It was a bad day for Harry James Potter. He had gone home from school—beatings from Dudley Dursley and Co. included—then he burnt a toast for dinner, which leads Petunia Dursley to let him feel how it was like to be burnt first hand. After that, he got to was the dishes with blisters in his hand. He had tried to do them one-handed with no avail. Like any injuries he got, he got to grit his teeth through the chores. He did the chores for the day, and he was forced into his cupboard. The small space was the closest to a safe space he could get. He had never been hurt when inside, he had, however, been dragged outside in winter and showered with ice-cold water from a hose due to oversleeping.

That was when a black strand come out of Harry's arm. He didn't see it at first because he had been zoning out into the stair shaped roof of his cupboard. He got back to reality when his head was throbbing. It was throbbing even more that it used to be. He had small migraines from time to time, it wasn't this awful. The headache got worse, so much worse. He felt as if his head were splitting. He didn't shout, though, just hushed sobs muffled by a pillow. Never wake up the Dursley. Ever. Otherwise, Harry won't get a wink of sleep the next night.

Then it was calm, the most peaceful of mind he ever got. There was always something weighing his mind. An invisible weight he didn't know he had. It was gone. A fog over his mind, lifted. Harry thinks he could sleep without any nightmares knocking in. A tranquil night for the price of one severe short headache, the price was worth it.

Alas, it wasn't meant to be. Harry saw his arms turn into black tendrils. They twisted, separated, and merged. It was like a blackened river, a never ending flow. He felt that it was a force of nature to be reckoned with, a flood if stopped. Harry was hypnotized by the black threads. The strands had reached his shoulders and surged out into the cracks around the cupboard. Harry was snapped by the creaking wood of the cupboard and reign in the tendrils back into him. He didn't want any freakishness, the Dursley didn't want any freakishness. He just wanted to be normal, like the Dursley. Every time he showed freakishness, he hated it. It just shows how much of a freak he were.

The weight on Harry's mind was back, not as much as it usually was. Lighter. It had a different feeling too. Whereas previous, it was a strain; now, it was but a pinch. He could still have a tranquil slumber. Besides wanting someone to come and save him, this was good too. A clearer mind would let him focus on his chores faster, that means less time around the Dursley and more time in the cupboard. Harry went to sleep and woke up the next day, the most refreshed he ever felt.

~ oOo ~

There were weird things going on, and he was left out of it, Harry concluded. It had started after he got up the day after his short severe headache. There was a sound from someone shouting, "—IN HARRY POTTER!". He swore he had heard it. Someone had called his name, and it sure wasn't any of the familiar Dursley voices. When he turned around there were no one except Uncle Vernon and Uncle Vernon said, "What are you looking at? Freak. Fetch me the newspaper and mail."

Then another while at school. He could hear the same voice, "Ugh, I hate school.". Harry could agree with the voice, he hated school; only because his cousin and gang would bully him right after and no one would interfere because of the gossips Aunt Petunia made of him. He would skip school if he could, but then Uncle and Aunt would lock him in the cupboard until their anger had subsided, which was usually two days.

After that was when his cousin had bullied him, leaving a mark on him, again. Yesterday's mark hadn't even healed yet. When Dudley and his gang had turned their back, the previous voice come out, "—E SICK 'EM! LET ME 'AVE THEM!". Harry's hands turned into the tendrils from when he had the headache. 'No! No! No!' He repeated in his head as he reeled the tendrils in with normalcy at the front of his mind.

After a day of constant voices in Harry's head, he had enough. He stands in front of the school's toilet mirror to catch whoever was stalking him, or at least catch the stalker in the act. "I know you're there," said Harry. Harry should've expected it, really. He had been dealing with tendrils coming out of his body since last night. The tendrils had emerged from his body, be it arms, legs, chest, or even all of them. He should've expected when the right half of his body become tendrils that coalesce into what looks like an entirely black — half — body with frightening toxic glowing green eyes and serrated teeth. Harry's eyes bulged in panic and in fear of the unknown.

"I'm you," it said.