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Harry didn’t know what was wrong with him.
All he knew was that he hurt.
It started hours ago—slow and strange. A twisting ache low in his stomach that made him curl tighter on the thin mattress in his cupboard room. At first, he thought maybe Aunt Petunia had slipped something rotten into his dinner again, but this felt different. Worse.
Hot.
So unbearably hot.
By midnight, he’d dragged himself out of bed because the cramped space made it hard to breathe. He lay sprawled across the hard wooden floor of Dudley’s second bedroom instead, cheek pressed against the cool boards while sweat soaked through his oversized shirt.
Every breath came out shaky.
His stomach cramped again.
Harry cried out softly, fingers digging hard into his abdomen as another wave rolled through him. It felt like something inside him was clawing its way out. His skin burned. His head spun. He couldn’t think straight.
“Mngh— hurts…”
His thighs trembled weakly against the floor.
No one came.
Uncle Vernon had yelled at him earlier for “making disgusting noises,” and Aunt Petunia had told him to stop being dramatic before locking his bedroom door from the outside for the night.
Harry didn’t understand what he’d done wrong.
He just wanted his mum.
The thought hit him so suddenly, his chest hurt with it.
“Mama…” he whimpered brokenly, tears slipping down his flushed face. “Papa…”
Another cramp tore through him so violently he curled tighter, forehead knocking against the floorboards as a low moan escaped him.
Then—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Harry barely reacted.
A scratching sound came against the window again.
“Harry?”
The voice sounded distant through the pounding in his ears.
“Harry, mate?”
Ron.
Harry tried to answer, but another painful throb bloomed in his stomach, stealing the air from his lungs. All that came out was a strained groan.
The whispering outside immediately grew frantic.
“Oh, bloody hell—”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Move over, George.”
“I am moved over, Fred.”
The window creaked open.
Cool night air flooded the room, making Harry shudder violently. Through blurry vision, he could make out three red-haired figures climbing awkwardly through the window.
Ron hit the floor first.
The second he looked at Harry, his face went white.
“Harry?”
Harry could barely open his eyes. “Hurts…”
Fred knelt immediately beside him while George shut the window behind them.
The twins exchanged one sharp glance.
Even at fourteen, they knew what this was.
The scent flooding the room gave it away instantly—sweet, distressed omega.
Too young.
Far too young.
“Oh no,” George whispered.
Ron looked panicked. “What’s happening to him?!”
Fred gently touched Harry’s burning forehead and hissed. “He’s presenting.”
“But he’s only twelve!”
“I know.”
Harry whimpered when Fred tried to move him, instinctively curling tighter around himself.
“It hurts,” he cried weakly. “Please—”
“It’s okay,” Fred soothed immediately, voice losing all teasing warmth for something soft and careful. “We’ve got you.”
“You’re safe, Harry,” George added quietly.
Safe.
The word nearly made Harry sob.
Ron crouched beside him helplessly. “Mum’ll know what to do.”
“We need to leave now,” Fred said sharply.
George nodded before looking at Harry. “Can you stand?”
Harry tried.
Pain immediately lanced through his stomach hard enough to make his knees buckle.
Ron caught him before he hit the floor again.
“He can’t walk.”
“Then we carry him.”
Harry barely registered being lifted into Fred’s arms. His overheated face instinctively pressed against Fred’s shoulder, searching for comfort, small, distressed noises escaping him.
“Wait,” Harry mumbled suddenly, eyes glassy. “My stuff…”
The twins paused.
“Stuff?”
“My trunk…” Harry swallowed thickly through another wave of pain. “Hedwig…”
Fred carefully shifted Harry into Ron’s arms before both twins rushed downstairs.
Harry drifted in and out while Ron awkwardly held him.
The younger boy smelled nervous and frightened, but kind.
Safe.
Harry unconsciously curled closer.
Ron went red all the way to his ears, but tightened his hold anyway.
“It’s okay,” he whispered frantically. “We’re getting you out.”
Downstairs came loud crashes.
A squawk from Hedwig.
Then—
“YOU BOYS!”
Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs.
Ron looked toward the doorway in horror just as Uncle Vernon appeared, red-faced and panting.
“What are you freaks doing with the boy?!”
Harry flinched violently at the shout.
Vernon reached forward like he meant to yank Harry away.
Before he could—
Fred slammed into him from the side.
George grabbed Harry’s trunk with one hand and Hedwig’s cage with the other.
“RUN!”
Everything blurred after that.
Shouting.
Vernon roaring behind them.
The twins half dragging Ron toward the flying car parked outside.
Then, the cool night air again as they piled into the bewitched vehicle.
Harry barely registered being laid across the backseat with his head in Ron’s lap before the car shot into the sky.
His stomach cramped again.
Harry cried out weakly, twisting in pain.
Ron looked horrified. “Can’t we go faster?!”
“We’re trying!”
Fred glanced back repeatedly during the flight, expression unusually serious.
Harry looked tiny curled up across the seat.
Burning alive from the inside out.
No twelve-year-old should ever present this early.
Especially not alone.
By the time they reached the Burrow, the sky was beginning to lighten faintly.
Mrs. Weasley was already waiting outside in her dressing gown, arms folded furiously.
“WHERE have you boys been?! Do you have any idea how worried I—”
A soft whimper interrupted her. Mrs. Weasley froze. Her eyes dropped to the backseat.
To Harry.
Curled into himself.
Sweating.
Crying weakly.
The scent hit her a second later. Distressed omega pup. Much too young.
All anger vanished instantly.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
Harry blinked up at her through feverish eyes.
And completely broke down.
“Mama…” he sobbed.
Mrs. Weasley’s face crumpled.
“Oh, you poor baby.”
She gathered him into her arms without hesitation, despite the heat radiating off him. Harry clung to her immediately with a broken cry, trembling violently.
“Molly,” Arthur said quietly from behind her, suddenly understanding the situation.
Her expression turned devastated.
“He’s presenting.”
“At twelve?” Arthur looked horrified.
Mrs. Weasley held Harry tighter as another painful cramp wracked through him.
“Oh, this poor child…”
She already knew what this meant.
Omega pups didn’t present this young unless something was terribly wrong.
Stress.
Fear.
Neglect.
An unsafe environment pushes their instincts into survival mode.
Harry buried his face into her shoulder, crying softly while his body shook with pain.
“I know,” Molly soothed immediately, carrying him inside. “I know it hurts, darling.”
Behind her, the boys trailed silently.
Even Fred and George looked shaken.
Mrs. Weasley brought Harry straight upstairs, ignoring every question thrown her way. She settled him carefully on the bathroom floor while she hurried to prepare a warm bath.
Harry curled weakly against the tiles.
“Mama…”
The word came out small.
Instinctive.
Heartbreaking.
Molly nearly cried right there.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered. “You should’ve had someone taking care of you through this.”
When the bath was ready, she helped him gently into the warm water. Harry immediately melted with a weak moan as the heat eased some of the cramping.
“There we are,” Molly murmured, washing sweat-damp curls away from his forehead. “Good boy.”
Harry’s eyes fluttered heavily.
No one had ever called him that so softly before.
Afterward, she dressed him in one of Ron’s oversized sleep shirts and helped him build a nest on the bed using blankets, pillows, and the few belongings they’d rescued from Privet Drive.
Harry instinctively dragged Ron’s jumper close despite the faint, nonexistent scent.
Young omega instincts seeking comfort.
Safety.
Pack.
Molly’s heart ached watching it.
Arthur quietly enchanted a warm compress to rest against Harry’s stomach, easing the relentless cramps. Harry whimpered in relief almost immediately.
“There we go,” Molly soothed.
She kept snacks and water nearby while Harry drifted in and out of sleep, whining softly whenever the pain returned.
Every time, Molly was there instantly.
Rubbing his back.
Cooling his forehead.
Humming quietly.
And sometime near dawn, as Harry lay curled deep in the nest, clutching Ron’s jumper with tear-stained cheeks, he whispered something so quiet Molly almost missed it.
“They didn’t want me…”
Molly stilled.
Harry’s eyes stayed shut.
“Thought maybe…” his voice cracked sleepily, “maybe my friends forgot me too…”
The room went silent.
Ron looked devastated.
Fred swore quietly under his breath.
George looked ready to hex someone.
And Molly—
Molly gathered Harry closer against her chest and held him like he was something precious.
“Oh, Harry,” she whispered fiercely. “Never. Never that.”
For the first time in a very long while, Harry fell asleep somewhere safe.