Becoming Human

Book One: Ape Child

Foreword

My favorite kind of Harry Potter story is one that removes him from his relatives' "tender mercies", allowing him to be raised by a loving parent or parents. Also, I like it where people get called on the carpet for their more grievous mistakes, but then get a chance to redeem themselves. So, into Harry's world, enter Edgar Rice Burroughs, and the Clayton family.

I am quite fond of the first four Tarzan books, but I'm really not interested beyond them, nor in ERB's other writings. And so I attempted to bridge a gap between these stories with a timeline and a family tree. It's not that I think contact with the Mangani must be linked to genetics, but more that the Claytons have some cosmic bull's-eye on their backs that causes them to get stuck in Africa without a stitch. The timeline and family tree will be part of the story at some point, but not in this book, nor the second. For now, just know that a connection exists.

Enjoy!

Chapter One

Little Boy Lost

Albus Dumbledore was a man who always believed that he was doing the right thing. He certainly always did what he believed to be right, as any man should, but it became apparent that he had begun to believe he could do no wrong, that he was incapable of making mistakes so long as he acted on his conscience. He stopped checking, stopped being careful. He grew arrogant, and in so doing, as was inevitable, he eventually made a mistake, and it was a grievous error indeed.

Vernon Dursley looked, on paper, like a perfectly dull Muggle; husband and father, a sales representative for a tool manufacturer, normal car, normal house, normal stay-at-home wife, normal (if large and spoiled) son. But these were only surface facts, observable at a distance. There was no investigative background check of Mr. Dursley's criminal or financial records, no examination of his past, and though his wife's jealous hatred of all things magical was well documented, her sister's express wishes, written in her last will and testament, were ignored because she was family. Dumbledore left Harry Potter there with a pat on the head and a platitude to his worried colleague.

But Vernon had a criminal history that would have shocked and angered Dumbledore if he had bothered to look. Vernon's job at Grunning's was a front, and he was a numbers man for one of the biggest human trafficking rings in the Old World. Once certain that his wife didn't care for the boy, Vernon wasted no time in calling his contacts in the business to dispose of his sudden asset. The boy would not fetch a very large price; he was still in diapers, and he would need a great deal of training. But he was quite a lovely child, and there was a lot of potential that would bring more money than usual for a child of that age.

Three days after Harry Potter was so blithely dropped on the step of number four Privet Drive, he was just as casually placed on a ship bound for China via the Cape of Good Hope. But that was the last anyone heard from that ship, and it never reached its refueling stop in South Africa. Somewhere near the equator, Harry Potter passed from human knowledge.

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The ship, named the Margerie, was not crewed by the most stalwart of men, nor the most moral. But none were sadistic nor pedophilic because the owners of the ship didn't want any merchandise to be broken or misappropriated before it reached harbor.

Care of human cargo was, in fact, left to an old Spanish slave, a man who had been owned by the traders all his life, and bore the scars to prove it. He was soft-spoken and kind, though, and Harry had no fear of the man, happily burbling at him with his baby words and the few real English words he knew. Sometimes, Harry would cry for his mother, naturally missing her, and the old Spaniard would sing an old Castilian lullaby to him. Within a week, the baby was singing along as if Spanish was his native language.

Harry was headed for a short and miserable life, for his beauty would land him in very perverted hands. But the Spaniard was a respected slave, known for spotting useful traits in his charges, and with the boy's apparent gift for languages, he thought he might have a way out for him. He'd still be a slave, but he could be trained as a translator instead of a rent boy if the gift held true, and that would be a much more pleasant existence.

He spoke to the captain, who was in charge of who each "package" was sold to. "He doesn't speak much yet of any language. Too little. But he picked up Spanish like his Mama was Castillan, and the little bit of French and German I tried on him he got very quickly as well."

"All right. That's a gift that could be very useful to the organization. I think that fool Dursley might have sold us more of a bargain than he realized. If the boy is for real, I might not sell him at all. I could use a translator to help me in business dealings. Thank you, Roberto."

That night, the slave slept more soundly, knowing he had done his best for the sweet little boy. But the life Roberto was envisioning for Harry was not to be.

The storm came out of nowhere; a massive equatorial squall that was destined to destroy all that crossed its path. The ship had no time to turn before it was beset by fifty-foot waves and hundred-mile-per-hour winds. Roberto and Harry were tossed from their beds, and though he squealed a little in surprise, Harry didn't really cry. Roberto grabbed him and shoved him into a life vest. It was the baby's only chance at survival.

The ship was full of the shouts of seamen and slaves, but over all the noise was the sound of the storm. The wind howled and screeched, the thunder crashed and rumbled through the sky, and the rain was a constant hiss that ebbed and flowed in time with the wind. The sounds all combined in one massive crash, and were then joined by the rending of wood and metal as the ship cracked like an egg into two halves.

Harry was spilled into the water, but thanks to the vest, he bobbed back to the surface, and the violent sea carried him away from the wreckage so that it didn't pull him down with it as it sank. It seemed like the storm would last forever, but soon the rain stopped and the moon peaked out from behind the clouds. It made him think of Uncle Moony and Uncle Paddy, and then his Mummy and Daddy. He wasn't afraid, not really, but he was very upset, and bobbing like a cork in the open sea, he cried himself to sleep.

When Harry woke, he was naked except for the life vest, the sea having stripped his nappy off long ago, and he was lying on the wet sand of a little beach. He got up and decided that the first thing he needed to do was get the vest off, which proved to be an interesting puzzle for the boy. He was just about to get frustrated enough to cry, when he accidentally managed to open the buckle, even with his baby strength. Then, problem solved, he took in his situation. He was alone, on a beach, hot, hungry, and filthy. Faced with the enormity of the situation he did as was perfectly reasonable; he sat down and cried for his mother.

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Not too far from where little Harry was crying out, another creature was also dealing with the horrible grief of being alone. She had lost her little baby, a son only a few months old, to a mysterious illness. Little white spots had covered the belly, chest, neck and head of the little thing, while fever had raged through the tiny body, until finally he had stopped breathing and died*.

Her name was Neeta and she was one of the Mangani, the great apes who only existed in some remote and protected parts of Africa. She was the wife of Tazee, who doted on her, and he had promised to give her another child, but she was still despondent.

So when the cries of a child breached the jungle she didn't hesitate, crashing through the woods and undergrowth toward the pitiful sounds. But she was not the only one to notice them. Targash, the king of their tribe heard the cries, and began moving the tribe away, knowing the sound would attract the wrong kind of attention. Tazee heard, and watched as Neeta ran off. He wasn't sure what to think, but he hoped she would come back safe. Finally, the cry was also heard by Sheetah, the leopard, and to him the sound meant food; an injured animal crying out in fear and pain that would be an easy meal. He, too, started traveling toward the sound, and an unwitting race began between the Mangani she and Sheetah.

When Neeta reached the tree-line, where the jungle stopped and the beach began, she looked before running out, well aware that the crying would bring predators. Sure enough, she saw both a baby Tarmangani, crying with grief and frustration, and Sheetah, readying himself to pounce upon his prey. Deciding she wanted the child, she ran out onto the beach, intending on stealing him away from Sheetah.

The cat saw the ape and knew she meant to poach from him. Screaming in anger, he charged. Either he would have the child or he would have the ape!

She dared not stop to pick the boy up gently or to turn back the way she came, so she grabbed him gently as she could on the run and angled back into the jungle. She picked up speed and went up into the trees, which allowed her to change course quickly and throw obstacles into the path of the charging cat. Neeta found a dead branch across her path, and she broke it off as she ran, then stopped cold so that Sheetah would catch up to her. Then she slammed the heavy end down on his head. The strike landed him on the forest floor, and he was very shaky standing up. Sheetah screamed up at Neeta in anger, and she growled back defiantly, brandishing her club.

The leopard is opportunistic, much preferring the weak or injured meal over a protracted fight. A lone Tarmangani cub was one thing, but an angry Mangani mother was something else entirely. Anger had made him chase her, but now he was hurt and that made her far too much trouble. Still growling with anger, but no longer in a killing rage, the cat turned and walked away.

Not trusting that Sheetah would remain so reasonable, she gripped the little boy firmly and moved quickly out of his territory. Quiet since being roughly grabbed off the beach, the babe seemed content to watch the scenery fly by for now. Then, once at a distance she deemed safe, Neeta stopped, and set him down to get a good look at him. Never had she seen a Tarmangani so close before, and never one this small. She wondered what had happened to his mother, for no she would abandon a child so small when it was obviously healthy. He looked up at her, and his big green eyes surprised her, but the look on his face was perfectly understandable. "Wayat," she said, naming him Green Eyes, "I care for you now."

Harry looked solemnly at the big creature. His gift with languages was magical in nature, and he understood as much as his young mind could of her language. "Wayat?" he asked.

"Your eyes are green."

He nodded, accepting this. His Mummy's eyes were green, too. "Where's Mummy?"

"I don't know. But I will be mother for you."

Harry considered, and he felt something building in his chest. An offer of adoption had been made. Did he want the big monkey-like woman to be his new Mummy if his first one was gone? He remembered a few months back when Uncle Paddy had done a big magic thing with Uncle Wormy and Daddy. They had all said some words and the magic moved, doing its work. So he said to Neeta, "You will be my Mummy and I will be your baby. So mote it be."

Not sure why, but knowing he wanted her to. Neeta repeated him. "I will be your mother and you will be my son. So be it."

And that was all that was required. The newly named Wayat was a powerful magical being, and even for a child so young, the intentfull statements made the adoption permanent, binding and legally enforceable. Wayat's family history was changed in that moment, all of his magical records reflecting his adoption status, including the Potter Family Tree in his trust vault in Gringott's Bank of London.

Unknowing of the havoc they had just unleashed, the new mother and son embraced for comfort. Wayat had a lot to learn if he was to become an ape, and he would face many struggles, but Neeta would help him to see them through. For now, she said, "Climb up," meaning for him to get on her back and cling to her as a Mangani child would.

Wayat tried, but his little fingers and toes did not yet have the strength to grip her fur and stay in place. So when he fell off, she decided she would carry him in front, cradling him to her furred bosom and using only three limbs to move through the jungle, headed for their tribe's territory.

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The adoption changed the records, including changing his name to Wayat of Mangani and removing whatever tenuous hold his first mother's sister had on him. Because of this, the wards on her home had nothing left to hold onto, and their crash caused several alarms to go off across the UK; one in London, placed by Children's Services, one in Cardiff, placed by Remus Lupin, and one in Hogwarts, placed by Albus Dumbledore. Albus got two of his teachers, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape to come with him. Lupin arrived just after they did, and he ran up on Dumbledore.

"You said he'd be safe here!"

"Now, Remus, calm yourself," Albus soothed. "There does not appear to be any spell damage to the home, so let's not jump to any conclusions as of now. Let's knock and find out what has happened."

"Then get on with it," he growled. The moon would be full tomorrow, and the werewolf was feeling the effects of it.

Dumbledore knocked loudly on the front door of the perfect little Muggle house, needing to wake the inhabitants. Vernon Dursley came to the door after a few minutes, grumbling loudly enough to be heard through the door. Finally the locks began to turn. The door yanked open, revealing a tall, fat man in striped pajamas, a night cap and a dressing gown, his feet in bed slippers. "Do you know what time it—" he began, and then he really saw who was standing outside. "What the devil!?"

"Mr. Dursley, what's happened to Harry? Are the rest of you all right?" asked Dumbledore.

Thrown by the obvious concern, Vernon stuttered, "He-he ran away."

The lie was far too obvious. Remus's eyes flashed amber, and he would have gotten to Vernon, but Dumbledore held him back for his own sake.

Severus was closer than Minerva. In the quiet voice he used to absolutely demolish a class of fifth year Gryffindor dunderheads, he said, "A child who has yet to see his second Christmas ran away?"

Imagination was not Vernon's strong suit, but stubbornness was a trademark of his personality. "That's right! Ungrateful, he was! Didn't appreciate what we were giving him!"

Minerva said, "My first years can spin a better yarn than that!"

Severus smirked down at the horrible Muggle. "Not to worry. I have just the thing to loosen his tongue." He pulled out a phial from his inside coat pocket. "Veritaserum. Three drops on your tongue will not only loosen it but draw from it the truth, a flavor I'm certain it is unfamiliar with." He said it in a slow, quiet voice, guaranteed to cause fear and uncertainty.

Crossing his arms defiantly, Vernon growled, "Fine! You want the truth? I sold him to the trade, made four thousand quid! Petunia despised the boy, and if I can make her happy and make a little money as well, why shouldn't I?"

Shocked, Albus nearly whispered, "You would do this to family?"

"That wasn't family! That was a freak! You're all freaks! Now leave at once!"

"Mr. Lupin, no!" shouted Minerva. Remus wanted to attack him, wanted him dead. "The Ministry will put you down as if you were an animal!"

Albus broke in, his displeasure plain. "To whom did you sell your only nephew, Dursley? You said the trade?"

Vernon squirmed a little, but for some reason, namely Snape's Sticking Charm, he couldn't move, so he might as well keep talking. "The Drygioni Cartel."

A growl came from Severus instead of Remus. "The Drygioni!? You sold a child of fifteen months to be a Chinese rent boy? What the hell were you thinking!?" Remus moved again, but this time his old enemy was the one to stop him. "No. Listen to me. Of us all, you know I have no love for that boy or his family. But let me assure you, this will not go unpunished. Belatrix Lestrange and her husband are still on the loose, and I think I'll tip them off to this address. Double duty. They'll get caught torturing this flab to death."

Remus stared hard at him. Slowly, a grim smile came to his lips. "Very well." The werewolf turned on his heel and stormed off, then Apparated away.

Albus frowned at him. "Severus—"

"Don't, Albus. The Lestranges need catching, and the address of The Boy Who Lived will draw them like flies to honey. This waste of flesh will die, and your wolf will live. What were you thinking? Did you even attempt to investigate these people before placing your tiny savior with them? And how long has it been, hmm? The wards just went down, but how long has he actually been gone? I don't think the sale of the boy would have nullified your wards."

Minerva addressed Dursley. "What of that, Muggle? Now long has it been since you sold that wee bairn?"

"Two weeks," he said shortly. He still couldn't move.

Doing a quick calculation in his head, Severus said, "That's not enough time for him to have already reached China by ship."

Minerva frowned. "Muggles have faster ways."

"Yes, but my—the Dark Lord used these people. That's how I know who they are. They use ships and their usual route is the traditional one around the Horn of Africa. It's slower, but less conspicuous. And say what you like, the ruffians on those ships know better than to fool around with the cargo. Something must have happened to that ship, to the boy. Otherwise the wards would be intact and us none the wiser."

Albus nodded, but the other two ignored him. They were completely disgusted, but neither was ready to deal with him yet.

Minerva asked Vernon, "What was the name of that ship?"

"The Margerie, out of Dublin."

Albus got Petunia and Dudley out of the house. Petunia tried to protect Vernon from the wizards, but Albus said, "Even if you could not care for the boy, do you honestly believe your husband did what was right?"

She thought about it, then looked the aged wizard in the eye. "No, it was not, and I do not excuse him. But this is not right either. You are not acting in the interests of justice. This is murder, and whether he deserves it or not is of no consequence. What would my sister think of all of you for this?"

"Don't pretend to know or care what your sister would want, Petunia," snarled Severus. "You survive only to care for your son." He got right up in her face. "Pray you raise him to be nothing like his father. Pack a few bags and leave. I'll know where you go. And if you raise anything but a healthy model citizen, free of your bigotry, you'll find me on your door step again." He didn't shout, but sturdier souls had crumbled in the face of his wrath.

Petunia was well and truly cowed, and within an hour she had herself and her son out of the house, pushing past Vernon and taking his wallet with her on her way out. She would have all she needed to start a new life for herself and her son, so long as she took the opportunity for what it was.

Severus pulled Vernon inside the house, unsticking his feet and placing him on the sofa in a full body bind. The Potions Master was much more versed in the trappings of the Muggle world than either Dumbledore or McGonagall, so he handled things from there on. He called the port authority and got the registration of the Margeri, then used it with his scrying map to find the ship. The scrying map was an illusory map, a globe that would show the lost item or person's exact location in three dimensions.

First, Severus scryed for the Margerie, and he found her. But he found her at the bottom of the ocean two miles off the coast of Gabon. Then he scried for Harry Potter, hoping against hope to find him. But the spell found nothing. McGonagall said, "I don't understand. Shouldn't the spell at least be able to find—well—what's left of him?"

He heaved a great sigh, then looked her in the eye. "Not if he's become part of something else."

Her frown deepened with dread. "Like what?"

"A shark."

McGonagall's eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped in horror.

Albus said, "Severus, are you sure?"

The former Death Eater's eyebrows flicked upward. "Nothing in life or magic is certain, Dumbledore. But many things are likely, and I don't see how the boy could possibly have lived through a shipwreck like that. The storm is still near that area and it's ripping the sea bottom apart. The wildlife would already have been disturbed, and a small boy is an easy meal."

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The next few weeks saw the assumption of Harry Potter's death spread over the wizarding world, and Albus Dumbledore's public trust eradicated. He was removed as Headmaster of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall taking his place, and then from public office on the Wizengamut and the International Confederation of Wizards. He was simply the Transfiguration teacher, not even given headship over Gryffindor House, that job going to Professor Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher.

Wayat would remain blissfully ignorant of the upheaval his disappearance caused, sleeping peacefully in his new mother's arms. It had been a difficult few weeks, and he was exhausted. Soon Wayat would meet the rest of his new family, and the tribe, and he would begin learning very different lessons from other boys his age. He would learn to be Mangani.

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