Author's Note: Hi, everyone. This is my second fan-fic. I'm going to try to keep this one updated... My ToonTown one sorta fell through... D: But I'll try to get a third chapter in for that one if I can. I hope everyone enjoys!
DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I do not own Harry Potter, his hawt hair, his gorgeous eyes, his smexxi scar, or the bite on his right arm. -drools- Ahem. Sorry about that. Anyway. I don't own any of the other Harry Potter characters, either. -sniffles- I wish I did, but I don't. The idea for this fic was created by me, as were the original characters. [A.K.A. The people I made up. :P So there. You got your stinkin' disclaimer. NOW GET OUTTA MY KITCHEN!!! -shooes with broom-
Harry awoke sweating, breathing harshly. He turned over and read the clock. Midnight. He put his glasses on, feeling very strange indeed. His whole body tingled with a strange, hungry excitement as he sat up in bed. Harry stood and crossed the room to the door, turning back to see Ginny, his sleeping wife, snoring gently. He smiled and left the room.
Harry bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen. He rubbed his stomach as it flipped and made a gurgling noise. He flung open the refrigerator door and scanned the shelves. He found a small package of sausages hidden by some chicken soup. He grabbed them hungrily and piled them onto a plate. He was about to rip the plastic wrap and just eat them uncooked, compelled by a foreign force inside his head. Suddenly he remembered where he was and what he was doing, and stuck the plate into the microwave, now a bit upset that he would have to wait so long for his 'meal'. He fidgeted nervously, leaning against a counter, and when the microwave beeped to indicate that its term was over, he leapt up so fast that he hit his head on a cupboard. He massaged the back of his head, pulling the plate out of the microwave and shoveling the sausage patties into his mouth with no abandon. He relished the taste of meat that filled his senses, and didn't even notice that the patties had hardly been cooked at all.
A swift breeze ruffled the curtains on the outside of the window, moving them aside to reveal a round, white full moon. Harry looked up, feeling a cold shiver pass through him. His eyes met with the moon and he became rigid. He glanced at his right arm, eyeing the bite he had accidentally recieved from Lupin in his third year. He delved into memories: a fleeting grey shape passed him, teeth bared, as one tooth grazed the bit of bare flesh that was exposed by his short-sleeve shirt... Lost in memories, he didn't realize that the scar on his arm was glowing milky white, to match the moon. He was thrown from his subconscious, however, when a shooting pain in his back startled him. He looked behind himself to find a tear in his robe as his back expanded, sprouting jet-black fur as it did so. His robe was stretched taut, and ripped in half entirely when his shoulders broadened considerably, making room for his arms to lengthen. His hands became paws, as did his feet, freeing themselves from his slippers. Harry's face was dripping with sweat during the agony of this process. He was startled by an odd sensation in his nose, as though someone had latched a hook into his nostrils. The someone was pulling now, twisting the front of his head into a snout, his hair shrinking into his scalp. His eyes narrowed, and instead of the round, green orbs that had reminded so many people of his mother, there were small, beady yellow ones in their place. With no further need for his glasses, he tossed his head, knocking them to the floor. A new set of thought seemed to wash over his brain, urging him to howl. He did, completely unaware of all the neighbors he had awakened, who were now sitting straight up in bed, looking around wildly.
Upstairs, Ginny opened her eyes, straining to hear that sound again. She sat up and made a motion to wake up Harry, but he was not lying next to her. His spot was still warm, which startled her. Her face whitened as another howl came. It was coming from the kitchen.