Mini Me, Part 1
Credit to: the Harry Potter Definition fanfiction series by OliverSnape for the age-appropriate thoughts and emotions influencing a de-aged person
Warning for: metamorphic-induced de-aging
Black Lodge, 4th November 2003
“Teal’c? Might I ask for a favour? It’s totally unrelated to what we talked about, by the way, so you can just say no to this if you don’t want to and I won’t take offence to that, at all, really.”
“Yes, Harry?”
“Umm… erh… I… well, I can change my shapes to many human or humanoid forms, see, and different ages, too. Not all people can, and I didn’t find out till one of my friends told me, so I’ve been practising. Only, I practised under my aunt’s watch, and she’s been dead for months, now.”
“Why did you ask it of me, Harry? I do not possess power like yours.”
“I…. Well, experiments like this, they normally don’t need supervision, really, but my childhood was… not so good. Memories and emotions about some specific age became fresh, when I turned myself to look that age. Actually I found it by accidence, and my aunt found it when I didn’t come in for dinner. She found me in my wardrobe, hiding and… well, crying. I was so confused, and afraid, and… didn’t feel good. I nearly couldn’t turn back. She had to calm me down and lead me to think about changing back, before I could change back. So it’s not about magic – about power – really. Just… you’ve been good to me, and I can’t ask this of my friends. They’re not much older than I am. I could ask Bill, I suppose; he’s old enough and he can make me… well, feel fine, really; but he’s somewhere far away with his family, running away from our government, so I can’t ask him for help. I’m fine, too, if you’d like to think about it first.”
“What age did you turn into, when you first attempted it?”
“Nine, I think, or a little younger, but not in this form. It felt natural, sort of. It’s my first age-related change, too.”
“Would you like to turn to that age again?”
“Well, yes, if I can. As I said, it felt rather natural, similar to my baseline form.”
“Baseline form?”
“Well, every metamorph – people like me – have their true appearance. We must return to that shape from time to time, to… relax our muscles, sort of.”
“Do I need to specifically prepare for something, when you are in that age and form?”
“Not really. Just… don’t think too badly of me, please? And don’t tell anybody? Not yet, at least. I mightn’t immediately recognise you, too. You must be able to convince me. And, erm, I might end up being so clingy….”
“How tall are you when you are in that age and form?”
“A little taller than the bed? I was always a little runt of a child, even in that form….”
“Very well.”
“Huh? Just that?”
“What do you wish me to say?”
“Well… no…. All right. Here we go.”
I close my eyes, take deep breaths, urge my “magical muscles” to relax… and relief washes across my entire being like a wave of cool water, hitting me all at once. A second wave of relief follows, as I focus myself on my yearning for family, for safety and security in the arms of a parent that I have never known, for a childhood that I never had.
I burrow deep into my far-oversized clothes, though, instead of shucking them off, as my senses adjust. There’s somebody nearby! I might be safe if whoever-it-is can’t see me.
But whoever-it-is is inching closer, instead; I can hear it. – No, I must get away!
I scramble back, tripping over all the garments and shoes, gasping and heaving my breaths, my heart pounding. Screaming for help is useless. Nobody will save me. Nobody cares. No, no, I must run.
Whoever-it-is pries the clothes away. I let out a terrified squeak. I can’t help it! But at least I’m free, now. So, wide-eyed and naked, I dart to the safest place thus far, namely the opposite wall, which is by the open door.
I turn round when I’ve reached the wall, positioning myself right by the door. I need to see whoever-it-is, to see how I can evade it next.
And… whoa, he is huge! But why’s he sitting on the floor? The floor’s only for freaks, no? Is he a freak, too? He’s black-skinned, and Uncle Vernon said black-skinned people are freaks, just like me.
But why’s he not moving? Why’s he just looking at me? So calmly at that? He may be a freak like me, but he’s still an adult, and adults are bossy people.
And then he… calls my name…? How does he know my name? Did he find it out at school? But I’ve never seen him at school! Surely he didn’t get it from the Dursleys? They didn’t even call me “Harry” till I started school.
I frown, but make sure that I’m frowning at the floor, not him. I could be in so much trouble if I’m not polite to an adult!
I shouldn’t have looked away, though.
In no time at all, the man’s suddenly beside me, and picking me up, and pinning me close. I can’t even scream in reflex, because he’s covering my mouth with a huge, huge hand, and I can’t even bite at it since he’s placed the hand so cleverly.
Stupid Harry.
I struggle, buck, kick, pinch, uncaring of what he’ll do to me in retaliation. But nothing makes him let go of me.
In fact, he’s now pinning me by my legs, too. I feel like a baby that Mrs. No. 5 once showed off to Aunt Petunia.
Umm, he does nothing else, though, even after a while. He’s just… rocking me back and forth a little. But I’m not a baby, right? I’m nine years old, not nine months!
But, the longer he moves like that, the more I feel… nice. His breathing and heartbeats sound so loud, with my ear pressed against his chest like this, but it’s not a bad loud. It really makes me feel nice.
In fact, I miss it when he shifts me back up.
“Harry?” he says again, softer, with an odd light in his eyes, something that I’ve seen Aunt Petunia give Dudley when he scraped his knees or got sick, but never me.
My lips wobble, my throat closes up, but I force myself to answer, because adults always demand answers: “Yes?”
“Do you remember who I am?” he asks.
I scrunch up my forehead, try to remember, try to puzzle out this freaky thing – yet another freaky thing that the Dursleys will blame me about.
But this place doesn’t seem to be Privet Drive No. 4…. Am I not with the Dursleys, then? How? Why?
“No,” I answer him truthfully, then cringe… or try to cringe, and can’t, because he’s still holding me tight.
“I am Teal’c of Chulak, the Jaffa that you saved and healed,” he says in that soft tone so alien to me. Perfectly calm. And he doesn’t point out how much I’ve hurt him, or how much I’ve been trying to escape him.
Then, if he isn’t too bothered…. “What’s a Jaffa?”
“The explanation would take a very long time,” he says, and I slump. Adults.
But then, he continues, “I am a man whom you took well care of, and I would like to repay you before I need to return to my people.”
“Oh,” I mutter stupidly. “Really?”
“Indeed,” he says firmly. “You took care of me. Now I take care of you.”
“No chores? No hits? Harry-hunting?” I venture out cautiously, tentatively. “What about eating? Where are we? Do I sleep in a cupboard?”
“You have servants that do chores,” the man – unbelievably – answers as he rises to his feet. “Nobody will harm you, as long as I am with you. We are in the room that you assigned to me. Your own room is located elsewhere, from what I know, and not a cupboard. And if you are hungry, by your permission, I shall call one of your servants to make you a meal and give you clothes.”
Wow. It feels like heaven or paradise that some teachers talked about. A huge man who promises to take care of me and keep me safe, no chores, no beating, no Harry-hunting, no cupboard, no scolding my many questions, answers to those questions, eating as soon as I want it, clothing as soon as I want it….
“Are you an angel?” I whisper, looking into the man’s eyes – so black, but so warm. The teachers said that angels live in heaven and paradise….
And he smiles to that; not mockingly, at that. “I am a Jaffa, Harry, not an angel. If you would, you could tell me what an angel is, after you have eaten and donned some clothes?”
I nod rapidly.
And his smile widens.
Just for me.
I feel odd but so nice inside. It’s like my heart squirms, or something like that, and it feels so warm.
I think I like the feeling.
I think I want more and more and more of it.