Title: Harry Potter and the Awakenings Chapter One: The Hottest Summer Ever
Summary: Four months from the ending of his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter's craving for sexual satisfaction peaks on the hottest day of the year. Categories: Unresolved Sexual Tension (UST), Masturbation (MAST) Chapter Pairings: None (Harry Solo) Total Story Pairings: None so far... Rating: NC-17
Author's Note: This is the first chapter of thirty, and is the author's rendition of Harry Potter's Sixth Year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. All characters mentioned are copyrighted by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers, and the story is that of pure fiction. All of those who are not of legal age to view this material are urged to not read.
Chapter One: The Hottest Summer Ever
Vernon Dursley stood at the foot of his driveway, with a look of utter contempt across his massive, mustache-adorned, face. For the fifth morning in a row this week this was the way that Vernon Dursley began his day outside of Number four, Privet Drive, and he was none too thrilled about it. Clutching an extremely crumpled up piece of paper in his right hand, he scoffed so loud that a nearby bush rattled as a flock of birds flew out of it suddenly, and almost knocking over Petunia Dursley, wife of the rather large man now looking in disgust at his lawn, almost shaking violently. His prized front lawn, which he had meticulously toiled over the years on making it the best in Surrey, was now a mere rusted form of it's former lush fullness, due to the intense heat and severe draught that was beginning to plague the British Isles.
Mr. Dursley thought to himself what good that boy was, if he couldn't do any magic... wait, no, he did not even think of thinking that word. Vernon Dursley HATED that word and anything associated with it, which is why he held his nephew, Harry, in so much disdain. Harry Potter was a wizard. Just thinking that made him tremble in pure hatred. There was nothing more than what Vernon Dursley wanted to do, than throw Harry out of his house, slam the door, and lock it behind him, but he couldn't. His wife wouldn't let him, something that never happened. The Dursley household was as patriarchal as could be, and what Vernon Dursley said, was what happened. But this was different. Petunia wouldn't let her husband throw Harry out, onto the streets for reasons that she couldn't, and wouldn't explain. That, made Vernon Dursley hate Harry Potter even more.
Mrs. Dursley, a middle aged, tall blond woman with an abnormally elongated neck that could shame a baby giraffe, collected herself following her encounter with the flock of birds, and proceeded to her husband's side, prying his beefy hand open, and exchanging the piece of crumpled paper with his briefcase, before giving him a peck on the cheek and wishing him a good day at work. With that, Vernon got into his car, and started the ignition, before sticking his large head out of the window, calling for Petunia.
" Dear, remember not to use much water today, the government restricted our water usage even more this week. Dudley can shower as long as he needs to, but the boy may have five minutes maximum." And he drove off after Petunia gave him a nod. That's one thing that made Petunia Dursley not as lovely as she may seem. She may not be allowed to let her husband remove Harry from the house, but she can share her husband's emotions and treat Harry next to vermin, as long as others could not tell. She knew very well that Harry's friends from his world checked up on him from time to time to see if he had been mistreated, abused or harmed, which began after Harry's fifth year at his school from his world. After watching her husband's muck-covered car turn off of Privet Drive, before turning on a heel and heading back into the house.
She needed not to tread too far into her obsessively clean and tidy household, to find the boy, who had just reached the bottom of the flight of stairs, dressed in Dudley Dursley's old pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, both two sizes, too large for Harry, who was thin and lean, unlike Dudley who was portly, but unusually muscular for his size. Dudley, still undefeated in boxing at Smeltings, the private boarding school which he attended, had gained a moderate amount of muscle to add to his already alarmingly large size.
Petunia looked at the boy while pursing her lips, before saying, almost in a whisper as to not to wake Dudley, " Listen very carefully boy, there is breakfast for you in the kitchen, eat it gratefully and then you are allowed a five minute shower, and no longer, we need to conserve as much water as possible, and you will not cause us to get any more fines." Those fines she mentioned were from Dudley spending a half an hour at a time in the shower, as well as using the hose in the backyard to fill his extremely large water cannon time after time. Even though Vernon and Petunia knew that it was Dudley's doing, they always blamed it on Harry; they always blamed everything on Harry. " And after you are done, your chore list is on the table as well. Finish it before your uncle gets home, or you won't have any dinner tonight." She then strode past Harry and into the lounge, where she took a seat in a plush armchair next to the window, where she could peer though the blinds, at the neighbor's homes.
Harry glared at the back of his aunt's head and thought believed she should wear a female Gestapo's uniform and riding crop, as it would fit her vindictive personality perfectly. Before his aunt could notice she was being watched, Harry left the hallway, and stepped into the kitchen, the cold of the tiles sending shivers from the soles of his feet, up his legs, and through his loins, making them stir. He looked at the plate of toast and quarter of grapefruit on the table, as his stomach made a grumble, which matched the muffled sounds of his cousin sleeping on the floor above, and Harry couldn't decide what he couldn't take any more of, another day of starving or another day added to the many before where he spent boned up constantly. After finishing his breakfast off in record time, which was an easy task considering the size of the meal, Harry decided that the latter was worse.
Harry remembered the very last time where he had ejaculated, the ride home on the Hogwarts Express, locked in the bathroom, and beating his meat in conjunction with the sound of the moving train. That was four weeks prior and Harry now sat in the sweltering heat of the kitchen recalling this, silently cursing the high temperature, which did nothing but increase Harry's need for release. He absently mindedly moved his right hand into his crotch and began to stroke himself to a full erection, a painful task as his teenaged package was confined tightly in a pair of briefs, a size too small for him which was a rare item in his wardrobe, but not an unwelcome one. Harry loved briefs (almost to the point of driving himself mad with ecstasy) and the support he received with them, they held his budding manhood very close to his body. Every time he walked, Harry felt his grape-sized testicles rub against one another, causing Harry to bite down on his lower lip while his nipples hardened.
A rustling from the other room made Harry's heart jump, as well as his hand from his crotch. Harry collected himself before washing his used dish and placing it back into the cupboard before heading downstairs into the basement, to shower. Harry was not allowed to use either bathroom on the second floor, as they were reserved for other members of the household, nor could he use the bathroom on the first floor, as it was reserved for 'guests', though none of the guests that the Dursleys had ever stayed long enough to have a need to use the shower. He was only allowed to use the use the sorry excuse for a bathroom in the basement, which consisted of a toilet with no seat, sink and shower, which had no hot water access. Harry gathered a pair of worn jeans with holes in both knees, and another over-sized t-shirt from the laundry room, which also was placed in the basement of the house, and dropped them unceremoniously on the floor next to the toilet, before shucking all but his briefs. Harry turned and looked at his near-sixteen-year-old-self in a dusty and cracked mirror upon the concrete wall.
Harry had certainly changed extremely in the five years he had attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was once a scrawny and tiny boy, but now he was thin, and developing muscle tone from all of the yard work he was forced to do by his aunt, running from Dudley and his gang, and four and a half years worth of Quidditch, it would have been five full years had it not been for a certain teacher from hell who, from what Harry had been told before leaving Hogwarts a month prior, had been sent to St. Mungo's, the wizard's hospital, located in London.
Harry continued to study his body, feeling up and down his torso, fingers circling his nickel-sized hardening nipples, tracing over the slowly forming abdominal muscles before centering on his belly button, which was the very top of a thin trail of black hair which led down the center of his stomach to his groin, where it met a patch of black public hair, which matched the untidiness of the hair upon his own head. He cupped his confined package and gave it a couple of nice squeezes, while a moan escaped his tightly closed lips, before he decided he'd had enough. Harry hooked the waistband of his briefs with his thumbs and slowly pulled it downwards, so that his erect penis bent obscenely far down, before coming free of the elastic band and swinging quickly upwards, smacking his stomach with a resounding thud. Harry's penis jut out from his body in a painfully erect state, and he looked at it meaningfully. He was curious as to how long his uncut penis was, and pondered the thought of measuring the length of it while he twisted his foreskin and pinched the head. If he had to guess, it would be roughly be about twelve and a half centimeters, or about five inches, as he had recently read a small book on the standard measuring system, which Dudley had thrown out and regarded as rubbish. Precum was dripping, almost free flowing, from the opening of Harry's foreskin, and became much more fluid as he pulled it back and commenced masturbation.
The only thoughts filling Harry's mind at this point were to orgasm, and that alone, was what he thought about. He beat his cock mercilessly, and could feel himself getting close while beads of sweat began to trickle down from his pits, which were lightly covered with a dusting of hair. Harry's heart rapidly pumped and he began gasping for air desperately as he neared climaxing. And then, everything came to a halt.
" Boy!! You had better hurry up and shower NOW!!!" Harry thought his hatred for his aunt couldn't get any more deep, but at this point, as he had pulled his hand away from his painfully throbbing piece of meat, she became more of an enemy to him than Voldemort. With a massive sigh, Harry turned to the shower and turned the ice-cold water on, before stepping in and feeling the water hit his body and deflate his stiff penis as quickly as it had gotten erect. Harry resented every second of his shower, and ended it as quickly as he could, as to not suffer from hypothermia. He looked down at his, now pre-pubescent-sized, penis while a tear trickled down his cheek; he had been so damned close. This was going to be a very long summer.