the bright blue sky.

 

 

 

Author’s Notes ~ It never fails.  I promise myself to stick to writing one story at a time and then my muses latch onto another fandom realm (in this case, Harry Potter) and start putting out story ideas by the truckload.  I think I have five HP story lines running through my head to date. (Not counting Inuyasha, Saiyuki, etc. etc.)

 

            Anyway, I could probably rant about how this particular story came to be, but I’ve already done that and I don’t want to waste space.  So, if any of you are actually curious (a.k.a. bored) enough, you can go see my rant at http://www.deadjournal.com/users/lady_shinnite

 

Disclaimer – You actually think I write good enough to own Harry Potter? I’m flattered! ^___^  Sorry to disappoint you, but the wonderful works of Harry Potter were written by J.K. Rowling.