Harry got out of bed early on his seventeenth birthday and promptly tripped over a tangle of clothing that had somehow fallen about his ankles.

“What the hell!” he gasped, pulling himself up off the floor and back onto his bed. Now thoroughly awake, he quickly became aware of a draft, as well as the reason for his tumble. His pyjama bottoms and underwear had fallen right off of him the moment he had stood up. He pulled them up now and found them entirely too large, as though an engorgement charm had been cast on them. Harry was no stranger to ill fitting clothing, growing up with Dudley's hand-me-downs had insured that, but these particular clothes should have fit as Harry had bought them himself.

It wasn't just his bottoms either; he soon realized that his top as well was extremely loose on him. The head opening was now wide enough to hang over one of his shoulders and the bottom was so low that even without his underwear he managed to not be entirely indecent. This was lucky as his uncle chose that moment to barge in, demanding to know what the crash was. He only got part of a bellow out, however, before he got a good look at Harry.

“Sorry!” he squeaked out as he stared at his nephew, his face turning red, and he disappeared again, slamming the door behind him. Harry looked down at his ill fitting clothes and then back again to where his uncle had vanished. He hoped that the look on his uncle's face was entirely due to his state of half dress and not anything else, but he was beginning to have his doubts. One did not go to bed in slightly loose pyjamas and wake up in mammoth sized ones unless something drastic had happened in the night. Just to be sure of things, he unpacked clothes to wear for the day and found them, too, to be too large. It wasn't until he had almost resorted to a wizarding robe just to be decent when he remembered. He was now seventeen years old; he was allowed to use magic! This excited, fluttering notion filled him with warmth, only to deflate when he realized his wand was still locked up under the stairs. He was lucky he still had a spare robe that had gotten mixed up with his regular clothes.

“Robe it is, then,” he muttered to himself and he pulled it on. Like the rest of his wardrobe it was too large on him, the majority of it flowing behind him like some kind of bizarre bridal veil and the arms needing to be rolled just as far as they could go, but at least it wasn't falling off. Now that he was more or less decent, there was nothing to distract him from the problem at hand. Unless this was some highly ingenious prank set up by the Weasley twins, or else some bizarre new plot by death eaters to undo him, then he could not think of a single reason why his clothes would suddenly grow several sizes too large. Determined to see if it was only his clothes that had changed, he finally left his room and walked into the bathroom. He valiantly ignored the fact that he was reaching up to grasp the door handles, determined to make it to a mirror. If his fall in his bedroom hadn't woken the entire house, his scream from the bathroom would have.

It wasn't just his clothes and the doorknobs that had grown. So had the bathroom. The sink and corresponding mirror were much higher up than he remembered. Even ignoring the implications of this, of everything that had confronted him since he woke up, Harry couldn't ignore the change in his reflection.

His hair was still its usual black and his eyes were green and that everlasting scar had not changed. The problem was his black hair, normally a complete disaster at this time in the morning, had somehow grown several centimetres and developed into ringlets of all things. Nothing quite so pronounced as curls, yet something a bit tamer than his usual mop, as though the individual strands had decided to team up into something more cultured. His eyes, still his mother's green and framed behind his glasses, also managed to take on a changed appearance. More shocked by his hair, it took him a while to even decide what appeared so off about the rest of his reflection. His eyes were too big for his face, the green too startling. It made him look younger.

Harry knew now that this was a dream. It had to be a dream. He was not really standing on the toilet to get a glimpse of this pale-skinned, fragile imp in the mirror. Everything was wrong, he could see that now that he wasn't caught by the hair and the eyes. The skin was too pale; hadn't he just spent most of his Summer outdoors? Not to mention, as he was desperately trying not to notice, he was too short. Last he had measured, he had finally and proudly managed to reach six feet, nearly equal to Ron. And then there were the ears; he had missed them at first behind the hair. They weren't his ears; his ears weren't so pointy. No, all in all, this was not Harry. This was some artist's fantastical, youthenized version of Harry but it wasn't him. Harry pinched his right arm. It hurt. He failed to wake up.

“Open up, Freak, I hafta go!” his cousin howled, pounding on the door. Harry jumped, nearly falling off his perch, and then suddenly realized he rather had to go himself. Just as suddenly, he found himself afraid to. Suppose he discovered that he had changed further...down there? His features seemed so feminine now; what little facial hair he had begun to grow over the summer seemed to have vanished. He hadn't been turned into a girl, had he? Quickly, Harry's hands flew to his chest, not yet ready to check the rest of his anatomy. He found hard flesh, nothing squishy or bouncy as he had feared. He still couldn't manage to check elsewhere.

“Come on!” Dudley cried again, pounding on the door.

“Let Dudders in!” his uncle bellowed from downstairs.

“Use the other toilet!” Harry called back, hopping a little in his own effort to hold it in as he climbed back down to the floor. Finally, unable to hold it any longer, he pulled open his robes and looked.

“What the fuck!” he shouted in horror, even as he took aim to relieve himself. His bladder wouldn't stand for anything less no matter what other inner turmoil Harry was feeling. At least he was still able to piss while standing, but what he held in his hand had at least half the mass of what he was used to handling. It was as though he had literally gone back in time, to before he hit puberty.

“Freak!” Dudley screamed from outside the door before he stomped off at last for his parent's bathroom. Harry whimpered slightly at the word. He was a freak. Only he could go to sleep a normal teenager and wake up as a pointy-eared prepubescent. Obviously, something had happened in the night. Harry stood up again, closed up his robe and washed his hands. Then, taking a deep breath, he walked into the hall.

No one was about, luckily, and he dashed back into his room. Unable to comprehend what had happened, he laid back down on his bed. Perhaps if he managed to go back to sleep, he would be normal again when he woke up. The plan was thwarted by a scratching at his window. He looked up to see a flock of owls bearing gifts.

“Happy seventeenth birthday to me,” he mumbled, finally forcing himself to the window to let them in. Some he recognized, his own Hedwig among them, but there seemed to be more than the usual number this year. Harry quickly accepted their various packages and letters, giving them in turn the bowl of owl treats he had gotten ready in anticipation of their arrival, and then sent them all on their way with the exception of Hedwig. Then he stared dismally at his pile of gifts, no longer really in the mood to receive them. Finally hoping they'd at least be a distraction, or perhaps an admittance on the twin's part to an elaborate, shape shifting prank, he began to open them.

Fred and George did not admit to anything, but they did send him a shrunk assortment of their newest products. Harry would have had an easier time inspecting them if he had been able to unshrink them with his still locked up wand. In fact, most of his friends had shrunk their gifts, obviously assuming that with the arrival of his birthday he'd be able to use magic. Hermione's was a book, too small to read the title of, and Ron had sent the usual supply of sweets. Hagrid, too, had sent a basket of rock cakes. That was the extent Harry managed to unwrap before he finally came across an official looking letter from the ministry. Opening it, he found something helpful to his situation at last.

“Congratulations Mr. Potter,” he read, “On your coming of age. As you may have been informed, a witch or wizard's coming of age is an important process. It is the time when a witch or wizard will come into their full power. It is also a time when latent genetics may make an appearance. If you find yourself to be unexpectedly powerful, or to be altered from your human state, please fill out the proper form included in this letter and return it within the envelope provided. All non-humans must be registered by law with the ministry and their magical signature processed and recorded. If you notice nothing beyond the common changes that arrive at a coming of age, please disregard the enclosed forms. Common changes are as shown below:

-Sudden increase in height by one to seven centimetres

-Sudden development of increased body mass

-Slight increase in power levels

-Hair growth of up to thirty centimetres in length

-unexpected correction of physical disabilities (such as eye-sight correction or regrowth of previously missing minor limbs)

-the unexpected healing of minor and sometimes major ailments you were experiencing prior to your coming of age

If anything beyond the above listed changes have occurred, please note them upon the proper forms.

Once a witch or wizard has come of age, you are entitled to the rights of all of age witches and wizards, including the right to the use of unsupervised magic. Remember that this does not give you the right to displaying magical ability in the vicinity of Muggles, besides those specifically informed of our world, and to do so could result in legal intervention.

Harry stopped reading at that point to sort through the enclosed forms the letter spoke of. He hoped that they would be clearer on what the letter was talking about, concerning unusual changes. As far as he could tell, his coming of age had resulted in none of the usual developments. He had shrunk instead of grown, his hair was different but not particularly longer, he definitely still needed his glasses, and his body mass was mostly definitely not greater. The only part he hadn't been able to test was his magical ability, but he didn't feel particularly more powerful. The forms, however, were entirely unhelpful and just the slightest bit alarming. They wanted knowledge of family genetics, which Harry didn't know, as well as a check-list for developed characteristics such as fangs, wings, fur, and the like. This led to Harry checking his teeth, which were luckily fang free, but otherwise did not enlighten him as to what he was.

Harry didn't think he wanted to register himself anyway; he had experience with how the ministry treated those they considered non-humans and wasn't eager to find out how they would classify him. Besides, if he wrote them it would only be a matter of time before the press found out. Far from reassuring him, his coming of age letter left him in even more of a panic. This wasn't some bizarre dream or prank; he was able to read in black and white what had happened even if he didn't understand it. Something in his genes had taken him over. For the first time, thanks to the letter, he wondered if he really might not be human any more. It was not a very pleasant notion.

Finally, he realized he had no other choice but to inform someone of the changes. He would have to write to Dumbledore. Pushing aside his shrunken birthday gifts, he rummaged around to find a piece of parchment. His quills and ink were all locked up downstairs, but he still had a regular ballpoint pen to write with, if only he could figure out how to word it.

'Dear Dumbledore,' he began, 'As you probably realize, I've turned seventeen today. Well, something has happened that I don't think is normal. I seem to have shrunk. And have other changes. Can you please explain? Sincerely, Harry Potter.' That was as clearly as he was willing to write it. He tied the letter to Hedwig, apologizing for having to send her off again so soon, and then sat on his bed and waited. Hopefully, Dumbledore could sort it out, Harry could be changed back into his normal self, and everything would be all right.