July 1996

“Sir, where are we?” the teen coughed, his voice little more than a whisper as the fire in his throat ripped its way through his flesh once again. “I can’t breathe.”

“We’ll be there soon enough,” the potions master replied, resisting the urge to wrap the shivering teen in his cloak as he panted, trying desperately to catch his breath, knowing that would do the opposite of help. “I don’t know how you consistently manage to find yourself in such situations.”

“I’m not…” the teen started to say before a rough, gasping cough took hold of his form, causing him to double over, ash falling from his hair as the coughs shook his frame.

“Can you see that house on the hill? The stone one?” the potions master said gently as the teen’s coughs finally let up, surprised the boy hadn’t collapsed onto the pavement yet. “That’s the one we’re going to.”

The teen swallowed harshly, wiping his watering eyes with a shaking hand before readjusting his hood and quickly striding towards the building, stumbling repeatedly as the dizziness continued to catch up with him. His vision was slowly becoming more and more tunneled, but he had to do this. It wasn’t an option to give up. He had fought and fought to get to this point, giving up now would only prove to him that he was as worthless as the ministry said he was.

He was almost home. He was almost safe.

Frantically, he scrabbled at the door handle, his lungs heaving as he tried to catch his breath in vain. He felt as though he were being held underwater; his heart was pounding in his ears, his lungs felt as though they were filling with fluid, his head throbbed in rhythm with his heart, and his skin… His skin felt as though it were getting ready to fall off. Just trying to grab the door handle had ripped the skin on his fingers, leaving him standing staring at them in confusion as blood dripped down his hands.

“Help!” the teen said, looking frantically at the potions master who was behind him, hands shaking violently as the pain of what he had just done set in. “Help me!”

“In!” the potions master barked, throwing the heavy iron door open and ushering the teen inside.

The stone building was clearly designed to repel fire. The furniture was made of metal and stone, no rugs or tapestries decorated the floors or walls, leaving the entire building with an almost sterile atmosphere contrasted only by the detailed carvings on the archways and over the large fireplaces and hearth and the stone mosaics which adorned choice walls. The hearth in the entry and fireplace in the parlor were blessedly stocked with firewood, leading the potion’s master to believe the other fireplaces were as well.

As much as he wished to explore what was to be their home for the foreseeable future, that could not be his priority at this time.

“Fireplace,” the potions master barked, gesturing vaguely towards it as the teen stumbled in its direction. “Are you ready?”

“Please!” the teen whispered, collapsing to his knees in front of the fireplace, reaching his hands towards the wood, blood dripping onto the stone floor as he did so.

“This may hurt,” the potions master said more for his own comfort than anything, removing his wand from his sleeve.

“Please!” the teen said louder, bloodshot eyes staring desperately at the potions master. “Please! I can’t breathe!!”

“Incendio,” the potions master whispered, setting both the boy and the fireplace alight, wincing as the boy let out a blood curdling shriek as he fell forward into the fireplace.

Steam and smoke rose from the fire as the boy burned, the cheap, ministry issued cloak burning away in an instant with a flash of smoke as the rest of the boy’s clothing burned much slower. A foul smell permeated the room as the well worn trainers finally caught, the plastic and rubber components of them melting off of the boy’s feet before finally catching fire themselves.

The teen laid there, surrounded by flames, for several long minutes before movement was noted much to the relief of the potions master. Slowly, the teen’s foot moved, pulling itself into the fire and away from the still smoldering shoe. Cuddling against the larger of the logs in the fireplace, the teen relished the feeling of the flames on his skin and the smoke filling his lungs. Scratching his head and running his fingers along the short horns which had sprung out of his skull during his transformation, he yawned widely and smiled softly as the flames licked along his arms.

“Thank you, sir,” the teen said hoarsely, blowing lightly on the log he was curled against before snuggling into the tongue of flame which rose up to greet him.

“You’re welcome Mr. Potter.”

---

January 1994

Harry Potter had always had a small affinity for fire. It wasn’t as though he was going to become an arsonist, though Aunt Marge fully believed that that was a possibility after watching the way he had played with the flames of the candles on the Advent wreath one year.

That was the last year the Dursleys had kept an Advent wreath out before Christmas.

But, no, he had no desire to start fires. He just enjoyed them. They felt friendly, their flames dancing around when he blew on them; their warmth permeating his soul even in the coldest of winter. The tongues of fire sang to him even in the darkest of night. It was beauty and magic in a mundane world.

Going to Hogwarts had been a dream come true in so many ways. It was more than an escape from the Dursley’s, it was a chance to find a home. A home which accepted his eccentricities and encouraged him to flourish. Immediately upon arriving, he knew he had made it to such a place.

While the other students were in awe of the ceiling and the glory and splendor of the hall itself, he could help but stare at the candles floating through the air, their flames dancing along as they happily welcomed their guests. The large fireplaces welcomed students of all ages to crowd around them, offering their warmth to even the coldest blooded among them.

But it was normal to want to be warm. And it was normal to seek the fire in the dark and cold nights of the Scottish winter.

For three years, he joined the other students as they completed their studies fireside enjoying the companionship their studies had brought. For three years, he had enjoyed his time with his friends, speaking of normal things such as Quidditch, their disdain and distrust of their potions master, and how to avoid getting detention while sneaking around after hours. In spite of the repeated appearances of Voldemort, it had been a dream come true to live and study at Hogwarts.

But all dreams come to an end eventually. Some by simply opening your eyes and others rudely removed from your grasp.

The efforts of the Dementors to recapture Sirius Black had done something to him. He wasn’t quite sure what, but whatever it was, he wasn’t getting any better from it. Something had been destabilized within him and he wasn’t sure what or why.

After waking up in the hospital wing following the dementor attack on the Quidditch match, Harry could tell something wasn’t right. He felt cold, freezing cold beyond what the Dementors were known to cause. If he wasn’t near a fire, it wouldn’t matter how many layers of clothing he had on, he would feel as though his bones were made of ice. It was painful, distracting, and made him want nothing more than to find the nearest source of fire and curl up next to it. Even Hermione creating heating packs did nothing to quell the feelings of cold which leached into his bones.

As the winter progressed, he found himself staying inside and near a fire more and more. Quidditch practice was unbearable and, most annoyingly, the humidity in the Scottish air seemed to make it more difficult to breathe. Even going up the flights of stairs to get from class to class left him feeling winded. It wasn’t until he was near a fireplace, breathing in the smell of burning wood and feeling the ash settling in his throat that he felt he could breathe again. It was honestly one of the more terrifying experiences of his life to feel as though he were drowning just from walking up a flight of stairs.

Yet still he pushed on, determined to be normal and continue living out that dream. Continue being a wizard living in the wizarding world. In spite of quitting the Quidditch team when his breathing got too bad, he continued to strive for the normal life of a wizard.

Normal wizards didn’t need to huddle around fires, so neither did he. Until he couldn’t take the pain of the cold and was forced to remain almost tethered to whatever fireplace he could find.

Normal wizards studied with their friends, so so did he. Until he found he couldn’t bear to be away from an open flame for more than a few minutes, then he gave up trying to join his friends at the library tables to study, choosing instead to sit at the Hufflepuff table to be as close as possible to the large fireplace Great Hall.

Normal wizards didn’t incessantly study their least favorite topic unless forced to (or if they were as bookish as Hermione or the Ravenclaws), so neither did he. Until he realized potions fumes granted his lungs a sort of respite, allowing him to breathe properly for an entire class period. The additional study time offered by the professor was fine as he could breathe in the fumes of the cauldrons without arousing much suspicion. During class however…

“POTTER!” Snape roared as he stuck his head directly over the cauldron for the third time in less than an hour. “Blasted boy! What in Merlin’s name do you think you are doing?!”

“Breathing?” Harry said, his voice cracking slightly. He was thankful he had gotten a few breaths of the potion fumes in before Snape made him stop otherwise he wasn’t sure he would have gotten a deep enough breath to even answer.

It had been an awful day for going to classes. Ron and Hermione fully believed he wanted nothing to do with them, so had stopped offering to help him carry his things from class to class. The temperature outside had been relatively mild, so not all of the fireplaces had been lit, meaning he had had to ask to go to the toilet in nearly every one of his classes simply so he could go into the hall and stand with his face over a brazier just so he could breathe well enough to focus on the class rather than on simply remaining conscious. Then it had started to rain, making him feel as though he was underwater and making everything worse.

He didn’t want to go to Madam Pomfrey, but at this rate, he would have to.

“Ten points from Gryffindor! Do you need a refresher in lab safety?!” Snape yelled, brandishing his wand as though he was about to banish the contents of the cauldron. “Or are you just a fool?!”

“‘M sorry, sir,” Harry mumbled, his lungs already feeling as though they were filling back up with the humidity in the air. The dampness of the dungeons had always been uncomfortable, but now, without something helping him breathe, it was nearly unbearable.

“If I catch you with your head over your cauldron like that again, it will be detention!” Snape said, continuing his rant, his eyes glittering with fury.

“Understood, sir,” Harry mumbled, his voice already becoming more and more hoarse.

Shivering violently, he turned back to his pile of ingredients, trying to remember what came next in the order of brewing and thanking Merlin that Snape hadn’t taken his cauldron entirely away from him. He felt awful, but at least there was a burner under the cauldron he could hold his hands to to warm them if he got too cold. It would have been even better if he had managed to make it to class in time to take what was quickly becoming his place by the fire. He just couldn’t bloody breathe well enough to hurry from one end of the castle to another.

He had barely managed to get all of his ingredients into the cauldron when Snape dismissed the class. His potion was done for, but the fact he had managed to remain focused on the potion at hand for as long as he had. Taking out his wand to banish the contents of his cauldron, he let out a series of harsh coughs, leaving him doubled over for several moments as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Potter, why are you still here?” Snape said, not looking away from where he stood facing the board, erasing the instructions for the third years and replacing them with the instructions for the fifth year class which he would be having next period.

“Cleaning… up,” Harry wheezed, tucking his ingredients back into his bag and trying to catch his breath enough to lift the cauldron from its stand to place it in the sink, his vision swimming as he stood.

A sudden crash behind him, sent Snape whirling to find Potter had disappeared behind his workbench, his cauldron having fallen off the desk as well.

“Potter, what are you doing?” Snape barked, coming around his desk to find Harry seated on the floor next to his desk, back against the workbench behind him and lips an odd tinge of blood red, cauldron seated on his lap and tendrils of smoke floating from his trousers where the still hot pewter was burning through the fabric. “POTTER!”

Banishing the cauldron to the sink, Snape was unsurprised to find the boy’s skin was starting to burn and blister, but more concerning was the fact the boy was clearly gasping for air, appearing for all intents and purposes to be a fish out of water.

“Potter, can you hear me?” Snape demanded, snapping his fingers in front of the boy’s face only for the boy to sluggishly nod. “I’m taking you to the hospital wing. Merlin only knows what you did to yourself this time.”

Levitating the still lethargic boy onto a conjured stretcher, Snape quickly set off out of the classroom and down the hall towards the Hospital Wing, pausing only for a moment to spell a bubble of humidified oxygen over the boy’s mouth and nose. Flying up the stairs and ignoring the stares of the students they passed, he couldn’t help notice Potter weakly batting at the bubble in front of his face for a moment before his eyes rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness.

“Poppy!” Snape yelled as they entered the Hospital Wing, choosing one of the hospital beds closest to her office and hovering the boy over the bed before vanishing the stretcher and allowing Harry to fall to the bed with a small thump.

“Oh sweet Merlin,” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed in exasperation as she hurried out of her office and took in the student on the bed. “What has he done now?”

July 1996

“Potter, have you eaten recently?” Snape said, calmly sipping his cup of tea, reading a potions manual, and trying to ignore the very much naked teen hidden within the burning timbers in the fireplace.

“No, sir,” Harry admitted softly after a moment, reaching a hand out of the fireplace to grab a small log from the pile next to it. His eyes glowing an unearthly yellow as the log slowly caught fire. “Are you sure you are not too hot, sir?”

“Potter, we’ve been over this,” Snape said, snapping his manual shut with a sigh. “I have had a climate control spell on my robes this entire time. You need the flames to keep yourself alive and well. If I get to the point in which I am uncomfortable, I am completely capable of walking out of the building for some fresh air. Now, when did you last eat?”

Harry ducked down below his pile of logs, pushing the ashes forward and out of the way of the fire. He was fifteen now, for Merlin’s sake, he should know what the Professor was capable of doing and not doing. The Professor was a human after all, and a wizard to boot, of course he would be able to control the temperature of his robes. It was just… It was hard to remember sometimes what it was like to be a wizard. Two and a half years didn’t seem that long, but at the same time it felt like forever.

“Potter?” Snape asked calmly, dipping a finger into his tea and flicking it into the flames, causing the flames to crackle in a way he had quickly learned would draw the young demon’s attention.

“Rude!” Harry hissed, poking his head over the top of the logs but glad for the distraction from his thoughts.

“Have you eaten recently?” Snape repeated once again.

Harry frowned, blowing lightly on the top log to ensure the fire stayed lit before shrugging.

“Verbal answer,” Snape insisted, putting his tea down and crossing his arms over his chest. “I know I’m feeling rather peckish, but I don’t know when you last had anything substantial and I don’t want to go to the store for only myself.”

“Not… not recently,” Harry finally admitted, picking through the ashes and finding a decent sized chunk of charcoal which he placed in his mouth and began chewing on. “But I’m fine, really!”

“Potter, charcoal does not a balanced meal make, even for you,” Snape chastised him in frustration. “Did you eat yesterday?”

Harry sighed, causing the flames to rise slightly in front of him. “No, sir.”

“And the day before?” Snape rolled his eyes.

“No, sir.”

“And what of the day before that?”

“Yea…no, sir. I forgot they brought it, then they took it away before I had a chance to eat,” Harry said sheepishly, savoring the flavor of the sweet chestnut charcoal he had made in his fire.

Snape sighed exasperatedly before standing from the sofa he had spelled to have cushions and spelling it back to its original stone. Getting the fire demon to eat had been the biggest struggle since his release. It wasn’t the boy’s priority, in fact it was the last thing on his mind when he was building his fire and his nest. Eating was an ordeal which required him to leave the safety and warmth of his fire, consume foods which would not survive the heat, then return. It was even more of an ordeal for Potter as eating not only removed him from his nest, but had been used as a means to trap him on several occasions.

Those ministry thugs had many things to answer for, traumatizing this boy certainly being on the list.

“I shall be back,” Snape said, summoning his cloak. Though it was rather warm out still, he had been slowly becoming accustomed to the heat the boy liked to keep the house at, making a cloak when he left the cottage a must if he didn’t want to feel the chill of the North Sea wind on him. “Will you need anything?”

“Could… could I have some straw?” Harry asked softly, almost as though he were ashamed of his request.

“Are you planning on starting a farm in there?” Snape asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry immediately ducked below his pile of logs in embarrassment. Of course the Professor wouldn’t want to buy him something as flammable as straw. It was too much of a danger. He was too much of a danger. It would have been nice to have though. He could have moved his fire to the hearth in the entryway.

It was a nice hearth, he could see it from his current fireplace. It was big enough he could stretch out and languish in it like it was a bathtub. The straw would have caught nicely and he could easily move some of his logs over. But it didn’t matter. It was just a pipe dream. He didn’t really need the straw, it just sounded comfortable. He should be happy with what he had. That he had anything at all.

‘You are a creature, worthless in every way,’ the inquisitor’s shrill voice rang in his head. ‘Subhuman. You get only what you deserve: nothing. You are given a task and that is your only job. You will receive only what is necessary for that task. Now, do not ask me for anything extra, creature. Do you think you can manage that? Or is that too hard for you to understand?’

“- much do you need?” the Professor’s voice shook him from his thoughts. “Potter?”

“Um…” Harry shook his head, trying to pull himself back to the present. “I don’t… I… If it’s not too much… Never mind.”

“Potter, where were you wanting to put your straw?” Snape asked patiently as the boy cowered into the flames, clearly lost in his memories.

Harry swallowed hard before pointing one ash stained hand out of the fireplace, pointing it at the hearth.

“And were you planning to start a fire in there?” Snape asked gently, looking at the barely visible registry tattoo under the boy’s ever-present layer of grime.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, pulling his hand back into the safety of the fire and curling into his forming nest of ash and charcoal. There was no way the professor would get him such a luxury. He didn’t deserve it.

“I shall buy you a bale,” Snape said, turning on his heel and striding to the door. “Never let it be said I don’t do nice things.”

---

January 1994

“Headmaster’s Office!” Madam Pomfrey called, throwing a handful of floo powder into the flames of the fire in her office and quickly stepping through. She had done all she could for the boy, but the headmaster needed to know what was occurring.

“Poppy, what news do you have about Mr. Potter?” Dumbledore said, by way of a greeting, clearly having been awaiting her arrival.

“He cannot stay here,” Madam Pomfrey said sternly. “He is a danger to himself and the other students.”

“Now surely…” Dumbledore began, sitting behind his desk, the twinkle in his eye fading as Madam Pomfrey refused to sit opposite him.

“No, Albus!” Madam Pomfrey exploded. “Absolutely not! This is not like having Remus here! Not even close!”

“So you have figured out what creature he is then?” Dumbledore said, his voice a mix of excitement and worry.

“A fire demon,” she said almost angrily. “Dealing with Remus once a month was bad enough. It was nothing short of a miracle there was only one incident with him while he was a student here. But Potter is completely changing and will stay that way.”

“Surely…”

“No, Albus! No! He is already incapable of being away from fire for any length of time! How long will you wait before listening to reason? Fiendfyre was derived from a fire demon’s ability to produce fire on command and is just as uncontrollable.”

Dumbledore nodded sadly. “But surely we can …”

“Do what, Albus?” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, angrily stamping her foot on the floor. “Do what? Wait for him to burn down half of Hogwarts? Allow him to injure or kill another student? They are not called demons for no reason, Albus!”

Dumbledore stood slowly, his face showing his age for the first time in many moons. “What would you have me do?”

“I have already done it,” Madam Pomfrey said stiffly, turning back to the door. “I did it because I knew you wouldn’t want to. But I have as much of an obligation to keep the rest of the students safe as I do him, and allowing him here keeps no one safe.”

“When will they arrive?” Dumbledore said, his shoulders falling, knowing he lost the argument soundly. She was right, of course, but he could only hope the ministry would not be overly harsh to the boy.

Registration would be the least of his worries, but at least they would find housing for the boy. Ministry issued housing, of course, but it was a place to lay his head. He wouldn’t be able to complete his education, but it wasn’t expected that he would be able to work outside of the menial, Ministry job he would be given. He would be branded as dangerous, of course, but it wasn't for no reason.

He truly would be dangerous once the transformation was complete.

“Within the hour,” Madam Pomfrey said sternly though her eyes radiated sadness. She hadn’t wanted to report the boy, but she knew what would happen if she didn’t. Harry wasn’t going to be safe around other students for much longer.

“And you are sure nothing else can be done?”

“Nothing.”

“But how? How did this happen to the poor boy?

---

Harry sat on the side of the hospital bed he had been given, looking around in confusion. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace, but that wasn’t what confused him. For some reason, there was a bubble over his mouth once again, but this time it was different. Rather than being the blue bubble, there was a dark, smoky cloud. He could taste the soot and ash in the air and for the first time in several weeks felt as though he could breathe again.

But what was really bothering him were the bangles he woke up to on his wrists. They felt oddly heavy and made him feel weak and tired. Like all he wanted to do was sleep.

Tossing and turning on the bed, he couldn’t find a comfortable position. No matter which way he turned, he couldn’t stay warm enough to fall asleep, even with his school robes still on. He was so cold and couldn’t wrap his mind around why he hadn’t been given a blanket. The bed was placed rather close to the flames, but still he couldn’t see any reason he wasn’t given a blanket.

Suddenly the floo flared to life, spitting out both Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey. Neither appeared to be in particularly great spirits, but neither wanted to inform him as to what was happening. He had been effectively cut out of the communication including that which directly pertained to him. Not that he needed to know much about the details, he was too tired.

Besides, he trusted Dumbledore.

Moments after their arrival, the floo flared once more, allowing two uniformed individuals through, their wands already in their hands as they stepped into the hospital wing and peered around.

“Welcome back Gifford, Rena,” Dumbledore said, nodding to the two people in uniform. “How are you?”

“Busy,” the woman said bluntly, her eyes quickly scanning the room before landing on the dark haired boy. “He the one?”

“Yes, but we haven’t…”

“Better not to, honestly,” the older man interrupted, looking briefly at his former professor. “They tend to put up a fight.”

Harry frowned, trying to make out more of their conversation, leaning farther and farther in before suddenly the bands on his wrist slammed together. His eyes widened as the two people in uniform sprang towards him, pulling him into a standing position with their wands.

His eyes widened in panic as they walked him several steps away from the bed, one of them holding him at wand point while the other did the levitating though he wasn’t sure which was which. Struggling weakly against the restraints, he tried frantically to look back at Dumbledore.

“Professor?” he called out frantically. “Professor?!”

“I’m sorry, my boy…” was the last thing he heard from the headmaster before a hook felt as though it was jammed into his belly button before pulling him into a demented whirlwind, whisking him away to somewhere known only by the two wizards accompanying him.

“Who are you?” he demanded, weakly trying to throw off the two guards, the two bracelets tightening around his wrists as he did so, glowing as they absorbed the frantic magic pouring off of him. “Where are we?!”

“Registration,” the woman said by way of an explanation as she pushed him towards a desk which was situated in the middle of the large hall they had found themselves in.

The hall itself was a long room with no windows to the outside world. There were few decorations and what few there were consisted of a singular photo of the current minister, a tapestry reading off the “10 rights of magical creatures,” and a picture of a rather toad like woman in pink holding a cat. A singular desk sat in the middle of the hall, the man behind it working frantically on some paperwork, muttering under his breath as he did so and repeatedly running his fingers through his sparse hair causing it to stand on end.

“Name?” The man barked as they approached.

“What?” Harry asked, looking around frantically.

“What is your name, creature,” the man said with a growl, peering over his half-rimmed, turtle-shell reading glasses in disdain. “Do not make me repeat myself again.”

“Harry Potter,” Harry said in confusion. “Where am I? What is this place?!”

“Age?” The man continued, briefly raising his eyebrows at the name before turning back to his paperwork, ignoring Harry’s questions.

“13!” Harry groaned, shifting around uncomfortably. The only fire in the room was on the other side of the hall, too far away to provide him with the warmth he needed. “Please sir…”

“Species?” The man interrupted.

“…what?!” Harry gasped, frowning and looking between the two guards and the man at the table. “Human?”

“HA!” The man behind the table let out a barking laugh. “Think you're funny do you? Or are you just stupid? What. Species. Are. You?”

“I’m human! I swear!” Harry said, looking frantically between the guards, the bangles on his wrists lighting ominously as he shifted around.

“The school mediwitch called us,” the male guard said, lowering Harry just close enough to the floor that his toes made contact. “He is a fire demon.”

“See, now that wasn’t hard,” the balding man sighed. “Every bloody time one of you creatures comes in, you try to lie to me. Every bloody time! Now I am a lenient man, so I’ll forgive you this time. But lie to me again…”

The man looked Harry in the eye in a way that was far from friendly causing Harry to shrink backwards. He hadn’t lied though! He didn’t know what was going on! Fire demon? What was that?!

“Markings?” The man continued, turning back to his paperwork.

“I have a lightning bolt scar on my forehead,” Harry said anxiously. “And… and a mole on my left shoulder! Oh, and a scar on my right arm.”

“Is that it?” The man said testily, looking up once more.

“I… I think so?” Harry stumbled over his words, shifting around as the cold continued to creep into his bones.

“Wand?” the man asked, his voice taking a sickeningly sweet tone.

“Holly and Phoenix feather, 13 inches,” Harry answered dutifully, glad he knew the answer to one of the questions.

“I do not care what kind of wand you have, demon. You aren’t allowed to have one,” the man snarled. “Where is it?”

Harry froze, an icy chill entering his heart at the ominous question. Why did this man need to know its location? Was he going to confiscate his wand? Why? Why would he need to do that?

Harry frantically looked between the two guards who stared at him stonily. Why did they need to know about his wand? What was going on? Why was no one telling him anything?!

“Enough,” the man said, snapping his fingers. “I don’t even know why I try. These bloody creatures are all the same. They know the laws; all non-human creatures are forbidden from having a wand. Now clearly you have been masquerading as a human for a while, so you must have come by an illicit wand at some point. So the question is: where are you hiding it.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the implications to what the man was saying. Surely he hadn’t been breaking the law when he purchased the wand! Surely they knew that he was new to this! He wasn’t trying to break the law! He wasn’t trying to be obstinate! He didn’t know what was going on! One minute he’s struggling to breathe in potions class and the next he’s in magical handcuffs being told he broke the law.

“Please sir,” Harry begged, his chest heaving as tears refused to come to his eyes. “Please! I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Strip him,” man said, snapping his fingers. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he still had it on him, foolish creature.”

The guards turned to Harry, and, with several flicks of their wands, had removed his school robes and left him hovering just off the ground in nothing but his pants. A few more flicks of their wands and his robes had been disassembled, his wand not being found among the shreds of his clothing.

“Hm, not as much of a fool as I though,” the man scoffed. “No matter. So long as he doesn’t have access to it.”

“Why are you doing this to me?!” Harry yelled, trying to fight against the restraining spells, his strength rapidly failing as he struggled. “Please! What did I do?!”

“Oh-ho! Here it comes now,” the man said snidely as he cataloged the shreds of Harry’s uniform. “My least favorite part: the bargaining. ‘I’ll do what you say, sir, just let me go.’ ‘I promise to be good!’ ‘I’ll never do it again, I swear!’ Every time.”

“But I don’t even…” Harry started to say before being interrupted.

“It isn’t what you’ve done, Potter,” the male guard said flatly. “It’s what you could do. You are a danger to everyone around you. The potential for you injuring or possibly killing another student is too high for you to remain around other children and you are too volatile to be left alone. You are predisposed to violence, everyone of your species is, so removing you from the school is the only option.”

“But I haven’t…”

“But you will,” the female guard butted in. “You have no control over your faculties, your instincts, or your magic. You will end up severely injuring someone.”

“But…”

“Silence!” the man at the desk roared, slamming a stamp onto the piece of parchment. “Do not entertain his delusions of humanity. He has been turned over for the safety of wizard-kind, not to be kept as a pet. Now, kneel, so we may get this over with.”

Harry’s body crumpled to the floor, the spells keeping him aloft suddenly falling away. The only thing preventing him from fully hitting the floor was the bangle on his right wrist which was held steady at waist height. Trying his hardest to stand, Harry quickly found his knees were anchored to the ground in such a way that he couldn’t do anything other than awkwardly kneel.

“Now, demon, it is my duty to inform you that you have been registered with the Ministry of Magic as a Class One creature,” the man recited in a bored manner, his lip curling as he took in the teen in front of him. “You are to remain within ministry designated areas for the remainder of your life. Should you be caught outside of those areas, you will be arrested and receive a Dementor’s kiss or whatever is necessary to properly end your life.

“You will be provided lodgings for the time being and will receive a position suitable for your species. Should you not have completed your transformation or your transformation be transient, a potion will be provided to you to complete your transformation upon arrival to your lodgings.

“You will be required to update your location with the Dangerous and Deadly Creatures Department on a weekly basis. Failure to do so will result in one warning followed by arrest and detention.

“Attempts to procreate will be met with immediate sterilization. Attempts to escape will be met with arrest and detention. Attempts to incite uprising on behalf of your people will be met with arrest and a Kiss or whatever means is necessary to end your life.

“You are not human, and therefore should not expect to be treated as such. Is. this. understood?”

Harry swallowed harshly. It wasn’t as though he had a choice: his options were either compliance or death.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered, trying to remember the rules which had just been spouted at him, his heart sinking in his chest.

“Good,” the man said, flicking his wand and causing a swirling black tattoo to appear on the back of Harry's hand. “Demon 53328, you are free to collect your… things. The guards will escort you to your ... room.”

July 1996

The smell of the roast the Professor had made permeated the small cottage, leaving the teen in the fire sitting just to the side of the burning logs rocking as he debated the merits of coming out.

Was he ready to leave his nest? Would it be safe without him? Would he be safe without it? Would it be worth trying to eat anything at all?

“Potter, here,” the Professor said, setting a pewter mug as close as he could to the boy without being burned before backing away several feet. “I got you a treat.”

Slowly reaching over, Harry grabbed the mug and looked into it with interest, shivering slightly coolness of the open air in the cabin before snuggling back against the burning wood. He had let the fire die down somewhat now that he didn’t feel like he was drowning, much to Snape’s relief, but it meant the cabin was now far too cold for him to comfortably leave his nest. The smoke also didn’t hang so thickly in the air, making it harder for him to breathe but easier on the Professor. It was a balancing act, but one which he was happy to do.

Especially for treats.

“Whose is it?” Harry murmured hoarsely, taking a sip of the mug of blood once it had reached a decent temperature.

“It’s not mine, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Snape said with a smirk. “It’s probably a cow’s. The butcher had just finished with one, and I asked for whatever the freshest blood was that he had. That’s also where I got the beef for the roast.”

Harry nodded, slowly sipping on the cup of blood as though it were hot chocolate or a strong coffee. He did want some of the roast, but his nest… the thought of leaving it even to get food was terrifying. It was his home within their home, but he had lost too many nests to wizards to trust even the Professor around it.

“Potter, I know you want some,” the Professor said, rolling his eyes as the boy stared at his plate, an almost animalistic desire in his eyes. “Go get yourself a plate and leave mine be.”

Harry shook himself and shied back into the flames slightly. He did want it, but…

Placing his now empty mug away from the fire, he turned back to the nest and began fussing with it out of stress, pushing piles of ash to one side then the other, piling charcoal against the back wall. He didn’t want to leave it. It was almost complete. Almost ready.

“Potter, I have no desire to come near your nest or extinguish your fire,” the Professor said almost angrily. “I do, however, want to make sure you are being fed.”

Pushing another pile of ash against the back wall, Harry curled up against the burning wood pile, knowing he was fully hidden. He was still exhausted from the trek here, but knew the Professor meant well in wanting to feed him. And he did want some of that roast though.

“Would it be better if I sat in the kitchen?” The Professor asked quietly, moving farther away from his fire.

Harry nodded, rubbing his hand over his stomach as it growled lightly, knowing the Professor would see neither motion but not being able to bring himself to say it out loud. A slight rustle and a sigh were enough for him to know the Professor had, in fact, moved to the kitchen.

Grabbing several handfuls of ash, he quickly scrubbed himself down, being sure to throw some over his shoulders to try and get his back before turning to face the exit of the fireplace. Thirty paces to the kitchen, grab some meat, thirty paces back. He could do it. He wouldn’t get too cold or too wet. He would still be able to breathe. His nest would still be there when he got back.

Clambering over the logs, he quickly ran to the kitchen, the chill of the stone floor immediately causing his feet to ache and the clean air causing his lungs to burn.

“Use the utensils, Potter,” the Professor said with a sigh from his new seat as the soot covered teen tore into the kitchen, eyes wide and frantic as he searched for the food. “And a plate. Please use a plate.”

Harry blinked at the potions master in confusion before grabbing the plate which was sitting next to the oven and nearly dropping it immediately.

“Cold!” he rasped in shock, looking at the Professor as though he had been betrayed.

“It was hot,” Snape said, calmly taking a bite of his own roast. “You took too long to get out here.”

“It’s too cold!” Harry murmured, letting out a small cough before reaching a bare hand towards the roast which sat on the counter.

“No, no, no, Potter!” Snape admonished with a sigh, pointing at the tongs and knife which were still on the pan. “I want to save some of that for me for later and I am not a fan of soot. Either wash your hands, or use the utensils.”

Harry bared his teeth, a reaction less threatening due to his lack of fangs, and hissed at the Professor at the mere suggestion of using water to wash himself before grabbing the tongs and quickly slicing off a rather small chunk of the roast, thankful the utensils were warm from sitting on the hot roasting tray. Throwing it onto the plate, Harry rubbed his hands together in anticipation of grabbing the offensively ice cold plate. He hated how the cold made his joints hurt and the mere idea of picking up something as icy as the plate made him question his decision to follow the Professor’s rules.

But the Professor was helping him and had, in the eyes of the ministry at least, purchased him for the purpose of maintaining the temperature of the room in which he made several of his more heat sensitive potions. This was his way out, his escape from ministry servitude and detention. Or “torture” as the Professor called it, though he was still unsure if he agreed with that assessment. He was subhuman, after all, so it wasn’t that bad of treatment.

“Potter, if the cold bothers you so, use the hot pads to carry the plate,” the Professor said, sipping on his tea in a way Harry had begun to realize meant he “wasn’t” paying attention to what the boy was doing. “Your lips are already turning red, take the plate and get back to your fire.”

Nodding and shivering violently, Harry grabbed the hot pads which were next to the stove in disgust before throwing them back down. They were just as cold as the plate! Colder, even, because they hadn’t been warmed recently. A pained and wheezy whimper ripped through his throat as his hands throbbed from the feeling of being plunged into ice. They had only just healed from being torn by the door, they couldn’t take much more!

Plate of roast abandoned, he bolted back to his fire, whimpering as he ran, the stub of his tail tucked firmly between his legs. He was safe there, pain free there. Humans couldn’t get him if he stayed there and neither could the cold.

“Potter?!” the Professor said in shock at the teens cries as he tore from the room, leaving a trail of ash behind him.

Standing quickly he followed the boy’s trail back to the living room fireplace, listening as small, pained sounds continued for several moments. Clearly he was not ready to be away from his fire for long, but what had pained him so much that he had abandoned the meat which had been provided to him.

“Potter, what happened?” He asked gently, once the cries had died away and the normal sounds of the demon shuffling around behind the fire recommenced.

There was a long pause before the boys surprisingly meek voice spoke out.

“Cold!”

“I know the plate was cold,” Snape said with a frown. “But the hot pads…”

“Cold! Too cold!” Harry repeated, curling himself against the back of the burning pile of logs, his hands and feet buried under piles of embers.

Snape frowned slightly, tapping a finger to his lips before going back to the kitchen and grabbing the boy’s plate. Though not overly cold to the human touch, it had clearly been too much for the fire demon to handle. The hot pads were a different story entirely. While the plate still had some of its retained heat from being warmed, the hot pads were perfectly room air temperature. For a human, this was fine, but for a creature who lived in fire and flame?

Picking up the boy's plate and adding another slice of meat to the plate as well as some of the drippings, Snape returned to the living room and set the plate by the fire.

“I apologize Mr. Potter,” he said as he inched the plate closer to the fire so it could heat up. “I did not realize the hot pads were so cold.”

“Too cold,” Harry corrected him, slowly turning around and looking curiously at the human on the other side of his fire. He had behaved poorly and was still being given food?

“Does the cold cause you pain?” Snape asked, honestly curious.

“Yes, sir,” Harry responded, slowly climbing around to the side of the fire where he could reach the offered plate. “It … it is extremely painful. Like … what would be a human thing … I don’t remember … an ice bath? Or an… an ice cube?”

Snape nodded slowly. “Like trying to hold an ice cube?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, pulling the now warmed plate slightly closer and pulling off strands of meat. “Makes my fingers hurt. And my bones.”

“It makes your bones hurt?” Snape grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “When did this start?”

“Before,” Harry mumbled in response, pulling off a few more meat strands.

“And did the ministry…” Snape began, his mouth clicking shut almost immediately as the demon shot him a fiery glare. “Of course they did.”

---

February 1994

“Up and attem, freaks!” the guard of block B-72 called, kicking the doors of the rooms as he passed. “You got places to be!”

Shivering violently as he huddled over his small flame, Demon 53328 looked at his woodpile in dismay. Even if he put every piece of wood he had into his fire, it wouldn’t last until he returned. There was no way. He’d have to restart again when he got back.

If he got back.

He had only been there a month, but knew there were some within his block who had been there much longer. And some who had been here who had perished at the hands of the keepers. If he kept his head down and his fire lit, he would survive. He had to. If he wanted to ever get out of here, he had to survive.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang at his door, the shrieking sound of metal on metal grating against his ears as the locking mechanism was undone.

In a panic, he grabbed the burning tinder of the small fire he had made and shoved it into the fireplace, frantically scooping at the ashes on the ground in an effort to make it look less like he had been burning his fire in the middle of the room again. He had been punished the last time he had been caught doing so and been told not to do it again, but he wasn’t keen on the idea of keeping his fire in such a small area as the tiny fireplace he had been provided in his “room.”

Though the Ministry publicly stated they provided safety, lodgings, and employment for even the most dangerous of creatures, their version of this required an almost antiquated understanding of the requirements for each of these.

Yes, lodgings were provided. However these were little more than prison cells. Within his own room, Demon 53328 had a slab bed made of stone so as to not be flammable, a small fireplace, a self emptying waste bucket, and a small allotment of firewood. Books and all flammable materials other than those provided were strictly prohibited, as were most forms of entertainment.

It was a small room, but it was dry, easy to heat with a small amount of fuel, and provided him with more room to move than the cupboard under the stairs had.

He had tried to make it more homely as he was given more items, however those items would routinely go up in flames should he not manage to stretch his wood allotment for the entire week. It had been a gut wrenching feeling watching as the last remains of his school uniform burned, the golden crest withering away under the heat as he cried knowing he wouldn’t live to see morning if he didn’t burn something.

Grabbing the ministry issued robes from the hook by the door, he knelt down over the place he had kept his fire relishing the heat which remained in the stones as he waited for the guard or keeper to open the door. He was determined to prove his humanity, even if it meant kowtowing to whatever ridiculous ministry person came through the door. If they expected a fight, they would not get one here.

“Kneel, 53328… oh, you already…” the guard said, stumbling over his words slightly before sneering. “You have been summoned to the healers. Pack your bag and extinguish your flames.”

A pang went through his heart as he looked at the dwindling fire in the back of his fireplace. To extinguish it was to extinguish his hope for the day. Since that first week, he had managed to keep at least a few embers going even when he was gone to ‘work.’

Yes, employment was provided. However it was little more than meaningless tasks with little compensation. His ‘job’ for the last few days had been to sift through the ashes of a few high profile officials and make sure there were no remains of any parchment. There never was, but it made them feel better to know someone was looking.

Before that, he had been assigned to cleaning the ministry’s cafeteria’s range. He hadn’t minded it, as the house elves would occasionally slip him food, but once it was discovered this was occurring, he was quickly reassigned to his current post.

Sighing sadly, he snuffed the flames with his hands before gathering the small pile of wood he had managed to accumulate and binding the sticks together with his single remaining shoelace. If they wanted him to gather his things, he doubted he would be returning to this room.

Begrudgingly, he followed the guard down the hall. The cold of the cobblestone floor leached into his feet quite quickly, leaving them numb and aching, and the dampness of the air causing his breaths to come in gasps. Though it wasn’t a long walk to the healers ward, he was feeling quite dizzy and out of breath by the time he arrived.

“Sit it over there,” one of the healers said, motioning vaguely towards the fire.

“You heard him,” the guard barked at him, whirling around at the teen and causing him to stumble backwards, the restraints on his wrists responding immediately to the motion by slamming together. “Don’t try to run, demon. We’re onto you.”

“I …,” Harry started trying to explain before letting out a harsh round of coughs, preventing him from finishing his thought.

The healer rolled his eyes before ushering the teen over to the fire, making sure he was sitting on the ground. The guards meant well, sometimes the creatures did get a bit out of hand, but it wasn’t frequent enough to really warrant quite that much force. Besides, the demon looked more scared than anything. However, after having worked with creatures for as long as he had, he understood the consequences of what could happen better than most.

A scared animal was more liable to lash out, bite the hand that fed it so to speak. A magical creature was much the same, with the added repercussions of having quite a bit more bite behind their bark. While a muggle animal could bite, kick, or run, a magical creature might do all of the above and then blow up the area in an effort to escape.

No, keeping them calm was just as important as training them. Or breaking them.

Letting the demon catch its breath by the fire, the healer pulled up a chair and waited calmly for a few moments before speaking to it.

“Demon 53328,” the healer started calmly.

“Harry,” Harry interrupted, hoarsely, glad to be near the fire. “My name is Harry Potter.”

“That was your given name,” the healer said gently, trying not to anger the demon in front of him. It would only make things worse later. “Your designation is Demon 53328. That is what you are to be referred to as now.”

“I don’t want to be ‘Demon 53328,’” Harry snarled, staring into the flames. “I want to be Harry. I want to go home.”

“I bet you do, but you should watch the attitude,” the healer said, almost good naturedly. “Now…”

“Why? Why won’t you let me go home or back to the school?” Harry interrupted sadly. “I’ve been good. I’ve followed all of the rules. I’ve never once fought back. I’ve done my job. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. Please, let me go home.”

The healer sighed, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a vial of dark red potion. This had been provided to the boy his first night in his room, however he had refused to take it. Instead, he had taken the vial and thrown it into the pitiful fire he had managed to create when he found he couldn’t leave the room. Other than that incident, he had been a model of good behavior, but he needed that potion. His transformation was nowhere near complete and if they were to get a good idea as to how powerful he was going to be, they needed to hurry the transformation along.

True, forcing his transformation may stunt his growth, but it was a risk they had to take. Half transformed, he was more prone to magical and emotional outbursts. No, no, it was better to be done with it in one fell swoop rather than allow the transformation to take place over several months to years.

“You haven’t completed your transformation, Harry,” the healer said, ignoring the eye roll from the guard. “Wouldn’t you like to just be done with it? I know you’ve been hurting. All I want is for you to feel better. Then maybe the fact you’re a fire demon can be addressed. You’ve remained remarkably well controlled for your species as is, who knows, maybe you’ll be an exception and be allowed home with restrictions.”

Harry looked at the healer skeptically. He doubted very much that the guards had been reporting on his condition to the healer, but the healer did seem to know about him. Or seemed to, at least.

“How?”

“How, what?” the healer frowned, looking at the demon in confusion.

“How do I … you know… get done with it?” Harry asked, pulling his knees to his chest as best he could and resisting the urge to sidle closer to the fire.

“You mean you don’t know?” The healer frowned, looking at the boy in confusion. He had been given the potion to drink, after all. If he didn’t know what it was for… No, no, he was just being an obstinate teen. “All you have to do is drink this potion. You were provided with it, however you chose to pour it in your fire on your first night rather than drink it.”

Harry blinked a few times, trying to remember the potion before finally realizing he had thought it was lighter fluid. “It wasn’t labeled. I didn’t know what it was.”

“Now, that can’t be true,” the healer admonished him gently. “All of our potions are professionally made and labeled…”

“I swear mine didn’t!” Harry shot back, anger seeping into his voice momentarily before he backed down, looking frantically over at the guard knowing any anger would be met with force.

“And that is an improbability,” the healer said calmly. “Be that as it may, your time is up. You have been given a month to take your potion voluntarily and did not do so.”

“Because I never got a new one!” Harry couldn’t help but cry, drawing the attention of the guard back to them.

“Oi, hands on the ground!” the guard yelled, pulling his wand out with a flick as Harry’s eyes went wide.

“Now, you have the option of taking the potion voluntarily or the choice will be removed from you,” the healer said popping the cork out of the potion vial and placing it on the ground between the two of them expectantly.

“I’m not a demon, though!” Harry yelled out, shying away from the vial. “Please! I’m not!”

“It was not a human the Dementors were after,” the healer continued. “They saw you for what you truly were. That is why they attacked you. It is unfortunate, but now we must deal with the repercussions of this incident. Trust us; it’s better this way.”

Harry looked at the healer incredulously, his hands shaking as he took in the vial. It was quite small but something about the red liquid made his skin crawl.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Fine. Have it your way,” the healer said calmly, before turning to the guard. “Restrain him.”

July, 1996

Harry let out a quiet, yet happy trill. It was perfect. Small, but perfect. Or close to. It never would be perfect perfect, but it was the closest he had ever gotten a nest to be.

It had been hard work building his nest, but for the first time ever he had all the materials he needed. He’d spent the better part of the week burning the variety of woods he had been provided, digging the ashes out with his hands, and arranging them around the backside of the fireplace. Finally, he had a comfortable place to lay his head, relax his body, and simply soak up the heat.

Maybe one day, he could use his nest to attract a mate.

His trills suddenly stopped at the thought. That wasn’t allowed. That would never be allowed. His nest was his alone. Being a bachelor couldn’t be too bad, could it?

Slowly reaching out his hand, he let it hover over the small mound he had created next to the fire proper. The ash was extremely fine, so fine it was stirred constantly by the winds created by the flames, forming small vortices which danced in the light. It was the highest quality ash he could find and create. It was beautiful and mesmerizing. It was perfect for a child.

He wouldn’t need it.

A low crooning sound started in his throat as he debated what to do. Destroying that pile felt as though it would destroy his dreams. Dreams he had only just begun to allow himself to have. He didn’t want to destroy it, but if he didn’t …

The ministry had come after him for less.

But he couldn’t do it, the point of his nest was to prepare for mates and to prepare for children. It was so much more than a simple pile of ash. He had built it with his two hands to prepare for a future child. He had built it to give them a warm place in which to live and grow. To start their life happily and healthily. A life which he never had and knew would never exist.

“Now what, Potter?” The Professor’s voice called to him from outside of the fire, only causing the crooning to increase.

Snape sighed in exasperation. That had been the first time ever he had heard the demon make any noise of happiness, as quiet as it had been, only for him to go right back to the distressed crooning he had begun to loathe. The boy was likely locked in his thoughts once again, reliving the horrors of the past few years.

Snape had read his files, of course. There was no point in “purchasing damaged goods” if there was no record on what had happened to them. What little there was appallingly out of date, human-centric, and down right racist propaganda spread as truth. It was enlightening yet horrifying to know even some of what the boy had been through, but it would never amount to the whole story. The true story.

Everything done to him had been labeled as “standard practice” in the treatment and management of demons. His horns had been cut every few months to “keep them manageable,” his fangs removed due to being deemed a hazard to those “handling” him, and his tail docked with no logical reason provided other than “preference.” Whose preference was it to remove a demon‘s tail? Even demons themselves didn’t do so, preferring to keep them long and useful, like an additional arm capable of carrying a few items or tending to a portion of fire out of reach from their hands.

Those were only a few of the items listed.

The fact the boy was responsive to him at all was a damn miracle. He had never been the boy’s favorite teacher in school, quite the opposite in fact. It was what he represented that allowed the boy to find some sort of solace: the school which had first given him a window into his past and a hope for the future. He had been nothing but awful to the boy when he was a student, choosing to focus on the assumed similarities to his father rather than the boy himself. It was petty and pedantic and he loathed himself for it. If he knew then what he knew now, perhaps the boy wouldn’t be as bad off.

The Harry Potter the world knew was kind and charitable to those around him. He was a hard worker, a fact Snape had borne witness to on many occasions during the boy’s multiple detentions with him over the years. Even looking at the last few months of his formal education, before he was sent to those… to the Ministry, he proved he was nothing but industrious.

How bad had he been before he finally lost consciousness? Was he already feeling the pain of the cold air? Was he already showing signs of intolerance to moisture? It had been hard to track down this kind of information, but the more he dug, the more the boy’s efforts to remain under the radar came to light. His friends had thought he didn’t want to spend time with them, that he was angry with them, but it seemed far more likely he was unable to stay with them for long periods as he became more and more tied to the smoke and fire. The other professors noted he had started asking to leave the classroom frequently during his last few weeks at Hogwarts but had assumed he just needed the loo. The portraits, however, painted a different story, stating he would run to the nearest brazier and just … stand there.

Those last weeks must have been a torture in and of themselves. He had likely been freezing cold and choking on the moisture of the castle and still pushed himself to attend class. If they hadn’t been brewing a potion which tended to have mildly toxic gasses that day, Potter may have made it another few days or weeks before his body couldn’t take it any more.

In spite of feeling miserable, in pain, and legitimately drowning, Potter had been nothing like the descriptions of his species made him out to be. He wasn’t violent. He wasn’t any more impulsive than any other teenager in his class. He didn’t actively try to start fights, but he certainly tried to finish them. He was like the fire he now relied on; capable of doing great or terrible acts if given the kindling to do so.

Thinking back on how he had been towards the boy, he wasn’t sure he would have advocated for him to remain in the school at the time. He would have likely seen him as another creature like Lupin and wanted him sent away. As it was, he felt awful just knowing he had nearly killed the boy during the trip from the dungeons to the Hospital wing. He couldn’t even imagine the guilt he would feel now if he had been the true reason for the boy’s agony as he listened to him cry for unknown reasons hidden inside of his fire.

“Potter, what’s wrong?” he asked, resisting the urge to move the top log in the fire so he could view the demon behind it.

“Why?” The boy whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling flames at first before reaching a shriek that made the hair on Snape’s arms stand on end. “Why? Why why WHY!”

“What do you want to know, Potter,” Snape responded gently, not knowing if the teen was speaking to him or the memories of officials which were ever-present in his mind.

A pained howl and a puff of extremely fine ash were all that answered him, followed by gut wrenching sobs.

---

February, 1994

Harry lay on his side, back to the small fire he was allowed. His whole body ached as though he had the flu. His stomach roiled and turned under his hand, making him gag violently, but he knew better than to vomit. They would just force him to take the potion again. And again. And again. Until they were satisfied he had had enough to jumpstart his transformation.

He’d inadvertently thrown up when they first shoved the vial in his mouth, a fact which only served to infuriate the guard and the healer. He hadn’t meant to do it, it just happened, yet they both swore he had done it on purpose. His cries of denial were met only with a silencing charm and his teeth were spelled together after the second dose was given.

Breathing heavily through his nose, he tried to shift backwards towards the fire. It felt as though it was getting colder in the room and the few flames behind him weren’t enough to warm him. His head was beginning to ache just above his temples, his stomach roiled violently, and his lower back throbbed. He wasn’t sure what the potion was supposed to do, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he had been poisoned.

How much more would he change anyways? Would his skin change color? Or his eyes? Would he grow claws or a tail? Or horns or wings?

What made him so bad anyway? He hadn’t been bad that he knew of. He hadn’t done anything to them. Why did they want to lock him away so badly? If he was going to become dangerous, why were they forcing him to go through the transformation?

Swallowing heavily as a wave of pain crashed over his head, he couldn’t help but let out a small whimper. What if it didn’t work? What if he had some sort of reaction to the potion and was now dying? Would they help him?

His whimpering increased as the pain raced down his spine, a strange pulling sensation beginning at the base of it, feeling almost as though it were being stretched and pulled outward. His legs momentarily and blissfully went numb before the burning pain of the cold shot through them once more. A new and odd sensation raced up his spine, once again screaming against the frigid air of the room he was in. It felt as though he had a new appendage, however the was in too much pain to look.

The throbbing in his head increased as the skin split open on both sides directly over his temples, leaving rivulets of blood dripping down his face and onto the floor. He didn’t dare try to reach up and touch his head to see what had happened fearing the guard would come for him again.

“Can’t you make it be quiet?” the guard grumbled, flipping a page in his book as the healer sipped his tea.

“Its bone structure is changing, so probably not,” the healer said nonchalantly, ignoring the whimpers and groans coming from the slowly changing demon.

“I thought they didn’t feel pain?!” the guard said, looking up in mild shock.

“Not in the same way you and I do,” the healer laughed, glancing over at the grimacing demon. “Look at it, it's already calming down even though its bones were literally stretching and bending not five minutes ago. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” the guard peered almost cautiously at the panting teen on the floor.

“Positive,” the healer said, rolling his eyes and sighing. “Ought to put it in holding now. It should be ok to walk. Just… watch out. They tend to get more uppity after the potion.”

The guard nodded almost hesitantly before approaching the demon laying on the floor. Fire demons weren’t common, but he had heard stories of their deeds. Of how a single demon had nearly burned the entirety of London down. How they controlled massive fires to do their bidding. How they were evil incarnate and would happily destroy anything around them if given enough leeway.

After the Great Fire of London, there had been a massive push to eradicate the creature, yet somehow they occasionally would reappear as though they had managed to breed with wizards at some point in the past. Who would want to breed with such a violent creature was beyond his understanding. These demons, unlike their close cousins, the goblins, were only interested in fire and burning things. They didn’t care who they hurt or killed: if it was on fire, it was good.

No, it didn’t matter who it was before it turned, Harry Potter or not, it was now a dark creature and should be seen as such. It was a pity that, of all the wizards in the world, Harry Potter had to be the one to change. Maybe he hadn’t been the figurehead of the light after all? Maybe that was how he had defeated You-Know-Who all those years ago?

“Alright demon,” the guard said, releasing the gag and ankle restraints. “On your feet.”

Harry looked up blearily at the guard, barely breathing. His chest burned, his legs felt weak, and his head felt as though it were going to crack open. He didn’t know if he could move, let alone stand. He was beyond pain. Even whimpering hurt.

“I said, on your feet!” the guard said, brandishing his wand.

Harry tried to stand, only for his arms to give out simply from trying to push off the ground. He couldn’t do it! It hurt too much! His bones felt broken and his muscles torn.

“Get up, demon!” the guard snapped, reaching down and grabbing Harry by the arm out of habit.

Harry didn’t even have a chance to react before a wave of pain crashed over him radiating out from where the man had grabbed him. Couldn’t they see he was in pain? That he was still hurting too much to move? All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball around the small fire behind him and rest. Was that too much to ask?

Another yank on his arm was too much to bear. A fiery feeling built up inside him as he lashed out, all of his strength going into his attempt to escape the man’s grasp. All he wanted was to rest and heal. To be left for even a moment to collect his thoughts and gather his strength. To recuperate from the transformation he had been through.

He only needed a moment. A moment of peace.

A feral growl left his throat as he whirled at the guard, fangs flashing and claws fully extended. His tail whipped around behind him, grabbing a spadeful of embers from the fire he had been resting near. He could hear screaming in the background as the flames of the fire engulfed his body, radiating up from his tail and wrapping him in their protective warmth. Briefly looking at the guard’s hand, he was pleasantly shocked to see there was no longer a hand there, but a sizzling stump with fire clinging to the man’s robes and slowly advancing up his arm in spite of his fruitless efforts to quench the flames.

A piercing alarm began wailing as the now ashen-faced healer threw up a shield in an effort to protect himself from the demon who was now ablaze and stalking seemingly towards him. He shouldn’t have been able to enrobe himself in flame so quickly after his transformation! He shouldn’t have! It was impossible!

Stumbling backwards over the chair the guard had vacated, the healer let out an undignified screech as he tumbled backwards, his shield failing just as the demon launched himself into the now raging inferno that was the fireplace causing a massive explosion. The heat of the explosion instantly caused his clothing and all of the furniture in the room to combust. For a brief moment, he felt immense pain before suddenly he felt nothing.

Harry heard the scream of the healer cut short as he fell into the fire in exhaustion, not caring what occurred around him. The pain was less when he was in the fire. He could breathe better. The healer and the guard couldn’t follow him into the flames. He could rest here. He could heal here.

He was safe. He was warm. He was…

…unconscious.