The Awakening

                                    

                                          
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**Harry Potter
"Harry!"
The boy's eyes flew open as he startled awake. Who, or rather what, was Harry? And why was it here in his cupboard? His eyes scanned the blackness of the cupboard around him, but it remained complete and unbroken. What had made the noise?
"Who's there?" the boy whispered, quiet for fear of Sir hearing him.
"It's me, or should I say you, except younger. I am a message basically, and I was sent forward to you."
"What? What do you mean? Who are you?"
An exasperated sounding sigh came from the speaker.
"Not too bright I see. Well, it was a risk, especially considering the spell used to dumb you down. Harry, I know this seems crazy, but I'm you. I'm like a memory except you can interact with me, and I've got a lot to teach you"
"Why are you calling me Harry?" the boy asked, he was having trouble following whatever was happening here.
"What do you mean?" asked the voice, sounding bewildered, "It's the name our parents gave us."
"My parents were no good. Sir and Ma'am said so, and you're wrong. I don't have an official fancy name like they do. I'd like to be good enough to have a name like Harry though. . ." the boy trailed off, thinking wistfully of what a wonderful thing it would be if he were worthy of a name like that.
The other person seemed agitated by him, muttering under his breath things like, "-no good bearded liar. Sending us-" and, "-wish I could just-" and other such nonsense like, "-change my plan a bit-"
Deciding it would be best to simply wait, the boy sat still and curious. He wished that soon the speaker would start to make sense. This dream was much more interesting than what he usually got, which was a lot of terrifying nightmares that made absolutely no sense at all.
About a minute later, the mumbled words drew to a sudden and faintly jarring conclusion. It left the air around him practically ringing with the silence that had occurred to abruptly and unexpectedly.
The voice seemed to have gotten itself together as it said, "Okay, since there's obviously a lot missing, I'll just give you everything all at once. I'd just figured you'd have a life of your own established, and since this approach will be such a drastic change, it would've ruined any life you'd already had if you jumped right in. Oh gosh, would you look at me rambling over here.
"Well, basically, based on the state of things now, I think this is the only logical course forward. Here I go."
The boy hadn't really processed what the speaker had said, it was just too twisted up for him to follow. Something was gonna change though? And. . . About this being the logical course of action?
A pale greenish glow filled the air around him, and a feeling as good as warm honey seeped through him, from his skin to the very marrow of his bones. It tingled, and in a sweeping gentle wave, the warmth washed away all of his aches and pains from laboring so many hours a day and from his numerous punishments.
It was so soothing and comfortable, the boy was certain he'd be asleep again in seconds, he closed his eyes, settled back and-A stabbing shard of brutal agony plunged deep between his eyes, going all the way back through his brain. 
A scream left his lips, it was worse than anything he'd ever experienced or imagined. It felt like fire was filling every individual cell in his body, a white hot agony that only grew worse as the seconds seemed to lengthen into hours. The pain was lava that filled every atom of his being, and then when his cells expanded from the heat, they exploded.
As his screaming continued, high and loud, as any ten year old boy's would be in this situation, flashes of being frozen through came interspersed with the unbearable heat. The opposite feelings of pain only multiplied the agony caused by the other, and he was shrieking and crying and pleading for it to all just end.
His body was being torn apart, then restructured and hammered back together with hard blows and sharp silver nails that bit through his being. It was unlike anything the boy had previously experienced in his life, and the strain it put him under had nearly caused him to fall completely past the realm where intelligent cognitive activity happened.
What kept him from falling was no will of his own. Memories started ripping themselves a place in his mind, forcing their way into places that had long remained dormant and magic sealed. The places had never expected to be filled again, and his mind was trying to reject them, though it could not as they were a part of him.
The memories were coming faster and faster, and Harry, his name truly was Harry after all, was suddenly hit with the knowledge that not all of them had been viewed through his eyes. 
Shudders wracked his body, but no longer did he scream at the indescribable sensation of having one's mind, magic, intelligence, the things that made up his very being torn into shreds, worked in with more pieces, new and old, and soldered carefully and torturously into an altogether different creature. 
No longer could Harry honestly call himself human, for he understood that he was not merely human, he never had been. It was not in the way one might expect however. It was unlike how a wizard or witch may not be considered human, for they are still very much a creature of the Earth, and therefore bound to it. He was. . . separate, in a definitive yet unexplainable way.
Even the thoughts in his head moved in a manner completely alien to the boy he'd been before. Every connection he drew was faster, every thought more reasonable, and with so many voices he knew in his head, his thoughts ran less biased than any individual his mind had ever touched. He had the intellect of many to draw on, but did not have their emotional entanglements to prevent him from seeing the full picture.
Harry also found that his memories of life before were blurry, and he couldn't recall a great deal of them. His memory for those nine long years had been that of the average person, so the only memories he'd retained from young childhood were those of before the Dursleys and of the events so large and terrible he could not forget. 
Also Harry knew that it would be irrational to be angry with himself for the choices he'd made as a baby. He'd have likely left the entire world in ruins had he kept all his magical ability, and by now he knew the importance of fitting into the world around him. 
While he may agree with the choice to this day, it did not excuse the Dursleys even the tiniest inkling. Harry was both disgusted and furious with them for what those monsters had done to him.
He would see that they regretted their actions.
Then, ohhh, and then, he would kill them. He would tear them to shreds with his bare hands, and scatter chunks of them across two dimensional planes, so that both vultures and griffins could feast on their putrid, despicable flesh.
He would enjoy watching the show unfold, and he'd draw a cross in their blood on the front door of their house. It would be an offering of sorts, and a warning. He would not let evil such as the Dursleys walk free and do nothing to stop it. 
For real this time, rather than simply as a construct in his mind, he opened his eyes. Darkness was still surrounding him, but he knew it was not the same as it had been when he closed his eyes to sleep. With a flick of his eyes and a brief thought, all seven locks simultaneously disengaged, and the door that had contained him these interminable nine years slid open, easy as butter on warm toast. 
With a relaxed gait as smooth and sinewous as panther's he left his cupboard under the stairs. He was altered, yes, and he was free to do as he wished. At this moment, his dearest wish was to get some food. His vengeance could wait until after breakfast.
After all, he had to make the Dursleys regret what they'd done to him before ending their miserable lives.