Not the Stroll in the Forest you Were Excepting
Forest in Surry
The sun seemed to set faster than normal as he ran, unaware of the path he was taking. The anger Harry felt towards Marge had already faded into frustration and despair. He didn't know if they would use this as an excuse to expel him after the events with Dobby last year. His uncle had also made it clear that he was very much not welcomed back in their house this time around.
Panting and running blindly, Harry’s too busy trying to wipe at his tears that he doesn't realize when he stumbles into a clearing that's not quite unoccupied. A loud huffing breath has him sucking in his own and freezing on the spot. Through the strands of hair falling in front of his eyes, he can make out a large shifting shape that grunts as it pulls itself to its feet. He can see its thick fur shake in the moonlight before the beast turns (more gracefully than its size would allude) around to face what woken it up. Dark black eyes glint in the dim light.
Opening its mouth in a yawn sends a wave of fish dank breath and reveals sharp yellowing teeth. Harry couldn't believe he practically ran right into a fucking bear. Breaking out of his stunned terror, he does his best to put himself behind his trunk. Knowing he wouldn't be able to outrun the large animal. His wand was stuck in his pocket under his shaggy shirt making it hard to get to in his panic. He can hear the bear sniffing as it scratches at the ground as it gets closer to the trunk and possible prey it has seen. Harry feels the trunk he is leaning against shift as it’s pawed at.
Harry holds his breath to be as quiet as possible. Finally wrangling his wand free feels like false hope but it's something. Would a stupify even work on a bloody bear? An expelliarmus damn well won't. A flaming bird carrying a magical hat that holds an ancient sword showing up would sound pretty sweet right about now.
He can feel and hear the bear getting more aggravated. Maybe if he elevates his trunk, distracting or scaring the bear, he could run away. Just as he is getting the spell ready, teeth snag onto his baggy pants leg and pull him hard into what had just been his shelter. Since he was lying horizontal with his back on the ground and his left shoulder and leg pressed against the wood, the force yanks his leg at an unnatural angle around the edge of his trunk. The gruesome cracking sound of his breaking bones is quickly overtaken by the screams Harry can't keep from releasing.
The force spins him, and the trunk, so that his face was directed toward the creature about to eat him. It wrenched back again, dragged him painfully against his failed barrier from the creature and he feels pain shoot through the left side of his rib cage.
Seeing his leg drop from its mouth, and running on adrenaline, Harry levels his wand at the creature that will haunt his nightmares if he survives this and tries to fire off a severing charm he learned in herbology the previous year. There is no world, however, where a 12-year-old boy could have ever been faster than a full-grown Euroasain brown bear. Before the spell has even begun to form itself on his tongue, a mouth full of sharp nasty teeth is closing down crushingly on his hand.
He felt it in his core before the actual sound of wood and bones snapping reached his ears. The agony from his splintering wand overwhelmed the pain in his ribs, leg, and arm. Having the connection to your first wand severed is harrowing for anyone let alone a child. The overwhelming moment blinded him to the sight of his broken wand unleashing a wicked backlash of flames as the phoenix feather core came into contact with the bear's tongue, searing all the flesh around it including the boy's hand, and up onto the sides of the bear's face.
A roar rips through the forest's night air, and a powerful clawed arm swipes at Harry, tossing him his small body a couple of feet away and tearing a gash into his hip. The new injury brings the boy out from the shock the broken wand bond had induced. He barely has a second to orient before 1600 lbs are slamming down onto his legs, claws tearing at the skin under his jeans. Harry's sure he’s screaming but he can't hear anything over the rushing in his ears as a creature 4 times his uncles' size whales on him. Blood pooled under his skin and leaked from dozens of gashes.
Harry feels his magic bubble inside him, but he can tell it feels different than it had earlier that same day. He had used up a lot of power earlier to make Marge float away. If he was at full strength from decent meals and rest, he probably could have worked up another bout of defensive magic. But as it stood he wasn't going to make it out of this situation unless he got help and soon. So in a final act of desperation, his magic coalesced under his skin. Bubbling and building like a raging ocean before busting out in waves and flooding the area as far as it could reach, seeking help.
Now, magic by nature is balanced, it does not seek the light any more than it seeks the dark. His magic spread out over miles and mobilized all wizards that felt the call for help. Closer to the boy was a different story entirely. The area was strangely devoid of all magical life except one very dark, very dangerous being that had claimed this forest as its hunting ground.
Creating a beacon for help in its last-ditch attempt to save itself, in the middle of this creature's domain was tempting a fate debatably worse than the current death he was facing. But magic can often work in mysterious ways. Sometimes when a boy, who houses the soul of a dark lord, grows up tormented by family and then loved and hated in turn by a world he hoped would be his solace, the mind, body, and magic adapt to protect itself.
The Horcrux ritual alone at such a vulnerable age would have left a deep altering mark upon the child's core. By itself, years of neglect and abuse would fester darkness and make one's magic defensive by nature. You could call it a miracle that Harry Potter never became an obscurial, but his magic probably never had a chance to do much other than keep him alive. Entering the magical world should have been where he found his place in life but all it did was drive down the fact he could never be like anyone else.
So as Harry's magic coats the undergrowth in a search for aid that would normally have dark creatures salivated for a feast, something very different and very unexpected happens. Through the brush and trees, a creature speeds toward the magic, screams, and the scent of blood. Branches snap and the wind whips around it as it rushes toward the clearing it knows is shortly up ahead.
Harry could barely hear something coming quickly from the tree line before it felt like the bear was ripped off him and flung across the grass. The momentum forced his body to roll in the direction of the bear. Detachedly, Harry noticed that the hand on his right arm (that was now partially pinned under him) was nearly detached. The bite had shattered the bone in his wrist only for the teeth to tear through multiple points of the flesh.
Shifting his eyes up he sees what at first he assumes is a cloaked figure. The material of shimmering in the moonlight. Those thoughts dashed, however, when the wave of menacing aura rushed over him that he had only felt in the presence of the Aragog and the basilisk. Seconds later when the bear looks to have regained its equilibrium, Harry sees the cloak rush forward and snap itself around the bear before squeezing. The sounds of squelching and snapping bones glide over him.
With a heave that took too much energy, Harry flopped onto his back. His glasses long since shattered left him looking into an empty expanse of the black night sky. The pain from the attack fades to a dull throb that has a spike of panic course through him before the fatigue wipes it away too. Numbness is settling in and if his aid training from school was right then he was heading into shock. He could feel his magic trying to all it could do was slow the bleeding and substitute organ function as much as possible.
Sounds from the right draw him out of his reverie. The world is getting hazy at the corners but he's still mostly lucid enough to be aware of what was to come. Maybe it was the knowledge that regardless of the bear or dark creature, he would probably die here from blood loss and other injuries, but he found himself putting effort into speaking words he frankly couldn't remember learning about. Albeit in a whisper. “I, Harry Potter, willingly offer my blood to you, spilled or otherwise, and in my death, the flesh of my body. Please allow me a gentle end.” blood dribbled over his lips by the end of it and he could feel his energy wavering as if that declaration took the last bits of his reserve. Eyes closing against his will, he feels a weight lay over his body, and peaceful warmth spread outward from his chest before all awareness faded to darkness.