It turns out, Harry had been unresponsive and barely breathing when Petunia had found him. The sight of a blue and lifeless infant seemed to have triggered her maternal instincts, because her attitude had done a complete 180.
Sometimes, late at night, he could hear Vernon and Petunia arguing about his circumstances. His Aunt's mouth would often press into a firm and thin line, disapproval evident in the deep set of her lips. It also became evident that even when Vernon tried to put his foot down, Petunia wore the pants.
Most of these incidents passed with little notice, but on occasion you could hear Vernon angrily puttering around in his garage. He usually slept on the sofa those nights.
Harry had to share both the nursery and the playroom with Dudley. This wasn't so bad seeing as Dudley was currently a year and a half. Personally, overall? His position in the family seemed to have risen. However, Harry wasn't going to count on this development not to have an expiration date. This likely wouldn't last past toddler age, especially when he began to display accidental magic.
Accidental magic was considered a demonstration of a child's early development; their core growing, small bursts exploding with their emotions. A child's potential was evaluated based off three parts: how often the child demonstrated, what the effects were, and their duration.
Basically, if a child showed magic often, had useful accidental displays, and it didn't wear off quickly? That child was a prodigy. The twins were one such case, seeing as they had managed a complex living-to-inanimate transfiguration with Ron's teddy bear.
It was also worth noting that even Dumbledore still had magical flares. This was proof of a constantly growing core; most, or average wizards had a fully developed magical core at age twenty-five, and there were no other incidents.
Harry, despite his soul age, was unable to control his own outbursts. It was a bit like muscle memory, in that he had a large core, but was not used to the shape or body flow. He had better control than the average eight year old at his second birthday, but it was still difficult.
A part of Harry wanted to pretend to be normal for as long as he possibly could-- but his emotions were too large for his tiny body. Logically, he knew it was ridiculous to get so upset over a bath, but he felt so overwhelmed it simply... happened. The soap had soared from Aunt Petunia's hands, scrub brush bouncing along as it chased jauntily after the soap bar. Gliding across surfaces, it was like a strange live ice skating performance.
Petunia had screamed. Harry had cried, frightened by the sound, and the bar and brush had both tackled the poor blonde housewife. Struggling, she had to rinse her face three times in the sink too be rid of the soap film and away from the frothy brush. Raw, and bedraggled, she had another 'discussion' with Vernon that night.
Harry knew she was finding it difficult to be around him now. Still, he couldn't help but be a bit discouraged; he really liked being included. But all good things must come to an end some time.
His magical ability was showing in ways he wasn't entirely used to-- he had access to a lot of his past, even if the level had been reduced. The first time his hand had caught fire was extremely disconcerting, but in the end he managed to put it out, though it happened often now, each time he was severely upset.
When he first caught fire in front of his Aunt, she had screamed then, too. After it became clear that he wasn't being injured, that his flesh was perfectly fine beneath the blue flames, she had settled.
However, she was now always visibly uncomfortable and rigid when she witnessed the strange pyrotechnics; there had been another 'discussion' that same night. Harry was given the second room and he was no longer allowed alone with Dudley.
"That bloody monster may be fireproof, but our Dudley is not!" Vernon shouted, his deep voice shaking the china cabinet.
Petunia hadn't argued, and Harry noticed that she became less inclined to play with him. His heart twisting in his chest, he fought to let go. He couldn't force his Aunt to care, so he turned his attention to practicing his inactive abilities.
Charming objects into animation was one instance of active and reaction magic. However, Harry also possessed abilities from his old lives; passive, or inactive magic vs. active abilities. Some of which, he found, were not very useful, but simply strange.
For example, the ability to sing like a songbird. Strolling through the park in the double-pram with Dudley and Petunia, he had suddenly began to tweet and trill happily like the common garden birds he saw. Surprisingly, Petunia had laughed, as had Dudley. Harry took this as a positive; his Aunt tolerated most things, but seemed genuinely bemused by this.
But other inactive abilities began to make themselves known soon after. Some more havock than practical use.
For example, his ears began to grow, turning into a point at the tips, slanting backwards. Harry attributed this to his life as a high elf. Regardless of his knowledge of why this attribute popped up, it didn't seem to offer him any help.
"Pure aesthetic!" he complained. Frankly, he couldn't find any other reason for them to appear. Petunia noticed but said nothing on the matter, she simply began to grow his bangs and styled his hair to cover both his famous scar and now, his ears.
His skin also occasionally sprouted small triangular blue scales harder than fingernails and capable of ruffling or standing on end like his hair; the schlera of his eyes also turned the palest of pastel lime green, mostly unnoticeable but largely disturbing when you did. From a distance, you could hardly tell the difference between white or lime green schlera! Though, from a distance, thia also made his scales look more like small bruises. Thankfully, these small blue scales lightened to a rich emerald green and patches of gold with time.
Harry's least favorite part of the ability pack was that it also contained teleportation. True teleportation-- not apparition, floo, or portkey travel. It was really... magical. However, it was also unpredictable, and completely uncontrollable.
It really was completely random, without a time, schedule or reason. Harry had sneezed and disappeared for a week to a koi fish hatchery in Fukuyama, Japan. Unable to return, he had been satisfied with the quiet and slow schedule on the manmade water enclosure, though it was difficult staying out of sight of the locals, plus adjusting to the taste of fish food...
When he had returned to Surrey one evening, Petunia had cried and held both Harry and Dudley in her lap. She was suddenly overprotective again, and hovered in the background constantly. Four year old Harry could hardly get a moment alone, and she stuck like glue.
But just as she relaxed, after three weeks with no further teleportation, Harry disappeared a second time. This was only a short trip, a couple of hours on a fishing boat off the coast of Alaska, U.S. The waves had been amazing, like large walls of black destruction. Swirling and swaying, pitching the large boat like it was a child's bathtoy. Harry had been glad to leave in the end, as it was making him seasick.
Petunia had been suspicious, but unable to prove anything for or against it. So she held her tongue, but it was obvious she knew something was still going on.
But without regard to the fear in her eyes, Harry continuously disappeared and ended up in strange places. Magical children across the world claimed to have a friend named Harry Potter. Some he visited often and on a schedule; such as every Tuesday at 9 AM, like clockwork. Other visits were singular, and never repeated.
Because he had no control over this ability, Harry grew increasingly worried. There was always the fear that a muggle would capture his ability on film. Or the chance that something would go beyond what he could handle.
But Harry still couldn't control anything about his teleportation. Returns, destination, length of time, anything! All were not within his realm of ability.
One random weekend, while Vernon golfed at the country club, and Petunia and Dudley played in the yard, Harry disappeared from in front of the of the rose bushes. The next few minutes were a blur, and Harry barely had time to process where he was before the beast attached.
A sleek golden body, stripes, and powerful muscles, the tiger was a den mother with two very small cubs. Hearing a strange noise near her usual nesting place, she fought to scare off the intruder. Unfortunately, said intruder was a young boy with no defensive abilities. She was upon him in mere moments, teeth and claws bared.
Harry covered his face with his hands, screaming. Curling up, he tried to protect his soft belly. Wishing with all his might to be back in the garden with Petunia and Dudley.
Whether he was finally gaining control, or whether his accidental magic was responding to his emotions, he didn't care. All he knew was pain as his magic whisked him back to the garden.
The pain was intense, and Harry let out a blood-curdling scream, falling face down in the grass before Aunt Petunia. It was twenty-four hours before he woke, bandages covering his right eye and ear, repeated again down over his left hand. His neck, chest and stomach also had several layers of thick white cotton bandages. The painkillers barely touched the pain, and Harry soon dreaded the time when Petunia changed his bandages on the daily.
A huge shock was when Harry first saw his left hand. He was missing all of his small finger and most of his ring finger. Perhaps changing the timeline wasn't such a good idea!
Petunia had cemented her place as his caregiver now, and wouldn't budge from her role after the shock.
"If I had been more attentive this never would have happened. That boy has never harmed us, and you have insisted I keep my distance. No more, Vernon! That child is my blood, and Dudley's, too!"
Harry was surprised by her ferocity, but healing took a lot out of him. Overall, Harry felt the experience made him become less inclined to like most mammals.
'Fish, reptiles, and avian creatures had never been a problem. But big cats? They eat your fingers for breakfast,' he internally grouched.
Only a few more years and he would be Hogwarts bound. Was he ready? Was the world ready? Harry didn't know. He just didn't know.