Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5936137.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape, Harry_Potter/Percy_Weasley, Harry_Potter/
      Other(s), Harry_Potter/_?, Harry_Potter/Tom_Riddle
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape, Death_(Harry_Potter), Voldemort, Draco
      Malfoy, Albus_Dumbledore, Ron_Weasley, Hermione_Granger
  Additional Tags:
      Death!Harry, Not_MOD!Harry_but_Death_actually_as_Harry, Weird_Plot_Shit,
      I'll_add_more_tags_when_story_progresses, slow_build_up, Even_slower
      romance, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Pining, Bottom_Harry,
      Okay_turns_out_romance_isn't_as_slow_as_I_thought, Teasing, It_is_mainly
      Snarry_but_they'll_be_side_pairings, snarry, Percy_Harry_short_romance,
      Underage_Sex, Like_not_sex_sex_but_there's_a_lot_of_sexy_stuff_that
      happens_when_hes_underage, Snowflake_the_Stalker_Peacock, The_Author
      Regrets_Nothing, Dubious_Morality, Onesided_beastiality, Unless_you_count
      the_centaur_that_one_time, Author_starting_to_regret_these_tags, Humor,
      Chan
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-02-07 Updated: 2018-03-30 Chapters: 30/? Words: 306145
****** Be the Death of Me ******
by hweianime
Summary
     Or how Death lost Harry Potter's soul, had a small mental break and
     took a vacation.
     A vacation as the Boy Who Lived. Because irony.
Notes
     Hi hi~~
     well this is my first Harry Potter fan fiction- I really hope anyone
     who reads this will like the idea of a Death!Harry
     Honestly I've only vaguely got an idea on how to proceed in this but
     I guess we'll just see the response of this chapter first huh?
     Anyway- don't own Harry Potter (obviously) but the idea is mine (it
     is I swear!)
     soooo yeah,
     Enjoy~~
***** Death's Departure *****
***** Chapter 1- The one where Death Departs *****
 
It all started out with a favor. Just a favor.
Fate had all but begged him to keep this child's soul alive despite the odds.
One single soul. To provide something short of a miracle. Well, a miracle to
the mortals anyway. Not so much to the personification of Death himself.
However even if he could bypass this world's laws (which he most definitely
could) with ease (and his eyes closed and his hands bound) such an act would
incur enough paperwork on his desk for the godly being to be reluctant in
participating in any such 'life-saving' activities.
But this was Fate. And getting a favor from Fate was not something one, even as
all powerful as he, could ignore. So with great hesitance on his part, (he had
seen who he was meant to save and the consequences of such an act of mercy as
well as the oncoming files he would have to sign was staggering) a lot of
wheedling on Fate's part, Death finally acquiesced. He would promise to spare
the infant Harrison James Potter from his rather unfortunate encounter with a
killing curse at about one year old. And he planned to keep to that promise.
Until one over eager, scythe-happy, reaper ruined it all.
And then somehow it snowballed from there.
"You. Did. What."
The reaper before him shuffled nervously. The cloak completely covering the
dark figure, and looked like it had been sewn haphazardly with the shadows of
the damned, writhed in agitation to the movement. Guilt and fear rolled off the
creature in waves. Death idly mused whether it had been a good idea to implant
those wisps of emotions in his servants in the first place considering the very
subtle increase in mistakes that's been happening in recent years. Then again,
he was sure he would have gone insane eons ago if he was surrounded by just
dementors and emotionless reaper dolls for constant company.
"S-sorry." It rasped, the word imbued with as much apologetic anxiety as it
could muster. Death wondered whether he should've improved his subordinates
vocabulary when he gave them their (admittedly lower than dirt) EQ. Of course
as he loathed too much noise that idea was swiftly squashed. Though maybe a few
extra words wouldn't hurt...
"Can you bring the child back at least?" He sighed, long thin fingers the color
of freshly preserved bones in the snow rubbed his forehead in an attempt to
ease the growing frustration. "Please tell me you haven't put the soul in the
reincarnation cycle already."
The silent response and the refusal for his cloaked minion to look him in the
eyes with its own empty holes spoke mountains.
Death defeatedly slumped into his blackened burnt yew throne (after a millennia
or a few, any pride and need for dignified appearances was easily outweighed by
comfort, well, at least in front of his subordinates- honestly mortal souls
held surprisingly high standards for him) and made an undignified groaning
sound. Unlike adult souls that go to various places in the afterlife such as
Heaven, Hell, Purgatory and Valhalla to name a few; children under the age of
seven had to go straight back into the cycle of reincarnation. Harry James
Potter could be a hatchling of a Hungarian Horntail by now for all he knew.
"Fuck me." He swore.
"Master?" The reaper rather timidly asked. "You want me to-" it trailed off
with an uncertain scratchy noise as its black skeletal hand gestured at his
body. Death didn't really understand where his subordinate was going with this
until it began hesitantly stripping off the shadowy materials covering it.
"What? No!" Note to self: need to teach reapers basic modern slang to avoid any
more future awkward propositions. Don't bother with Dementors. They're a lost
cause. "Just... Leave. And put back your cloak.Please. I need to think."
The reaper gladly complied with the order, apparently having enough self-
preservation skills to not wait for its master to remember it's punishment.
Death just watched his little subordinate scamper out, passing through the
bleak grey walls thanks to it's intangible structure toward more physical
objects, with a mix of annoyance, displeasure and fondness. It wasn't often
that his reapers, his subordinates, his children, messed up and it was
admittedly both adorable and amusing to see them guilt-ridden and anxious like
mortal children caught with their hands in their jars of cookies. It was a pity
that it had to be this one thing that they failed so spectacularly at.
"Now..." Death murmured to himself. "What to do, what to do.."
He could not possibly take back the promise now. It had been years since it had
been made and Fate would bitch for at least another three hundred, maybe more
depending on how important the boy was. Not to mention how humiliating it would
be, to think Death- the end of all things, the bringer of souls, the one who
will always be the last to walk on the earth, powerful, feared and revered-
couldn't even fulfill a simple agreement between entities. He would literally
never hear the end of it. It was totally not because he had already signed and
written up all the paperwork for the kid's extended lifeline. Certainly not
because letting this go meant that three sleepless whole weeks worth of
mindless paperwork induced torture would essentially become three completely
and utterly wasted weeks of his life that he would never get back. No.
Definitely not.
Putting the soul back simply wouldn't do either, as stated before. Replacing
the soul could be done, but that involves time and careful deliberation on its
compatibility with its new physical form. For a moment Death seriously
contemplated ripping apart the whole reincarnation process just to find this
one little soul. Of course he wasn't stupid- he may literally have all the time
the world had to offer but that didn't mean he was going to use it up
rebuilding something he brashly destroyed on a whim and a favor. He already had
enough on his hands cleaning up everyone else's end results- both mortal, deity
and entity much to his ire.
Suddenly Death had an idea. His furrowed brow straightened from his pale face
and a slow, tentative smile graced his surprisingly delicate features. Maybe he
could, no, he couldn't, could he? It was a terrible idea. Terrible. Horrible.
There were so many things that could go wrong and it would be awfully
irresponsible of him.
Actually why not?
Why was he, Death, the one to always clean up? How come the rules he had were
iron clad? Why was he always the responsible one anyway? Chaos did what he
liked. Fate, well she screwed with people on a daily basis. Even Time, one of
the only entities older than him and was practically covered in laws and rules
he had to follow, created something called Time Lords and magic phone boxes to
amuse himself. And don't even get him started on Magic. What did he have? A few
weapons of mass destruction, a veil that transports souls directly from the
living to his world and three artifacts that when put together would give a
human a very special title among other things. God, everyone was right. He was
kind of boring.
Death wasn't even technically going to break any rules anyway. Just... bend
them a little.
Besides what would Judgement even do if he did? Kill him? That'll be a laugh.
So with a decisive nod, the entity of Death snapped his fingers and set to
work. First was to write a quick clear message to everyone important that he
would be for all intensive purposes 'gone' for an unplanned period of time.
Next was to summon all his subjects spanning from all worlds and planes that
held considerable power; from the Dementor Lord to the goddess Hel to Lucifer;
and personally inform them the same thing in a bit more detail. They weren't
exactly happy at the news but all were surprisingly rather accepting of the
declaration (the only complication was that everyone practically demanded he'd
still keep in touch with them all and make a visible effort in maintaining his
paperwork). Death nobly ignored the small golden skull among other treasures
being exchanged behind backs, as well as the way too gleeful look on Osiris's
black-green face as most of the gold was passed to him.
He did not want to even touch the slowly growing suspicion his subjects had a
betting pool on him for who knows what. Despite being the personification of
Death, he sure was quite the pushover, he mused in absentminded bemusement.
After shooing everyone off with another snap of his fingers Death then focused
on the initial problem. One very soulless Harrison Potter.
It hadn't been that long since the boy's soul had been taken from the body.
Between the timing of worlds and dimensions less than mere milliseconds had
passed since the contact between one Avada Kedavra and crying infant. A good
thing because for his plan to work Death required the body to be still warm and
blood to still flow, otherwise the already rather unpredictable use of death
and soul magic would be much more complicated than it already was.
He needed to swiftly make the necessary preparations, God there wasn't any
time! Death, in a very human gesture, bit his lip as he crossed his arms
nervously. Sudden bouts of risk-taking and acts of rebellion were not in his
nature, not in Death's nature, he wasn't particularly volatile or the type to
not think ahead. Death was always imminent, measured, planned. Everything
marked down, every soul written, in sharp precision. Death in itself is not
emotional, it is restrained and cold and simple. Death was not a means to an
end but merely an end in itself. Death was natural, Death does not, should not
go against the flow of nature, of life, it shouldn't change, it should
maintain.
Yet here he was, about to change everything, jumping foolhardily into something
he didn't even research beforehand and only now realizing the potential mayhem
he might cause- oh Chaos must be clapping his hands and laughing maniacally at
his usually unflappable mature older brother right now. And he could
practically see Judgement at the same time, frowning disappointedly at him in
that condescending holier than thou way of his.
"It'll be okay." He reassured himself admonishingly. He was Death after all. It
was more than a little embarrassing to think something like this was causing
the personification of the end of life itself to fret like some teenager
readying themselves to go on their first date. Suddenly the image of a
stereotypical reaper awkwardly fidgeting with a bright red tie as it sat on
some fancy mortal restaurant made the worry slipped ever so slightly off his
face as the corner of his lip twitched into a wry smile.
"Well, I've always wanted a vacation anyway." He softly joked to the empty
room. And then proceeded to half-heartedly chuckle at his own joke like that
wasn't sad at all.
And with that dry piece of humor Death promptly plunged his hands in his chest
cavity, into the pure power that was concentrated there like black snakes
twisting against each other. Gritting his teeth, slim fingers grazed over the
strands of power, searching for the perfect place to claw into, picturing the
small black haired little boy with the wide green eyes completely unaware of
the blood that had been shed in his home. Words of ancient incantations from
civilisations long ago flowed out without thought, as if the magic just knew
and pushed the chant off his tongue like honey. It took agonizing seconds but
he had felt the resonance tug at him. Acting completely on instinct instead of
intellect, the entity failed to completely ready himself for the sensation as
he twisted his fingers between flesh and power and magic.
Then Death pulled.
...
...
...
For thirty anti-climatic seconds absolutely nothing happened. As Death was
contemplating his current situation, hands stuck in that nasty, sticky place
between his ribs, saturated with his power to the point of tangibility
squirming between his digits in a very discomforting way, the entity found
himself regretting his rather illogical train of thought that led him to where
he was now. And he just knew that his favorite silk robes were never going to
recover from this gory aftermath either.
However before the entity began to extract his limbs out of his torso much to
his irritation, disappointment and a bit of relief at the failure; Death felt a
resounding lurch at his midsection. The feeling of being burned and constricted
consumed him, if he had any breath or existent lungs they would have been
promptly winded at the sudden drop in oxygen, the whole experience was
completely wrapped in a blinding bright green light.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
 
"Avada Kedavra."
The green light of the all-so-feared unforgivable spell practically blazed in
eagerness from the yew wand. Lord Voldemort looked on impassively at the baby,
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Was Going To Die In About 3 Seconds. It was a shame
really. What a pathetic end to the Noble House of Potter. He almost felt bad at
the loss.
Well. Not really.
Crimson eyes snapped to reality as he felt an unfamiliar sharp tug in his
magic. The familiar Killing Curse that usually flowed so easily through his
wand felt strained and taunt like a string pulled apart at the very strands.
Voldemort, as aggressive as he was, instead of trying to break off the spell,
pumped even more of his magic through. It should be impossible, the curse was
supposed to be, no, is instantaneous. The child should be dead and cold by now,
looking at him with blank, unseeing eyes.
But Harry Potter wasn't dead, he didn't even look like he was affected by it.
Instead of dull glassy eyes staring at him helplessly, they glowed. What was
once green as the forest was slowly turning brighter, more vibrant, like those
wide pupils were absorbing the Killing Cur-
Immediately the rising Dark Lord forcefully slammed his magical flow off,
sharply cutting of the spell. The abruptness of ending such a sheer amount of
power, intent coupled with his tainted Dark magic and complexity of the curse
however was not without consequences. Pain worse than any Cruciatus wracked the
serpentine man's body. In retrospect if the dark wizard hadn't been so taken
off guard, a bit more aware or a little less insane, he might have recognized
the feeling of pain. He would have recognised the torment of having a soul
broken.
And as the last electric green tendrils was passed into the eerily silent
infant, pained crimson eyes could only watch as now Avada Kedavra green eyes
flashed with something that Voldemort could not identify. It wasn't Dark. It
wasn't Light. It wasn't even Grey. It just.. Was. And it filled the man with a
fear he hadn't felt since he was just a young child, when he realized how easy
it was for people to die, like little Billy's unfortunate pet rabbit.
That was Lord Voldemort's last coherent thought before the backlash of his own
Curse burst himself into ashes.
Death, or now he guessed he really should refer himself as Harrison Potter. Or
Harry. Harry Potter sounded nice. God this was all very exciting. Either way,
he watched with intrigued eyes as this albino snake-man that had oh-so-kindly
wished to murder the previous owner of this child's body, said child's parents
and probably their pet cat if they had one- had promptly disintegrated, turned
into some sort wraith and fled the house. It was all rather unexpected to say
the least. Was the man important to Fate's plans? Something just felt
distinctly 'wrong' about the now spirit-like mortal. A ritual gone wrong
perhaps? He wondered...
But right now he didn't have the energy to really follow up on his curious
train of thought. It probably wasn't even that vital anyway. Not to mention he
wasn't Death right now. He was Harry James Potter. And Harry James Potter was
tired and wanted a nice nap. It was going to be an interesting vacation as a
living mortal and he needed a good long rest to prepare for what's to come
after all. The whole 'wraith muderer thing' can be put aside for now. And so
while Avada Kedavra green eyes fluttered shut, a small adorable quirked smile
rested serenely on his deceivingly innocent young face as the immortal in a
child's body dreamt dreams of adventure, opportunity and a paperwork free
future.
Hopefully blissfully ignoring everything that had just occurred wasn't going to
bite him back in the arse.
***** Death's contemplation on murder *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi hi~~
     Wow so happy I've got pretty good feedback for this story. Yay!
     This ended up waaay longer than I expected.
     Also better edited stuff is on my fanfiction account (same name)
     Enjoy~~
***** Chapter 2- The one where Death contemplates murder among other minor
things *****
"Oh dear."
A woman, in her mid-fifties, with pale pink hair loosely tied in a bun, covered
her mouth with a dainty well-manicured hand. Her gaze locked onto the letter
with familiar clear, slanting handwriting. "Well, I'd neverthought I'd see the
day!" She huffed as she peered over the note at the other group of people
watching avidly at her reaction.
"I totally agree Love," A young handsome man with windswept dark orange hair
the color of a desert sandstorm clapped his hands and cackled in glee. "Me
neither! To think- our silent as a grave, and just as boring, big brother
Death- skiving his previous work to try mortality of all things!" The male
playfully wiped a nonexistent tear from his eye with a loud sniff. "I'm just so
proud."
A slightly older man next to him glared through his copper rimmed glasses, he
had black hair peppered with the occasional streaks of white and grey that was
immaculately slicked back. "Oh do shut up Chaos." He sneered, "This is a
serious matter and it would be prudent if you didn't act so... You." He made
'you' sound like something dirty and very much unwanted on the bottom of an old
shoe.
Chaos just gave a sardonic smile, "Is Judgement being a little pissy this fine
meeting? I know I would be if I had such a large stick up my ars-"
"You are both acting like children!" Screamed a very distraught looking teenage
girl if the state of her hair was any indication. They were a messy explosion
of curls that while before was a canary yellow was now furious crimson. Both
men scowled but nonetheless complied.
Another lady, this one with her own wavy waterfall of delicate curls, the
coloring of clouds foreboding a coming storm and eyes only a shade darker,
coughed subtly to garner everyone's attention. "Yes, well, Magic while you make
a very... loud point-" The frizzy haired female flushed, "-and while it would
have been entertaining enough to watch Judgement and Chaos devolve to petty
name-calling-" Now it was their turn to flush, one with subdued bashfulness and
the other with annoyance respectively, "-we doneed to address the heart of the
reason we all gathered."
"Well I think it's perfectly clear why we've all gathered." Spoke a lady with
tanned skin and pale green hair that was nuturing a small garden of daises, "My
counterpart has decided for some reason that now would be a perfectly good time
to leave his duties and go on vacation. Though my question is why now?"
The question was met with blank faces save for two who quickly glanced at each
other in sudden realization, paling simultaneously as it dawned on them.
Unfortunately for them it was a very visible, non too discreet reaction and all
eyes were swiftly upon on them like eagles after weakened prey.
"Magic. Fate. What have you done?" The tallest male, he had short hair that
seemed to have captured a small shard of space just to decorate his head and a
long dark robe that seemed to be weaved from the night sky to match, questioned
in a tone that would not accept any falsities. Magic's hair had gone a stark
white whilst Fate's, in comparison, seemed conflicted, a blotchy mix of grey
and near black.
"Weeeeeell..." The younger looking of the two shuffled her feet nervously,
hands fiddling at the hem of her canvas painted shirt, ankle length bright
orange skirt curling literally around her legs. "There's a chance that we
maaaayy have an idea on who Death has taken over."
"It was just meant to be a favor." Fate cut in stubbornly. "We never even
thought he would do this."
Judgement narrowed his eyes, he was the strictest of the group and was quite
scary with his ability to discern lies, truths and the extent of a person's
worth in general. Currently the two females under scrutiny did not feel very
worthy at all. "What. Did. You. Do?"
"I begged Death to spare one Harry Potter from a Killing Curse. Magic and I
were bored and we haven't had a decent story to watch in decades!" Fate burst
out, her delicate doll-like demeanor completely shattered as her face went pink
in her haste. "Harry was meant to be a, to be a prophecy child and he was going
to be so fun to mess with but something must have went horribly wrong and
knowing Death he always feels so guilty when he messes up-"
"Not to mention you've been harping about how important Harry being alive was
and how terribly disappointed and betrayed you'll be if the mortal didn't
live." Magic muttered unhelpfully. "And we all know how Death gets when he
finally accepts to do a favor for someone."
Cloudy grey hair darkened even more, a wet sheen dampening any curls till the
woman's hair was completely straight and black. "I'm sorry.." She said in a
very small voice.
"It's not your fault. Well, not really." A hand belonging to the last woman,
who had visible bags under her ink black eyes that contrasted greatly to papery
pale yellow skin and hair the color of coffee, gently patted Fate's shoulder in
reassurance. "What I'm curious about though,"
Chaos snorted loudly, "Of course your curious, yeah, let's all completely brush
past the fact Death has literally left the building because God forbid
Knowledge is curious!"
"Okay. What crawled up your pathetic arse?!" Judgement snapped irritably. "Even
you're not usually this, this, this... Chaotic."
"Oh bravo Judgement, as usual your arguments are always so simplistically
eloquent. I can see why you were chosen for your personification now." If the
glasses wearing male could burn holes with his glare, the entity of chaos would
have been nothing but a small pile of ash. But since he couldn't, Chaos just
smiled scornfully. "And if you must know I am merely feeling a bit...
displeased at my favorite brother's disappearance."
Now it was Judgement's turn to smile snidely, truth-detecting eyes glinting in
vindication, "That's a lie and you know it. Your not upset that Death has
left," the smile turned into a sneer, "your just throwing a widdle temper
tantwum that he didn't tell you personally." The younger male bristled, his
rage showing through, windswept locks unraveling messily, moving like it had
been caught up in the desert-storm colors it held. "Is Chaos a liddle jealous?
Sad that your favorite brother didn't even say goodbye? He'd probably told his
deities and minions before you."
"Judgement..." Magic warned, much more attuned to the growing hostility in the
room. It wasn't just Chaos being affected by the man's words after all. Unlike
any of the others, death was a thing that affectedeverything. Life did not
necessarily relate to chaos or fate or space. Love and knowledge weren't always
something people put together. Time may not ever really need judgement. And
magic, while it did touch a bit of all the entity representations, did not
completely have a hold onto them much like death did. So it was a logical
conclusion that personification of Death would be the same too.
"I bet," Judgement continued, his usually cool steel eyes alight with misplaced
anger, clearly he too was feeling a little hurt at the silent dismissal of the
entity now gone, "I bet he didn't even spare them theindignity of passing his
departure through a letter. I bet the only reason he saw fit to tell you
through paper was because he probably didn't want to stand in any sort of
proximity to your incessant childish behav-"
"AAaaaArrRGgggGHhh!" Screamed the furious representative of Chaos as he tackled
the suited, glasses wearing man to the ground. "You fracking hypocritical
BASTARDIZATION OF A WALNUT PIG!"
It took twelve minutes, a lot of shouting, some bloodshed and a healthy dose of
magic to get the two entities to separate to opposite sides of the group.
The pink haired woman coughed awkwardly after the short but rather action
packed distraction was over. "Uh, what were you saying before luv?"
"Yes. As I had been saying.." Knowledge inhaled, trying to reign in her
annoyance at being so rudely interrupted, "I find myself curious at how Death,
of all entities, had managed to even break out of his, well to put it mildly,
obedient personality."
Everyone started, brows all furrowing in contemplation at this. Death as said
before, held a firm hold in all their beings. He was the end to all things and
so all things would eventually fall to him. It made the entity the closest
thing to a true God- all powerful, all consuming, all victorious. But of course
whatever God that had created them would not have, would never, allowed such a
being of existence to walk on any sort of grounds. It just wasn't right.
But death in itself was not something that could be restrained. Nor
manipulated. Chaos can be calmed. Judgement can be passed. Time can be
measured. But Death can not do any of those. Too omnipotent, too excessive, too
untouchable.
So instead, God took away as much of Death's control as possible.
It was a tad mortifying when it finally dawned on said entity that he had been
made, on purpose, with that ingrained fault. His power simply just burst from
him, like a powerful waterfall when he only wished for a trickle of water. The
first time he had really lost control with himself he had destroyed planets,
worlds, universes. Death had been inconsolable for two centuries, shutting
himself even further in his realm. Not even Magic or Knowledge or Life or any
of the others working together could help reign in Death's all consuming power.
Yet while that power was free from any proper manipulations, it's embodiment
was created, built with one major contradiction to such untamable powers.
A sense of responsibility. A strong, but sometimes to many, confusing morality.
To be forced to worry, to be burdened with actually feeling the weight of
consequences and on some level was cursed with a near compulsion of trying to
keep everything in some sort of line only he could see. That coupled with his
position and immense strength had resulted in the being holding a constant
hesitance and paranoia of itself.
The other entities when they too realized the extent of Death's personality
were all equally horrified at the idea. It was like psychological chains
locking up what was just so natural to them. But on the other hand they all, on
some level, could almost understand why.
Entities were powerful embodiments with personalities, and whilst rarely,
fights between them do occur or sudden attempts at rebellion. Love tended to
create mortals with so much beauty and an equally frozen heart to cause despair
or incite destructive jealousy onto the world when she was in a mood, Helen of
Troy was just one of many for example. Chaos and Judgement fought the most but
the worst ever battle between them as far as they could remember, had resulted
in Death, who found to his annoyance had gained himself the role of peacemaker
in these headaches, having to split a large chunk of his realm in two pieces
creating Heaven and Hell, just to give the two something to do in their petty
little war. And there was one memorable time Life had gotten into her stubborn
head that she should hold the higher power and death was just a cruel unneeded
tragedy. In front of everyone she had tried declaring an official war against
Death- only to hastily take it back later after Death decided that they needed
a little private talk... That consisted of three hours of logical reasoning,
blatant looks of disappointment and guilt-inducing rhetorical questions by said
entity.
Death was a constant neutral. He was not one to be aggressive nor was he
particularly submissive either, never had he acted out of his place nor was the
first to strike in a fight. And at the same time he was the final straw that
they used to reign the others back to their roles, to soothe the jagged edges
and to calm the flames of discontent. It seemed so unnatural to be so selfless,
to never fight for himself, only others yet it was who Death was. As ironic as
it is.
Because of this inbuilt complex of his, Death rarely participated in any sort
of power displays like other entities. In fact, there was nothing in the world
made purely, absolutely by Death alone. Life who held no such qualms, had given
birth to nature and brought forth the first organisms to roam. Time told the
sun and the moon to move in a strict pattern he himself had calculated in order
to create the days and nights. Fate used her hardened tears to gift the earth
with stones capable of letting one see snippets of the unpredictable future.
Judgement implanted the idea of order so governments and systems may grow. Even
Chaos after seeing what Judgement had done, decided to bestow the world with
seven sins to watch as they in turn bred into new vices and insanities. Death
however could not create anything on the sheer fact his very being was
destruction and oblivion, if he wanted to leave a tangible mark, to gift or
curse any of the many worlds residing; he had to work with another entity.
It was a common enough practice among the entities, nothing to be particularly
ashamed of, a way to entertain themselves and experiment with their unique
attributes as well as provide an excuse for intra-entity relations to be
strengthened. For example; Love and Life got on very well together, both
spreading beauty and joy in the simple things like the colors of the sunset or
the smell of morning dew. Knowledge and Magic created a fearsome combination
when they weren't bickering over the superiority between science and spells.
Chaos and Judgement were completely on opposite sides of a very wide spectrum
so they hardly worked together at all, yet when they did they produced the most
marvelously complicated designs and ideas that became awe-inspiring double
edged swords to whoever wielded them. But anything Death collaborated on with
his fellow entities always ended up a little darker, a little wilder and a lot
more dangerous than anyone of them hoped. Creatures that feasted on happiness,
showed ones deepest fears, consumed your very soul. This only fueled his
unprecedented fears and insecurities whenever he found once again his powers
unleashed caused abject horror and terror and pure darkness into the world,
even further. It was a rather cruel circle reminding Death to be responsible,
neutral, self-controlled. To never act out of his predetermined role. Never be
more than means to an 'end'. Never more than the end.
"Well maybe he finally decided enough was enough and 'live a little'." The
green haired woman, Life, suggested with a warm smile, rather happy at the
idea. Knowledge however in contrast, frowned.
"Life. That is all very positive but we are talking about Death. He does not
'live' even a little."
"You think his innate self-restraints are starting to slip?" Space asked
contemplative.
The woman with paper skin and inky eyes took off her glasses and wiped them
with a newspaper patterned cloth as she shook her head tiredly. "I.. I really
don't know."
The group of entities all fell into tense silence. It was only a few moments
later that one of them, a man of indistinguishable age with hair of copper
wires and faint brass outlines of intricate cogs decorated his skin, spoke up.
"This is the first time Death has rebelled and to be quite frank it is a rather
mild act at that, I say we just let this slide for now and just watch over him.
Who knows, it may be good for him to relax a bit."
There were soft murmurs at that, mainly ones of agreement but Judgement then
responded in a low tone, anger and worry and a touch of fear underlying his
voice dangerously, "Yes but what of us? What shall happen to his many Realms
and all those who resides in them? This isn't like when we have our mid-
existential crisis for God's sakes! This is DEATH." He stressed. Another thing
that separated the being from his fellow entities; Death held not one but many
domain's under his ruling and with that many subordinates, creatures and lesser
'gods', like the entities they too have never experienced Death's absence for
any extended periods of time and the unknown effects of this was disconcerting.
"I'm sure his little demons and angels and other deities can manage one mortal
lifetime without their boss." Love pointed out gently.
"Plus Chaos and Judgement has quite a bit of sway in Heaven and Hell so they
can always pop in to see if everything's okay." Magic weighed in.
"I will try and oversee the other lands when I can." Space volunteered.
The meeting continued from there with helpful suggestions and comments in ways
to maintain the balance with the one person usually in charge from the shadows
gone. At the display of order coming together Judgement, whilst still a bit
unhappy, was definitely appeased.
"Well, I can't do much there," Fate said shyly, "But I can loosen my hold over
the strings I weaved around one Harry Potter's life." The other's nodded
approvingly. They hadn't even thought about how to help make Death's new mortal
existence easier.
"Oh! Now that he's human I can give him the control over magic he never had."
Magic smiled, cheered at the idea her kind but reclusive 'brother' could
finally have a chance at wielding her beautiful gift without fearing the worst.
"Then I shall bless Harry James Potter with a durable body that can sustain the
pressure of his overwhelming power." Life decided after some thought. "That way
it minimizes the chance of his physical structure from self combusting or
withering before his predetermined time is up."
Love shook her head, her light pink hair softly moving in a way that reminded
one of flower petals flowing lazily against a summer wind, "Really, such
impersonal gifts and blessings." She tutted mock disapprovingly, "I will wish
for the dear to find love in his new journey. Love that will be hard to find
and even harder to work for but one that once gained will last lifetimes and
break all impossibilities." The older lady looked wistful at her own
description, half lost in her own romanticism.
Chaos made a disgusted gagging sound, much to every female's immense
displeasure. "Great. Now Death is cursed to a smooshy romance novel of a life.
For that I will at least guarantee the guy an exciting life, full of action and
twists and challenges even he will find interesting to face."
Judgement looked at his counterpart with equal measures of annoyed irritation
and reluctant amusement at the blessing, "Well I guess I am, as usual, to keep
our dear brother alive from whatever chaos you will incur. I will grant his
human vessel an ordered mind and clear eyes to help aid with the crossroads of
choices he will meet at."
"And I.." Knowledge continued, not wanting to be left out in aiding their
absent brother, "Will bequeath him the gift of understanding, there are many
things our brother had never really try to understand and even more that he
just could not. Hopefully he will learn from his experience and grow from it."
So into their discussion on what to do in Death's absence they completely
forgot about their worries and in turn, the consequences implied, about the
most powerful being in existence possibly slipping from his sight of his duty.
About what it could mean when all the shackles fall and when there will be
nothing left to restrain.
Nothing to truly stop a monster when finally unleashed upon them all.
===============================================================================
 
Death, no, Harry did not foresee the trials and tribulations of taking over an
infant's body. Everything was blurry and loud and... squidgy. He couldn't move
the way he wanted to and the experience of soiling oneself was not something he
wanted to ever do again. Ever.
He also didn't foresee his new guardians being such, such-!
Well let's just say, if they keep up that attitude of theirs, Death will be
more than happy to personally escort these poor excuse of flesh lumps to Hell.
Well maybe not the obese infant, he'll have to see what Dudley (honestly that
was one of the worst names he'd ever heard. And he'd watched in horror as Magic
gleefully deemed their pet project- an execution spell that they made together
when Magic was only a few centuries old- to be named in a bastardization parody
of the mortal 'muggle' Abra Kedabra) grows up to be like. Though Harry did not
exactly hold any high hopes with the way that spoiled child was practically
smothered with gold, fluffy trinkets and whatever mortals these days smother
their children with.
Whatever it was, Harry certainly wasn't getting any.
In all his years where he had watched Judgement do his work, constantly helping
with Death's decision to place every soul, he had never truly understood why
Judgement gave softer punishments to those from broken families and childhoods
and such. Death while not made to be cruel was not made to be particularly
emphatic either. It had taken nine hundred and sixty-four grueling centuries
worth of emotional management classes, sympathy courses, basic psychology
tutoring, intensive sensitivity training (which he had to repeat seventy-two
times with Chaos before everyone just gave up, saying they were lost causes.
Chaos being Chaos promptly fist pumped the air and declared victory for 'being
fucking insensitive'. Death had suddenly felt very inadequate and secretly
tried reading angsty teenage romance novels before burning them in disgust) and
other rather tedious studies on feelings taught by most of his fellow entities
and also the occasional class by some deities (he remembered with great
indignation having to sit in one class taught by Lucifer and Michael on family
issues of all things!) to get his EQ and social skills to be where they were
currently. Which, admittedly was still probably only slightly higher than a
seven year old child. A very quiet, very anti-social seven year old child.
Of course now, as his infant form shivered in the darkness with only a thin
sheet to feebly protect him from the dust and spiders of the tiny cupboard he
lived in, now he was beginning to understand why some people in this world just
want to watch it all burn.
So far in his new mortal life the only people he knew was; his parents noseless
murderer who tried to kill him- and failed spectacularly, a very distraught
black haired man who had grabbed him very abruptly from his nap and just as
quickly discarded him for the sake of revenge, a half-giant with a very loud
voice who also picked and passed him to the next person like a awful pass-the-
parcel game to an old man with a long name and an even longer beard that, get
this, dropped him on the doorstep of the Not-so-Noble House of walruses and
horses... and left him there. In November. Who leaves a baby on the doorstep in
November? Who leaves a baby on the doorstep, period?!
In conclusion, Harry and in turn Death, was decidedly very unhappy with this
turn of events and was possibly starting to sympathize with the mindset of
psychopaths and murderers that snap and gruesomely 'off' their family for
'seemingly' no reason at all. Both things did not exactly bode well for the
future.
Harry sighed, any bitter thoughts about the mortals around him (that all made
terrible role models for a rabid werewolf much less an innocent child) and how
apparently Fate's a bitch who had planned to make Harry Potter her's, was
pushed away as his infantile mind focused on more pressing matters. Like the
need to go to the bathroom again.
Oh he so was not enjoying his vacation so far.
===============================================================================
 
"BOY!"
"Coming Uncle Vernon!" Harry shouted back as he moved toward the kitchen,
stumbling slightly in his haste. He wondered what was wrong this time. "Is
something wrong with lunch uncle?" The boy asked sweetly, pretending he wasn't
clenching his jaw so hard he could hear his teeth crack.
"Of course not you idiot child, Petunia did an impeccable job- not that you
would appreciate it." The blacked haired boy just stared blankly at the table
filled with food as tittering laughter of the guests and his aunt responded at
the jab. The giant man smiled an ugly smile as he bit into a large juicy steak
that Harry had painstakingly cooked.
Then the small five year old gave a small quirked smile (which would have been
seen as absolutely adorable to anyone who didn't loathe his very existence) as
his eerily bright green eyes lit up with quiet mirth. "Yes, I'm sure next time
all of us should be much more grateful to the people who provide us with the
food on our plates. After all, we wouldn't want to be ungrateful pathetic worms
would we uncle?"
The guests sitting at the table with them shuffled uncomfortably as Vernon was
turning a furious shade of puce. Harry watched absolutely fascinated at the
change in coloring. He found a strange sort of intrigued interest in it. Dead
people never did that.
"WHY YOU INSOLENT LITTLE FRE-"
"VERNON!" Petunia screeched in alarm as her husband was about to raise his ham
sized hand at their creepy freak of a nephew, "We have guests." She stressed,
the word 'guest' was said in a way that made it seem like the queen's special
secret service was visiting- instead of some boring accountants in financial.
The fat man looked more than a little disgruntled at being stopped but he
obeyed the unspoken command. Beady eyes narrowed at Harry and the boy had the
sudden inclination to just... squash the man, like the fat cockroach he
reminded him of. After living out this mortal lifespan he was really going to
have to go do some serious therapy.
"Get out of my sight boy." The older male hissed in what was probably supposed
to be an intimidating manner. Harry decided to comply nonetheless. And if he
had an extra skip to his step at one upping his relatives, no one commented.
Against all odds though, Harry did actually enjoy life at Privett Drive. Well
enjoy was a strong word. More content really. Sure he was constantly hungry,
the verbal insults were annoying and the occasional beatings were not great but
Harry couldn't help but smile at the whole experience. It was refreshing in a
strange way, like trying a week old lemon for the first time after a whole
lifetime of eating a prestigious array of high-class sweets. It definitely beat
being a helpless baby at the very least.
He liked being able to do things. As a baby he was unable to and as Death he
never really needed to; a few orders, a stack of paperwork or six, a few snaps
of a finger and a wave of his hand for the rare need to actually use his
powers, and he was done for the day. Honestly looking back, Harry could not
comprehend how he could not have had his mind literally rotting from mind-
numbing boredom eons ago. But right now he was having fun learning new skills
and trying new things.
Gardening was great. Him being who he was, it doesn't come as much as a
surprise that most things directly under his touch decay and die within twenty
four minutes at most, forget hours. So he had relished the feeling of growing
and cultivating the greenery around him (though it did take him a few tries not
to accidentally let slip his new-found control and rot whatever vegetation he
had been currently touching), watching with pride as seeds he planted bloomed
under his touch. And then there was cooking. Cooking, Harry had found, was
absolutely fantastic. Seeing raw ingredients by his own hands transform into a
deliciously mouthwatering meal was nothing short of magic. The only thing he
could think of to make the whole experience of cookery even better- was someone
to let him try one of his own damn meals.
Another thing he found simply amazing was the inventions. He had heard a few
things from his reapers and the occasional demon or devil (Hell was very
enthusiastic in upgrading their realm) on the advancement mortals had made in
technology but seeing it all was a completely different thing altogether. The
first time he saw a washing machine he had watched the whole process,
completely entranced, for a full hour, he would've lasted longer if Petunia
didn't drag him off to do other things. Television was astounding, Harry would
always try and sneak a look at the shows whilst doing his chores- he felt great
amusement at how dramatic the plot was, especially when death was involved (he
liked how popular he seemed to feature in the operas on soaps). And don't even
get him started on the portable radio that walked men. Really. Mortals were
ingenious!
In fact, the only thing that really drove him up the wall was whenever his work
was criticized- which was unfortunately picked up on by his relatives who
joyfully did just that. Harry didn't mind if he was called a freak (well he did
mind but it wasn't particularly hurtful), he didn't mind the unreasonable
workload or even the beatings (though it really didn't stop him from feeling
the new experience of pain- which was certainly not fun to any extent). Those
things were things he could ignore easily in his opinion. What he did mind was
the lack of food, the purposeful loud stomping at night to keep him awake and
the rather counterproductive attempts at sabotaging his chores- though that was
more because of inconvenience and frustration than anything. But what he
absolutely loathed was being told his hard work was faulty or needed to be
redone, especially when it wasn't. There was just something about it that made
the usual indifference in him just burn with righteous indignation.
Life was meant to be imperfect, she had flaws and holes and contradictions. So
it just made sense that if Life was imperfect, Death would be the closest thing
to perfection there could be. In death you are just a soul, nothing more
nothing less. There are no more impurities, there are no rose-tinted glasses to
skew your view, there are no more bleeding scars but faded lines. All things
come to an end. The end is death and death is the end, a perfect circle that no
matter how hard one tries can never circumvent. And of course this need of
perfection in Death would be transferred to the being of it's personification.
As Harry Potter however, he had been repeatedly been told that he was anything
but- an unwanted freakish child who was abandoned at their doorstep. While that
was a pretty cruel thing to tell a very malleable child (which thank god he
wasn't or he'd been all kinds of messed up) it truly failed to affect him
because honestly, he'd heard worst slurs against him. Plus it was all
technically true what they said- he was unwanted by the Dursely's at least,
since having magic essentially in some form made him an outcast and different
then freak while hurtful wasn't exactly wrong considering what it meant, he was
a child and he had indeed been abandoned on their doorstep (but that was more
because of irresponsible adults than anything).
As he was about to take a well deserved rest in his cupboard (he knew that
after that confrontation, Vernon was going to be very heavy in his punishment
and it would be prudent to let his small body get ready for the oncoming
discomfort), a soft but still audible crash was heard upstairs. Harry froze. He
looked at the floor upstairs and then longingly at his cupboard that just
recently he'd got enough magical strength to charm for satisfactory
comfortability, clearly torn between his curiosity and his laziness.
"Oh what the hell." The boy muttered to himself before quietly making his way
up the stairs.
As he got closer Harry heard worried murmurings, pacing steps and a continuous
chant of 'Oh god, dad's going to kill me, what am I going to do? Oh god, dad's
going to kill me.' Needless to say, it didn't take a godly entity to put the
pieces together. Deciding to might as well go all in, Harry slowly opened the
door to Dudley's room and entered.
"Dudley? Something wrong?"
The fat child jumped at what was, for at least him, the sudden startlingly
arrival of his little scrawny cousin. There was a look of fear and guilt in the
tubby boy's eyes, his large room filled with toys and luxuries was covered in
sticky, sugary liquid. "I-I, Freak you shouldn't be in my room!" Dudley
snapped.
The smaller of the two looked hard at the obviously soda covered bedroom and
then at the owner of said room, the boy's mask of anger might as well have been
made out of cling wrap it was so see through. 'A common defense mechanism.'
Harry mused absentmindedly, recalling a few of his impromptu psychology classes
that he had been practically chained down to participate in. 'Loki was a
surprisingly good teacher. Too bad I've forgotten most of the stuff he said.'
"My name's Harry thank you. And I only came to see if you need help." Harry
replied clearly and slowly like speaking to a frightened animal. He'd never did
great with children. They were so illogical and messy and loud. It wasn't like
he didn't like kids, they were amusing at times and held some of the most
delicate pure souls that were quite a sight to see, but it was in that way
where you like dogs but don't necessarily want to keep one yourself.
Dudley's pudgy face screwed up in confusion. If it was just a bit redder and
sweatier the resemblance to his father when trying to do a crossword puzzle
(and failing) was disturbing. "Noooo," he said, like prolonging the 'O' sound
made his disagreement more convincing, "You're name's Freak. Or Boy. It's what
ma and da call you."
Bright vibrant green eyes were struggling not to be rolled. How... Sad.
Pathetic seemed like too harsh a word. Really, had the true Harry Potter lived
this would be just another large ugly crack in the mirror of his childhood,
just waiting to completely shatter. Children were just so stupidly, unknowingly
naive most of the times yet simultaneously was so perceptively sharp that
whatever comes out of their loud, little mouths had the potential to either be
the floweriest of fluff or the most cutting of knives. Even he was taken aback
at some of the things a child was capable of saying with their almost
annoyingly pure innocence.
"Nope. My name's Harry." He corrected shortly, then before the other boy could
protest and they would be forced into petty bickering, he quickly continued,
"And I don't think Uncle is going to very happy bout this."
That definitely got Dudley's attention as his chubby face paled drastically. It
was funny, if the boy was just a year or so older, he'd probably realize how
much of a scapegoat Harry was and blame everything on him instead of feeling
guilty for his misdeeds; not that Harry was complaining of course. The slightly
older child wasn't as set in his views molded by his parents right now. Harry
knew he could use this to his advantage with a few choice words, an act of
'selflessness' and maybe the boy wouldn't be so predestined to the same place
his parents would go when he died.
With the kindest smile he could plaster on his usually apathetic features
(Harry was sure that it came as more of a smug half-smirk but Dudley wasn't
exactly a shining example of intelligence anyway) Harry shut the bedroom door
behind him and walked over to the scared boy, his small slightly calloused hand
gently touching the other's shoulder.
"In fact," Harry said serenely, his voice lowering like he was giving away a
big secret, vivid green eyes practically glowed as they widened in fake worry,
"I bet he would be furious Dudley."
His free hand strategically rubbed against his arm that held a large hand
shaped bruise, completely aware of the brunet's gaze following the motion in
growing horror. Ah the pitfalls of self-preservation. It could blind the best
of people. "He w-wouldn't." Dudley stammered, then he shook his head and glared
at his cousin, confidence returning a bit. "Da loves me. He just wouldn't!"
Harry inwardly tsked. Stubborn boy. Outwardly he raised his hands in a
placating manner, eye contact still unbroken as he continued to smile calmly.
"I know he loves you Dudley." The raven haired boy soothed, the larger of the
two nodded self-righteously, "Yeah! That's right- Da loves me! Much more than
you!"
Harry to his credit didn't even twitch, "Obviously." He agreed. "And that's why
you're in big trouble."
Dudley stared at Harry, completely unable to comprehend how the two statements
were related. Harry ignored him and continued on with his persuasions, speaking
confidently, calmly and a touch condescendingly. "See, Uncle probably only
loves me maybe thiiiis much." The smaller boy made a pinching gesture with his
hands to emphasize his point, his overweight cousin nodded along dumbly. "And
he always punishes me terribly when I do small things wrong right?" Dudley
nodded again. "Now uncle, your da, loves you thiiiis much," thin arms spread as
wide as they can, at this point the larger child had to interrupt.
"Exactly! So da wouldn't punish me like you when I do small bad things!"
Harry just gave a crooked smile, "Ah, but what about big bad things?"
Understanding dawned on the overweight young boy in a way only child-like,
normally incomprehensible, logic could give and Harry watched with thinly
veiled satisfaction as Dudley looked ready to be sick with fear. It was all
false of course. Vernon and Petunia doted on his cousin with such enthusiasm
the kid could probably have literal skeletons in the closest and they'll just
scold him a bit and maybe send him to bed without dessert. But Dudley didn't
have to know that.
"Wha-wha-what d-do I do Harry?!" Dudley nearly sobbed, his fat jiggling as he
shivered at the sheer idea of being treated remotely like his scrawny cousin in
front of him. Harry shuffled awkwardly for a bit, slightly regretting his
choice of action- even if it was kind of fun in a vindictive twisted sort of
way. Being human was just so interesting what with these confusing emotions and
all! He did feel a little bad about the boy though, but Harry figured that, as
mortals say, taking a peg or two from him wouldn't hurt. And Dudley held enough
pegs to open up a store. "Oh god Harry! Please help me!"
Harry sighed, eyes closing as if the sight of his near bawling cousin was
painful. Which wasn't exactly far from the truth. Kids were so loud. "I don't
know Dudley... I mean I think I could do something.. But if uncle and auntie
finds out.."
"I won't tell I promise!" Dudley burst out desperately. One vibrant green eye
opened to look at the obese brunet. "Pinky promise?" He asked. He knew from
eavesdropping behind walls that his cousin believed people should keep pinky
promises like a dragon kept gold.
"Pinky promise!"
What a stupid naive child.
With a hesitant small smile, Harry ducked his head shyly and let his feet
shuffle to perfectly portray uncertainty. Loki and Lucifer would be pleased at
the deception. His more Heaven-based beings under his command, probably not so
much. "Well then.. I mean, I guess for you Dudley I'll do my best."
Then with that tedious (even if it was slightly entertaining) manipulation of
social psyche done with, Harry waved his arms in what he hoped was an
appropriately fantastical manner (though he was pretty sure he was just making
a complete arse out of himself but children do that all the time so hopefully
he was fitting right in) and chanted the first magical sounding rhyme he could
think of.
"Magic O' Magic, please don't be mean,
Help me make my dear cousin's room clean!"
Harry, blushing furiously at the show he was making (maybe trying to go out of
his comfort level was not as great as he had imagined, Magic was probably
crying with laughter right now if she was watching) then spread his hands out
to the room and sparks of beautiful fiery orange sparks scattered like petals
on a windy day. Dudley watched in awe as the sticky remnants of soft drink
vanished everywhere the sparkles landed and soon his room was spotless.
Truthfully Harry could've just as easily snapped his fingers or even just
ordered the place to be cleaned but then it wouldn't exactly look as impressive
to a child's point of view would it? Actually would it? He didn't really know
considering his lack of a childhood (and his current one really wasn't a great
point of reference), was he being presumptuous?
Apparently he was not because immediately after his little firework show faded
to nothingness large beefy arms almost suffocated him in what Harry assumed was
the act of hugging. He hadn't really had much experience in physical acts of
comfort in his short mortality so far but if all of these hugs were like that
he honestly didn't see himself liking them in any near future. Why on earth
were they so popular?
"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!" Was chanted into his bony shoulders.
Harry lifted his eyes to the ceiling in disgust, his clothes weren't exactly
thick and padded so he could feel the bodily fluids of the other weeping boy
starting to seep into the fabric. Fantastic. He hesitantly tried to replicate
the gesture in a rather clumsy attempt at a hug, it didn't help that he was
trying to minimize as much body contact with the larger child as well.
After a few moments of this, the raven haired wizard nearly shuddered in relief
(or more disgust as the sensation of wet tears and snot became more apparent on
his being) when Dudley finally lifted his head to look at him. "But... How?"
The child breathed.
Avada Kedavra green eyes looked at the innocent wonderment in those usually
cruel childish ones of his cousin, in calculation before giving his signature
quirked half smile.
"Magic."
===============================================================================
===============================================================================
 
"Okay so what if you just charm it? Like when you managed to waterproof my
jacket?" Dudley suggested. Harry shook his head in frustrated reluctance.
"It's not that simple." He explained. "I don't think you can magic-proof magic,
it doesn't make much sense other wise. It'll be like trying to fireproof
something with a flamethrower."
The brunette boy grunted in annoyance but looked considering and his favorite
cousin couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the irony of it all. If Uncle Vernon
and Aunt Petunia could see them now, their dear Duddikins helping his freak of
a cousin with his magic, they'd have a right fit! His chuckle turned to an
embarrassingly unseemly giggle at the image of Vernon going purple and Petunia
mimicking a sheet of paper in terms of paleness.
Harry had never thought this one showy little act of goodwill would result in
the boy being so enthusiastically intrigued into the inner workings of all
things magic. Dudley had always seemed to be the type of lazy human being that
would rather forgo any sense of dignity than lift a finger for himself to the
raven-haired boy. But Harry soon, with startlingly clarity, realized that it
was clearly not the case. He had watched before his eyes as what once would
have been a malicious spoilt child, flourish into a curious, creative boy in
just under a year. It was both heartwarming and incredibly useful to Harry
watching the whole transformation.
Useful, because whilst he did have the raw power and pure magic to live very
well in this world, Harry had never ever put that much practice in using his
untapped potential. In short, he was incredibly rusty at drawing up his powers-
he had admittedly very poor control in restraining his dangerous strengths and
there had been no events of an apocalyptic scale that allowed him to properly
exercise even half his power. And even then it was mainly his innate powers,
the ones that come only to Death himself that he used when he could, magic
(much to Magic's consternation and irritation) was barely even considered to
him and therefore was more or less ignored until the times he collaborated with
Magic herself.
Harry was rather regretting his lack of enthusiasm for it now.
Thankfully children were naturally curious little things, and having one
constantly asking questions and testing ideas and generally trying to push the
limits of their new obsessions. Whilst in most cases it would have had been
simply maddening to the age old immortal in a small boy's body, he could only
feel rather grateful to Dudley for it. His excitement for the art was
contagious and Harry couldn't help but get caught up in the giddy feelings of
accomplishment whenever they got time to successfully try new things they
thought up. From simple levitation, to making cushions softer, to turning one
of Dudley's old toy rabbit into a real one. The look of fascination and pure
and utter happiness that emanated from him every time got the raven haired
wizard near bursting with pride, it was hardly the biggest of miracles nor the
fanciest of spellwork but no one had ever looked at any of his accomplishments
with even half as much joy as right now.
The two's relationship had grown in leaps and bounds since then. Of course
Dudley still treated him rudely in the presence of the Dursley matriarch and
patriarch, but behind closed doors it was like the whole world outside didn't
exist. Just them and their not so little secrets. It definitely helped Harry go
through school as well, sure thanks to all the frankly untrue rumors of his
(nonexistent) delinquency the small boy with unnervingly vivid green eyes was
pretty much treated as an outcast- but thanks to Dudley and his friends, he
hadn't been outright bullied by them like he could have been. Though
personally, Harry would've rather liked to experience that, for maybe around
two weeks, just to see what it felt like.
"Is there like some sort of anti-magic? Like anti-gravity or like a black hole
that sucks stuff. We learnt 'bout that in class when you were... Uh... 'sick'."
The larger boy looked slightly ashamed at when he said that. They both knew
Harry wasn't really sick that day. He had been locked in his cupboard as
punishment for accidentally shriveling Aunt Petunia's prized roses with his
freakishness. However Harry didn't seem to be bothered by the other's guilt, in
fact, on that day he had been rather put out by his mistake and thought that
some time out would do him good to improve his control. He would've liked some
water though.
Shrugging nonchalantly, the raven haired child just stared hard at the old
Walkman on Dudley's bed before replying slowly, "I don't really know Dud. I
mean... I wouldn't even know how to picture something like that." A lie. Well
sort of. Harry didn't actually know how to cast this particular charm but he
had heard enough rants about 'the stubborn stupidity of England's magical
finest and their unwillingness to cooperate with the 20th century,' by
Knowledge herself to pick up a general idea on what to do. But he didn't wish
to exclude his cousin (who had quickly grown on him like a weed, though to be
fair he didn't exactly have much of a social garden to grow anything in the
first place) and asking him for help both made it seem like they were equals
and that Dudley felt he was useful. Harry inwardly smiled at his thoughts. To
think. Him capably and successfully, emotionally manipulating a child. If only
everyone could see him now. They would be so proud. No really. They would. All
of them. Even Judgement and Time. They were kind of bastards that way.
The older of the two just grinned smugly while the other looked on in patient
interest. Dudley was actually very good at picturing things in his head and
putting those images into comprehensive clear words. A feat that unfortunately
most mortals under the age of ten (some even older) could not do. Really, if
his parents weren't such enormous bigots on all things magical the brunet boy
would've gone far in creative writing, particularly in the fantasy genre.
"Okayy- well a black hole is like this big giant black vacuum ball in space
right? And it sucks up everything! Even light which is why it's so black! So
here's what I think you should do-"
===============================================================================
 
Harry shuffled nervously. Dudley was puffing his chest out, immensely pleased.
Piers Polkiss had his mouth wide enough to, as people say, 'catch the fly' or
was it flies? Either way Harry had thought it was a simply disgusting image and
had no idea why such a thing was common enough to be considered relevant in
these modern times. And they called him freakish. Honestly, mortals.
"That.." The skinny rake-like boy finally announced after a prolonged silence.
"..is so cool."
Harry didn't know his cousin could possibly puff up further but apparently he
was wrong. While both bemused and admittedly a little touched at how Dudley was
proud of him to be considered 'brag-worthy' to his best mate, he was still
feeling a bit of nausea at showing a non-magical mortal, well, magic. But the
older boy had begged and pleaded and Harry never really could say no to people
he liked (which looking back now, was really the main reason of many wars,
murders and whatever you would classify the mess responsible for his current
mortality), especially over long periods of persistence. Plus, he was pretty
proud of the loud-mouthed child being able to keep their secret for so long. So
he decided to reward Dudley for his silence... By letting him break it- dear
god Harry was such a wuss and he knew it. The green-eyed boy though at least
had enough backbone (well he liked to think so at least) to insist on making
Piers give a vow of silence that will make the other physically unable to speak
of Harry's 'abnormal' acts.
Like turning into a big, black snake for one thing.
Harry hissed in pleasure as Piers tentatively yet bravely, in the way six year
old boys stupidly do when they think they're invincible and that not even a two
story drop could break them, scratched under his chin. If he could talk human
at that moment Harry would've probably said something dry and witty about the
difference between dogs and snakes but for now he will let it slide. As long as
the boy stroked his scales at least.
"He likes having his scales stroked." Dudley, his fantastic mind-reader of a
cousin, happily pointed out in perfect timing. Piers, who he'd always liked and
will never ever doubt his mob mentality again, complied. Harry hissed a very
satisfied sigh as he found his friend (yes Piers and he had gotten on much more
amiable terms since Dudley had insisted they both spent time with him. It had
been weird at first, eerily like when a parent sets up play dates with strange
kids just to spend more time with their friends gossiping about the new teacher
and her atrocious taste in shoes, but when Harry had stumbled over a poorly
hidden book on the occult owned by one horribly embarrassed but hopeful Piers,
he knew they would get along like hell on fire) had much better snake-stroking
skills than his cousin. Though when he said that to Dudley later on, the boy
for some strange reason doubled over in laughter.
And so Piers joined their secret club, bringing a bucketload of very
interesting (if not a little dark for a six year old) ideas to try out.
Honestly, it was the most fun he had had in a very long while.
Needless to say Harry Potter was at least not contemplating a mass family
murder anymore.
***** Death's vacation from vacation *****
***** Chapter 3- The one where Death takes a vacation from his vacation at
being Harry James Potter *****
***** Alternate title: The one where Death and a Dark Lord becomes 'bros' but
not really *****
***** Alternative alternative title: The one where a Dark Lord is stuck with
his worst fear in a dark forest for about six days and realizes death (the
person not the ending of his life) isn't so bad after all *****
When Harry was eight he realized that, really, he should've tackled the whole
'my parents murderer exploded after failing to kill me and now was floating
around vengefully, if not a but aimlessly, somewhere out there very likely
plotting my untimely demise as well as some other people's' thing ages ago.
It was such a sudden stray lightening bolt (much like his scar but more
metaphorical) that it really shocked the boy out of his nice fuzzy mid-
afternoon daze. Honestly Harry felt a bit bad for forgetting the wraith. But
then again, the man had murdered his parents soooo... Anyway in his defense he
hadn't had much free time for reminiscing about his infancy (actually he spent
quite a bit of time trying to suppress those absolutely humiliating times) what
with the Dursley's working him to the bone, his two friends with their
overactive imaginations constantly busying him with their secret 'group school
projects', marveling at mortal inventions and all this on a half empty stomach-
it really couldn't be helped.
Today however the small boy with hair the color of the darkest midnight was for
the first time in his current lifetime, bored. And no, being too exhausted and
hungry stuck in his cupboard when he was younger did not count. The spiders
living there had been entertaining enough to pass the time after all. Really
they weaved the most interesting things when you give them a few dead flies and
ask politely enough.
His aunt and uncle was away for the next week and a half for some sort of
business conference, which he had promptly allowed any information regarding it
to go from one ear and out the other. Dudley had been allowed to have that time
spent at Piers' place which Harry had been banned from since that one time he
had 'accidentally' somehow let in a big terrifying black snake a year ago. And
his cupboard spiders and other animals that he occasionally conversed to in the
house had been all killed last week by the terrible mortal known as an
exterminator. So all that had left Harry alone at home to house sit. And when
he said house sit he literally meant sitting around the house doing nothing.
Well he had a list of chores that would've made even Cinderella cry (a very
interesting albeit a bit ridiculous story that Dudley smuggled from the library
for him because honestly, how in God's name is it that in a whole kingdom only
one girl has size five feet?) if he didn't have the beautifully useful ability
of magic at his beck and call. God, when he meets Magic again, Harry swears he
will kiss the blessed entity for letting him use her gifts so easily. And maybe
take some time to give a stern talking to with Fate for extra measure.
But back onto the important topic at hand- his potential murderer person that
Harry just knew was still out there. The snake-like man was... different to
what he had encountered before. Not in a good way but not exactly in a bad way
either. Well actually he wasn't really the best choice in discerning something
good or bad, what with being all 'neutral' and 'un-judgemental' and the 'all
souls are equal in the eyes of death' kind of way that he is. Of course while
all souls are equal, the sad truth was some were just more equal than others.
Death had always thought of the souls of everything to be like glass balls.
Harry, now armed with basic knowledge of modern day mortality, decided to
change his metaphor for souls slightly and say they were like snow globes.
Edible snow globes anyway. Each snow globe was different, unique. There were
ones that were smooth with soft colors of spring and others were jagged with
aggressive reds and dark icy blues. Sometimes there were snow globes the shapes
of hearts or as small as one's nail or a shifting mass where one couldn't quite
pinpoint its exact form. Ones that tasted of melting chocolate next to a
roaring fire, of scotch and whiskey, of sweet strawberry ice cream in winter.
But there was no 'bad' or 'good' soul in Death's eyes. There was plain. There
was boring. There was ugly. There was pretty. But that was it. The extent of
any real opinions toward them.
And then there was 'interesting'.
Oh how he loved the interesting ones.
Everyone had their preferences. Angels liked the 'pure ones', the ones that
glowed softly with pale colors that were as close to white as possible,
perfectly unmarred and untainted by the evils of the world. Demons preferred
the 'determined ones', those of twisted colors that fought with each other, the
ones were streaks of brilliant golds and silvers that come from finding hope
and resolve among the filthy despair that near consumed them, apparently those
souls came from people who've prevailed, who survive the most hopeless of
situations whilst still maintaining a semblance to a heart of gold. Apparently
they tasted absolutely sinful. Reapers didn't really have favorite types in
comparison. Though they openly disliked the 'irritating ones', the ones who
simply just refused to leave their physical bodies and screamed bloody murder
(pun intended) as they clung on like rabid dogs to a bone, but that was more
because it was a hindrance to their work than anything, Death found the whole
thing vastly amusing.
The souls of swirling vortexes of colored complexities. With lightening bolts
of fire, forests of mists, endless seas of storms. The imperfect cracks that
run further than surface deep, black rotting jaded edges and winter dark
shadows that whispered hateful words. These were the most beautiful souls,
souls from the most ridiculously complex and intriguing of people. Whether
these people had been benevolent saints or psychopathic murderers were of
little consequence to the entity. In fact if a soul manages to catch Death's
interest, that lucky being on the precipice of life and the afterworld would be
swiftly offered a deal by him personally. It was nothing like a demon's offer,
a devil's contract or even an angel's favor. If they chose to accept Death's
deal then they were required to do was become part of his 'collection' for a
predetermined amount of time. They were allowed their consciousness, awareness
and, if the entity felt like it, bodies of their past selves. All that was
asked of them was for their company.
For a minimum of, about, three thousand years, give or take a century.
Which really wasn't that bad considering that, depending on the individual, it
was more of a 'get out of jail free card' for the ones who didn't wish being
experienced to eternal damnation in hell. Those destined to heaven were usually
less likely to accept of course, but after some reassurance that they could
back out of their agreement if they were truly unhappy or if Death failed to be
entertained by them, they could always be sent to wherever they were supposed
to go, after all, being the ruler of all things dead did have its perks. In
fact he vividly remembered one rather pretty orb he had come across a few
decades ago, pale seashell pink with swirls of toxic green and oily dark
streaks of paint that created smeared pictures of war, blue-eyed blonde smiles
and a strange cross like symbol with all its legs bent the same way; a rather
interesting looking soul but unfortunately and disappointingly an equally
boring personality, what could've been a brilliant man had he not been swept up
with petty bitterness, overzealous hypercriticism and racist hypocrisy, the
delusions he held were so tightly onto to the point it had been fiercely carved
into his soul, even given the insight and reflections that all souls were
blessed with when meeting their ends the man had refused to see, to accept
anything but the biased veils he had blinded himself so irrevocably with. In
short the orb when blessed with speech again bore the entity so utterly with it
spouting some aryan nonsense on a broken loop and offended near every other
soul in the collection that the soul was promptly thrown back to hell with
Death huffing in his displeasure.
It really was just a guilty pleasure of his. Everyone had their vices. Even the
all powerful entities of personifications. Especially them. Love could not stop
making real life soap operas with anything that remotely moved, mortals,
immortals, animals, jealous lovers, love triangles, complicated back stories
you named it. Life and Fate enjoyed screwing people over and placing bets on
them. Magic was a prankster. Time was quite taken to collecting clocks from
various famous dead people for some unfathomable reason (they don't even talk
back! Isn't that just so boring?). Space had and could make alternate
universes, enough said really. Chaos was... well Chaos was who he was. Even
Judgement secretly had a Law and Order thing going on behind his uptight mask
and glasses.
So when Harry meditated to try and look back in his mind and remember back when
the self-explosion incident eight years ago (wow he did not realize how much
time he had spent in that cupboard. Maybe he should ask about taking Dudley's
second bedroom?) and noticed in startling clarity that the wraith like mist
contained not one soul, merely the tiniest crimson red scorched shard, well, it
didn't take that much more to clinch his decision to pursue the man.
Oh and because the man could possibly come back to destroy him or some such.
Hah. Yeah sure. No, more like because having a vengeful murdering wand-waving
jackass (excuse the language but Harry had lived in a cupboard, he deserved
some leeway in explicitness when it came to describing one of the factors that
put him in said cupboard) would very much disrupt or at least annoy him
persistently during his holiday.
And also you know, there was nothing else to do for the next six days and Harry
was bored. Was he bored enough to have tea and crumpets with his physical
body's parents murderer one would ask? Harry would answer with a thoughtful
look, followed them by a darkly amused smile with eyes colored deeper and
brighter than any emeralds that glittered with things that no one but their
owner knew of and say,
"Well I can bet I won't be at least bored."
===============================================================================
 
"Wow and I thought I was living terribly. Maybe Petunia's right, apparently I
am a bit ungrateful, huh."
Lord Voldemort, or what was currently left of him, turned to face the person
who so rudely interrupted his brooding (because Dark Lords do not sulk) in what
he had presumed was an abandoned area in the darkest heart of a forest
somewhere off of Germany. It was a boy. Small, scrawny, skinny. Couldn't be no
more than six really. Messy, almost gravity defying locks the color of the
darkest shadows itself decorated moonlight white features that seemed to glow
under the darkness of the night and highlighting the most ethereal green eyes.
Green like... Like... No... It couldn't be...
"I'm Death."
Well shite. That was worse than expected.
Suddenly Voldemort wished it was Harry bloody Potter in front of him. Freaking
Albus Dumbledore with his condescending twinkles. Lucius Malfoy in a goddamn
pink corset and matching high heels. Literally anyone else.
If he had the strength and power to speak the wraith-like mist would have
wasted it on hissing indistinguishable swears like a snake that had it's tail
stepped on. Instead he chose to glare as menacingly (and fearfully but it was
very well hidden) as he could for a thing that didn't really have eyes. As if
feeling the not-glare aimed at him, the boy that wasn't a boy, looked at him
curiously and with an annoying amount of bemusement painted so clearly on his
face it might as well have been written on his forehead.
"Ah, can't speak can you? Well we can't have that."
Delicately thin fingers snapped their fingers, the sound so much like an arm
broken cleanly in half and suddenly the former human felt the sound of harsh
raspy breathing, his breathing and it caught in his nonexistent throat at the
realization. "How?" Was all he croaked out.
Death, the boy that reminded him eerily of the baby that had disintegrated his
body to dust, merely smiled a smile that hinted he held enough unsaid secrets
that saying even a handful of them with his tiny hands would somehow make the
whole world a much less mysterious place than before, and shrugged.
"I am Death." He answered like it was the answer to everything. And it kind of
really was.
This time the mist figure did hiss. "Why are you here? You cannot take me! I
have done rituals to make sure of it! How is this possible?! There is just- you
cannot take me!" The hoarse raspy voice was now cracking under the rising
volume and the last sentence had hysteria practically bleed through every
letter and syllable. It was almost funny. In a pathetic sort of way.
The entity of death, the physical manifestation of the thing the Dark Lord
feared most, then raised a slim eyebrow and chuckled softly. It was such a
human like gesture, the Dark Lord couldn't help but find it difficult to
associate with the being that was meant to represent the end of all. "Ah, I
understand your worries Mr. Riddle-" the wraith made a distinct noise that
heavily implied that describing his distress as 'worries' was like saying that
Dark Lords were only 'minor inconveniences'. "-but I am currently not on duty
if you will, and therefore am not obliged to take your soul to eternal
damnation where I'm sure you probably belong."
That was, surprisingly, not that reassuring to the intangible dark spirit. The
younger looking death incarnate refrained from groaning at the obvious
agitation of the other. How annoying.
"If it helps it isn't your time anyway." Harry, or now more accurately, Death
tried. Comfort wasn't really his thing. Unless you just came from being
tortured but he was pretty sure it was less his personal social skills and more
the sweet relief from excruciating physical and mental pain. "Your uh, thing
with your soul, whatever you did, helped potentially expand your lifespan."
'Though it would probably have been a much more fulfilling life had you not
done it.' But Death decided to keep that little thought to himself.
Death swore he saw the intangible darkened air that was 'Voldemort' (he did not
want to even believe that was this mortal's name. Flight of Death? Well that
was just insulting) bristled in sheer rage alone. "You cannot take me." The
wraith seethed now for some reason more confident. Hm. Maybe he was too
comforting. "I am now untouchable by death. I am beyond that."
The childish pale face merely looked at the other in the most condescendingly
pitying way it could muster. "Sure you are." The being assured half-heartedly
like a bemused parent to a very small child agreeing that yes, sugar plum
fairies were real and so are pink nosed reindeers that stole strawberry
cheesecakes from people's fridges on New Years or just something equally as
stupid.
Voldemort suddenly felt the very familiar itch in his mind which he'd always
got right before letting out a nice Crucio. Or an Avada Kedevra. Though if his
last moments still in his body were any suggestion maybe just a good old
fashioned muggle strangulation with his bare hands. See if that thrice-damned
defied infant could live through that dammit.
The thin pale boy must have seen the other's rising ire with his unnervingly
almost toxic green eyes because the smaller male promptly changed the subject.
"So what are you doing in this… unwelcome part of the forest?" He attempted
politely. Apparently that too was a sore part (honestly this... man was just so
sensitive) as the dark vapour actually growled at him. A very rude mortal
indeed then. To be fair though, Death was pretty sure if he had been vanquished
by a mere babe and reduced to insignificant mist he too would be rather
disgruntled at many things. But if memory served him correctly the man hadn't
been the prettiest looking of people when he did have a body, not that he was
judging by appearances but you had to admit- with a face like that, it was hard
not to assume that the man not being a morning person was a big understatement.
"Why are you here then?" Voldemort asked shortly but with very well veiled
curiosity underlying his irritation. Death merely brushed it off with a wave of
his tiny, pale as bleached bone, hand. Rude mortal as he was, it was refreshing
for him to be addressed like this with this instead of outright fear. The
wraith was of course afraid of him, he could practically smell the terror, but
the man wasn't pleading for his life, nor breaking down in front of him, he
could respect that. After millenniums of 'Please spare me I'll do anything!'
and 'I don't want to die!' and 'Oh god, oh god, oh god, you bastard, please
no!'- listening to it all got old very fast. Also the Dursley's have really
numbed any sort of verbal insult thrown his way even more than past millennia
had done. Which is actually pretty impressive thinking about it.
"A few things have happened recently but as you mortals say, long story short-
" The eight year old boy gestured at himself as dramatically as a eight year
old boy could, "-I'm on vacation."
"Death." The wraith disbelievingly and unbelievingly replied. "On vacation."
"Is it so wrong to believe that Mr. Riddle? I am in desperate need of a
vacation, you know, everyone else gets one after all. Very offending that." The
child chided, vivid bright green glowing playfully even with his rather
emotionless stoic expression. "I've been stuck in this, well, putting it
mildly- 'job' since the first living organism's last breath left the world, and
not once have I ever been caught up with the paperwork. Seriously, you'd think
it'd be easy being the physical representation of an immutable visceral force,
but oh no, it's always 'this flesh lump decided to start a war over a shiny a
bit of shiny yellow apple with another flesh lump and destroyed a small
country, Death'; or, 'another overzealous bigot raised an equally overzealous
and bigoted army and destroyed a large chunk of Europe, Death', or even, 'Loki
and his family got into another little 'domestic' about him being adopted and
New York pretty much got demolished, Death.' I mean, really. You'd think after
hundreds of millions of years those idiotic deities would just go do some
serious intensive therapy or something. Honestly-"
Realising he was effectively ranting to the killer of his physical vessel's
parents (not that Voldemort knew that) the entity of death coloured ever so
slightly in embarrassment, cheeks going the palest shade of pink humanly
possible. If someone was more poetic they could say it made one think of a
budding rosebud that had withered into winter ice which of course made really
no sense but it sounded nice. Voldemort at that moment thought the colour like
a drop of fallen blood diluted by a skull filled with ice-spun sugar which also
made no sense but admittedly also sounded nice and poetic in the dark gothic
sort of way which honestly did suit Death more than the previous description.
"So," Death coughed then smiled; not just a wry twist of the lips, an amused
quirk at the edges of his mouth nor a baring of teeth, but a genuine if not a
very faint smile; "I have decided to accompany you for a short time." and it
was such a surreal thing, as being a partial bound spirit, Voldemort was just
instinctively aware that this was really Death. It was like how he just knew he
was stronger during sunset to sunrise and that he shouldn't be inclined to any
holy grounds any time soon. He knew all this, he feared all this, all of death
just as naturally as he knew Death was there in front of him, But all he could
see was a mysterious tiny boy with striking green eyes that glowed more
ethereally, white skin even paler and a petite slim smile brighter and warmer
than any moon he had ever seen.
For a moment Lord Voldemort, Flight of Death, Tom Marvolo Riddle looked at that
smile, at the boy, at Death-
-And he forgot to be afraid.
===============================================================================
 
"You know I'm pretty sure that's not how you're supposed to fish." Voldemort
the wraith pointed out very unhelpfully, his still raspy voice poorly hiding
his entertainment.
The small boy, completely drenched and looking like a half-drowned cat, glared,
wet hands gripping an equally wet stick that had been crudely carved to a
point. It was obvious that the child was not pleased. It was also obvious the
child was completely without fish.
"Couldn't you just go get some of those thin potato slices instead?" And oh if
black misty spirit clouds could look condescending… Actually Voldemort was
doing a pretty good job of it much to Death's annoyance. A part of him mourned
the very short period where the Dark-Lord-on-hiatus had been quiet and actually
pretty respectful (not to mention extremely boring to talk with) to him for all
of, until he figured out that he wasn't actually going to die, like Death had
reassured consistently. Then the snark came.
"It's not the same." Death huffed good-naturedly. "I wish to experience a
'true' camping trip and from what I've heard one must capture at least one
fish, slay it, then consume its burnt flesh under the moonlight."
The wraith stilled its usual movement (which was more its vaporous form
shifting slightly with the wind) and the smaller, more human shaped male could
swear he felt Voldemort staring at him. "And where..." The not really a Dark
Lord at the moment drawled, "in Salazar's name did you here that from?"
The entity in a physical form just hummed noncommittally, Voldemort wasn't
fooled. The 'mysterious child of the shadow' act stopped working on the second
day when he saw Death try climbing a tree- and failing quite terribly- to catch
something he thought and he quote 'looked pretty'. It turned out to be a
scrunched up sweet wrapper that was thrown there by the wind.
Voldemort found it hard not to stab such idiocy with poisonous cutting barbs
worth of insults. Especially when said idiocy got old after the first hour and
a half. But Death didn't vanquish, curse his soul with indignation and rage at
his taunts. No the child just gave a wry humoured smile and threw his own
insults, which were actually more passive than the Dark Lord expected verbal
jabs from Death would be like (not that he expected to be trading back
disparaging comments with the entity of death like muggle children with card
games) but it was… agreeable. At least, he admitted, it was better than
floating in a dark forest with just himself and his thoughts.
===============================================================================
 
"So what's your problem anyway Mr. Riddle?"
Voldemort stopped his, uh, fluctuating flight and turned to face (well more for
his sake than the other's) the raven haired boy who was currently leaning
against a fallen log, evidently having temporarily abandoning his attempt to
create fire using just his hands, sticks and dried leaves. It had been a while
since he had started and so far the only thing that's happened was the
revelation that Death when frustrated tended to rot the things he touched. And
turn things to ash and dust when particularly annoyed. The once-serpentine man
did not want to see what Death was like when actually upset, though something
told him that was a very, very hard thing to accomplish which really was an
equally very, very, very good thing.
"My problem?" He asked with still more than a hint of a rasp. Years unable to
speak does do that to people. At least his more hissing quality to his speaking
was becoming slightly more evident over time.
The entity in question was staring back at the other, it was unnerving how much
attention could be put in those unearthly glowing eyes. "You know," A pale hand
waved in a flippant gesture to emphasise the space the wraith was presently
consuming at this moment. "Why are you so bitter and all."
"I'm not bitter."
"You say bitterly with what is probably a bitter expression."
"Fuck off."
There was tense silence immediately followed by the explicative. If Voldemort
held any less dignity (and had any arms) he would have slapped his mouth at
what he had just spoken to the death child. Sure they constantly sparred with
dry humour and sarcastic jabs (more the spiritual male than the other) but he'd
never dared to even, to actually, to Death, and oh Salazer was the child
shaking, in rage? In offence? Outrage? If their roles had been swapped
Voldemort had no doubt in his mind the other would have been dead and rotting
at his feet since their first few sentences exchanged due to impudence and
failure to respect their obvious betters.
He was sure there was some sort of sacred unspoken commandment that read 'He
Shalt not Swear Against the Embodiment of Death nor Shall he Speak Ill for the
Poor Soul that Forsakes this Law He Shalt be Smited in the Most Abominable of
Ways.' Not that Dark Lords were exactly meant for following the rules but
Voldemort thought that this one would definitely be one of those firmly in the
realms of exceptions.
But then the child threw back his head, shaggy unkempt to the point of defy
gravity black locks strewn messily over his young face only emphasising the
boy's dirty looks that only spending time in the wilderness could provide. But
that hardly mattered when for the first time Voldemort heard Death laugh. It
wasn't some magical fairy tinkling of wind chimes like his almost angelic
physical appearance would suggest, nor was it the harsh chilling cackle, like
frozen bone and rusted metal grinding together, of what he'd always pictured an
incarnation of death to sound as either. No, it was soft and whispy, but clear
enough to hear ring out in the quiet of the forests. There was no horrifying
frozen terror that pierced through, no feeling of numbness seeping through the
mind or body. It was strangely.. soothing. It seemed to echo, resonate, to his
very being, his soul and ironically, he felt more alive than he had been even
with a body.
"I, I think," Death gasped between laughter, evidently this was something that
happened few and far between, the Dark Lord of England should not be feeling an
unexplained sense of smugness at the idea that he was one of those rare few
that caused this. "This is the first time anyone has said that to my face."Then
with a thoughtful look the boyish face added, "Well, without actually meaning
it anyway."
The vaporous Dark Lord raised a nonexistent eyebrow. "What do you mean by
that?"
"It's an embarrassing story. I rather not speak of it." And oh, if that wasn't
a reason to want to hear it Voldemort, who after being touched by that laughter
could feel his old insatiable curiosity and wonder and all those things he had
felt when he first found out about magic, didn't know what was.
"I can tell you about the time my headmaster burnt my wardrobe when I was a
child." He offered, "An eye for an eye is only fair after all."
"Indeed Mr Riddle." Green twinkled and Voldemort had a sinking suspicion he had
been tricked somehow, completely thrown off course by the young boy with
calming, soul-touching laughter and a confusing sense of humor. He couldn't
find himself feeling angry at that though. No, he was too busy being
unwillingly enraptured by a story of a whole other dimension, of strange magic
that would never be found in this world, of muggles with technology beyond
imaginations, of aliens and of champions of death who tried courting Death with
the lives he had slaughtered. He even laughed, actually laughed till his
vaporous vocal chords grew hoarse, when Death finally met this self-proclaimed
Champion of him to turn the alien man down politely, only to find that the
Champion wasn't courting him, but Hel, a rather selfish little Norse goddess
who wasn't even technically part of the 'big guns' of Hell much less the realms
of death themselves.
"So what happened after you explained everything?" The wraith asked. Tiny
shoulders shrugged.
"Before I tell you I must add that I was in my original form at that time and
not in the body of a child." An downward curl of a faint grimace, "Because that
would've been very awkward."
"And?" Voldemort pushed, a part of him slightly mortified at how eager he
sounded, he pushed that away quickly though, it wasn't as if there was anyone
actually there to judge him much less live to tell the tale.
Death chuckled, scratching his cheek a tad flustered. "Well, let's just say it
was no longer Hel he was courting by the end of that little tea party."
Voldemort laughed. He didn't even feel his usual resentment, his hatred, his
bitterness when he offered up stories of his life in return, maybe a touch of
uncharacteristic self consciousness but that was it. The two most unlikely of
pairs spent most of the day exchanging little anecdotes, some were funny, some
were hard to speak about but all of them at least were more than a little dark
and interesting to listen to.
===============================================================================
 
"You want a marshmallow?" Death offered, the pale pink squishy sweet looking
large in his delicate outstretched hand.
"I don't have a mouth." Voldemort deadpanned. He still couldn't comprehend that
Death was offering him marshmallows. Maybe he had died and this was some sick
joke form of limbo he found himself in. The child looking entity popped the
marshmallow into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully and then swallowed.
"That does not answer my question."
"You are such a child."
"Thank you. Now do you want a marshmallow Mr. Riddle?"
The Dark Lord sighed sufferingly as pink and white sugary confections passed
through his body by a chuckling eight year old.
===============================================================================
 
"What is that?"
Avada Kedevra green were bright and shining with undisguised mirth. "What do
you mean?"
A smoky shadowy tendril poked at the glowing sphere of swirling forest greens
and faint lazy waves of early morning sunshine. Voldemort recoiled almost
instantly when the thing unexpectedly pulsed, turning an overall paler shade of
yellow than before. Death smiled affectionately at the ball which he cradled
gently like a fragile egg. "Oh, do you mean this?"
Voldemort glared as much as he could glare. The man did that a lot really.
Death didn't mind. It was kind of adorable. For a person who liked throwing
around killing curses like Zeus throws around his many, many offsprings. And
lightening bolts. It really did speak volumes when the first thing that he
thinks of when using Zeus as a metaphor is his sex life and not his innate
legendary powers. So the representative of the end of all just continued on.
"It's a soul." He answered simply.
"A soul." The vaporous dark lord repeated slowly, gaze still on the object in
question. "Where did you get a soul?"
"One of my beautiful children gave it to me as a present when I bumped into
them by the lake. Really it was such a surprise to see it. And it was so
worried for me, such a dear, and gave this to me.' Death smiled. Just a twist
of his pale lips on what could've been described as hauntingly angelic features
that gave the child a chillingly beguiling allure that drew even the most wary
whilst still whispering ominously of danger that even a deaf man could hear. "I
suppose it thought I was hungry."
Voldemort didn't ask about it again.
===============================================================================
 
It was a uncharacteristically beautiful morning in the usually dark and
uninviting forest. The sun was filtering through the trees, highlighting the
small things that one could miss in the shadows and dark. Wildlife was
chattering lively, the whole vibe not menacing and creepy but now warm and
filled with curious wonder. Dew drops glistened like crystals of the highest
clarity on grass adding to this magical beauty.
It really was a sad fact no one was there to appreciate it.
"Of course you all look pretty now," a very disgruntled young boy grumbled as
he stared grimly at the idyllic image that certainly was not there last night
when a huge and frankly, very uncomfortably unpleasant storm had hit. It did
not help that he had been sleeping in a tree that night and didn't have time to
cast a cushioning charm before his butt was rudely met with muddy earth. A
large part of him blamed the Dark Vapor Lord who had been suspiciously silent
through the whole ordeal with the exception of an undignified loud snort when
Death let out a colorful string of swears he had picked up from none other than
him. It had been a long night filled with heavy rain, annoying debris flying
everywhere (the boy swears that particularly sharp twig was aimed at his heart)
and even worse; the insects flying or scuttling for cover and were unfortunate
enough to get caught in the storm. Don't get Death wrong, he liked all
creatures, just not when their twitchy little legs suddenly squish into his
damn face.
He did not care what Mr. Riddle said. He did not scream.
"Stupid nature. This is why everyone built houses."
===============================================================================
 
"Why do you call me Mr Riddle?"
Death raised a brow and looked at the wraith. He was currently trying to weave
a makeshift net in an attempt to catch some fish. Sewing was never his forte,
neither was making things, so really it was just a mess of dead vines littered
randomly around the earthy soil. "Well I absolutely refuse to call you.." The
child scrunched up his face with distaste, "Voldemort. I mean honestly. And you
dislike the name Tom, which I personally don't understand, there are many
upstanding men that holds that name. And calling you Marvolo seems a bit
ridiculous-"
"Yes, yes, but how do you know my name?" Voldemort persisted. "In fact, how do
you even know where I even was?"
Avada Kedevra eyes closed before opening slowly, the color glowing brighter,
Voldemort always thought he had seen how vivid those eyes were but now, such
hauntingly inhumanely green looked at him and he realised just how very little
he knew. He almost felt humbled by the sheer age, the knowledge, the untapped
power.
"I am Death, Mr Riddle. It isn't that hard an answer to come to."
The Dark Lord paused, his soul quivered, submissive to what it had innately
recognised, no body to protect and muffle the sheer waves of death rolling
against him in lazy waves. But he was not just a soul, there was more to that,
more to him. He was a Slytherin with an advantage, he was being for some
reason, favored by the entity and he knew it. So he kept going.
"Then why ask me things?" He asked. "Why the stories and chatting and those
gaps in what you know of me?"
The boy; no, Voldemort couldn't see the child in the other anymore, there was
only Death there; tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on his non-solid form
as if weighing something before he answered. The wraith vaguely felt like he
had just gone through a test of sorts and passed. "I, believe it or not Mr
Riddle, am not omniscient. My realm is death. My powers are and only for death.
My knowledge that naturally comes to me is only about death. Things like how a
toaster works, the color of the sky as the sun rises and falls, things like
that are not in my domain, my knowledge. Do you know why Mr Riddle?"
"Because they are unnecessary to you. Because they aren't things that would
serve you as Death." Voldemort answered, "I still don't see ho-"
"I can't see every individual soul, I can't bare it's memories just by looking
at them, I cannot know everything about every single being in existence even if
I wanted to. When they are dead, bodiless, passing on to the realms of my
lands, then my hand is free. If I wish, I can know near everything about a
soul, their names, birthdays, deathdays, all I need is them firmly dead, away
from any restraints of life." Unearthly luminous eyes bore into his very being.
"So tell me, Mr Riddle. Do you count as dead. Or alive?"
A flash of teeth that somehow was even whiter than his bone pale skin.
"When you figure that out then you answered you own answer."
===============================================================================
 
"Ok this is ridiculous."
"I'm surprised you didn't think so when you decided to do this all.. muggle-
like." Voldemort responded dryly, earning himself a glare and a huff and what
was obviously not a pout from the child. "I'm rather impressed you lasted this
long on berries and roots."
"Ugh." Death groaned. "I will never understand vegetarians. I don't think I
craved meat this badly since that blood ritual withdrawal period where people
stopped sacrificing slaughter to me."
"…What?"
"Never mind." The child waves dismissively even though the wraith was close to
bursting with intrigue and questions at that, much to Voldemort's annoyance.
"I'm getting some proper protein by the end of the day or I will burn this
forest down."
Well if that wasn't an ominous sounding threat the Dark Lord didn't know what
was.
The forest seemed to think so too as moments later every nearby bush began
rustling violently, chatters of wildlife that had been muted since Death's
arrival now sprung anew, louder than ever. The pair watched as finally, a wild
boar finally made it's presence noticed. The thing was large and stocky, but
held a slight limp that would've made itself useless eventually in the
wilderness. It quietly trotted toward the child, bent it's head in what looked
like respectful subservience before laying itself on the ground.
There was a silence, like the whole of the woods was holding their breath as
one, hoping to see if the entity would take their peace offering. Then the boy
that held the power of death, who was death, spoke.
"Huh."
===============================================================================
 
"Shall I present you with a story Mr. Riddle?"
"You know I am not a child right?"
Death chuckled. "You are in my eyes."
"That still does not mean!" Voldemort blustered, bodiless form floating nearby
where the strange child lay.
"I can speak on and about the Four Founders of Hogwarts if it pleases you."
The indignant wraith paused, before muttering, "I suppose one tale would not
kill me."
Death chuckled again. "No but I could if you're offering." Green glittered with
childishly terrifying malignity, once again reminding the wandering half-soul
again just who exactly he was 'sleeping' under the stars and talking with. As
if sensing the wary fear the boy's eyes rolled visibly at the bodiless man.
"Honestly Mr Riddle, even by mortal standards you are so, what's the term?
Springy."
"Jumpy." Voldemort corrected. Death clicked his fingers and made an 'ah' noise.
"And forgive me if I feel that way about the physical manifestation of death
when he tells you that he could end your existence at the drop of a hat."
Pale features crinkled into a small frown at the response, "I do not know Mr.
Riddle how I can make you believe me but I can tell you that Fate is just as
real as I and she does have plans for you that extends beyond me taking your
soul during an impromptu camping trip."
"I should hope not." The wraith muttered but he definitely felt much more
relaxed now, reassured at the implications of the statement as he read between
the lines. He quickly switched topics before Death realised how much he had
potentially slipped to the vaporous Dark Lord. Death may be very wise but he
was naive too. Unusually so. Apparently death doesn't always make you less
innocent in the ways of the world as many would think. "So how do you know
about the Founders?"
A faint ghost of a smile. A flash of, was that pride? Yes, it was, there was
pride glistening in those expressive eyes that could never really be conveyed
on his face. "I collected them." Was all Death answered like a parent who was
seconds away from pulling out some photographs of their children to coo about.
"Beautiful strong souls all of them really. And you could barely separate them
too, package deal they are."
The entity of death then looked down to the ground, feet shuffling and thin
fingers fiddling on the hem of his dirty shirt as glowing green glanced coyly
up at the shadowy spirit of Voldemort, looking more like a vulnerable child
than anytime before. "Maybe one day, you would like to meet them Mr Riddle."
Death offered shyly, "Not just them, but the rest of my collection."
Voldemort had heard much about Death's 'collection', it had been something that
came up a short while back. He could just imagine shelves upon carved shelves
of orbs much like the one he had seen before, illuminating the darkness with a
contradicting cold warmth that few appreciate. Death would probably visit
everyday, to watch colors bleed through colors and listen to countless stories
that have never been spoken, points of view never being heard. He would with
careful hands bring a few down to interact with others from long forgotten
eras, to distant futures or from exotic lands to universes one could only read
in books about. And Death would smile that faint smile as he watched it all,
his own little lives, little worlds he had created that never could be.
"I would like that." Voldemort replied softly, honestly. Then he hastily added,
"If I die. If. I am going to be immortal after all."
Death laughed.
===============================================================================
 
Five days pass quickly and by evening Death knows he needs to be back at the
Dursleys, back to Harry Potter. He had to get there a few hours before sunset
for a quick clean over in the house so it looks like he'd been there, working,
the whole time, and maybe he'll have enough time to get rid of his muddy
clothes and his duffle bag. It was going to be sad, leaving, he will miss the
creepy dark forest, it's grown on him. Maybe he'll try getting Life to help him
create his own forest, it'll probably much more dangerous and deadly but it'll
be nice to have something resembling life that wasn't reapers in his personal
realm.
He didn't know how to break the news to his vaporous companion though. Death
knew how hard it will be for the dark lord, more than the other will know.
Because souls are meant to be whole, natural, half souls can go on fine but any
less becomes erratic and unstable, like gaping wounds it leaves them open to
diseases of insanity, depravity and so many things that shouldn't belong in any
healthy soul. And Voldemort wasn't even close to the picture of health in that
matter. Unknown to the mortal spirit, Death's very presence prevented any
worsening effects, grounding the wraith, stabilising him. If he hadn't been
there to ward off the lingering diseases and disgusting parasites of the
spirit, the mortal would've ended up even more corrupted than before.
But once he left, well, he could only do so much when the other wasn't even
dead.
"Mr. Riddle?"
"Yes?"
Death could feel the weight of the wandering spirit's gaze on him and turned to
face the look forwardly, "I must leave. You should be forewarned that once I'm
gone you'll find yourself unable to properly remember my appearance but other
than that most of your memory will be intact. I truly wish I could stay longer
but circumstances stop me from doing so."
Silence filled the air and the entity mentally berated himself for his blunt
words. Intensive sensitivity training for 72 times and this is what he comes up
with. At least he had gotten better. He didn't add the fact that the man's
going to go clinically psychopathic once he all but abandons him. That's
progress.
"How long?" Was finally asked, breaking the silence. It was hoarse and human,
so very human with the thick emotions the other would never had shown to a
living being before now. Well technically he still hadn't shown them to a
living being but it was the thought that counts and that thought made something
in Death's mortal body feel a little hollower in his chest cavity.
"I'll go in a few hours. I won't leave till the hour before the sun sets." The
boy promises, he won't leave till the last moments available. He'll just use
magic to clean up his looks and hide all his 'camping' things in his closet.
Voldemort's shadowy figure was twisting and distorting itself in what Death
could assume to be his conflicting feelings over his departure, but the dark
lord reluctantly agrees. They sit by the riverside and talk. Death tells the
other about gaining strength through possession, as a apology gift for abruptly
withdrawing, the other takes the gift with surprisingly quiet dignity. It was
all very pleasant but the knowledge of them parting ways hung over their heads
like a hangman noose, unlikely as it were they had become possibly friends,
'bros' would be what Dudley would call it.
Finally Death looked at the lowering sun and knew it was time.
"I am sorry Mr Riddle."
Voldemort went silent before questioning, "Will I see you again?"
The boy with Avada Kedevra green eyes that glowed even on the starless nights
gave a dry crooked smile. "Probably when your dead." The wraith chuckled good-
humoredly, "So never then." He deadpanned half serious.
"I suppose." Death mused, the corners of his mouth stretching a bit wider. "It
was enjoyable while it lasted Mr Riddle. And I thank you for that."
The wraith made an embarrassed noise, no one has genuinely thanked him for his
presence, how ironic was it that it was Death of all things that done so?
"Surprisingly I could say the same thing… Death."
Death chuckled, "Yes, very surprising." Then the child-like face turned solemn.
"I really must leave now."
Voldemort nodded stiffly, not that it could be seen but the other must've
known. The small petite boy walked into the shadows, vivid green eyes never
straying from him as he slowly faded into the darkness. "Goodbye Mr. Riddle."
And then he was gone.
===============================================================================
 
Harry Potter opened the door to greet the Dursley's, Vernon rather
unceremoniously dumped his very heavy suitcase into his scrawny arms causing
him to drop loudly onto the floor with a groan. At least he can blame the
bruises on his arm for that then his failed attempt at tree climbing. Still
doesn't stop him from mentally swearing to hell and back. Dark Lords apparently
are terrible influences. Who would've thought?
His thoughts were cut off as the weight of the bag was lifted, bringing back
all circulation to Harry's arms. Rubbing the sore limbs the boy looked up to
see his grinning cousin with his hand out to help him up. "Hey Harry!" He
greeted cheerfully. Harry grunted in what he hoped was equally as welcoming.
With the larger boy helping with the heavier bags, Harry was finished unloading
in record time, giving the two some spare time to rush up to Dudley's room to
catch up. Dudley chatted on about a new game console thing Piers got as well as
this new book they got engrossed in (since the genre was fantasy based the
brunet boy had to stash his copy at his friend's place) called Howl's Moving
Castle which apparently was and he quote, 'bloody better than some stuff the
telly comes up with' which from Dudley was high praise indeed. The older of the
two promised to tell Harry all about it when he finished.
"So Harry, how did you spend the week?" His cousin finally asked, not that the
younger minded, he liked listening to stories even mundane ones about how many
cans of coke Piers managed to chug before he choked. "It must've been very
boring." Dudley continued pityingly, guilt obvious on his large face.
The raven haired boy gave a vague nostalgic smile at the other and replied,
"Believe me or not, I find my ways to make sure my holidays are anything but."
***** Deaths snakey admirers *****
***** The one where Death got molested by some snake. Which thinking about it
was totally inappropriate considering his mortal body was ten, his immortal
spirit was way over a millennia of a millennia and the snake was like, seven
months old. *****
He was sleeping. Well kind of. Harry didn't really dream so it felt more like
just closing his eyes and waiting for the blackness to consume him. He was
pretty sure he didn't actually need that much sleep, two to four hours minimum
per day probably, but there was nothing much really to do in his cupboard and
it was a strangely soothing luxury he had never experienced when he was Death.
Sometimes, if he was lucky, he even caught the strands of a dream; colors that
floated by like unreachable strands of mist in the starless night, a feeling of
icy cold wind on his face, scents of freshly cut grass and salty sea.
In fact for the first time Harry could feel the beginnings of sweet flavor on
his subconscious tongue. It wasn't very strong but it was enough to vaguely
discern the taste to be slightly tangy. A tart maybe? Piers had let him try a
lemon one once. That was absolutely divine. He was close, so close to figuring
out when-
"HARRY HARRY HARRY WE'RE GOING TO THE ZOO!"
Pain hit his side as he fell off his cot at the sudden banging on his cupboard
door.
"Fuck." Harry muttered. And he had been so close too.
"HARRY HARRY HARRY!"
"SHUT IT DUDLEY I GOT IT!" He snapped. The boy may not need sleep but damn it
all, he certainly wasn't going to be happy when it was taken away from him.
Especially if it was a dream. Silence was his response and for a second Harry
worried he had been too harsh to the child. Well until he heard the boy mutter,
"Woah ok, so Harry's a grouchy bed monster."
And it was just such a ridiculously, silly thing to say that Harry in his still
hazy sleep-addled mind giggled. He didn't admit it but it had been such a
relief to hear when the older boy joined in on the laughter. Thank god, he
could not imagine having his cousin hating him just because this was the first
time Harry had ever raised his voice at the large boy. Actually this was the
first time he had actually yelled in his mortality. Ever. Hm.
But the paler boy realized just how little credit he'd given Dudley when his
cousin didn't get offended. Dudley didn't get mad like he no doubt would've
done years ago, he just laughed along. The boy obviously wasn't like his
parents at all anymore, maybe still more than a tad spoilt and a quite a temper
when upset, yet the larger kid had stopped discriminating others just because
of what others said, more willing to stand up to what he believes in
(admittedly it could use quite a bit of work but the larger child was getting
there). Harry could see he was getting stronger in heart and when he peered at
the boy's soul he no longer saw something dim and filled with dull muted
unattractive browns. Now it was bright and filled with rich silver swirls as
well as orange sparks that went off like fireworks on New Years.
"But seriously Harry- the ZOOOOO!"
Of course the child's volume control hadn't changed one bit. Not that it wasn't
endearing. In a annoying 'I'm going to choke you if you don't stop' kind of
way. God he hated how loud kids were.
The scrawny pale boy groaned and hit his head on his pillow as his cousin
proceeded to bang on his door again.
===============================================================================
 
"Wassup boys!" Piers drawled in a terrible American accent. The gangly kid had
been getting completely obsessed with those dumb slasher films that have been
coming through and honestly, the first time when he sneaked through the Polkiss
family window to join the two older boys to watch one of those rare movie video
things of it on Piers' telly he had been quite taken to it. Ok so maybe the
teenagers depicted in the show made seriously bad choices, the police were
dumber than a drugged up hellhound and was in denial so deep that the Pit in
the underworld looked like a shallow pool in comparison, and the plot devices
were a little too convenient but he would be lying if he didn't yelp in
surprise at the jump scare scenes or feel his heart beat faster as he watched
the suspenseful build up. Maybe he'll get some of those films to give to the
guys down under (not Australia, dig a little deeper than that) as souvenirs.
Harry thought that film, The Shining, he was pretty sure it was called, would
be quite enamoured by more than a few of the demons at least.
"Hey Piers!" Dudley greeted happily. Then he stopped turned to his scrawny
cousin and jabbed him playfully with his elbow. Harry started at the sudden
action and mock glared at the other before facing Piers with a slim smile.
"Hullo." He welcomed simply with a wave of his hand.
"Shut it freak," Aunt Petunia who had been before then, watching her beloved
soon with gooey love in her eyes, hissed in what was a very audible manner.
"You're lucky dear Duddikins was kind enough to let you come. Don't embarrass
us by speaking."
Harry slowly put down his hand mid-wave silently, causing an awkward silence to
fill the air between the three boys and the Dursley wife and husband.
"Now look what you did." The horse like woman hissed even angrier, Vernon
Dursley was also silently supporting his wife by sporting the same red color of
her cheeks on his whole face. Harry wanted to fling his arms in the air in
exasperation at those stupid meat lumps before him. Or maybe summon a few
choice demons to drag them to a little special place in hell. Actually he just
really, really wanted to punch them in the face. He had been pretty indifferent
to his, well, he didn't want to call them caretakers, anyway he'd pretty much
let them get away with everything because one- he was trying to properly
experience life like a normal little mortal (as normal as someone like he could
be) and was pretty sure maiming your relatives would not be considered in the
acceptable range of that, two- Harry was still pretty sure this is what is
considered 'normal' to be treated this way considering the circumstances
therefore was willing to put up with this unless his life in this body was
severely threatened and three- it would probably distress Dudley if he did
that.
Instead he pulled on the most resigned look on his reserved face which frankly,
coupled with his messy hair, bone thin figure and too-large clothing; just made
him seem even more heart-breakingly pathetic. Like a drenched kitten that's
just been kicked.
He could see Piers trembling with indignation and shock, clenching his jaws as
well as his fist whilst Dudley was looking up at the sky, his face red with
humiliated disappointment and ashamed ire toward the people who raised him.
Once the two adults had finally turned away from them, the two boys were by his
side, hands firmly on his skinny shoulders as they whisked him toward the lion
exhibit, with only a brief shout to their guardians to where they've gone.
As the sun shone, air filled with lions roaring, the buzz of life and his
friends laughing and pointing out all the animals with glee in their eyes, the
green eyed boy felt one of his increasingly less rare smiles that he found
himself making more recently, stretch on his face. He hesitantly embraced the
peculiar sensation of when happiness and contentment seeped into his chest like
warm slick honey soothing over the slow burn of vindictive rage from before.
And he couldn't stop the thought on what a nice day this all was right now.
"Okay that was cool but now we've GOT to see the reptile exhibits!" Dudley
gushed as the trio left the Nocturnal House. Harry really liked that one, all
dark and filled with wondrous creatures of the night. He also enjoyed the
aviaries, the African section, the Australian section, Asia... Okay so he was
having a complete blast. The only thing he would've really wished to change if
he could repeat it all again was the constant stares on him. And they weren't
human stares. He had tried really hard to ignore those intense curious looks
made by the general animal populace. It was seriously uncomfortable but sadly
understandable.
Most of his creatures and fellow related deities usually inspired fear but
Death, purely as itself, always had a sort of allure and pull to every being.
It was where souls always end up, made, recycled, lived. And there was no
denying that they all belonged in his realm as much as, if not more so, than
Life's. However it was mainly the animals and other creatures that weren't
human beings that were always just that much more susceptible to feeling and
recognising that strange mix of yearning, fear and want in their souls. Maybe
it was because of the lack of denial they hold toward themselves, an acceptance
that they are part of one big cycle and they are safe with him, with Death. It
clears up their view, their eyes and they can see easily that he wasn't there
for them, not for any of them, not yet anyway. So they look with awe and
amazement and even a touch of lust as they sense the deep unending power that
lay beneath the surface of human flesh.
Still didn't make the experience of so many living eyes staring at him less
weird though.
Dudley and Piers however loved it as his presence helped a lot in letting them
all see the animals up close and personal. If he had to be brutally honest with
himself, he too was finding enjoyment in seeing them so closely too.
It was so very unfair though. Life got all the cool stuff like anteaters and
elephants and parrots. All he got was Dementors and Thestrals and Boggarts.
Which, don't get him wrong, he loved them all dearly. But it was sadly obvious
that his creatures all were severely lacking in a… color scheme among other
things. On one side it was extremely boring to look at after the first couple
of decades, forget centuries. On the other- hide and seek in his personal
realms was a very challenging and fun game indeed.
"Oh, OH." Piers grinned as he waved the zoo pamphlet in front of the other
two's faces. "There's even frogs and toads in there too. Maybe the right
familiar for you is right here all along Harry!"
Vibrant green eyes rolled in mock-irritation. The boys ever since first laying
eyes on that picture of a witch and her familiars had been completely obsessed
in finding 'The One' for Harry. Dudley insists it would be something magical
like a baby dragon or a nine-tailed fox. Piers went the more conventional
route, stubbornly saying it would probably be a toad or a cat or something.
Personally he was pretty sure he couldn't technically have a familiar at all,
he wasn't even sure familiars were an actual thing in this universe, but it was
a cute thought anyway. And vastly entertaining.
"I dunno Piers," Harry murmured shyly, "I mean, I've been so used to the
bachelor lifestyle I don't know if I even want to the meet 'the One'. Then
again," the black haired child sighed deeply and dramatically, "I have been
feeling soo lonely.."
The tallest of the three slapped him over the head causing Harry to stumble and
burst into giggles. "Wanker." Piers muttered.
"I know he is but so are you." Dudley replied with a wide grin that fit very
well on his face.
"I don't think that's how you say it." Harry pointed out.
"This coming from the kid who calls using a Walkman, 'musically walking the
man'." His cousin teased. Pale bone white cheeks flushed ever so slightly,
which in normal human terms meant the younger boy was blushing furiously. Piers
slung a gangly arm over the small male's shoulder with a laugh. "Really Harry,
for a guy who has a hard time making expressions show on your face, you sure
get flustered real easy."
"Oh shut it." He grumbled, but twinkling vivid green eyes spoke of a completely
different tune. "Let's just go see those scaly creatures okay?"
Harry rolled his eyes at the chattering crowd, back leaning against the wall.
Vivid green finally landed on one of the glass exhibits, a large anaconda was
watching him with very interested eyes. Actually most of the reptiles in the
house was pretty much eyeing him like the most eligible mate in breeding
season. It was a little unnerving.
"Ugh, kids are so loud am I right?" He casually acknowledged the large serpent.
The legless reptile reared back as if surprised someone like him would address
some-serpent like her. The anaconda though quickly caught and composed herself,
though still quite flustered in snake terms, much to Harry's bemusement.
:Yessss O' Hooded One, my God of Death. They are indeed.: The snake agreed. :
What brings the bringer of the end to our meagre abode?:
Harry felt a tad insulted in being mistaken as his horsemen, the Grim Reaper
but he could see how the young serpent could fail to discern the two. After all
the man was one of the closest things created by purely his own blood and
power, not to mention whilst both usually don't venture out to the outside
worlds often, the Grim Reaper had been quite the 'tourist' back in the old
days. It was very adorable watching his young counterpart make friends with
Pestilence, War and Famine- also beings Death helped make with the urging and
assistance of Chaos. In fact, Death had been so proud of his most human looking
creations he had asked Life to gift them with four strong and worthy stallions;
hence, the Four Horseman. Very uncreative naming but what can one do?
For some reason Hell and Heaven got into such a tizzy over them too. Death
really was very proud.
Anyway, Harry mused, maybe it would be easier to just say he was the horseman
of Death instead of Death himself. It would only serve to be confusing to the
snake if he tried to explain himself and it would be honestly much too
troublesome for someone if they were only going to visit the place once. Not to
mention he was sure the Grim Reaper would get a kick out of Death being
mistaken for him instead of the other way round for once.
"I am here young one," He replied with no small amount of mirth hidden
underneath his unsmiling face, "To try life as a magical mortal."
:Oh?: A snake in a nearby glass container, one who had brilliant bright green
scales that dulled under the presence of the entity's own vivid colouring,
couldn't help but join the conversation, much to the anaconda's annoyance. :And
how isss it like Death God?:
Harry mused at the answer thoughtfully before replying, "It is… very different
to how I lived before. Strange. But not at all as terrible as what you all
would imagine."
One of the snakes huffed, the boy had a bit of difficulty discerning which
snake it was but he was sure it was the green one. :I would never replace my
beautiful green scales for such soft fleshy ones.: She declared. The other
nodded in agreement.
"Yes." The entity in a mortal vessel looked admiringly at shining green, the
snake preening under the gaze, "I suppose it would be quite the disappointment
for such a lovely sheen of scale to be wasted on boring outer meat."
The serpents were about to say something else (possibly fishing for compliments
or trying to not-so-subtly check if he currently had a mate not that Harry
understood why, every creature he's met so far who recognised him seemed to do
that) but suddenly a voice interrupted their conversation.
"Oh my god you can talk to snakes!"
Harry turned to give his two friends a look, not in the least perturbed about
their appearance from seemingly nowhere. Kids apparently when they wanted to
can be sneakier than the shadows. Of course, it only could last for a few
minutes at most considering most mortal youngling's inability and willpower to
close their mouths for any longer.
"I've talked to other animals before. You've seen me do it." He answered. Then
a pointed glare at Dudley. "You stole one of Mrs Figgs cats just for me to tell
you it was hungry and that it saw what you did last summer. Whatever that
meant."
"Bloody hate that cat." The larger boy muttered. Piers however, ignored his
best friend's grumbling in favour of speaking over him to his second best
buddy.
"Yeah but this time you were full on hissing at the thing Harry!" Piers
practically squealed as he jumped up and down where he stood. "Hissing!" This
time he did squeal. Harry just knew that if he had been tweeting like a bird
the occult obsessed boy wouldn't even have been half as excited. Well, maybe if
it was the cawing of ravens, them being death omens and all. Creepy child.
But this statement made the entity turned mortal pause, as Death he could
communicate with all beings. It would be pretty awkward if he couldn't speak
centaur or spider or even worse, Chinese. Every being is touched by death and
obviously before he had so many reapers and death gods, Death had to do quite a
lot of both the hands on work as well as write the files. So, naturally, a
universal language filter was very much imbued in his being though it was more
of a passive ability than anything.
Whilst he could speak in whatever form of communication he wanted to and while
they would understand him and vice versa that didn't mean he didn't try
actively pursuing the knowledge of each language. Considering he had since
pretty much the beginning of time, he had at one point, began relentlessly
learning all the languages he could the mortal way as an attempt to entertain
himself and pass the endless flows of time. So usually he would at least know
or was aware of, when he himself was speaking the language of serpents. Yet for
some unfathomable reason it all seemed like what came out of his mouth was
english to his ears.
How very strange.
Harry gave it exactly a moment's thought- before shrugging and deciding that it
really wasn't worth much to think about it. Maybe his human vessel was just
more attuned to snakes. Maybe his mother had a secret snake fetish (don't judge
him, he's seen weirder stuff happen, how do you think Nagas, gorgons and such
became a thing?) or maybe it was just a family trait on his body's biological
father's side.
Either way, it did explain why every reptile was staring at him with some
serious worship in their slit eyes, practically swooning. As well as trying
(rather cutely in his opinion) to get out of their cages, to wrap around and
claim him with the force of their will alone. At the corner of his eye he could
see one determined black mamba that was bumping his head against the glass
surface separating him and his god. Yes, a lot of animals Harry had met were in
awe of him, naturally. Afraid, of course, enough for them to be very polite and
respectful but still be attracted to the heady power of the being. But this was
just a little ridiculous. It was exactly this reason why Harry didn't ever make
himself speak a species' language when faced with one, as it always did give
them a wrong 'impression' of Death favouring them or some other strange notion.
"Oh. That's.. cool." Was all the entity said rather blandly. Then Harry flashed
the two a mischievous contemplating look, the older boys grinned when they saw
their friend do that. Whenever that look came around it meant rule breaking and
very fun things from their resident magic man. Unfortunately it doesn't come
often due to Harry's rather obedient nature plus the boy usually being the
scapegoat for most of their punishments. But when he got the 'look' in his
glittering eyes they knew they were in for something completely awesome.
"Who wants to play with a few snakes?" Harry offered.
Dudley and Piers glanced at each other and said simultaneously with a grin,
"Wicked."
===============================================================================
 
"Oh please tell this one to pretend to strangle me, Piers, Piers take a picture
of this!" The beefy boy exclaimed as a large brown viper slithered toward him
as accordance to Harry's hisses. Piers, currently with an intimidating cobra
wrapped around his head like an ancient Egyptian noble's headgear complied with
glee. Crowds of families and children gaped and pointed at the trio who were
surrounded by dozens upon dozens of snakes, probably thinking this to be some
sort of show. Though it was mainly the smallest pale boy with the stunning
green eyes in the limelight as the legless reptiles seemed to be much more
attracted to him, wrapping around his legs and torso, almost stroking the child
as if trying to entice him. A few people couldn't help but fail to stifle a
laugh when particularly aggressive black mamba slithered up the boy's shirt
earning a high pitched yelp of surprise.
"Wow that one really does like you." Dudley wolf whistled mockingly, "Get a
room you two." His jeers were quickly cut off with an unmanly screech as Harry
fished out the offending snake from under his clothes and threw it at him.
Fortunately for Dudley, the snake was just as shocked at the sudden action and
merely bumped off of the brunet's still rather chubby figure and onto the floor
hissing indignantly. Unfortunately for Harry that was the moment the other two
thirds of the Dursleys arrived, signaled by his Aunt's unmistakable shriek and
his Uncle's signature bellow.
"FREAK!"
Harry stared at the furious couple turning a rather ugly shade between red and
purple. Then at his two wide-eyed companions, looking with fear mainly for him
than themselves. Then at the snakes surrounding him, all heads reared up
intimidatingly and protectively as they sensed the aggression and violent
intent toward their Death God and potential mate (which no offence to the
creatures, was so not happening). Then back at his uncle and aunt.
"I would be lying if I said I saw this coming. Bloody Hell."
===============================================================================
 
Dudley looked at the cupboard door in front of him. It was hard. So hard. To
come to terms with what his family had done. What his parents had done. Harry
didn't deserve any of this. Yeah he was a special kid with amazingly awesome
powers but that didn't mean he should be punished. The large boy sometimes
found himself wishing he too had Harry's magic abilities but it always faded
fast, he had grown up with love and care and affection. Admittedly probably too
much of it. But his cousin..
It's been eight days since that incident at the zoo.
Harry hasn't been let out properly once after the harsh beating his father gave
when they arrived home that day, except the occasional times he was released
for the bathroom but he was always immediately shoved back into that godawful
place. But dear lord that beating that night. There was so much screaming and
yelling and painful sounding noises that Dudley could still hear from his room,
under his soft warm covers which he futilely used to try and block it all out,
to ignore the wrongness of it all. Tears had sprung into his eyes as he heard
his always so quiet little cousin inadvertently cry out with pain after the
sickeningly familiar sound of something being whipped. That audible groan after
a crash. The inevitable sob that Harry always will deny coming from him, saying
it was just the human body's reaction as his bright green eyes are rimmed red
from tears even when the smaller child always denied it. It was probably the
worst 'session' Dudley had heard so far. He was sure he had heard the cracking
of bone just like he saw on tv and suddenly he wished he hadn't watched so many
violent shows, just so he couldn't recognize what was happening only a mere few
feet away from him in his own house.
He stared at the cupboard. Such an ugly thing that hid an uglier secret. A
messy peanut butter sandwich in one of his hands and an apple in the other.
Placing them both down next to a cup of water, the brunet boy looked around
nervously for any signs of his parents, an unneeded and paranoid gesture
considering it was the middle of the night. Satisfied, Dudley silently pulled
out a key from his pajama pocket and slowly unlocked the door. It had been hard
to find the opportunity to snatch the little metal object and he couldn't stop
the sigh of relief as the lock clicked open.
"Harry?" The large boy whispered fearfully. What if his cousin was unconscious?
What if he was dead?! He had read that people can live a month without food and
two weeks without water but Harry was just so tiny and fragile and he was a
kid! Oh god, he could just imagined his closest friend's corpse staring at him
in the cramped cupboard, eyes no longer glowing with life and magic, mouth
opened accusingly yet no sound leaving his lips, his body as bone thin as ever
and only slightly paler than before. "Harry please are you in there?" Dudley
pleaded.
"Dudley?" A soft voice groaned. "Bloody hell how long have I been stuck in this
hole?"
"Bout eight days. And probably a few more days longer too, my parents are
seriously pissed." The older answered apologetically, then he added
sorrowfully, "Happy Birthday Harry."
The unruly haired boy looked at him with touched amusement. "Thanks." Dudley
felt his already guilt-filled body twist at that. He didn't deserve such an
expression. Not when his family and him had done this to the other.
"I got you food and water." He offered, but it felt feeble and weak on his
tongue. "Peanut butter. I know you liked it when I gave you half my sandwich at
school."
Harry grinned, it wasn't a big smile, it never was but it was bright and real
and Dudley just marveled at how his cousin seemed so delighted at this one
measly, pathetic looking sandwich. "You made this for me by yourself?
"Yeah.." The large brunet murmured bashfully, it was the first time the boy had
ever made something in the kitchen and they both knew it. "It's probably pretty
terrible." He joked lamely.
The sandwich was taken gently from his pudgy hands by slim pale fingers, moving
toward the raven haired child's mouth as he slowly but into it, even though
Dudley knew the other must be starving the smaller boy savored the simple meal.
"It's delicious." Harry said seriously, on his face was a wide smile, the
largest Dudley had seen on his cousin, which really to most people would be
considered a generally normal smile but the Dursley boy was overcome with a
warm bubbling of pride and real accomplishment at the sight. It felt better
than when his ma and dad praised him. Way better.
"Oh, and I got these." He added before he forgot. Dudley quickly turned and ran
to the television room and grabbed something from behind the tv before
scampering back to the cupboard. "It happened the day after you got locked in."
The brunet informed as he presented a heap of unopened envelopes to his now
wide-eyed cousin. "I managed to get them all before ma or pa could see them.
Thought if they found them you'll get hurt even worse." He explained, "It's
weird. They just keep coming each day in the weirdest places!"
"Very eloquent Dudley."
"Oh shush Harry. Not all of us can know big boring adult words like you do you
nerd. Anyway, just the other day there was some that came in ma's egg basket,
and boy that was hard to snatch without anyone looking but Piers helped with
distracting them."
Taking one of the letters Harry could easily make out in the moonlit darkness
his name and the address that included the fact that he lived in the cupboard
under the stairs. Wow. Whoever wrote this were pretty cold mortals if they knew
he was living in less than comfortable conditions and only wrote him a bloody
letter.
"Have you opened one yet?" The green eyed child asked curiously, fingering the
edge of the envelope, itching to carefully tear it. His older cousin shook his
head. "Nah, figured you'll want first crack at it since its addressed to you
and all." Dudley cracked an impish smirk, "Also if that thing is cursed at
least I won't be hurt."
"Jerk."
"I know I am but what are you?" The larger boy frowned as his own words
registered in his mind. "Er.. That was not what I meant."
The duo looked at each other and burst out laughing. It was a little forced and
a touch hysterical for both parties, as they tried to forget the guilt and
resentment of the past few days and try to focus on each other. "So seriously
you gonna open that Harry?" Dudley finally asked. Harry nodded and with a neat
tear down one of the paper packet's side he took out a letter and started to
read it out loud.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and
equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
"Oh my god." Harry could not freaking believe this. There's a school. Well
actually if he really thought about it of course there should be a school. It
would be stupid not to have one. Not to mention Hogwarts? Wasn't that the
Founder's school they always talked about? Huh. How ironic. But he was bloody
eleven years old and was pretty sure that starting a magic school at a younger
age would be in general, an all round smarter less stupid idea. What did
magical families do with their kids for eleven years? Just sit in their houses
like idiots? What about the non-magical families? Did they just expect those
parents to go 'Oh. Magic? Well that does explain why little Amanda here could
move things with her mind but I always thought she was a mutant like in those
comic books, no big deal, at least I've finally got an answer after waiting in
ignorant anxiety for eleven years.' then shrug the whole thing off like it was
nothing? Actually, the better question was, what sort of backwards school was
this then, to just drop something so big by note of all things? Not to mention
did most wizards just live in cupboards under their stairs? Is that why no one
was making a big deal about his living situation? Magical mortals seemed dumber
than regular ones apparently.
Dudley however, did not seem to share the physically younger boy's skepticism
and disapproval about this whole thing. He seemed to be still stuck on the fact
that there was a school for magical people like his cousin. The elder of the
two began nattering on animatedly about the possibilities and how cool it was
and something to do with broomsticks. Really. Children. But Harry had grown
fond of his cousin and so indulged the boy in his eager ramblings and
wonderings on what he thought Hogwarts would be like.
They talked and chattered about everything and nothing at all, until the moon
slowly went down to meet the other half of the world and the sun was slowly
making its way to greet them. The two parted ways, one much more reluctant than
the other but after much reassurance from a cheerier green eyed boy with unruly
shadow black locks, Dudley finally locked the cupboard door and left his cousin
in that cramped little prison under the stairs.
Harry, once his cousin was gone, ignored the ache in his muscles and flesh and
bones (pain, while a novel concept to the entity, was beginning to find the
whole experience less morbidly fascinating and more throbbingly discomforting
now) decided to pile the large amount of envelopes neatly in the corner of his
room. It was the first time he'd received mail in this lifetime after all so he
didn't want to burn the things just to make some extra space in his cupboard.
Not that he was certainly going to let the place clutter up either.
As he began picking up the scattered pockets of paper, his sharp gaze found
itself resting on a single stray envelope that had isolated itself from the
others. At first glance Harry would have had almost dismissed the pause of his
actions- if he hadn't felt his ethereally bright green eyes glow faintly as
they laid sight on it and the entity in him softly cooed with the familiar
shadow of power that greeted him and entwined weakly to his own.
The malnourished child quickly, and to his slight vexation, messily pushed the
Hogwarts letters into a corner and collect the lone envelope that practically
sang to him. As his fingers clung to the white parchment Harry smiled as a fond
nostalgia and achingly warm homesickness filled in him. Trembling with these
newfound emotions, ones that tasted bittersweet in his mouth and felt oddly
like when Uncle Vernon tried to strangle him but nicer, the entity tore open
the letter with much more eagerness than any magical school could entice from
him. Harry immediately recognized the messily, slanted handwriting, haphazardly
ignoring the whole 'writing in a straight line' rule every being tries to obey
and smiled as widely as his face would allow.
Dear Death,
Or is it Harry now?
Well since Harry is kind of a super lame name I'm going to stick with Death. Or
Big D. Of course last time I called you that you kicked me out of Hell.
Actually to be more accurate Lucifer kicked me out of Hell. You watched with
that half smile of yours and I'm pretty sure I saw you high five that damn
devil. It was a pretty unenthusiastic high five, one of the worst I've seen
really, but I know what I saw.
Anyway we're all watching you up there and I gotta say brother, I am. so.
PROUD.
Harry snorted. Trust Chaos to say that..
At least one of us always has an eye on you and don't worry about your Realms,
we've got it all covered. Kind of. You have a serious lot of crap to do. It was
Life, Knowledge, Time and my turn this year to do your filing and shit and I
swear to God I am so very sorry Death for instigating that interplanetary war
with Mars and that zombie apocalypse two decades ago. New appreciation for your
job. Still boring as though. No wonder you finally cracked and eloped.
Personally I bet everyone you would've left your stupid giant paperwork filled
office when Hell freezes over- and guess what? It has not. Trust me. I checked.
Twice. Also your minions down there are not happy you've gone and I've
temporarily taken over, I would've thought they would have liked if Chaos
reigned supreme. Ingrates.
If it makes you feel better, no one won that betting pool on when you finally
went. Space was the closest because he said and I quote 'The poor man will
probably only leave because of something stupid he agreed to since you all are
so pushy.' Which isn't exactly a proper guess so that doesn't count. And I am
not pushy. Nope. Nu'uh.
Also by the way, your relatives? The Durs-lames?
Yeah they are so going to Hell.
We've all cleared a nice little space there and started renovation with our
little... 'personal touches'. You should see Magic's contribution- like dear
god, it made me feel inadequate and that's saying something!
So you're probably wondering why we haven't written till now. Well we thought
you needed some privacy with your vacation... It's totally not because it took
this long to figure out how your job works and put some semblance of a plan to
tackle your ginormous and frankly terrifying workload (even Order was
intimidated and he's freaking Order).
Anyway I'll just let you know we're all watching you -toOtally not betting on
your life btw because that would be wrong. Heh. Oh who are we kidding? I
already won a pyramid as well as a large chunk of some underground crypt in
France because I just knew one of those scaly narcissistic worms would try cop
a feel haha. Once I'm off your paperwork duty I am SO raising some undead
mummies and confuse the hell out of people by placing them in random states in
America for no reason.
The boy almost crumpled the letter and threw it in exasperation. Instead he
just sighed long-sufferingly. Of course the chaotic entity never learned. And
why America? Harry hated America. Not for personal reasons. It's just…
Everything always happens in America. It doesn't matter what world you look
into. Nighty-five percent of the times the huge stupid things happen in
America. Alien invasions? America. Superheros and villains with weird powers
and tons of collateral damage? America. Super spies, sociopathic detectives and
criminal masterminds? Okay admittedly that's more England but in terms of
places where the heart of the Apocalypses happen America still freaking wins.
So yeah, no offense. America sucks.
And while all of us have really wanted to intervene more than a few times at
what we saw but we (when I say that I mean they not me) have decided to respect
your privacy and will occasionally send you letters now that you'll soon be
away from those two disgusting dredges of human scum. I'm forced against my
will to write that we all miss you and other such sappy nonsense but since Love
will be taking a bat at the intra-realm correspondence thing next time I assume
she'll be more than happy to cover all that jazz. Yes we did choose who goes
next via a lucky draw, don't look at me like that damn it, but it beat fighting
over who went first because let's face it- we all are selfish and suck and
don't want to share.
I may have won the draw by cheating but that just shows how much I love you : )
Of course since we (this time I do mean we now) are snoopy nosy bastards, all
of us will stoop to interfering a teensy tiny bit. Not too much. We need some
fun too after all. Okay we need a lot of fun. Or bad things happen. Bad things.
(Whisper) Baaaaaad thiinngs.
Okay I'm done screwing around now, okay well not really, but I am near out of
time and Order is currently hunting me down with a very large, very scary
looking knife gun. Yes, I know. That ass stole my knife gun. Wish you were
there to see it. Or stop it.
Well since you can't write back (one way pen pals and all I'm afraid) I'll just
cut this off now.
See ya bro!
Chaos.
Harry slowly closed the note with a smile and the warmest glimmer in his eyes.
Wow, it was strange reading something by one of his fellow entities. The
representative of death turned human didn't realise how much he had actually
missed everyone till he saw this. It was… hard to explain what he was feeling
but it was somewhere between nice, terribly uncertain and maybe some regret
mixed into it just enough to make his stomach churn uncomfortably enough.
However his maudlin musings were put on hold as Harry watched with an intrigued
expression whilst the ink on the back of his folded note began scrawling by
itself in the embodiment of all things chaotic's more casual scrawl. Which was
even messier than before, Harry had to squint and pull the piece of enchanted
paper closer to make out the words.
P.S. I'm sending you some of my paperwork. :P
There was a short silence until the child suddenly realised the envelope in
front of him, before innocently empty now looked… bulkier. Without a word,
Harry summoned bright vengeful looking crimson flames with his free hand and
lowered them threateningly at the document stuffed envelope, burning green eyes
narrowing for a whole different reason as the wretched note continued writing
itself.
P.P.S. No you can't burn it I've tried. Order and Magic made it so the only way
it's gone is when you've finished completing the stuff handed to you.
The personification of death hissed but let his fire from his fingertips
flicker out.
"Fuck you Chaos." Harry snarled at the offending pieces of paper like they were
the reason he was apparently stuck with his work whilst on holiday. That act of
defiance was not even close to satisfying considering the subject of his ire
wasn't here to fully face his very displeased face. Coward.
P.P.P.S. Fuck you too ;3
This time Harry did crumple and throw the letter against the wall.
It mockingly straightened itself out.
The entity groaned and kicked the envelope now filled to the brim with all too
familiar files and sheets and documents.
"Damn it."
***** Death's shopping spree *****
The_one_where_Death_talks_his_way_into_going_to_school_(which_lets_be_honest-
is_the_complete_opposite_of_what_any_other_kid_would've_done),_reprimands_a
teacher_(another_thing_sane_kids_don't_do)_and_meets_a_few_important_characters
in_the_plot_line_when_shopping.
"Uncle Vernon, may I please talk to you?" A small boy with hair as black as a
burnt corpse, skin as white as a drowned one and bruises as red as the blood in
his veins, timidly questioned as he quietly moved closer to the dining table.
Harry had finally been allowed out of his tiny cupboard much to his relief (he
had been getting a little stir crazy and he had been forced to consume his new
spider friends when his hunger cravings got too bad for him to willingly
endure) only to be forced back into his usual duties of cooking. A welcome
change of pace if it wasn't completely mocking the fact that his nutrition
level was far from healthy. However, it did allow him the opportunity to ask
the one question he had been mentally going over in his head for the past few
days in darkness. "Please?"
The obese whale of a pig merely grunted between bites of pork crackling. It was
a disgusting sight but the meat smelled so good Harry was fighting his physical
body's reaction to drool in a very undignified manner. Since the boy couldn't
exactly determine if the noise from his biological uncle was affirmative or
not, Harry decided to just continue.
"Well... Uh, sir. I just, well, you see.."
"Spit it out boy!" Vernon spat impatiently. Harry really wished the older man
hadn't done that. Especially when facing him. Urgh. The boy though kept his
face blank and free of the revulsion he was currently reeling from.
"I wish to go to Hogwarts sir." Harry answered clearly and honestly. Then the
child gave his best self-deprecating smile. It was much easier to pull off then
he thought. "It's a place for freaks likeme after all."
Most people with a decent conscious and a semi-functioning heart would have
long melted under such a sight, Uncle Vernon just sneered. "I'm sure it is
freak. I've heard about what sort of.. school that place is from Petunia and I
refuse to let you step one foot in there."
"But why sir?" He asked, the raven-haired boy decided not to cry at this moment
because it would only demean himself for no manipulative value but he did add a
slight waver in his soft voice. It probably wouldn't work with the obese male
but Harry would like to think of this as practice against a brick wall. A very
ugly fat brick wall that's consuming roasted pig at an alarming rate.
The man answered with said mouthful of pork so Harry couldn't really understand
what was being said but the eleven year old was sure it was along the lines
of'Because I don't like you,' 'Because I can't stand you and don't want to see
you happy in any sort of way,' and 'Because I'm a selfish arrogant ass who is
going to speared and roasted on the spit by the fires of Hell.'  When Vernon
was finally done, so was Harry.
"Look Uncle Vernon." Harry started, all meekness gone from his short stature.
In its place was a calm assertive air which, while did not dominate nor felt
overall aggressive it did give an underlying cold silent intimidation that
would make the most rebelliously stubborn sit up and straighten their backs
unconsciously. "I understand. You think I'm a freak yes?"
The fat male nodded slowly, and the entity now mortal had the sudden and rather
humorous deja vu moment of all those years ago when Dudley and he were in very
similar positions. "Well what if I told you Hogwarts is essentially an all-year
round boarding school? If I went I'm sure I'll be gone for... Maybe nine
months? I don't even have to show my face at Christmas, just one nine-week
summer holiday every year."
Vernon stared at him like the child just spouted off the latest theories of
astrophysics instead of the simple and clear explanation it was. Apparently his
uncle was much slower in the brain development department than his son as his
comprehension to read between the lines was terribly slow. Even with
intentionally very large spaces outlined in crayon. Actually Vernon was
probably still stuck on how his usually timid monster of a nephew had been
wearing a facade instead. The moron most likely didn't even know it was a
facade still. Idiotic lump of semi-sentient lard. What in Heaven's name was any
reasonable being (mortal, deity and entity) thinking, deciding to let these
distasteful example of human specimens live was beyond him. To think there was
more of them crawling around on the same planet made the child's skin shudder
in disgust much like the idea of feeling a swarm of oil covered cockroaches
climbing up his arm.
After what was probably a good whole minute of silence between the two
relatives, the younger decided to continue on just in case the thickness of the
other's head had failed to be penetrated by his sound logic. "Uncle Vernon." He
started slowly like speaking to a particularly dim child. "If you let me go..."
The boy paused waiting a second for the simple words to slowly sink into his
uncle's mind like rocks thrown into sludgy mud, "You'll won't ever have to
bother with my freakishness for a long time. Your son won't have to either." He
added thoughtfully.
That seemed to do something for his uncle as that blank unseeing expression
morphed back to a much familiar shade of red that would've looked quite lovely
on anything else but this man's face. It was Harry's last proper coherent
thought before a beefy hand grabbed the hair on the back of his head and
slammed his face hard onto the table. The entity in a mortal body could barely
let out a grunt of pain before his forehead felt the impact a second time. And
a third. And a fourth.
Finally he was blessedly released from the tight hold on his hair and lifted
harshly by his chin to face the angry older man, red-faced and panting from
physical exertion. For some reason the first thing on Harry's mind when the fog
of pain subsided slightly, was that really, Vernon should be in better shape
considering the amount of practice he had in beating him black and bruised.
"Listen here boy." Uncle Vernon hissed, close enough for more spittle to fly
onto his face, much to Harry's immense displeasure. The boy could smell meat
and fat and garlic as well as something inherently sour on the walrus-like
male's breath which made him want to point his, now bloody, nose in the air and
sneer. It wasn't an expression he usually ever made, despite the fact he was
indeed one of the few people who was genuinely considered actually 'better and
above everyone else', it wasn't in his nature to be arrogant but something
about this infuriating mortal made him want to pull all the damn stops. Harry
was patient. But he wasn't that patient. "I'll let you go to that damned freak
show school of yours but if you threaten my son again..." The elder of the pair
trailed off in what was supposed to be, well, Harry didn't really understand
what the effect was supposed to do but it evidently wasn't working. He just
felt confused. Harry didn't mean to threaten Dudley, it was just meant to point
out a positive outcome to his absence in a way that appealed to the man's
delusional prejudices. How was that threatening?
The child nodded anyway, he had already got what he essentially wanted and it
was good thing too since he'd smuggled out his acceptance letter he had written
about four hours ago after breakfast. Hopefully those ravens really did know a
professional messenger owl, those birds were a bit too proud and playful
sometimes but Harry was sure those big black birds will do their job with as
much professionalism a bird could muster. After all, when did the Grim Reaper
(it still made him chuckle at being immediately type-casted as the being that
was practically his son, if only they knew) ever ask a mere raven's help?
They'll probably squawk about that for generations to come, especially if he
gives them a little thank you gift. Harry was thinking of something along the
lines of a charmed silver egg that would sing or something.
Uncle Vernon scowled at the easy acceptance to his threat but seemed overall
appeased. It didn't stop him from giving that extra hard shove to the thin
child when Harry was turning to leave the room. The boy managed to save his
face taking another hit by a flat unforgiving surface but his forearms were not
so lucky, taking the brunt of the impact.
That was going to bruise badly in the morning. Actually, he was darkly
interested at how messed up his face will look the next day. Harry really hoped
he wasn't going to have a black eye though, what with his whiter than snow skin
and blacker than the darkest sin hair. The last time he had one of those Harry
swore he looked like a really ugly panda. Dudley and Piers said he looked oddly
adorable with his giant sad green eyes added to the mix of his genetics which,
strangely enough, didn't make him feel any better.
Harry knew his next step was to focus on the small problem of finding all of
his required school stuff before term starts, instead of worrying about his
looks but honestly what with the throbbing aches all over his body it was just
easier to think about the more simple things in life. God he really hoped he
wouldn't get a black eye.
===============================================================================
 
*knock* *knock*
"FREAK GET THE DOOR!"
"YES UNCLE!" The boy shouted dutifully, running swiftly towards the door and
valiantly ignoring the bruises on his knees, arms, head and his general
soreness that usually came when his body neared the edge of fatigue and hunger.
He had begun to seriously miss his old body, the one that wouldn't even twitch
when a knife was imbedded into him, where tears from physical stress was
something of an unknown and blood only flowed through his veins for decorative
purposes. Harry had already memorized the pained sensation of aching muscles,
tender skin and had noted every shade of bruise he had possibly ever had. Pain
and hurt and stress was no longer the intriguing mysteries it had been before,
it had become boring with Vernon's rather repetitive choice of discipline-
dull, annoying, an unwanted inconvenience. Needless to say it was probably the
driving force of why he was trying so hard to get into Hogwarts. It sounded a
little cold. Very indifferent. But it was true and it was him.
Harry Potter was bored.
Playing the abused child with pretty powers in a suburban neighborhood with his
two friends was fun. Still was. But it's lost that 'something' that made things
refreshing and vivid and just that little bit more engaging. He was on vacation
for god's sakes! And yes, while he's had much more freedom than he's ever
really had ever, those past few mind-numbing days that only ended the day
before last made Harry realize how little he was inefficient he was using his
holiday time. The cupboard had long since failed to capture his interests
anymore and become more tedious punishment and an obligatory resting place than
the interesting tiny human cave he thought it to be.
Things he thought to be fascinating and admirable have started to lose its
appeal. And that really was the sign that Harry should start to try something
new. Something he had never done before. Something that he just knew would make
Magic and Chaos and maybe Life roll around in laughter. It was something all
entities had in them, though Death himself had never really acted on those
impulses and he was sure everyone would be amused at seeing him indulge himself
this way.
Because even he had to admit… Being a little bit of a drama queen and, as the
mortals say these days, stirring an already overflowing pot, is always
entertainingly funny.
So when Harry opened the door and came face to face with a serious looking
woman in black robes, the stereotypical witches hat and an aura of stern
discipline, the messy haired child couldn't stop the faint, cheeky grin carving
itself onto his usual stony expression. Luckily thanks to his inability to
properly express emotions, it usually came off as a polite shy smile to the
people who barely knew him.
"Good morning ma'am." He greeted shyly. Harry made a show of widening his big
child-like eyes in wonder as he took in the woman's appearance, knowing full
well how the vibrant green shined in the morning light. "Are you here to see
someone?" He asked, completely aware from the robes alone that clearly that
someone was him. "I don't recall Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia telling me about
any guests." The boy adds on anyway, emphasising his 'I'm such a sweet innocent
child, please don't hurt me' display he had going.
The woman looks down at him, her yellow-green eyes scanning over his petite
figure, gaze pausing to take in his various bruises first before settling on
Harry's vibrant eyes of intense green and lightening bolt shaped scar. Harry
decided from that alone that this lady definitely had her priorities straight.
A practical and observant woman. Whether she is essentially 'good' or not was
something completely different.
"Actually I'm here for you Mr Potter." She began, her voice posh and serious
but not unfriendly nor arrogant, multiple images of the stereotypical 'tough
love' teachers on television and books came to mind at that moment. And from a
look she had already determined his identity, so she was a smart women too. He
could see himself warming up to her. "I'm the Deputy Headmistress Minerva
McGonagall but you may just call me Professor McGonagall."
Oh.
Oh.
Suddenly the growing warmth of, not affection but something more akin to
respect, plummeted to frigid cold extremities.
"You were the one to write my letter?" Harry questioned, all child-like
politeness and meek kindness seeped out of his voice and face like blood
gushing out of a disembowelled corpse. Tiny hands clenched and trembling with
barely suppressed rage that he didn't even know he had, not to this depth,
until now. "You were the one who sent it with my address? A very
specificaddress I may add?" The last question asked in a furious hiss, low and
dangerous and passionately fierce.
The professor recoiled at the sudden demeanour change in the boy, a flicker of
fear at the sheer anger directed at her, of such magical strength harnessed and
sharpened like a wicked blade threatening and looming, before it drowned in the
guilt she felt as those accusing words imprinted in her skin like a burning
tattoo. "Mr Potter, I didn't-" She began but paused, unable to think of
anything to defend herself with.
When Professor McGonagall saw the letter write itself out, the address it was
going to be headed to, a part of her didn't want to believe it, refused to.
Albus had promised he would keep the boy safe for Merlin's sake! Even when she
confronted him about it, when she argued, doubted, when she knew those
Dursley's were the worst sort of muggles… Even after all that the woman knew
she had still been hoping what in front of her was wrong, denying the truth.
She was pathetically hiding from the harsh reality literally in front of her in
the form of a bruised malnourished boy with green eyes that darkened with
things no child should have gone through on their watch.
And she called herself a Gryffindor.
All that McGonagall could say in reply was a feeble, soft, "I didn't know."
"You didn't know?" How did the boy manage to make the words sound so innocent
and mocking at the same time. Maybe it was just the shame in herself that was
twisting and warping his words to hit harder than it was meant to. "You didn't
see the writing on the envelope that informed you I lived in a cupboard under
the stairs? You didn't know that I get locked in there enough times that I can
probably recreate the space down to every last dusty corner and dirt ridden
floorboard? Maybe you didn't know I literally eat the food scraps off my
relatives plates when I'm lucky enough or maybe you didn't know that I'm more
acquainted with my uncle's belt on my back then the taste of ice cream on my
tongue!?"
Each sentence was a personally made bullet, aimed against shattering whatever
illusions, justifications the woman had built up as her reasoning, that Harry
took a sickeningly vindictive pleasure in watching them fall as well as the
colour from her face as he near screamed out what his body had to endure for
the past eleven years. To be perfectly candid though, he wasn't really
personally enraged at the treatment. After all he could've got out of it
anytime he'd liked and gone to Tahiti if he wanted to, hell, he could have
ruled Tahiti if he wanted to. But that wasn't why he was mad, well actually it
was why, but for a slightly different reason.
He was furiouson behalf of Harry Potter. Not him. But the Boy That Could Have
Been. Because this treatment wasn't really meant for him, these people didn't
know they were dealing with an entity of an age no one could truly fathom, a
being of immeasurable power, one who found the concept of being in pain as
exciting and refreshing as drinking soda for the first time, no, they thought
him to be just a small innocent child. They thought him to be just a little boy
yet they had beat him and starved him and isolated him with cruel remarks and
callous lies. And maybe this woman doesn't deserve the tongue lashing he was
giving her, maybe she honestly didn't know, or maybe she did know, she had an
inkling ever since she saw the letter but like every other adult he'd met so
far, had stubbornly refused to move from their ignorant bliss. Either way,
Harry had decided that he was going to stir the pot good, and things were
definitely going to change. Because whilst he couldn't really find much of him
to care about how he was treated, at the same time the entity would never wish
to even passively encourage such abuse and the people who left him on the
Dursley's doorsteps were going to know that well. Children should never have to
be treated the way he had been.
Also, for a less noble reason, that he would rather not admit to, it had been a
while since he'd last had a near hysterical hissy fit and Harry just knew he
needed to let one out ever since he'd missed his chance at the Reaper that
essentially screwed him over. But that's totally not here nor there.
Minevra McGonagall opened her mouth to respond but words refused to come out of
her mouth. She was appalled. And disgusted. And so, so sick to her stomach
because she knew what the boy was saying were no exaggerations and that she had
let them send him there, to that deplorable place with those hideous people.
Harry couldn't possibly have known but it felt like he did, like he knew she
was a part of it, somewhere, the reason for his mistreatment. Because she did
know. She did know and yet just because she believed in Dumbledore she had
reasoned any uncertainties away. And Harry's blunt words had stripped every
excuse her mind could and had made to make up for her actions, or in this case
inactions.
The child, Mr Potter, Harry, watched her quietly, eyes hardened and piercing
like hooks that seemed to be trying to tear down the elder woman as he waited
for her to struggle with something, anything, to say.
"I'm so sorry Harry." Because calling him Mr Potter just didn't seem right at
that moment, the boy she had swore to look after, that everyone swore to keep
safe, James and Lilly's son, had been failed. And the distance of basic
etiquette could not do anything to convey how much this was killing the teacher
inside, how previous beliefs and trusts and faith of certain people have now
shattered into pieces as she tried futilely to mentally pick them up and figure
out where should they go now. "I knew your parents, and I knew that your…
relatives weren't the most pleasant of people but I still thought Alb- I will
make things up to you," She quickly changed the subject, as much as she loathed
the one man who was most accountable for this right now, she didn't want to
upset the boy further. "Your aunt and uncle will definitely be seen accountable
for what they've done, I'll make sure of it."
"Do not worry Professor." The boy reassured wryly which didn't really help in
terms of comforting but Harry was still more than slightly miffed about his
mistreatment from his relatives and how little the so-called school had done
when they written his address. He was slightly mollified by the honest
confession though. Slightly. Think of it as righteous indignation if you will.
But at the same time whilst he would love the Dursley's to be put in a prison
and as unlikeable as they were, Harry couldn't possibly do that to Dudley. His
cousin needed his parents still and it would be selfish for him to take that
away for vengeful satisfaction.
God, his thoughts were so needlessly complicated. Even he had trouble
understanding himself sometimes.
"Those two will be going to hell once their lives are ended and that's enough
knowledge to satisfy me."
The stern looking woman who was still quite visibly pale and shaken at his
appearance and careless reveal of his background, tried to compose herself as
they walked to the end of the garden. "I didn't take you as the religious sort
Mr Potter." She replied a little shakily, making Harry raise an eyebrow.
"You didn't take me as a cupboard living boy either miss." Harry pointed out
politely. He didn't understand why the woman's features paled further at the
reminder then flushed with defensive anger. Really, you would think he would
understand mortal humans a bit better now but they were still, in his opinion,
just as confusing as always. "For someone who has really only met me less than
an hour ago, I don't think you should be making any preconceptions of me
already."
"I didn't mean.." She began, but the young boy interrupted her, much to her
displeasure of the thinning of her lips were any indication.
"I understand Professor." He offered with a wry smile. "Most people can't help
but make pre-conceived notions about other people, it's really just something
people have to live through."
The older of the two paused to look at Harry curiously, something akin to pity
and simmering fury at something that wasn't the boy but Harry didn't really
know of what. "Those were very wise words for someone so very young." She said.
Vivid green eyes blinked, unsure of the appropriate response to what seemed to
be a compliment but sounded too sad to possibly be one. The boy just shrugged,
like the action could let his discomfort roll off from his shoulders. It didn't
but the gesture was oddly comforting. Humans with their strange little
twitches. Harry found it only slightly unnerving how he was slowly and
subconsciously learning these things.
"Well, not many people this young has experienced some things I have." He tried
to reassure. It didn't work. If anything Mcgonagall looked even sadder. God
dammit. "What I mean is," Harry hastily added as he looked up at the woman's
forlorn expression, her lines in her face more pronounced and she just seemed
so old and defeated, nothing like the cool powerful lady who knocked sharply on
his door. "It's hard not to seek some sort of solace in a greater being. In a
world where everything can break in a blink of an eye, can turn against you in
a moment it's so very easy to find comfort in something that you believe will
never leave your side. When you feel like the world is on your shoulders and
you have no one to turn to pass even a tiny sliver of your burdens, to speak
about the fears that no one but yourself truly can understand it feels less sad
and less lonely thinking that there is at least someone there for you,
listening to your troubles.
The idea of something greater, something so big that no one can comprehend, is
watching you, looking upon you without disdained contempt or warm love, is both
humbling and comforting to think of and a belief I welcome open heartedly as a
balm to ease my anxieties and worries. It's not a weakness to depend on someone
that may or may not be real as long as it doesn't control you and when it fails
to do that it can become a source of strength and courage that one would
previously hadn't had the heart to uphold."
Harry smiled tentatively at the older lady, hoping his sincere explanation
would help with whatever strife she was dealing with. It was true what he'd
said. He really did believe in a God. One that was the reason for his existence
and his fellow brothers and sisters. The entity always secretly liked the
thought, that there were things bigger and more incomprehensible and more
overwhelmingly powerful than he could ever be, out there. There was a strange,
admittedly uneasy refuge he found in the belief of a greater God. Someone he
could curse and place blame for his stresses and problems which ultimately come
from everyone else cursing and blaming him. It made him feel less isolated.
Less different. Less... Abnormal.
And maybe, maybe in the deepest darkest parts of his very being, maybe, he just
didn't want to be the last one to walk and breathe alone as universes crumble,
worlds become empty and everything finally succumbs into nothingness.
"Mr Potter, are you alright?"
Avada Kedavra green eyes blinked rapidly, his vision was unexplainably blurry
and his throat felt strangely blocked. It felt like every part of him was
chocking but not really. Human bodies were strange, his had only reacted this
way when he was in physical pain, was he hurting in some way?
"Ah, uh, yes Professor." Harry murmured softly, the raven haired child didn't
really trust his voice not to remain steady if he spoke up any louder. Stupid
human vocal chords, screwing up for no reason. "I'm fine, really I am."
The stern lady didn't look convinced at him at all but gave a short, sharp nod
in acquiescence anyway. Though much to the eleven year old's immense intrigue,
the woman's already pursed lips were practically non-existent at that point. "I
see." Harry really did not think she did.
Still he coughed a little to clear his throat and Mcgonagall had the polite
decency to attempt to ignore him trying to reassert his control over his
physical body. The child decided he liked that about her, Harry always hated
these sudden slips of unintentional weaknesses, he always found it humiliating,
mortifying and unnervingly vulnerable. He was quickly finished calming himself
and looked up to meet the professor's eyes and shyly nodded, a very light flush
of pale pink dusting over his cheeks in embarrassment. "So, Professor
Mcgonagall," he started, "What are some of the magical ways of transport? I'm
guessing it isn't just riding a broom everywhere yes?"
Mcgonagall looked like she wanted nothing better than to relentlessly pursue
her curiosity about his sudden loss of composure as well as his home life (he
wouldn't be that surprised if she thought the two were connected) but the woman
seemed to take the hint and began explaining things like the Floo Network, the
Knight Bus (which really sounded like something he definitely wanted to try
out, like, immediately) and Apparition. Harry was quite engrossed in the
explanation, the female professor was evidently, very good at her job and was
both patient as well as informative in answering his questions whilst they
began to walk a bit toward their destination. Professor Mcgonagall after a
while looked much more sure of herself as her tense strained posture relaxed
slightly as she fell into the comforting flow of teaching. It really showed how
much she enjoyed her work and Harry certainly could not fault her for that.
So Harry happily listened on, interjecting occasionally with a few questions
and some comments that, by the surprise on the older lady's face, was probably
much too mature and intelligent for what a boy his age should be asking. But
that didn't matter, if anything Mcgonagall looked fairly impressed (he ignored
the flashes of anguish on her expression that was occasionally shot toward him)
and a good distraction from morbid thoughts and troubling choices was something
needed. For both of them.
===============================================================================
 
"So this is the Leaky Cauldron?" Harry asked. It was a rather redundant
question considering they were standing right in front of the dingy looking
place, sign of it very easily visible to their line of sight. Though the boy
would defend himself in saying that it was almost immediately right after
apparating into the area and wizards apparently enjoy very uncomfortable modes
of travel. He missed his own, non-nausea inducing ways to move between places,
ways that didn't encourage the bile from his stomach to come out of his mouth
and didn't feel like someone had enthusiastically shoved an out of control
merry-freaking-go-round into his aching head.
"Yes," Professor Mcgonagall answered stiffly, her stern lines on her face
softened as they looked down at the ragged, green-eyed boy's doubtful look at
the place, "While it is charmed so muggles can't see the pub, it had been
agreed on that if the rare unaware squib stumbles across on the place that the
Leaky Cauldron would be designed to be easily ignored and unappealing." Harry
still seemed like he wanted to grab a bucket and mop to clean the whole
building up but was understanding at the least.
The woman couldn't help but feel the now familiar rise of distressed
mournfulness for the obviously abused boy and vicious animosity toward the one
man responsible for Harry's childhood. Mcgonagall closed her eyes in an attempt
to quell the conflicting emotions eating up inside of her every time she
noticed how gaunt the boy was, sickly pale his skin and the way he
unconsciously strays away from contact. 'Damn you Albus. Damn you to hell.'
They walked into the place, The Leaky Cauldron was busy today, much busier than
Harry would have thought a pub like this should be but he wisely kept his
slightly OCD comments silent. A part of him wondered how bad Order, with his
excessive OCD and hatred of germs and unnecessary dirt, would have freaked if
he was the one being dragged in here. The man probably would have cursed the
place down. Or screamed bloody murder. Or actually just murder someone bloody.
"Ah, McGonagall!" A bald man behind the counter greeted heartily as he caught
sight of the pair. "Your usual I presume?"
"No thank you Tom, I'm currently busy escorting Mr Potter here to buy his
school supplies." Professor McGonagall smiled thinly, but there was a touch of
fondness there that made one think twice about her strict demeanor.
Harry gave a shy wave to the man but didn't stray far from McGonagall. Moments
later he was glad for it. Tom's eyes widened in recognition at him, eyes
landing on his scar like a dehydrated man to a bottle of water. "Bless my
soul," the bartender breathed, awed, "It's Harry Potter."
And just like that the whole place goes quiet. Harry wonders how on Life's
green earth did they know his name and why it wa-ohdeargodno someone was coming
up to him. And grasping his hand in a firm if very sweaty handshake. The boy
was not pleased.
"Welcome back, Mr Potter, welcome back." The man gushed warmly. Harry, not
really sure how he winded up in this situation decided to fall back to his old
non-life's experience in greeting his children and subordinates. So with his
free hand he gently patted the larger hands grasping his, giving the grown
wizard a small but kind knowing smile like 'Yes, I am completely aware of why
you look at me like I am your world and not only am I not weirded out by the
attention but I gladly welcome it and appreciate your feelings'. "Thank you
sir, I cherish your kind words." Harry replied. The man looked like he was on
the ninth cloud (whatever that meant).
Immediately when the wizard let go another witch took his place. "Doris
Crockford, Mr Potter. I can't believe I'm meeting you at last."
As soon as they saw how warmly the first man was welcomed as well as how
cordial and friendly the Harry Potter was, soon the child was swamped with
eager fans. Harry, being the polite being he was, attended each enthusiastic
show of support with affectionate fondness and humble gratitudes. When he
looked at his professor the woman seemed torn between telling everyone to leave
the poor boy alone and shove off, or to leave Harry to his admirers considering
how surprisingly easily the child was fairing. She seemed to be choosing the
latter option, the boy couldn't help but think the professor was probably still
reeling from her own personal problems that have been served eleven years cold,
courtesy of none other than him. Harry felt a little bad about that, he did,
but he knew that the lady needed to hear the truth and his usual passive-
aggressive approach to everything wouldn't cut it.
Still. He wondered that, if McGonagall wasn't slightly daunted by his recent
outburst, the two could've possibly be almost halfway done shopping by now. The
poor woman was probably bored waiting for him to finish up, not to mention
tight on schedule now that he'd put her 'bout two hours behind. Maybe even have
more kids, actual loud messy kids, to accompany. Paperwork too. Dear, dear. Now
he really did feel terrible for yelling.
===============================================================================
 
"If you have anything you need,anything," The wizard stressed, gripping his
thin fingers like a lifeline, the boy was having a bit of trouble trying to not
pull his hands away from this frantic lunatic, "Just owl me, Gregovich
Juniperber, assistant administrator of the Magical Creatures section in the
Ministry."
Harry gave the man a rather shaky smile that the older didn't notice or was too
enamored to care, said his obligatory few words of niceties and awkwardly
waited for the stranger's hands to let go. He did not. After two whole minutes
Harry couldn't take it anymore and looked pleadingly at the professor now
watching rather bemusedly at the hole he had buried by himself. Luckily it
seemed she too was quite impatient to get away as well so the woman put her
drink down on the counter and walked purposely to the two.
"I think it's time to let go of Mr Potter's hand." McGonagall suggested in a
tone that did not say she was suggesting anything, the man flushed and quickly
complied muttering hasty apologies which somehow still managed to fit in a
smattering of compliments before leaving to do whatever he had been doing
before. Green eyes watched the adult move from earshot before slumping against
the wall he had strategically placed himself against, and sighed loudly. "Oh
thank the lord that's over." Professor McGonagall flashed him an expression
that could only bely bemusement.
"You are aware that the word 'no' and its concept is still well accepted even
in the Wizarding world Mr Potter?"
"But Professor, that's so impolite." Harry whines, barely registering that he's
not even acting but actually being the child his appearance suggest, yet way
too tired to care. "I couldn't possibly," the boy makes an indiscriminate sound
and waves a hand in haphazard motions to loosely imply the idea of rejecting
someone. Especially ones so eager with expectations so low. God he hated being
such a pushover.
The woman quirked a brow, but mercifully let it go. Though if the humored shine
in her yellow-green eyes were any indication, Harry was sure that they'll be
some form of gossip when she went back. Magic or no magic, Hell or Heaven, the
inner workings of a school will always be the same.
"Well come along then," she said walking briskly away, Harry already
respectfully behind her, "I apologize if from now on I seem to rush you. I
still have one other future student to go to today and we are very quickly
running low on time."
The boy grimaced at even the notion of having to accompany children during what
is clearly the holidays and explain to them a whole new world in a few scant
hours. Repeatedly. There was probably some part of Hell that was exactly that.
If there wasn't there certainly should be.
"No, I should be the one to apologize for wasting so much of your time." Harry
answered genuinely.
Professor McGonagall gave a small tilt of her lips that could've been a smile,
or just a twitch and a flicker of the shady bar lights. "You may have seen it
as wasted time Mr Potter, but for those people that have waited eleven years to
meet their savior, those brief minutes with you, it was anything but wasted."
Now he was sure the professor was smiling. Obviously quite proud and his
selfless use of his time. Though Harry still didn't fully comprehend why he was
so famous, from what he'd gathered he was quite the celebrity for… doing…
something. The child wasn't exactly sure what. Apparently he vanquished a
nameless man? A homeless man? "So do come on, Diagon Alley may wait for you but
I certainly will not."
Harry smiled and followed.
===============================================================================
 
Diagon Alley was.. Nice.
It wasn't fantastic like a toaster but it was pretty cool. Very colorful.
Extremely lively. Seriously loud. Kinda narrow. But Harry could see the appeal.
He wouldn't particularly wish to work let alone live there but nonetheless
Harry could see the appeal.
Professor Mcgonagall who had been leading him on, paused in their journey to
whatever destination they were before so determinedly headed towards in
pretence of waving formally and signalling a huge bearded man's attention. The
large male lit up in recognition and bounded toward them, the crowd parting for
him easily for fear of being trampled otherwise. Harry could very much relate.
Damn his malnourished tiny body. Though the malnourished part was a tad his
fault.
"Harry," Mcgonagall introduced, "This is-"
"Rubeus Hagrid." The half-giant cheerfully greeted much to the female
professor's consternation at being interrupted. "Keeper of the Keys and Grounds
of Hogwarts." A large calloused hand was pushed toward Harry to shake and the
boy without hesitation took it, a little bit fascinated by how tiny his own
hand was in comparison to the man's, it felt insultingly like pushing a
chihuahua in front of a Cerberus. "And you must 'ere be Harry Potter!"
Hagrid's announcement as expected caused quite a bit of chatter and openly
gawking among the bystanders, Harry winced slightly at the sudden influx of
attention once again directed towards him. And they had just calmed and settled
down too. The large male looked around with a slight frown at the increasing
crowd and leant down close to Harry as he whispered, not so quietly, "You know
I knew yer parents. Good people they were. Even carried ya when you were just a
babe."
"My parents were wizards?" He asked, genuinely surprised. Harry didn't know
that. Too be fair Petunia never liked to talk about her sister and he, as
Death, only took a brief glance at their cooling bodies and not so much of
their background in general. His mother was obviously a.. muggle-born, which
Harry honestly loathed saying because he was fairly sure muggle was just one of
the dumbest words he had ever heard in his presence and he was going to smack
the back of Magic's head when he become immortal again for making him endure
such incredibly dim-sounding language.
But his father? The boy was quite sure his father was a pureblooded magical
mortal if this Potter name was what he thought it to be. Ah, the Peveralls, he
had always felt a sort of connection toward them and their descendants, a
very.. unique place in his heart if you will follow common mortal sayings. A
pity their bloodline has all but dried down to a few rare individuals. It
seemed Death will have no master after all.
The two adults both shared a look at each other at the innocent question. "You
didn't know?" Mcgonagall asked. Harry shook his head.
"I was told my parents were alcoholics that died painfully in a car crash." He
answered, it was technically true, his relatives love telling him that story.
Seriously if he was a normal child Harry didn't even want to think how warped
that boy's psyche would be. A part of him felt a little glad that he'd
accidentally killed the child off, really, the soul would probably have been
taken sooner than later anywhere- most likely suffering from starvation and
scarred with the memories of abuse. Looking at those tiny shivering souls of
children who had been treated with such hostility and cruelty were always so
pityingly sad, it was the closest thing Death, with all his cold indifference
and unattached distance to these mortal beings, had felt to heartbroken. If
dying immediately at birth was like getting a big zero in the game of Life (yes
she does love that game and yes she does always win) then in Death's opinion,
dying after and as a result of, shockingly, dreadful mistreatment was
definitely scoring in the negatives. Because really, how could you truly call
that living?
The two adults looked aptly horrified. Hagrid was flushed pink with anger
whilst McGonagall apparently decided to take a more ashen look. Harry had to
say they did not look great in those colours. Though Professor McGonagall did
marvellously managed to bring to mind the image of a statue he had once saw in
Greece when collecting souls lost to that woman with snakes for hair. Nice
lady. Very lonely. He had felt so bad for her he asked Love to help set her up
with someone. Who knew basilisks and gorgons made surprisingly very attractive
offspring?
"'Arry.." Two huge hands practically enveloped his narrow shoulders. "Your
parents weren't alcoholics who died in a car crash." Harry grimaced as Hagrid's
grip tightened, he wasn't exactly the physical peak of health currently much
less enough to stand up to a large man like the one in front of him. The boy
was pretty sure he didn't have enough strength in his human vessel to tackle
down a scarecrow. "They were wizards."
Green eyes widened as he forced himself to look like the stunned hopeful child
he was supposed to be. "Wizards?" He breathed out. Truthfully he just really
wanted to get the charades over with already and check out Diagon Alley. He was
already exhausted from greeting his weirdly intense fans, the entity really
didn't want to act any more than needed now. "Like me?"
Hagrid gave him a wide grin beneath his hairy beard, genuine, caring, honest
warmth that Harry had always found hard to emulate glimmered so naturally in
his eyes. The boy didn't even need to look at the man's soul to now that this
man was exactly what he appeared to be. "Thumpin' good ones at that. And I'd
wager, once yer trained up a little ye'll be even better."
Even if he already knew that it was true, Harry still failed to fight the
bubbling pride and pink flush creeping up on him. The urge to follow up to this
giant of a man's expectations was strangely appealing to him. The compulsion to
please wasn't what Harry assumed was like having a father figure looking over
you proudly would be like, no it was surprisingly hard to see this oversized
being as something of the sort, actually the entity in a mortal vessel figure
it more of the feeling of having a small child look up to you like you invented
chocolate chip ice-cream. Endearing and a bit of guilt because he did not
invent the delicious flavoured treat but still feels complied to play along
since disappointing such naivety was his emotional equivalent of hunting a baby
doe.
"Thank you." The boy murmurs, faint blush still dusting his cheeks. Hagrid just
grins toothily, slapping on the smaller of the two's back and nearly causing
said boy to tumble into the hard pavement. "No problem Harry!"
Before the moment of silence following became too awkward, Professor McGonagall
coughed and said, "Well Mr Potter, it has been a very… enlightening and eye-
opening pleasure spending time with you today, however as I am on a bit of a
tight schedule I hope you wouldn't mind Hagrid accompanying you for the rest of
your trip?"
Hagrid brightened at the suggestion, it seemed the man had been very eager to
take the job and Harry couldn't possibly refuse saying no to that, even if he
didn't already like the man. Although the boy wasn't exactly sure the man would
make a great teacher, Hagrid showed signs of being certainly quite proficient
in handling children despite his intimidating size. Not that he was a child.
Well he is but. God it's so very confusing, Harry swore he was going to have
age-identity issues once he was done with everything.
"Yes, I'll be delighted for Hagrid to accompany me. I am sorry though that you
cannot continue to accompany me." McGonagall definitely smiled this time and
Harry returned it with his own crooked one. Hagrid just kind of grinned in the
background. The raven haired boy then bid his farewell to the professor and
parted ways, now with a noticeably much larger companion than before.
"So Hagrid." The younger began, "Where to first?"
"Well Harry, I was just off heading to Gringotts for a li'l errand to run. Yer
don't mind do ya?"
Harry shook his head, "I'm good, I think the professor and I were heading there
before to get some money anyway."
===============================================================================
 
The moment they stepped into Gringotts, Harry could feel himself under the
intense scrutiny of beady black eyes that made the boy feel like some sort of
unidentifiable treasure yet to be weighed and judged. Goblins. Gringotts was a
wizarding bank run by goblins. Funny, Harry kind of assumed it would berun by
wizards.
Hagrid excused himself to complete whatever job he had initially come here for
when Harry was obviously quite engrossed in looking around the interior of the
place. The moment the boy was left alone, the goblins who were currently free
practically ran toward him. The number of the creatures that were still busy
attending their clients were scowling heavily, clearly unhappy at the thought
of missing out being one of the first to greet the powerful being of death they
all instinctively recognised. To be fair though the ones available were a
little struck speechless anyway. They were just staring and fidgeting and while
it was decidedly very endearing it was also quite uncomfortable.
"Good afternoon sirs," Harry greeted formally and kindly, seeing the short
humanoid creatures weren't going to start anytime soon. "I wish to withdraw
some money from the bank but I'm not very sure what sort of currency this world
runs in. Would it be a bother if I ask you to help me acquaint myself to the
basic structure of wizarding economics? I wouldn't want to impose."
"You wouldn't bother or impose us at all Death Lord." One of the goblins
blurted out, the others nodding in agreement, their usual twisted grimaces
smoothed out into blatant but polite awe. How well-mannered, the humans should
definitely try and learn a thing or too from them. The young almost angelically
delicate boy, who really would not exactly be the first thing that came to mind
when someone said Death Lord, smile indulgently at the creatures.
"I thank you then. Though I'm currently answering to the name Harry Potter
right now if you don't mind," More than half the goblins in earshot if
possible, boggled even harder at him. Harry could just see their minds
absorbing the information and consequently shifting their current world view
just enough to make them a bit dizzy. Luckily goblins were known for their high
intelligence and the backlash of the significance of the statement was
minimised, for which the boy was grateful. "Now," Harry clasped his hands
together, "Who wants to tell me about your bank, who wants to show me my vault
and who wants a hug?"
The last question was kind of a joke. But that didn't stop him from feeling a
tiny bit offended that the majority of hands voted for boasting about their
bank as opposed to being hugged.
===============================================================================
 
"How much?"
The blonde teen at the register stared at the small mountain of books that
actually was larger than the buyer of said books. To be completely fair though,
the buyer looked like he was eight years old but still.
"Give me a moment." She muttered still gaping at the sheer number in front of
her and how she really should have took the morning shift today. The boy
looking up to her with gorgeous big green eyes gave a small, shy smile. "Thank
you miss." And damn if that made her want to just pick the kid up and coddle
him because Merlin he was cute.
The books ranged from basic fairy tales like Beedle and the Bard which she
expected for the boy's age range to a very controversial grey text on Removed
Runes And Rebellious Rituals Since 1500s. That one made her give a very
scrutinizing look in where the child looked anywhere but her.
"Is this for an elder brother or sister?" She tentatively asked. "Because this
seems like it's a bit too, uh, mature for you."
He shook his head, unruly black locks swaying at the motion. "No that's for
me," the boy replied innocently, "I was raised by muggles so I want to know
everything about this world before I join it."
The teen gave an 'ah' noise. "So first year at Hogwarts? Oh, and that'll be
seventy-three galleons and nine sickles."
"Yup." The boy chirped as he fished out the coins from his pouch. "Thank you
very much."
As the kid gave an extra adorable wave as he left the store, the blonde shop
assistant couldn't help but laugh. As it drew the attention of her fellow
employee who was arranging the books up front before, she pointed at the door
where the pretty boy with the really obscure taste in books just left and said,
"If that kid doesn't become a Ravenclaw I'll eat my smock."
===============================================================================
 
"I'll wait outside fer yer okay Harry?" Harry nodded obediently and went inside
the store. A part of him was unsure at the protocol for actual clothes
shopping. He's purchased books and an assortment of strange items in his past
before as a whim or passing interest but clothing was always just a bother to
him. Plus with a snap of his fingers he could dress and look however he wanted
anyway so clothes shopping was unnecessary. It was probably the longest time
anyone has ever gone, in the history of any universe, without needing to
purchase clothes and Harry was truly sad to watch the streak finally end.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for some school robes?"
A squat woman dressed all in mauve who held a friendly grandmotherly air that
reminded Harry fondly a bit of Love, greeted him with a warm smile.
"A firstie? Don't fret dear I'm sure we have your size. Anything else?" The
woman, Harry was pretty sure was Madam Malkin, asked. The boy tilted his head
in thought before answering,
"I'll need three sets of school robes, five casual robes and two traveling
cloaks- for casual robes I don't have much of an opinion nor preference other
than they be consisted mainly of dark colors but no black." He was a little
sick of millenniums upon millenniums of seeing and wearing nothing but black
but he certainly wasn't sick enough to think that he would ever look good in
canary yellow. "For my cloaks, maybe one dark green with gold trimmings." He
added thoughtfully, he'd always enjoy that combination of colors. "And blood
red and silver. Other than I'm in your very good hands ma'am." He gave what he
hoped was an absolutely winning smile to the elderly lady who blushed and
grinned.
"Well aren't you a charmer Mr-?"
"Potter." Harry answered, "And I only charm the pretty ones."
For the woman's credit she didn't even bat an eyelash at the name given, only
focusing on the boy's attempt of a compliment. "You. Are. So. Adorable!" Madam
Malkin squealed, pinching his pale cheeks hard enough for actual color to mark
visibly. Thank god for his innate healing because the boy would hate to explain
those pink blotches on his face to Dudley. He wouldn't have been above lying
and saying a dragon kissed him instead of an old witch pinched his cheek.
"Anyway, go to the back sweetheart for your fitting, there's another young man
being fitted up right now in fact."
Harry gave his thanks and a wink that he usually just reserved for Love or when
he was about to reveal one of his rare pranks, and went to the back of the
store.
"Hullo. Hogwarts too?" Why on earth did everyone keep asking if he's from
Hogwarts? It wasn't like it was one of the only magical schools of England or
anything. Oh.Wait.
Harry focused his previously wondering attention immediately the source of the
bored drawling voice that came from the middle of the room. "Yes." He replied
simply as he hopped onto one of the footstools, the raven haired boy eyeing up
the new customer. It was another boy, his age, platinum blonde, looked like
some elven fairy prince from stories and was consequently haughty as hell. The
kid looked almost out of place in the brightly coloured clashes of colour and
fabrics. Not that Harry could really talk what with his whiter than white skin
and darker than shadows in the night hair. Honestly, if he didn't have such
obscenely intense coloured eyes one would think him straight from a black and
white film.
"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at
wands," said the white boy. And that wasn't racist, (because mortal humans were
incredibly touchy about that now) this child wasliterally white with the
exception of his eyes which were grey. Though one could argue it was dark
white. Or light black. And Harry blamed all humankind for how strange a turn
his thought process has become in a mere eleven years. Or maybe he was always
like that but now he had somehow learnt the art of awareness somewhere along
the line. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't
see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into
getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."
Harry looked at the other child. Really looked. Not enough to the point where
he not-so-metaphorically could see into his soul but just at the little things.
Because in his experience so far as a child, when you are greeted by a strange
being your age that you wish to be friends with, they tend to either do two
things- wait for you to start a conversation they can desperately latch onto,
or they ramble about the first things that come out of their tiny heads in
hopes the other person would join in. Sure this platinum blond seemed to be
confident, but Harry could pick out the frequent glances his way and that
little twitch in those fingers like he was determinedly trying not to clench
them.
"Have you got your own broom?" The elven looking child asked. No, actually he
looked a bit like those Veela now that he thought about it.
"No." Harry said. Because one, why on earth would he? And two, why on earth
would he? Actually did the boy say 'racing brooms'? Never mind, Harry didn't
really want to know.
"Play Quidditch at all?"
"No," Harry repeated, wondering what on Life's green earth a Quidditch could
be. It sounded insanely stupid. Of course Magic would create some sort of thing
with such a name just to laugh at the fact that people will now use that name
seriously and with a straight face. It was just like her. And Chaos. And Life.
And- well one gets the idea.
"I do - Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I
must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"
He had to give this child some credit here, the blonde was stubbornly
persistent. If it were him, Harry would not have had the sheer will to keep
socially leading a dying conversation. Not that he was letting the conversation
purposely die. Just Harry had near no idea what this kid was on about.
"No," said Harry, "I don't actually know." Five words was apparently all he
could come up with, he mentally whacked himself.
"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they," White Boy hastily
reassured him. The blonde had this air about him that made near everything
sound condescending so most people would have thought the boy to be rudely
dismissive at this point. Or just plain arrogant. Fortunately for the young
child, Harry was certainly not most people. "but I know I'll be in Slytherin,
all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave,
wouldn't you?"
"What's wrong with being in Hufflepuff?" Harry couldn't help but question
curiously. "Other than the name of course." He could not stop himself from
adding.
White Boy looked absolutely relieved that he finally had gotten a proper
response this time, then sniggered at the dry comment. "Yeah I know, it sounds
completely pathetic. Suitable for the people who get sorted there I think."
The raven haired boy raised an eyebrow, "Well that's a bit harsh. Seriously
though what's wrong with Hufflepuff that you'll actually leave school if you
got into it?"
Now it was the other boy's turn to raise a brow. "You don't know?" Harry shook
his head. The blonde sneered, though Harry was pretty sure that was more an
ingrained response. His family had probably some sort of aristocratic standing
and not to stereotype, but those 'old' families always encouraged their
countries social prejudices. And Harry had a feeling he was just about to be
introduced to one of them.
"There are four houses of Hogwarts- Slytherin is the best house." He began like
it was just the most obvious thing to start off with. "It has all the most
'pure' and cunning of individuals, Ravenclaw is alright, the ones who get in
there are all nerds and bookworms though, Gryffindor are for the stupid
idiots," Harry decided that it just meant the warrior- or as you said nowadays
the sporty types, "And finally Hufflepuff is where all the rejects who don't
belong go. They say they have loyalty and all but everyone knows that that's
hippogriff shite."
Harry frowned, not exactly willing to agree with the idea but still unsure how
backwards this place really is. Loyalty was one of the best traits to have in
his opinion, but at the same time it was quite the double-edged sword that is
not only hard to earn but just as hard to wield. And in an environment filled
with children where the flashy obvious traits of strength, wisdom and intellect
were valued, loyalty would just seem to be a consolation prize in comparison.
Definitely an under-appreciated group if he'd ever saw one if this was public
opinion.
"I-"
"Say how come you didn't know that?" White Boy cut off curiously. Then without
even waiting for a response the child must have come to his own conclusion and
sneered even harder. It was hard not to roll his eyes, Harry was pretty sure he
was about to meet with Prejudice no.2 now. "You're parents are our kind aren't
they?"
"If you mean they were both humans with magic then yes." Ah, so there's disdain
for people without powers here, very cliche. "If you mean alive then no. I was
raised by my aunt and uncle. They aren't witches or wizards though." Harry
continued just to see the other squirm a bit.
He was slightly disappointed with the lack of discomfort the child was showing
at such casual admittance to being an orphan, though the blonde did fail to
hide a pained wince before he tried to look as apathetic as possible. "Oh,
sorry," Someone really should tell the blonde boy that apologies lose it's
effect when you're also attempting to sound like you couldn't care less.
Whoever raised this one must really have all kinds of issues because this, this
right here, is a terrible example of faking condolences. It was literally the
first thing Death had to learn and if you can't even fake a simple 'I'm sorry
for your loss,' well, you are clearly doing something wrong.
"Um. Thanks?"
"Though it really must be a shame that you had to live with muggles your whole
life, I couldn't even imagine it!" There was a disgusted intrigue in the
blonde's voice and Harry wondered what sort of stories had his parent's told to
make the idea of living with non-magical mortals sound like living like animals
in the jungle. But this seemed like a pretty okay topic to participate in
anyway so Harry decided to answer, ignoring the disdain that come when the word
'muggle' was said.
"Yeah it probably would be strange for you to cook your own meals without magic
I'm guessing." He agreed. The other just looked at him with incredulity.
"You actually have to make your own meals?" He asked horrified. Harry gave a
wry grin.
"Please, I have to make my aunt, uncle and cousin's meals too. I am very good
at it." Harry boasted, proud of the fact he could cook. "Don't your parents
cook for you sometimes?"
For a moment the boy's stuck-up facade shuttered and a lonely wistful young
child was revealed to green eyes before pale features distorted back to a
contemptuous frown. "Of course not," He sniffed, "That stuff is house elf work,
not for proper wizards like us."
Harry wanted to prod a bit further about it but decided that it would probably
not be for the best right now and changed the subject. "Well since I haven't
been here for long why don't you tell me some things you like to do?"
White Boy appeared to be genuinely surprised by the question this time, "What I
like to do?" Harry nodded slowly like he was speaking to a particularly dim-
witted child. For all he knew he might be. Or he's just emotionally stunted.
Which would be great. They could be emotionally stunted together.
"Yes. Obviously." Harry drawled sarcastically in what he considered a very good
imitation of the other boy. It earned him a chortle and an uncertain smile
which definitely meant he did alright. Maybe. "How else would we become friends
otherwise?"
"Friends?"
Harry looked at the other boy, who was staring right back at him in a sort of
tentative, wary, suspicious hope in his grey eyes.
"Friends." He repeated firmly, giving the blonde a crooked smile. One that was
shyly returned and made the other boy look more like a child than some
egotistic wannabe adult.
But before the blonde could respond, Madam Malkin, who Harry really only just
fully realised had been hear taking his measurements the whole time announced,
"That's you done, my dear," and Harry, feeling a bit sorry for not having any
more excuse to talk to the boy, hopped down from his footstool.
"I'll see you at Hogwarts." The platinum blonde blurted out as he turned to
leave. It took a bit of effort not to chuckle at how cute this elven child was
but Harry managed to tone it down to a very amused smile.
"I suppose you will."
===============================================================================
"This is fer you, 'appy Birthday Harry."
Harry stared. And stared. And stared.
"So.." Hagrid started awkwardly, visibly fidgeting as the boy stared at the
stunning gift in the cage. "Do yer like her?"
"Oh my god." Harry spun to face the large man, dark hair swirling even without
any wind and eyes glowing brighter than any emeralds glittering under an open
fire. Because this was his first ever pet. One he has direct responsibility to
care and nurture. The color of untouched snow and blazing intelligent amber
jewels that were eyes, "Like her? Hagrid I fucking love her. Thank you."
Hagrid beamed like the praise was shining pure gold in his hands. Huh, maybe
there was creature blood in the man since it was obvious to Harry that he does
on some level recognize his true form. Half-Giant perhaps? Though it might not
be so strong considering how slowly and subtly it was showing itself, even by
mixed blooded individual standards, but it was there. Not enough of it for the
male to kneel at his feet the first time Hagrid laid sight of him but enough to
feel a swell of satisfaction and unexplainable bliss at the thought of pleasing
the green eyed boy. It was an interesting thought that would need further
investigation later down the road. A little bit disturbing. But still
interesting.
"You are such a beautiful girl aren't you?" Harry cooed as amber eyes gazed at
him before puffing her snow white feathers up as the owl preened proudly under
the attention.
===============================================================================
 
"Hagrid I may take a bit here, you don't mind if I meet you at that ice cream
place in an hour do you?"
Hagrid looked both like he wanted to protest in leaving the eleven year old
alone and gladly leaving the shop filled with strange unpleasant odors and
bizarre, equally unpleasant cuttings of creature parts. "I dunno 'Arry.."
"Please?" The boy asked, making sure to use what Piers and Dudley call, 'puppy
dog face'. "I wouldn't possibly know what flavor to get and I trust you'll know
some of the most interesting ones."
That seemed to decide it for the older man, "Oh all right then," he acquiesced
happily. "But no more than an hour. Or I'll get worried."
Harry gave a small lopsided grin. "Of course." And waved the half-giant
goodbye. As soon as Hagrid left, the eleven year old turned and headed to the
end of the wall covered with potion ingredients, looking carefully at them like
he was in a sweet shop. If sweet shops contained much more compelling things
like pickled newt toes or that thing in that grows in goat's stomach. Bezo roar
or something.
"Is there something you are going to take or are you going to just stare and
take up space like a mindless block of wood?"
Harry looked up to see an undoubtedly intimidating and tall man looking at him,
sneering at him. Pitch dark, greasy hair that went down almost to his
shoulders, framing sallow but not sickly features and long robes that billowed
magnificently with the slightest of wind which made the boy wonder where he
could pick up a set. But really caught his attention, what really made Harry
look and see was the man's eyes. Obsidian black, unfathomable, darker than the
starless night. He'd heard people describe colors of eyes as 'pools' but this
man's were deep enough to be considered oceans of ink. Harry felt drawn to
those eyes, the windows of the soul, and frustratingly enough those windows
were closed. Enough so that a brief second of green clashed with black wasn't
enough for the boy to open them. And he really, really wanted to open them.
The lines of the stranger's sneering face deepened further, emphasizing the
disdain so clearly transcribed in his expression it wouldn't have been clearer
if it had been literally written on paper. "You're lack of response is probably
a good thing considering that if you do speak you would probably lower my IQ to
staggering levels."
And woah wasn't that just the rudest thing that Harry had ever come across from
a complete stranger that he had only just met. It also effectively snaps him
out of his soul-searching daze with a charming yet icy smile that would've made
Frosty the snowman shiver. The boy may have let himself take the verbal abuse
of his biological relatives but 'let' was the key word. He let Uncle Vernon and
Auntie Petunia define him as a freak and a lying ungrateful stupid brat but
there was no way he had so little pride that he would just let some haughty
random man with an affinity for gothic colors to walk over him. Despite his
outward appearance and personality he was an entity of near omnipotent
strength. Also he had enough passive-aggressive experience to make Chaos keel
over and beg like a friggin dog if he wanted to.
"Yes well it's quite obvious from your... pleasantries," The word was
emphasised in a way that made it anything but, "that you value your
intelligence greatly. Which is unfortunate considering my words are filled with
generously bestowed wisdom if you bother to listen hard enough."
The face of the hook-nosed morphed from a sneer into one of shock, either from
the child's unexpected vocabulary or just from some kid actually just
responding back at the scathing remark and not have already burst into tears,
before finally settling into something near expressionless with the exception
of a raised brow and the smallest quirk of the lips. Harry could almost say it
was an expression of pleasantly surprised.
"I could listen with a muggle stethoscope until my ears crumble to dust and I
bet not even a trickle would come from the fountain of wisdom that comes from
your mouth." The elder man retorted, though it lacked the harsh bite it held
before. Harry could just feel his own cold veneer melting quickly as well.
"It sounds like my mouth isn't the problem then. Maybe you should get your ears
checked sir?" Harry asked innocently, though it was ruined slightly by the
involuntary giggle that escaped from his lips. Against his initial reaction,
the boy was having quite a bit of entertainment with the easy verbal sparring.
He'd almost never got to exercise any sort of wit when he was an all power
primordial force of death, though it was to be expected considering every god
and entity both feared, loved and highly respected you. Even the silver tongue
of the Norse God of Mischief rusts and the sharp comebacks of the Devil dulls
when faced with Death himself, which really was a pity because he swears he
could at least hold his own if those two actually tried. It had been funny at
first, seeing them try and insult him without actually insulting him until it
just became incredibly, incredibly sad.
"Maybe you need your head checked boy. Considering you were just caught staring
at a jar of bezoars like they were a stack of chocolate frogs, truly tells us
many things about your lack of sanity."
"Maybe I was contemplating how a bezoar is formed in a goat stomach and why
only that particular animal apparently provides the properties needed for the
formation of stone-like mass to be able to act like an antidote to general
poisons."
The man's eyebrows shot up, now visibly impressed. Well visibly if you squinted
really hard. "And were you?"
Harry gave the man a cheeky look of sardonic amusement. "Of course not sir, I
was looking at the pretty Flitterby moths next to it. What with me being just a
simple child and all." It was obvious that the dark robed male was fighting
valiantly against his own amusement in order to preserve his generally unhappy
looking demeanor. But before the stranger could reply, the store manager came
and stole their attention.
"Sorry for the delay Professor, but I've got the powdered bicorn readied here
for you."
The man, professor, pierced the stouter employer with a chilling glare that
ironically made the other sweat vigorously, before giving a short nod in
approval. "Good. Then give me my purchase and I shall take my leave then." The
order was hastily complied and Harry couldn't help but giggle again at the
sheer panic the intimidating man could create in others, he'd always found a
perverse pleasure in making others squirm. From the spark of humor in the
professor's eyes, and the twist of his lips, he too probably shared the same
opinion.
The shop employee however, apparently did not share there silent twisted humor
and decided to show said displeasure through glaring at the younger of the
raven-haired pair. Dumb human mortals. Unable to even sense who is far the more
powerful of the two just because of this fixation of appearances. "And how may
I help you kid?" The manager groused, definitely not in a 'helpful' mood. "Did
you let go of your mummy's hand at Honeyduke's and lose your way here?"
"Actually my mummy's dead, do not insult my intelligence and for your
information, I just needed to get the things for my first year at Hogwarts
which I would have gotten already if the service here wasn't so absurdly
incompetent." Harry gave the same fake icy sweet smile that he had given not a
few minutes before. A soft cough, barely heard, made the child's lips twitch
upwards before they smoothed itself out again. Apparently the professor
recognized that smile, and the condescending implications to it. God he hoped
the professor was from Hogwarts, Harry was liking him more and more.
The store manger looked quite furious but bit his lip and went to get the
aforementioned items regardless. For a person who just insulted an eleven year
old customer, the man was surprisingly very professional. When the boy pointed
that out to the professor lingering near the exit of the store he got another
cough-laugh that made Harry smile. A genuine one that made his green eyes shine
and his pale cheeks heated ever so slightly with warmth.
"So I assume you're a muggleborn first year for Hogwarts?" The man's deep
baritone voice was nonchalant and didn't betray the slightest hint of the
curiosity Harry was sure he had.
"You assume correctly. Though I'm what is seemingly defined as 'muggle-raised'
apparently."
The boy studied a vial of oily looking eggs as he waited for the implications
for that statement to sink in. "I see." And there it was. "So who.." The
professor trailed of as he waited for Harry's answer to fill in the gaps.
"My aunt and uncle took me in. And before you make some inane awkward comment
about how generous they must be, please desist. They are terrible human beings
who certainly did not raise me out of the goodness of their shriveled hearts."
That probably came out a little more callous than he intended. The professor
seemed slightly blindsided by the near casual viciousness that just came out of
mouth of a child. He didn't show it of course but Harry could tell. Well, he
made an educated guess. Reading the man was quite the challenge.
"Professor Severus Snape." Was what the tall black clad adult replied. Because
that apparently was the appropriate moment to introduce oneself. "I'll be your
Potion Professor and I'll be expecting you to read your textbook before the
term starts."
"I've already read the textbook." Harry shot back, half lying, he had scanned
it during a short fifteen minute break, "I'll be expecting you to teach us that
Draught of the Living Death potion."
"That's far too advanced for a simple first year to comprehend much less
prepare. I expected you to at least know that if you've really read the book."
"Well I expected you to realize I am no 'simple' first year."
"Quite." Professor Snape drawled. "I also expected you to address yourself when
I in courtesy did so to myself."
"First off your courtesy was ill-timed and secondly why should I be obligated
to reply to it?"
"Maybe a foreign concept called 'manners'? It may be too high class for someone
whose obviously been living on the streets."
"Maybe I'm just a rebel?"
"A rebel whose managed to voluntarily read a whole textbook in less than a
day?"
"I said I was a rebel not an unintelligent time-waster."
"I never implied anything of the sort."
"Then if I did go to your class for the first time without reading the text you
wouldn't accuse me of something along those lines?"
"Touché."
By the time that they stopped the shop manager had gathered all the general
first year supplies for potion making and was calculating the costs. "That'll
be thirty-four galleons Mr-?"
"Potter." The boy answered, not letting his gaze leave the potions professor's.
"Harry Potter."
At the sound of his name Harry could hear a choked noise from the area of the
cash register, the employee was probably doing something extremely entertaining
with his face but as tempting as it was, striking green eyes refused to leave
the angular features of the potions professor's face. Angular features that
have gone blank, unreadable and indiscernible. Frankly, it looked like the man
was withdrawing into himself and that confused and admittedly stung him.
"Professor."
"I must go."
And he did.
Harry stared at the empty spot where the tall man with a cutting glare and an
equally sharp wit once stood not just a few seconds before.
"Mr Potter?" The boy turned away to face the store manager, absentmindedly
noting how much the man's attitude has changed just by a simple name. Then
again, so did Professor Snape.
"Yes?"
"Uhm.. May I have your autograph?"
Harry sighed.
***** Death's three way *****
The_one_where_Death_gets_some_letters_and_goes_on_a_train-_and_promptly_gets
himself_in_the_middle_of_a_three_way._Ugh_oh_my_god_guys_not_that_sort_of_three
way._Jesus_Christ._Get_your_heads_out_of_the_gutter_it's_only_first_year…_Not
that_there's_anything_of_the_sort_in_later_years…_You_know_what?_Forget_about
it._Just…_Just_read_the_chapter.
…
…
Honestly,_mortals_these_days.
===============================================================================
My Dearest Death,
What a simply beautiful boy you've ended up being! I do hope you'll keep those
eyes when you come back, they are simply the prettiest green I've ever seen.
We are all missing you greatly back here, yes, all of us. Despite what all
those 'macho' men here say, they are all sulking and wishing you hadn't left. I
caught Time actually try and sneak out of his overseeing duties just for a
visit. Which would be funny if it didn't mean I just lost one of my best cupids
to Space. I don't even want to know what that man would do with my cherub.
Speaking of Space, he actually made an alternative universe where this Harry
Potter character actually doesn't die- protected by some sort of ritual and a
mother's love, which I thought was a fantastic excuse to use in place of an
entity having to throw themselves literally down to stop a curse, however
apparently the idea 'makes no sense', has 'too many flaws and inconsistencies'
and is 'such a stupid weak sauce argument'.
Your siblings are simply terrible Death! No sense of romance at all!
That universe will be up and running soon and we all can't wait to see how much
your presence has caused the original fated timeline to stray. Don't tell Fate
but I'm sure your story you're writing with your steps is going to be much more
entertaining than what she had cooked up. Ah but I guess that is the price of
divine intervention is it not? To let the stars pave out your destiny with not
a hint of resistance truly is the path of the unfortunate and weak.
Anyway dear you have GOT to start shopping more! Tailored clothes would look
simply adorable on a kid, Life wants you to get navy jeans and Fate insists on
a three piece suit. Throw out all those hand me downs Death, I know you don't
really care much about looks... Well you do, we all do, but honey, your the
least vain out of us all.
Also on the note on appearances- you really ought to shape up and eat a bit
more, Life prescribed running and pressing a bench or something plus fruit,
veg, protein and dairy. I mean this is basic stuff for living Death, how could
you not know- wait, no, never mind, that answers my question. Just please try
to make an effort in not being half-dead darling.
Wish you were here,
Love,
Love
P.S. Order is next up to write. Take what he says with a grain of salt okay?
For a man who prides himself in strict discipline he is quite emotional- even
though it's only you and Chaos that can manage to drag that passionate side out
of him.
P.P.S. Would you be a dear and help me with these documents? Chaos told me how
you did it for him and I thought that a sweet boy like you certainly won't turn
down a little frail lady like me right? Kisses
===============================================================================
 
Children from various ages and sizes, all from around the neighbourhood of one
Privett Drive gathered around a particular large tree in the park, chattering
excitedly with determination and glee lighting their eyes. In front of the
amassed group of juveniles there stood three boys, a tall rakish dirty blonde
with spiked up hair, a slightly large, rounded brunet and a thin delicate raven
with glowing green eyes. It was the brunet that spoke up, "Thanks for all
coming everyone, I'm sure you guys know the general gist of the rules or heard
it from the others." There was a collected murmuring of agreement, "The time
limit is till sundown and the winners gets bragging rights and enough candy to
make them sick for a week!" Much more energetic murmuring now, some where even
squealing.
"Not that that's ever going to happen ever." Piers muttered to the younger boy
next to him as their friend began explaining the general rules and regulations.
Harry gave a quirked smile, "Well you and Dud were pretty close last year,
though I still think using a net to slow me down was a foul. And that Anna
Shallot girl was pretty good too."
"Because you let her! That's not fair that her aunt runs the library and she
promised free reign over the books if she won."
"For your information I got free reign anyway, apparently being considered
second best was good enough."
"Potter you are a sneaky little-" Piers failed to finish the insult as cheers
all screamed out from the crowd of mini mortals, taking that as his cue Harry
walked up next to his cousin, winked at the gathered competitors and then ran
the other direction like the hounds of hell were playing fetch and he was the
stick. Distantly he could hear the roar of,
"Let the fourth Annual Harry Hunting Game begin!"
===============================================================================
 
Death,
It has come to all our attention that you have been personally placing yourself
in a stupidly precarious position with your new life. Malnutrition.
Dehydration. Hand me down clothes. A shitty excuse of a box that you can't call
a cupboard let alone a suitable room for a child. Letting those ugly lumps of
fat and bone push you around and raised a, a hand against you!
WHAT ARE YOU THINKING DAMMIT
You are so lucky that Life has given your vessel some serious recovery speed
and that Magic helped with the boost but those ingrained qualities were sewed
into you to try and prevent the unnatural degradation of your mortal body. It
was not for you to try out self abuse on nor try out any form of suicidal
activity for your own morbid curiosity and pleasure dammit. Don't say it wasn't
because I remember the last time you tried seeing what happens when you break
pieces of a soul just because and I quote, 'I want to know if they hurt' and
'Wouldn't it make just the prettiest little paperweight when you glue it all
together?' and fine, yeah, I could care less about a few measly mortals but
this is you we are speaking of here.
Anyway, on a more pleasant note, I see you have gotten your magical school
acceptance letter. Hogwarts wasn't it?
God I hate those darn places.
There's no proper order there, well there is some semblance of order but those
magical idiots play with it like a children's jump rope. The Ministry there is
no better, probably worse than the school. This is why Magic should have
consulted me instead of played around with Chaos in the making of her
community.
Actually it's chaos here too, well not Chaos- the slacking coward has gone off
to hide somewhere away from what even I admit is your monstrous load of
paperwork. Your filing system was atrocious by the way, I fixed it by age of
universe, then planet, species, then time period and finally alphabetically. I
mean I know it's been forever since anyone other than you have seen these
records but that doesn't mean you should let it all dissolve into, well, you
know.
Where were we? Urgh writing everything in a letter makes me feel like some dumb
prepubescent female mortal, the fact I'm supposed to just spew out my thoughts
with no rhyme or reason is making my head throb alone. I'm rereading my
previous words and the urge to gag at paragraph structure is overpowering. This
is ridiculous. Not that communicating to you is ridiculous brother, your one of
the few people of equal standing that I actually actively seek your company
from, however I rather do so in person than on some frivolous note.
This has nonetheless been an... experience and even with my reservations I do
look forward to contacting you again. Time's turn is next, though knowing him
he'll probably just be as boring as watching paint dry. Yes I know, that's
hardly fair.
Paint can be fairly interesting depending on the medium after all. Hah. And
they say I have no sense of humor. Take that Chaos, you imbecilic lump of
melted crayons.
But seriously. If you don't stop this purposeful negligence on your own behalf
I swear to god I will personally come down there myself and smite your human
ass right where you stand.
===============================================================================
 
"ALBUS! HOW COULD YOU?!"
"Minerva what are y-"
Sounds of objects hitting solid surfaces, indecipherable screams and the
frantic sounds of running echoed outside the halls.
"Merlin." A short, goblin of a man looked up in a mix of bafflement and
bemusement at his fellow coworkers who were also giving similar looks as they
walked closer to the source of chaotic noise. "Someone's obviously been
killed."
"Don't be so dramatic Filius," The taller hook nosed professor of potions
drawled. The group paused as the crash of something glass was overheard
followed by a muffled wail of 'My lemon drops,' and a furious hiss that sounded
suspiciously like, 'Screw your lemon drops and shove them up your wrinkled old-
' Snape looked down at shorter male, "Clearly someone's obviously massacred all
the orphans and puppies on the west side of London."
A plump kindly older looking woman snorted at the declaration, "Honestly,
whatever it is I'm not going twenty broomsticks close to it until that raucous
all calms down."
As the small number of gathered professors quietly looked at the gargoyle
guarded door of their headmaster's office and listened to the violent threats
and pleading and destruction, they all nodded solemnly. Curiosity could wait
till tomorrow. Today they keep their health in check and lurk away from the
battlefield commencing beyond the doors ahead.
===============================================================================
 
"Uncle Vernon can you help m- never mind." Harry muttered as the obese adult
shot him an ugly glare. "I'll get it myself."
Staring balefully at his heavy looking suitcase, the green eyed boy grabbed the
sides and pulled, cursing Order and his scathing but accurate comments about
the thinness of his arms. Hedwig, his beautiful pet owl, cooed on
encouragingly. It would be very adorable and all if he hadn't been busy lugging
his custom made trunk with the strength of a scrawny eleven year old. Instead
it just felt slightly condescending. Harry didn't know what to feel about
having the snow colored bird grow enough of a spine to stand up to him whilst
knowing full well what he was. Luckily for Hedwig, bemusement won over any sort
of feelings along the lines of 'How dare thee mock someone as worthy as I, thou
shalt be struck down by the sky for thou petty insolence.' Yeah, he'd gotten
over that complex pretty quickly ever since the Greek deities came into play.
The incest, alcoholism and Oedipus drama was enough to put any sort of high
horse in its place.
He wondered briefly how uncle Vernon would do in Ancient Greece. Probably
flogged to death due to being excessively... Vernon. Or crowned emperor. It
really was a toss up between the two in those days for the incredibly selfish
and greedy.
"Well." The green eyed boy started awkwardly, "This is goodbye then." Harry had
already bid his heartfelt goodbyes to Dudley and Piers before but he felt it
impolite to just say nothing to Vernon considering the man had drove him to the
station.
"Pity you'll be coming back." His uncle sneered.
Well alright then.
And with those pleasantries done with, Harry clicked his tongue in an order for
Hedwig to follow and pushed the trolley holding his trunk without a second
glance. Though when he was at a safe distance the boy made a gesture with his
middle finger at the flesh lump, he wasn't sure if Vernon saw it or why the
gesture was considered so rude in the first place but Harry found it deeply
satisfying nonetheless. He would say it was a human thing if he hadn't seen
Chaos doing the action many times behind certain other entities backs. Maybe it
was just a juvenile thing?
But back to more pressing matters. The raven haired child squinted at the
signs, Platform 9, then Platform 10.
9 and 10.
9.
10.
Oh dear god Harry knew he forgot to ask something important.
"Excuse me sir," The old man in the security uniform smiled at the small
fragile looking child before him. Though he did raise a brow at the owl on said
child's thin shoulders. "Do you know where, uh, Platform 9 and 3/4s is?"
And the boy looked just so embarrassed that he had to actually even ask such a
thing that the elderly security guard chuckles. The mortification at the
reaction failed to make it any less funny. He put his hand on the raven haired
kid's shoulder, the empty one not the one with a gigantic white bird on it,
gently and answered, "Boy I don't know what it is with this tradition but every
year a bunch of kids like you always ask me the same thing. And I don't know
what those gosh darn older boys tell ya but there ain't any 9 and 3/4 here."
He chuckled again as the scrawny child buried his face with his hands and
groaned. It may have been his old ears but the guard could've swore the boy
said something along the lines of "Cannot believe this" and "Damn magic to the
pits of hell" and maybe some sounds that sounded distinctly bird-like. The owl
cooed and bopped its head like it almost understood what the young child
muttered.
Not really sure what to say, the man just patted his shoulder again and offered
a lollipop.
===============================================================================
 
"Eck." Harry scrunched up his face as he licked the sugary sweet piece of
candy. "This is unsurprisingly gross." Scrutinizing the pink sweet and rolling
the stick between his fingers he murmured to himself. Maybe it's the context
flavored with my mortification that's ruining the taste."
Why would anyone expect humans to become less annoying with magic? The boy
swears they just become stupider and more embarrassing. To make him stoop to
this- this degradation! And yes, maybe he shouldn't fault them for keeping
their dumb secret but honestly, this was one of the most crowded stations
around- surely somewhere a little less populated would have just been good
sense? 'I mean,' he mentally groused as he gnawed at the lollipop and intensely
scanned the crowd with narrowed glowing eyes, 'if an old man has been asked
where this thrice damned platform is so many times to the point he just assumes
its some sort of well known hazing ritual that has to mean something doesn't
it?'
Finally sick of the too-sugary sweet Harry pulled out a holly wand from his
worn jeans, black as charcoal and with a shine like a well-polished onyx. He
could still here the squeal that old wandmaker made when he finally chose a
wand and said wand blackened so fast Harry might've as well have set fire to
the thing. And he would be lying if he hadn't been a tiny bit tempted to. Wands
seemed to be a bit redundant in the not-really-currently-an-entity's opinion.
Sure they made nice training wheels for the beginners but to make them
compulsory was justwasteful.
Despite his own misgivings about having to pay for something he really did not
need, it was apparent from the second he stepped into the old shop that the
wands certainly did not share any such misgivings for him. Before the old
shopkeeper, Ollivander, such an eccentric man, could even welcome him the whole
establishment practically vibrated where it stood with sheer magic-fueled
excitement. Because while wands aren't the most sentient of objects, they were
known to choose their users. And what wand didn't want a piece of four feet
three pure unadulterated power?
===============================================================================
 
"Curious, very curious. This has never happened before." Ollivander breathed,
glazed silvery eyes filled in absolute awe as another wand jumped hoops to
impress the petite green-eyed child in front of him. "It shouldn't be possible,
no one should be compatible with all of these."
"Yes, well," Harry hedged, unsure and frankly unwilling to even try explaining
that it wasn't everyday the physical manifestation of death walked in and
essentially asked these magic sticks for assistance and how said sticks
probably realized how revered they would be, maybe even more than the Elder
wand. It wouldn't be true of coarse, he made the Elder wand. But that didn't
stop the wands flinging themselves to get his attention.
Another swish of his wrist and the stick (Apple wood and dragon heartstring)
produced a beautiful flurry of small canaries with the deep, vibrant colorings
of a peacock.
"Wonderful! Simply wonderful!" The old wandmaker clapped his hands with
childish delight, "This is simply incredible! To see such high level magic
surely this is-"
"No, no definitely not."
It took what seemed to be hours in the store. Wand after wand. From complicated
firework displays to exotic flowers blooming from the cracks of hardwood
flooring to impressive displays of dominance where they tried to disintegrate
the competition. Even Ollivander with his excitement was feeling the strain of
it all. Harry kind of wanted to just say yes to a wand so he wouldn't have to
see the older man's face when he rejected another one, the man had been a very
good sport though despite with him being so picky. Also his arm was really
sore.
"I wonder..." Ollivander dashed to the back of his shop, leaving Harry alone
with at least a hundred rejected wands. With a satisfied sigh, the boy dropped
his wand waving hand and prayed that the wandmaker would be in wherever he was
for a good, long while.
Which of course meant that the elderly man was back before he could say 'Amen.'
The boy tried his best not to grimace at Ollivander's reappearance, something
he was sure worked thanks to the stiff muscles on the face of his meat suit.
"It's an unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice
and supple."
Respectfully the boy didn't comment about how elderly men, or just anyone
really, should not ever use the word 'supple' when in the context of handing a
long phallic-shaped stick of wood to a child, and took the offered wand with a
polite nod, waiting for the inevitable show of extravaganza. Harry really hoped
it wasn't fireworks again, it hurt his eyes. And his eyes were way too pretty
to be covered up by circular pieces of glass.
But there was no fireworks. No extravaganza. No show. As soon as pale fingers
clasped the wooden brown stick, Harry could feel his skin warm and tingle as a
rush of what he realized was pure exhilaration swept over him in the most
affectionate way. Glowing, he was glowing, both internally and externally. A
smile, wide and ecstatic and pure, involuntarily stretched on his face as
lightening bright green eyes turned to Ollivander. The man was muttering
'Curious, most curious.' Under his breathe but Harry ignored it, too focused on
the powerful, honest to god emotion pulsating through him. It felt like golden
lava being pumping into his veins in what could only be the best kind of way.
"Sorry," said Harry absentmindedly, "but what's curious?"
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter." Ollivander looked at the
child with his pale eyes, "Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix
whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather -just one other. It is
very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother
why, its brother gave you that scar."
Now that got his attention. Harry swallowed. Wow Fate really thought this whole
thing through. Obviously not subtly considering that was the most obvious plot
foreshadowing in the history of probably ever, but she still did think this all
through.
"So.." Harry trailed off, "Do you have this in black? Because this colour does
not go well with this new cloak I bought and…"
Say what you will, if he was going to own a pair of training wheels for
wizards, Harry was going to have a nice design dammit. Wands though, were like
very overeager puppies, the boy found, once again proven when his holly wood
wand twisted itself into the sleek beautiful black thing it is today. No bumps
nor markings, just perfect unmarred darkness in his hand.
===============================================================================
 
With a little twirl of the thing the pink stick of candy transformed into a
thin bar of plain chocolate. It was a little sweeter than he preferred and had
a strange aftertaste that was suspiciously strawberry in flavour but in Harry's
opinion it was infinitely better than what it had been before. So as he nibbled
the treat and leaned on the trolley that carried his luggage and owl, the child
let his eyes survey the crowds quietly.
There was no way he was going to go through such indignities of asking a
complete stranger something like that again, oh no, Harry was going to make
sure he's found one of the magicals and follow at a polite, well-hidden
distance. As his friends tell him, it is considered the way of the 'ninja',
though Harry does wonder about the accuracy of the statement. But the rules
were fairly straightforward and easy to apply in situations such as these so
the boy shrugged off any doubt of these 'mad ninja skills' away. They were
useful and it was way less of a trial emotionally to participate in and- did
that lady just say muggles? Jack in the pot.
Focusing his gaze Harry locked onto the talking key that would show him his
destination. It turned out the key was a plump woman who was talking to four
boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Harry's
in front of him and, here was the clincher- they had an owl. With triumph the
entity-on-haitus pushed his cart after them, stopping when they stopped, with
enough distance between them to be just near enough to hear what they were
saying.
"Now, what's the platform number?" said the woman. And either that meant the
school changes it's pick up location every year which was smart and a bit
worrying, all these children had never been to Hogwarts either despite the age
variations which was more worrying for those kids then him or the woman has
quite 'a lot of air in the head' personality that Petunia tells everyone Mrs
Canningway has, and this lady has completely forgotten the platform number even
after coming back to the same place for the last, maybe six years if he
estimated the eldest boy's age correctly. And that was a lot worrying.
"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding
her hand. Or it could have just been a test for her child. Harry decided to go
with that, he was trying to give the benefit of the doubt here. "Mom, can't I
go... "
"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."
What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten. Harry
watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it, but of course the moment
the elder redhead reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a
large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last
backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished. He tugged at his black messy
hair in frustration and quietly whispered a few choice words in a native
Peruvian dialect of river dolphins which earned him way more than his fair
share of nearby stares. Not that he care currently. His attention was all on
the next redhead.
The lady must have said something because the next child replied with a grin,
"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself
our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"
The woman looked a little chastised. Did that happen often? To be fair though,
looking at the near identical counterpart grinning at his brother even Harry
would be hard pressed to figure which is which at first sight.
"Sorry, George, dear."
"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went with a sly wink. Harry
couldn't help but chuckle, cheeky child, Chaos would've loved him. His twin
called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so as the moment he
distracted himself with his thoughts the other was gone. This was getting
ridiculously vexing.
And when the third brother managed to slip his sight, the thin boy narrowed his
furiously bright green eyes, grit his teeth and began pushing through the crowd
with his trolley. Apparently the higher powers (and when he said higher powers
he meant the bastards he considered family) were set on making him do this.
"Excuse me," Harry quietly began, he could feel his cheeks burn which probably
meant his white as snow face was now visibly (though really not by much) pink.
"Hello, dear," she said looking down. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too."
She looked pointedly at the last and what seemed to be the youngest of her
sons. Ron was gangly and about as tall as Piers, with freckles and the
customary flaming red hair that Harry just knew was some sort of trademark gene
in this family.
"Yes," the green eye boy nodded as he answered the question as politely as one
could muster in a single word. "The thing is-" He hesitated. It was one thing
to admit weakness when said weakness was some sort of crippling problem that
could cause issues in the future but it was just plain embarrassing to tell
some random person that he didn't know something that really should've been
known. There was a difference. There was. "- the thing is, I don't know how to-
" Harry trailed off, making a vague indiscriminate gesture that was supposed to
imply the train station platform but could've have been interpreted as flying
kittens for all he knew.
"How to get onto the platform?" she said kindly, and Harry nodded relieved.
"Don't worry," she said. "All you got to do is walk straight at the barrier
between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash
into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous.
Go on, go now before Ron."
The boy in question, Ron, gave a rather weak smile which he responded back in
turn before facing the very solid looking wall in front of him. "Okay then.
Here goes, well, me actually."
The boy started moving slowly toward it, building up speed from a brisk walk to
soon a full out run as he got closer and closer. He forced his eyes open, both
eagerly intrigued by what he would see and fearful that this was some very
cruel joke that would result him in meeting his end literally face first. The
involuntary but inherent fear in his body won out mere centimetres away from
the barrier and green eyes closed as his body tensed expecting the incoming
crash.
A crash which did not come.
Harry opened his eyes and was greeted with a whole new and completely packed
platform on the other side. Waiting by it was a rather gorgeous scarlet steam
engine whose smoke drifted lazily over the heads of the crowds. The sound of
cats and owls and the occasional amphibian joined the oncoming barrage of
clamour, fitting right in like they belonged in this symphony of noise. The
only saving grace to it all was that with this many people, Harry found the
animals less able to recognise his presence among the masses. Of course it
didn't stop them from honing in on him like catnip or an owl treat or whatever
toads liked, when he got unfortunately too close.
A new thing he had learnt from this experience. Hedwig made a fantastic
bodyguard. Harry definitely needed to repay that half giant of a man with
something in the future. He didn't know what but he'll figure it out
eventually. Say what you wish about Death, but his debts never go unpaid.
As he pushed his way through the families saying goodbye and the children in
tears or in anxious anticipation, Harry realised he had another problem. He
couldn't just bring the trolley into the train. He would have to carry his
trunk and Hedwig and everything into there.
"Bugger."
===============================================================================
 
The first few carriages were already packed with students but Harry
determinedly pressed on through the crowd until he finally found an empty
compartment near the end of the train. Putting Hedwig gently down first onto
one of the seats, the boy then started working on pulling and heaving the
damning trunk toward the train door. The stairs were proving to be an absolute
nightmare. He could barely raise the thing high enough to move it over and
Harry had already felt the unwelcome pain a trunk corner could bring when
smashed on his foot. Twice.
"Need a hand?" It was one of the red head twins from before, the one that went
second if Harry recalled.
"God yes." He groaned as he draped his small body over the large trunk
dramatically, a hand on his heaving chest and another hand over his forehead in
a poor rendition of a damsel in distress. "The trunk has slain all my efforts
and I am unable to defeat this mighty beast."
The twin stared at him gapingly and for a moment Harry thought he had misread
the situation and the other's personality but he needn't have worried as the
older male seemed to have recovered rapidly, laughing heartily at the
exaggeration. "I like you." He responded before turning to his counterpart, who
had been watching a short amused distance away, "Oy, Fred! C'mere and let us
help this princess to her carriage."
"Of course my liege." Fred easily caught on to their little 'bit', giving a
sweeping bow before aiding in moving the large luggage. With the duo's
chivalrous help, Harry's trunk was swiftly moved to be snugly placed in a
corner of the compartment, though not without a few'My lieges,' and 'slain the
mighty dragon back in ye olde days,' and even one particularly loud 'Off with
yer head peon!'.
"Thanks a lot," The boy said gratefully, brushing his sweaty black mess of hair
away from his face. Twin small sharp intakes of breath were made and green eyes
looked up to see the similar freckled faces watching him with a mix of
amazement and awe.
"Blimey," One of them, Fred, pretty sure it was Fred, spoke, "Are you?"
"He is," Confirmed the other one, George, scrutinising Harry's forehead and
making him feel just generally uncomfortable, "Aren't you?"
"Aren't I what?" He had to ask.
"Harry Potter," chorused the twins. And oh right, he was apparently famous here
for some reason that he hasn't been informed to.
"Yes that's me." Harry replied with a shrug. The sooner everyone here got over
this strange affixation with permanently scarred underage boys the better. He
had even caught his eye on a few books about him at the stores and wasn't that
just disturbing bordering on out right violating.
As the two boys gawked at him, Harry took his time to muse on how he wished to
spend his time on the train. The first few minutes when the scenery started
changing between station to country was always a fascinating thing to watch but
even he would find himself growing bored after a while. A book to read? He
wanted to finish the last four chapters of Trixi Titan's Terrible Twin, the
second book of some sort of series for pre-teen wizards and witches. It was
terrible to be frank, but the kind of terrible you scoff and degrade yet still
compels you to finish until the very end. After that maybe he'll start on
Love's share of paperwork. The easier ones of course. It does sound like a pain
however and it would ruin the marvellous trip to magic school so maybe he'll
just take a nap instead, yes, that s-
"Fred? George? Are you there?" A voice called from the open train door, the
raven haired entity identified it to be the mother of the twins. The near
identical boys both shared a look that probably passed a whole meaningful
conversation between them whilst Harry could only see the raising of brows and
minutest of head movements. "Coming mom!" George shouted while Fred leaned down
to the short green eyed child and murmured a, "Holler if you need saving from
any evil trunks yeah?"
Then with a grin and a wave respectively, the two cheeky red heads hopped off
the train leaving Harry who watched it all with a quirked smile. Those
brother's reminded him entertainingly like his own chaotic brother split into
two. And wasn't that a scary thought?
===============================================================================
 
As the train finally began starting off to it's destination, Harry couldn't
help but watch with a little bit of wistfulness at the redhead family's
matriarch and her daughter waving and laughing and crying as they ran to keep
up with the steam driven machine just to prolong the moments with her family.
It was all a rather touching scene.
Then the door to his compartment slid to reveal the youngest boy from the
redheaded family that seemed to be a recurring theme for Harry today. Maybe it
was a sign?
"Anyone sitting here? Everywhere else is full." The boy asked nervously. Harry
hesitated for a second before shaking his head and the other child sat down,
sneaking a non too subtle glance at him before staring at the window.
"Hey ickle Ronniekins," Two familiar and similar faces popped into view,
"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train." "Lee Jordan's got a giant
tarantula down there."
"Right then," Ron mumbled clearly disgruntled or some other sort of emotion
that wasn't pleased. Harry however looked up in interest.
"A giant tarantula? Really?"
The older boys glimpsed at each other before facing the raven haired child with
charismatically endearing wide smiles, "Yeah, it's pretty wicked. Have we
introduced ourselves yet?"
"How rude we are brother-"
"Well I'm Fred-"
"-and I'm George Weasley."
"Hello Fred, hello George." Harry greeted amiably, already warming up to the
duo, "I'm Harry Potter as you know."
"So your really Harry Potter?" The youngest of the Weasley's blurted out,
apparently not happy at being the only one ignored. Green eyes blinked at the
sudden outburst, "Uhm. Yes I'm pretty sure." With a thoughtful look at the
twins he asked mock confused, "Am I Harry Potter?"
Fred walked closer to the pale child, eyes narrowed and fingers stroking a none
existent beard on his chin. "I say," He clapped his hands in a sort of
'Eureka!' moment, then pointed accusingly at Harry, "You're an impostor aren't
you?!"
George gave an exaggerated gasp and stumbled toward them, "Oh my stars!" He
drawled in a terrible american lady's accent, "Heaven forbid say it ain't so
sir!"
Fred nodded gravely, "I'm afraid so ma'am. Now boy, tell me who you really
are."
Harry shook his head, shaking, eyes big and watery and bright. "I can't," He
whispered, "For the sake of the family, I can't."
"Tell us!" Fred boomed, though the effect was ruined by the utter mirth in his
eyes and his fellow counterpart near vibrating to contain himself. Harry, also
having trouble restraining the humour of it all looked the tall freckled older
boys in the eye and said, "Fred. George... I am your great grandfather, I've
come into the future to scope out you two to see if you're worthy of fighting
in the great dragon war."
There was a beat of silence before the three all broke down to the point of
tears. "Merlin," One of the twins, Harry couldn't see past his blurry vision,
heaved between raucous laughter, "Did not expect that." The other was too busy
guffawing and bent over holding his stomach to answer. Ron just seemed confused
and slightly upset.
"So are you Harry Potter or are you not?" He demanded a little rudely.
"I am, I am." The pale green eyed boy nodded as he wiped away his tears of
laughter, something that has never happened before he would add, and nodded.
Then he took a look at the still laughing teenagers and burst out into
uncontrollable chuckles again. Times like these he really appreciated humankind
as it is.
"So Harry," George began after all of them, save Ron, finished expressing their
humour, "You want to come with us to meet Lee and the tarantula?"
Fred nodded cheerily, "He's a bit of a scary beast when you first see him but
if you give him a few treats and a pat on the head the guy'll like you just
fine."
"And the tarantula too." George added with a snicker.
Harry gave his usual quirked fond smile at the two expectant teens but then he
caught sight of the glum younger redhead and felt a tad guilty for dismissing
him this whole time. Reluctantly he shook his head, "Love to guys, really, but
I think I'll stay here for a bit longer. Sorry." He tilted his head a touch
toward Ron who now was gaping at him openly. The twins seemed deflated but
understanding nonetheless.
"That's cool Har,"
"We'll just-"
"-have to-"
"-catch up-"
"-later!"
The small, almost skeletal child grinned and waved the duo away. Their brother
too waving as well. When they were gone however, Ron immediately zoned in on
Harry.
"So you really are the Harry Potter?" He asked again.
"Yes." Harry said slowly, the placating if not patronising way he usual went
when going about explaining something annoyingly simple to an equally as simple
being.
"Oh - well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron.
"And have you really got the... you know…" The freckled boy gestured at his
forehead. With a soft sigh Harry decided to indulge the kid and pulled back his
bangs to reveal his lightening shaped scar. Ron openly stared.
"Do you remember what happened when.." Oh. OH. He was famous for THAT? Really?
Well, he supposed that killing someone as an infant was quite the impressive
feat, even in this world of wizards. Mr Riddle did hold that ridiculously
offending alias of his so he must've held some sort of negative image bad
enough for a child murderer to be revered to.
"I don't remember anything before the attack." Harry answered honestly, "My
first memory though was a flash of green light, almost of the colour of my eyes
see? But I remember almost everything else that happened after."
"Wow." Ron said, like it was an actual riveting masterpiece of a story rather
than the vague explanation it was. Before the conversation could die out into
awkward silence though Harry quickly asked, "So you know a lot of magic then?"
The redhead made a noncommittal noise which really meant nothing to the other,
and answered back with a completely different topic of question.
"I hear you live with muggles?" This child was kind of rude. Harry decided.
Though most children are usually anyway. He couldn't wait till his year turned
into teenagers. Handling teenagers shouldn't be so hard right? "What are they
like?"
"Terrible. Well, not all of them are, I was just unlucky. My cousin's cool but
my aunt and uncle are some of the meanest pricks you'll ever meet I swear. Your
family seemed pretty cool though, three older brothers and all."
"Five." He answered gloomily. Harry internally winced, yeah he knew what a big
headache that could be, and he lived in literally a whole separate dimension to
everyone. The entity in him couldn't even imagine all his 'family' living
together under one sky et alone one roof for an extended period of time. "I'm
sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. So I've got a lot to live up to you
know? Bill and Charlie have already left - Bill was head boy, Charlie was
captain of the Quidditch team. And now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess
around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're
really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do,
it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new,
either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and
Percy's old rat."
To emphasise his point the boy pulled out a sleeping fat grey rat from his
jacket. The moment green eyes laid themselves on the creature he almost
recoiled. Is that-?
"His name's Scabbers and he's pretty useless, barely wakes up. Perce got this
owl from my dad as a reward for being made a prefect, because we usually don't
affo-" Pale freckled skin went pink and Ron stopped speaking, choosing to stare
furiously at the window and the scenery outside. Apparently someone was ashamed
of their economical status.
Deciding to pity the boy, because really, he could have been so much worse off,
Harry knew, the green eyed boy recounted his own days at the Dursleys. That
seemed to relax the other some. And soon both of them were sharing stories and
complaints of their childhood, it was all quite nice.
They were interrupted after a while when their door slid open to reveal a
smiling woman pushing some sort of trolley filled with sugar delights.
"Anything off the cart dears?"
Ron looked sulky and embarrassed again as he shook his head and pulled out a
brown bag of presumably homemade lunch. Harry, who had no such domestic
treatment nodded happily and walked to the corridor. He'd never really handled
his own money for treats himself, always having it given to him by his cousin
and Piers but there was something almost empowering about finally being able to
get his own food. Well get his own food and actually eat it immediately anyway.
There was an amass of things he had never seen before, cauldron cakes, sugar
quills, something called pumpkin pasties. It was a little disorienting.
Thinking about his fellow companion in the compartment Harry bought four of
everything. A bit excessive but it wasn't like this was going to cripple him
financially, what was the point of gold if you didn't make a few unintelligent
buys anyway.
Carrying it all, Harry quickly dumped all the treats unceremoniously onto an
empty seat. Ron looked faintly amused. "Hungry?"
"Starving." The raven child tossed a friendly smile before biting into a
liquorice.. wand? He got five good chews into it before he pulled a face. "Okay
maybe not that starving." Ron laughed at the disgusted expression before making
a face of his own as he pulled apart his own meal.
"Ugh mum always does forget I don't like corn beef."
"I'll take them," Harry offered, the other looked a bit dubious, like the idea
that someone would want these sandwiches was the height of madness.
"You won't want these, they're dry and kinda mushed." He began protesting but
the smaller boy stopped him before he got to into it,
"Nonsense, I kind of like savoury stuff more than sweets anyway. Candy ain't my
biggest thing really." The redhead looked slightly affronted like Harry just
insulted his mother and father and everyone else he loved. "Except chocolate,"
The green eyed boy backtracked hastily, "If you steal my chocolate I would have
to kill you. Anyways I did buy extra for us to share anyway, so swapping would
be more than fair. In fact, take those liquorice wands, like immediately. I
insist."
Ron giggled, "You're weirder than I thought." He commented as he snatched the
remaining black sticky wand shaped sweets, "But.. thanks."
"No problem. Now.. those sandwiches?"
===============================================================================
 
"Okay now these are real chocolate."
Harry eyed the packet warily. "Are you sure? Because I don't think I can take
another one of those beans of those, you lying bugger."
"Oi! I didn't lie! I just said that there was chocolate flavoured ones. Not my
fault you got fish and baked beans." Ron grinned unrepentantly. The other
scowled half heartedly.
"But chocolate frogs? They aren't real frogs are they?" The freckled boy
laughed, "No of course not. Blimey! You really have been living with muggles."
"S'what I said."
"Anyway nah, they're just shaped like frogs and move like them but they're
perfectly chocolate I swear. What you need to see are the cards which are
inside the packet. Collectibles featuring famous witches and wizards you know?"
The smaller of the two nodded sagely, Dudley had a huge cricket card collection
a while back, the sport not the bugs. That would be strange.
He unwrapped his chocolate frog and took out card. It showed a man's face. He
wore half- moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, flowing silver hair, beard,
and mustache. Harry stared. He knew that man.
"Albus Dumbledore." He read out loud. "Currently Headmaster of Hogwarts." Green
eyes looked at his friends blue. "I know this man."
"Of course you know him Harry! He's like, one of the most well known and loved
wizards ever!"
"No, no, I mean I didn't know that but I mean I recognise him." Harry furrowed
his brow into a distinguishable frown on his face. "He's the guy who dropped me
onto the doorstep as a baby after, you know."
Ron's mouth dropped open, which was disgusting since he was chewing a pumpkin
pastie and a liquorice wand together making a very unappealing vision. "He
dropped you on a doorstep?"
The raven haired child nodded firmly. "In November." He stressed.
"Blimey, I mean, you sure?"
"I told you I remembered near everything after the green light right?"
"Yeah."
"Well my memory may be a little fuzzy but could you honestly say it would be
hard to forget someone that looked like this?"
He pushed the Dumbledore card, with his long beard and brightly coloured
clashing patterns of clothing at the taller boy.
"Huh, guess not. Wow."
They dissolved into silence as it became obvious Ron was having trouble knowing
how to process this information. Harry tossed a packet of the chocolate frog to
the other who took it gratefully and they both ate in the quiet sounds of the
moving train. The quiet however, as always, became too uncomfortable to
continue. "So," Ron coughed after swallowing his second frog. "Wanna see me try
this spell my brothers taught me?"
"Yes please."
The freckled boy rummaged around before finally retrieving a very battered
wand. It had definitely seen better days that wand. Just as the wand was
raised, poised for action and a spell readying itself on his lips , the
compartment door was opened again. This time with a plump, timid boy and a
bushy-haired girl already in her robes.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she asked in a way that somehow
sounded like an order but without the authority backed up.
"Sorry no." Harry replied, Ron shook his head in support. The girl however had
shifted her attention elsewhere though.
"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then." She sat down next to the redhead
without even asking for permission, now that was definitely rude. Ron,
understandingly looked a bit taken aback by his sudden increase in audience.
"Er all right then." He cleared his throat.
"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."
The boy waved his wand a bit but nothing really happened. The rat stayed grey
and unperturbed in his sleep. Ron looked disappointed and as Harry was about to
say something that hopefully would be considered comforting the bushy haired
girl butted in.
"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. And wow, even Harry knew
that was just not how you start making friends. It was right up there with
'You're dead and going to Hell,' and 'You do look fat in this dress, thankfully
you won't be wearing it where you'll be going.' He didn't even know souls could
go that hysterically offended.
"Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for
practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was
ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of
course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've learned
all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough - I'm
Hermione Granger, by the way. You?"
The pale boy glanced at Ron who was red in the face and stunned at the sudden
influx of words that had just come so rapidly from this female creature's
mouth.
"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron muttered reluctantly.
"Harry." Was all he answered, Harry was not in much of a mood for someone to
speak about his life like that they knew it because of some books they read
right now. And he knew similar types to this girl. They've researched
everything about the world and would think them some sort of expert. It'll go
away eventually but he rather not the inevitable barrage of questions and
preconceptions of his own life to start right now thank you. "And I think it is
a real spell. Ron was probably just flustered with the new eyes on him." He
added defiantly.
The girl looked shocked at being rebuffed from her statement whilst Ron shot
him a grateful look at the support mixed in with incredulousness that screamed
'What the hell you doing mate?' Mortals, really.
"Really." She huffed indignantly. "Okay then, do it again." She said bossily.
Blues eyes looked at green which just nodded encouragingly. Ron gulped but
determinedly held his wand over Scabbers, and began the rhyme, unaware of a
certain black haired friend of his also focusing intently on the rat.
"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."
A wave of his wand and the children all gasped as the rodent turned a bright
shade of yellow. Scabbers still slept through it all though. After getting over
the surprise Ron couldn't help but beam at Harry who returned the gesture, then
smugly raising a brow at the sputtering girl.
"But that's, that's not,"
"A real spell?" Ron finished for her. "Well I think it is unless my rat just
suddenly learnt the ability to change colours."
"Yes, well, anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had
better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon." She sniffed and turned
her body away from the two boys and strode out of the compartment, taking the
timid boy, who had watched and said nothing this whole time, away.
"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. He threw his wand
back into his trunk carelessly and Harry wondered if that was the reason for
it's poor condition. "Can't wait to show George the spell worked. I was
actually so sure it was some sort of dud when it didn't work the first time."
"Well we can't expect to get everything right the first time." The smaller of
the two reassured, "What houses are your brothers anyway?"
"Gryffindor. They're all in Gryffindor." And the gloom was back again. This kid
sure had some sort of complex about his family. "All my family are in it. Don't
know what would happen if I didn't get in. Though I guess as long as it ain't
Slytherin I'll be okay."
"Slytherin?" Harry recalled a certain pale platinum blonde who insisted on
Slytherin to be the best house there. He really was getting very mixed signals
here. "What's wrong with them?"
"You're joking."
"Really not Ron. It seems pretty alright to me."
"That's the house Vol- I mean You-Know-Who was in!" Harry raised a brow.
"So?"
"SO!? That's where all the 'dark' wizards go!" Ron hissed, looking paranoid
like one of these dark wizards were going to jump in from the window to defend
Slytherin's honour. Harry was not impressed.
"I'm sure that's not true. Just because there's a few particularly bad apples
doesn't mean you should throw out the whole sack of them." That was a good
metaphor the mortals said. Something that made more sense then pots being able
to call kettles black. Ron still looked unsure, the entity in mortal form
sighed.
"Look say those beans of yours. Say nine out of ten times all the green
coloured beans are really gross flavours like sprouts or some sort." The
freckled boy wrinkled his nose at thought but nodded, "But the one out of ten
is like, the best flavour ever."
Blue eyes gazed at nothing dreamily, "Caramel fudge ice cream."
"Uh, yes, that one out of ten is caramel fudge ice cream flavour. So knowing
nine out of ten is super gross stuff would you stop eating the green coloured
beans altogether."
"No! Course not Harry, then I'll miss one of the greatest flavours ever!" Ron
denied vehemently, Harry smiled pleased.
"And that's the same with Slytherins, so maybe most of them are really bad dark
wizards or something, but would you be so mean to dismiss the few cool ones?"
"Well when you put it that way.. Wait but what if there aren't any good ones?
What then?"
"Well you got to taste them first to find out right?"
Ron looked horrified. "What?"
Harry giggled, "No you dope! I meant give them a chance. You wouldn't know what
flavour a bean was without tasting them so you need to give these Slytherins a
chance to prove themselves."
The redhead still seemed unsure about it all but nodded thoughtfully
nonetheless. It was an improvement either way. "Alright Harry. For you I'll
give them a tiny chance."
"That's all I can ask. All I can ask."
===============================================================================
 
In the middle of a heated one-sided discussion about the basics of this
Quidditch game Harry still thought sounded extremely dumb the door to their
compartment slipped open again. This time it was three boys, and Harry
recognised the one in the middle from Malkin's. He looked much more snobbish
but the raven haired boy could see a glimmer of childish eagerness in cold grey
eyes as the gaze rested on him.
"Is it true?" the child of white asked, "They're all saying Harry Potter is
around here."
Harry gave a quirked smile and nodded, "That's me." The pale boy responded with
a faint flash of a smile before his was gone.
"Oh this is Crabbe and Goyle by the way," The blonde gestured carelessly to the
hulking figures that could not possibly be eleven year olds. Then again he
should talk, he looked eight rather than what his physical age should be. "And
I'm Draco, Draco Malfoy."
Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger causing Draco
to look at his direction and sneer.
"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me
all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can
afford."
He turned back to Harry, ignoring the furious reddening of the freckled boy's
face. That wasn't very nice. Very rude. Harry did not know how he was going to
survive till teenage-hood. It must get less complicated right?
"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others,
Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you
there."
He held out his hand to shake Harry's in what was probably a gesture of
friendship, even if it was a terrible way of doing so. He'd almost thought of
not even accepting it but the boy had seen how lonely the other was. How
desperate to have an actual friend, he'd seen the blatant yearning when they
talked about family and offered friendship before and he couldn't in good
conscious dangle these hopes just to snatch it away from small naive fingers.
Of course he had to set some ground rules too.
"I appreciate your help, I really do Malfoy," He began with what he wished was
an easy smile that didn't betray the strain he was feeling in such a messy
social situation. They did not cover this in intensive sensitivity training
dammit. "I did say I want to be friends with you before," Draco smiled
triumphantly and he could feel the betrayed glare boring right at him by Ron,
"but," The smile was gone and the glare had lost it's intensity yet it still
felt like Harry was in the middle of a mortal minefield. "but Ron is also my
friend and if you can't accept my decisions and tastes then I'm sorry. I hope
you are still willing to be friends despite it though."
Harry stuck out his hand this time as during the talk Draco's had fallen to his
side. Grey eyes studied the outstretched hand warily now, meanwhile Harry
twisted his head to face Ron and sternly said, "This goes for you too. I don't
like choosing sides, if you guys can't get along after giving it a shot fine.
But I refuse to be tugged around because of that understand?"
The redhead nodded stiffly. The show of equality seemed to clinch Draco's
decision as well as he took the hand and firmly shook it. "Fine Potter," he
drawled. "But don't expect me to do whatever you say, I am a Malfoy after all."
"Yeah that really means nothing to me." The green eyed child bluntly said,
causing Ron to burst into laughter at the gaping expression of Malfoy and his
cronies. "Where have you been living? Under a rock?" The blonde asked, the idea
that someone didn't understand the greatness that is Malfoy beyond him.
"Nope, just under some stairs." Harry deadpanned with sardonic humour.
"Oi! That's mine!" Ron shouted in the background as one of the large
bodyguards, Goyle, reached to grab a handful of Bertie Bott's beans. The
larger, rock of a boy slowly stared at the sweets in his hands, then at the
fuming redhead and shoved it all into his mouth. It was hard to tell if that
was malicious on his part or just very slow on any uptake. Draco actually
looked a little ashamed at that.
"Oh yeah well, watch this!" The freckled boy copied the action, shoving a
fistful of the beans in his own mouth, the two goons, not to be out done
continued shovelling the various tasting jellybeans into their maws. Ugh.
"Charming." Draco muttered.
"We sure know how to pick 'em." Harry murmured in agreement.
"What is going on?" It was at that moment, Hermione Granger came back into the
scene. She then wrinkled her nose in distaste as she saw the three boys
stuffing their faces with candy whilst two others watched at the sidelines with
disgusted bemusement. "You know those will rot your teeth terribly, I know, my
parent's are dentists."
Ron looked positively tomato like again and Harry absentmindedly wondered if it
was healthy for your head to get such sudden rushes of blood so many times in
one day. The freckled boy swallowed whatever he was chewing so he could
properly scowl. "What do you want?"
"Just telling you all to better hurry up and put your robes on, the conductor
says we're nearly there."
"Oh well that's it?" Before he could even get an answer the pale blonde nodded,
"Good, now leave us so we can get changed."
The bushy haired girl looked quite put out at the dismissal but continued on
nonetheless. "All right then. I only came up in here because people outside are
behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," said Hermione in a
sniffy voice. "But I see when I'm not wanted." She added as she left. Draco
closing the door behind her as Ron glared.
"I don't think she does really." Malfoy drawled.
"Here here." Ron grumbled, and the two gave each other a small grin before they
realised who they were and who they were talking to and promptly looked at
opposite directions. Harry chuckled. They would be best friends yet.
Finally a voice echoed to the train, warning all the students they were
approaching their destination in about five minutes time.
"Well," Draco gave a stiff nod as the trio turned to go, "See you at Hogwarts I
suppose."
Harry smiled, "Yes, see you there."
Ron and the two hulking other boys just grunted, both with mouths too busy
occupied with confectionary. The blonde and raven haired children just rolled
their eyes at the gluttonous antics and parted ways.
"So Ron, what do you think?"
"They're pretty okay.. for Slytherin."
Harry rolled his eyes again with a soft smile.
***** Death's Sorting *****
The_one_where_Death_freaks_out_about_getting_wet,_makes_future_plans_for
redecorating_and_oh,_gets_Sorted..._and_somehow_ruins_that._Which_is_frankly
bloody_ridiculous_because_all_he_had_to_do_was_sit_down,_put_on_the_hat_and_lay
back.
Or_the_one_the_author_was_too_indecisive,_said_'Screw_it.'_and_consequently
resulted_in_this_stupid_sorting_hat_scene_that,_she_just_knows,_is_going_to
bite_her_back_quickly_in_the_future.
"Firs years, firs years o'er here!"
Harry shivered unhappily in the cold. Apparently the makers of Hogwarts uniform
had failed to give adequate thought on what to do when winter comes. And it
hasn't even started snowing yet. Fantastic.
The boy glanced at his red headed friend who was doing no better. "Guess we
should head over."
"Guess so."
They trailed through a narrow path in a forest, everyone was quiet with only
the rustle of trees, quiet crackling of leaves under shuffling feet and the
soft chattering of children filling the air. Harry heard the boy who lost his
toad sniff a few times. Whether it was from the temperature of his incompetence
at keeping one pocket-sized thing on his purpose Harry wasn't sure.
"Nearly there!" Hagrid shouted, his large form visible even across the river of
children, "Just round this bend!"
With that encouragement everyone quickened their steps, and even Harry was
unable to shake off the vibrating excitement and anticipation that came seconds
before the forest revealed what would be essentially his home for the next
seven or so years of his life.
It was… marvellous really.
The first thing you saw was a great black lake, glittering under the darkness
of the sky, beyond that was lazy rolling hills of greenery the land was so well
known for, and perched on top of it all was a castle. Harry had heard many
attempts at describing the building, back when he was Death and souls were just
stories to be told, it's towers, it's turrets, the windows, the sheer size. But
none of it did justice as his gaze raked over the magnificent castle, standing
proud and glorious and strong as it too must be watching them with as much
curiosity and expectancy as they were. Each brick and stone, worn and old,
exuded an old power that Harry could barely just feel from the distance. A
warrior's protection, a scholar's curiosity, a sly man's wisdom and a mother's
love. Such wonderful traits embedded into the magics surrounding them all,
everyone unaware of the fine tapestry being weaved in the spaces which are
unseen, curling around their innocent fingertips as they too, unknown to them,
become one in this invisible web that is Hogwarts.
To be honest, Harry was a little jealous he didn't have a castle like this.
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, breaking the silent awe of the
children and pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the
shore. Harry did not like what he saw. And what he saw was a tiny wooden boat
of a thing which was expected to allow four children sized mortals to stay
afloat and un-drenched for probably more than thirty seconds. The petite boy
internally swore he was never getting in that thing with Crabbe and Goyle.
Because, just, no.
Clearly Draco was having the same idea as he took one look at the boats just
innocently floating there, then at his two hulking bodyguards, then back at the
flimsy boat-shaped driftwood, before dashing off to join Harry and Ron. Much to
Ron's very visible displeasure. Apparently it will take quite a bit of effort
for the two to ever become solid friends. Hermione, upon seeing the trio
entering the boat, bid farewell to the still sniffing boy who lost his toad to
run up and join them. And now both Weasley and Malfoy were simmering in
something that was as far as pleasure as one could get with the arrangement.
The two boys as well as moving away from the bushy haired girl, were trying to
sit as close as they could to the black haired child whilst contradictorily,
trying to still maintain as much distance from each other as possible.
Harry would have found a lot more amusement in all of this but once again, he
couldn't help but worry about the boat he was now on- and was rocking very
ominously now that he mentioned it. Dammit, if he gets soaked in this chilly
weather he was actually going to kill someone. And coming from him that really
should be a threat well-wary of.
"Oi you okay mate?" Ron asked looking at the other's even paler complexion.
"You look whiter than, well," The freckled child gestured to an affronted
looking Malfoy.
"Not everyone can be stupidly poor, freckled and ginger, Weasley." He sneered
causing said ginger's freckled face to heat up in indignation. But before the
angered boy could splutter something out, Draco glanced at the green eyed boy,
who was still looking forlornly at the edge of the boat, and said, "Though
Weasley is right Potter. You look simply terrible, don't tell me you're afraid
of the water?"
Somehow the blonde had this astounding ability to make even a simple question
of worry sound like the most condescending, insulting thing to ever come out of
anyone's lips ever. Whilst Ron looked even redder on Harry's behalf, Harry
himself could feel a small curl on the edge of his lips at the question. Malfoy
was quite the adorable child wrapped up in thorny barbs wasn't he?
"I'm not afraid." The raven-haired boy stated, glancing up at Draco before
looking back down at the boat, "I just shudder to think what would happen to my
person if we tipped over."
Ron snorted at the idea, clearly one of those people who would probably laugh
it off and find it a funny story to tell everyone afterwards. Malfoy however
also looked down at the black cold waters beneath him and decided to mimic
Harry in terms of trying to be as small as humanly able whilst maintaining his
usual air of decorum. The red head stared at the sudden shift in posture and
the irate looking pair next to him. "You guys aren't bloody serious." He
deadpanned.
"Shut up and stop rocking the boat so much." Draco snapped, Harry nodding in
serious agreement. "Do you know what bog water would do to my hair?" The
aristocratic pureblood bemoaned.
"Your hair?" Harry asked baffled, "Why would you care about that? We could get
some sort of disease or worse! I've read stuff on parasites found in lake water
that breed and hatch eggs under your skin and there is no way on Life's stupid
green earth am I going to go through that." He insisted as Draco paled even
whiter, almost matching Harry's particular shade at the moment.
Ron stared at the two like they were the crazy ones before bursting out from
laughter. The other boys in the boat were not amused.
"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. Smart man. "Right
then - FORWARD!"
And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake
and Harry couldn't help but sigh in relief. Thank God, they were magic boats.
Ron chuckled again as he must have noticed the relieved expression on his face.
But other than that, everyone was all silent, staring up in childish wonder at
the great castle looming overhead. It towered over them, majestic against the
starry sky while they sailed closer to the cliffs where it stood, magic heavy
and comforting in the air, beckoning the new students even closer with promises
of beginnings and friendships and homes.
'It would be hard not to feel some sort of connection to this place, no matter
who you are.' The non-entity mused as he admired the view.
===============================================================================
 
It took an underground tunnel, a passageway in the rock and a generous expanse
of grassy hill before they eventually all arrived at the huge, Oak front door.
The half-giant checked if everyone was present and okay before taking three
large knocks on the castle door with his even larger fists. The door
immediately swung open revealing a stern faced Professor McGonagall.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take it from here."
She opened the door wide and lead them through the entrance hall. It was almost
as big as his own hall back in his personal realm, not as long though. It was
lighted with burning torches which Harry thought was a little old fashioned
considering there must've been more 'magical' decorations to use instead, and
they followed the older witch across polished stone floor. The green eyed child
could already hear the chattering of hundreds of students as they neared their
destination, the rest of the school must be waiting for them to come in. The
boy shuddered a bit at the thought. He really did not think the whole 'school
equal noisy children' thing properly did he?
However they weren't immediately pushed toward the noisy hallway but instead
ushered into a small, empty chamber off the hall. All of them standing closely
together nervously as eyes watched McGonagall, waiting to be told what to do
now.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet
will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will
be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because,
while you are here, your house will be something like your family within
Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your
house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.
The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff," Heh. Hufflepuff. It almost
made Harry feel like he was in some sort of weird parody of a children's story
book series. "Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history
and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at
Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, consequently any rule-
breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the
most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour I hope each of you will be
a credit to whichever house becomes yours." Green eyes blinked lazily at that.
Was that meant to be an actual punishment? Losing metaphorical points which
would fail to give you a presumably shiny large cup at the end of the year that
technically you don't even personally own? These people better not make any
serious karma inducing mistakes because Hell was going to be a big surprise for
them.
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of
the school." She took a breath from her lengthy introduction and then eyed the
toad boy's, Neville's he was pretty sure someone called him, cloak that was
somehow fastened on his ear and a smudge on Ron's face. Feeling self conscious
Harry attempted to brush down his own messy hair in an effort to look neater.
"I suggest all of you smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are
waiting."
"I shall return when we are ready for you," Professor McGonagall stated as she
left the chambers. "Please wait quietly." Despite the 'please' added at the
front of the sentence, the boy had a distinct impression that it was most
definitely not a suggestion.
The pale raven haired boy turned to his redheaded friend, "How exactly do they
sort us into houses?" he asked.
"Fred said it was some sort of test." Ron shrugged, but Harry could clearly see
the beginnings of anxiety and worry. Children this age are unsurprisingly very
full of expression, even the more reserved ones like Malfoy. "Hurts a lot
apparently, but I think he was joking." Though the freckled boy sounded unsure
despite the self-reassurance. A few kids who were listening in looked even
worse off than they did before. Draco was tugging at the edge of his robes,
pretending he was just adjusting them. Granger, whom apparently took Ron's word
a bit too seriously, was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd
learned and wondering which one she'd need and generally freaking everyone out
even more. Neville was a mess. Harry could see even Goyle and Crabbe tapping
their feet and fidgeting with their hands respectively, and he was pretty sure
the two were literally just charmed carved blocks of granite.
The majority of them though, all fixed their eyes toward the door with dread
and heavy nausea. Like the stern professor was going to appear at any moment
with red horns, holding a trident (seriously, mortals have the strangest
imaginations) and whisked them all away to their doom.
The quiet tension built up to suffocating levels, so you couldn't blame Harry
when he violently jerked at the sudden screams of the children behind him.
"What in the living-" His curse on his lips died as gasps formed on the
people's around him. Because the cause of his shock was most definitely not in
the realms of the living.
About twenty ghosts had just appeared, passing through the back wall like the
stone was nothing. A pale white hue and transparent, but not enough so that one
couldn't see the intricate details of each ghost if they looked close enough,
they glided across the room talking to one another, hardly glancing at the
first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was
saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, everyone deserves a second chance."
"My dear Friar, haven't we all given Peeves all the chances he deserves? Many
can argue we give him far more than he deserves actually. The man gives us,
spiritual beings, all a bad name and you know, he's not even really a ghost
and- I say, what are you all doing here?" Some ghost had apparently finally
noticed the group of gaping first years.
"New students?" The Friar asked helpfully. A few heads nodded. Harry just
smiled serenely, it had been a while since he had, had any contact with any of
the dead. And school ghosts of all things! Fascinating, he didn't remember the
Founders telling him about them. Though most of the ghost happenings probably
happened after their time. Because if they did, Harry was pretty sure the name
of the school would be Hogwarts: Murder House for children. And that was not a
name you wanted to attend to for schooling.
In the midst of his musings, Harry realised someone was staring hard at him,
looking up he saw it to be one of the ghosts- wearing a curly powdered wig,
with robes covered in silver bloodstains and carried chains in his hands. The
pale boy gazed a bit longer at the paler ghost, then tilted his head in
acknowledgement. That apparently was the cue for the spirit to rush over to his
side, bowing low and attracting much attention. "Death Lord." He breathed, his
breath cold and barely more than a hoarse whisper. The other children wouldn't
be able to hear it much to Harry's relief. But unfortunately, the other ghosts
must have, for they too were staring with awe and amazement in their eyes
before also gravitated quickly toward him, circling at a respectful distance as
they murmured wondrously at the unexplainable emotions their intangible bodies
were filling up with in the entity's presence.
"Death Lord."
"Is it really him?"
"He's kinda smaller than I expected.."
"Of course he is you imbecile, did you leave your brain as well as your body?
Obviously he's graced our plane of existence as a human for a reason."
"Lord Death."
"Our Lord."
"Death Lord."
A few of the braver ghosts reached out to stroke an arm or brush a hair out of
his way, when they saw how indulgently the boy, their Lord Death, allowed them
this pleasure soon all of them were gathered, surrounding the boy with open
curiosity and reverence. Harry merely smiled at his subjects, stubborn ones
these were, unwilling to come back to his realms to play school of all things.
Who would've thought.
The other children however, did not seem to share his easy acceptance of the
situation. Generally the looks on their faces were a mix of uncomfortable
wariness down to horrified curiosity to just plain terrified. Harry was willing
to bet the ones near tears were from non-magical background.
"What are you doing?" A sharp angry voice rang out and all heads, solid and
see-through, turned to face the stern professor who'd returned. "Harassing a
first year, for shame, I expected better of you all. Move along now, the
Sorting Ceremony is about to start."
The raven haired Death Lord could feel the tense crackling in the air caused by
the spiritual beings congregating protectively over his small human body,
completely unwilling to obey the woman's orders. Harry certainly could not have
that, so he held up his hands in a passive surrendering gesture and whispered,
"Do as she says my wayward souls. I do not wish to interrupt this, uh, sorting
of ceremonies, was it?"
With great reluctance the ghosts looked at the powerful entity hidden
underneath layers of human flesh and blood, one by one, slowly floating away
through the opposite wall. Once all the spectres were gone, made perfectly sure
by the keen scrutiny of Professor McGonagall, the teacher turned to face the
students.
"Now that, that small bit of drama is over, please form a line and follow."
Professor McGonagall told the first years.
Getting oddly nervous, Harry did so, feeling a bit of comfort in the fact Ron
stood behind him and Draco with his goons in front as they walked toward and
through the double doors of the Great Hall.
Lit by what seemed to be thousands of candles that floated mid-air over four
long tables adorned with glittering golden plates and goblets, as the rest of
the students were waiting. There was another length of table where the teachers
were sitting which was where they were herded up to, coming to a halt to face
the hundred of students (and the occasionally ghost that was looking right at
him) staring at them whilst the teachers watched their backs. It wasn't the
most tender of sensations Harry can tell you that much but the view was great.
The Great Hall was astounding. Harry was definitely not jealous. Especially not
of that frankly amazing ceiling dotted with stars. Jesus Christ where could he
order some of that? Actually wasn't Jesus a carpenter? Hmmm…
"Its bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A
History." Granger whispered, a little redundantly if you asked the boy. What
did you think they did to the ceiling? A satanic demon ritual to make a deal
for some really rad special effects done for their hall- actually… that could
work…
A four-legged stool was placed down in front of the children, drawing Harry's
future plans for his realm to a temporary halt as he, along with the rest of
the first years, watched intrigued at a point frayed looking witches hat on top
of the chair. For a brief second Harry thought they had to pull something out
of it like those fake mortal magic men on the telly that Dudley insisted he
replicate (with actual magic of course). Maybe depending on what they pulled
out it'll determine what house they belong to.
Of course that hypothesis went out the window when the hat began to sing.
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, But don't judge on what you see, I'll eat
myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black, Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffis are true And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to
each of the four tables, well, as much as a hat could do so, and then became
still again. Like it didn't just sing a some surprisingly catchy and deep tune.
"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry, visibly
relieved. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll." The raven
haired child snorted at that.
"Your brother's sound like fun."
"Yeah." The redhead muttered. "Fun like waking up to find you've grown bunny
ears."
"Did they at least match your hair."
"No."
"Shame."
"Harry you're kind of a wanker you know that?"
"Yes well such is the burden I must bear."
"..What?"
"Shut it you two." Draco hissed, though the corner of his mouth was twitching
as though fighting back the urge to snicker, "Professor McGonagall is
speaking."
It was true, Professor McGonagall had by then stepped forward holding a long
roll of parchment. Harry did not envy her job at all. "When I call your name,
you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott,
Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat,
which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. 'Seemed pretty simple.'
Harry thought. 'Though that's what I thought when I agreed to Fate's request
so,'
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.
The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the
Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.
They all seemed very nice, with a name like Hufflepuff one would usually expect
that though. Or at least you would safely presume they weren't serial killers
who enjoyed the taste of blood and vodka or something.
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to
Hannah. Yes, thinking about the name more, they probably had the most
comfortable furniture too. Soft pillows. Couches. Damn. Now he wanted to go
Huffle with the Puffles.
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up
to shake hands with Terry as he joined them. Ravenclaw were the intelligent
ones right? They would obviously have their own personal library. And with a
library comes amazing books to read and lay down with. Harry always did enjoy
books, not to mention they seemed like the most quiet out of a noisy lot.
"Brocklehurst, Mandy"
"RAVENCLAW!"
Yes, Ravenclaw seemed pretty good too.
"Brown, Lavender"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Or perhaps Gryffindor would be where he would go? In this life he was willing
to try exercise his new found freedom and what better way than the house of the
courageous?
"Bulstrode, Millicent"
"SLYTHERIN!"
Though Slytherin he could definitely see himself fitting in. If Malfoy was a
bit of an indication there was some sort of power play going on in there but it
all sounded quite prestigious and apparently his vessel had an affinity to
snakes. Plus, Harry would bet his whole Gringotts account (and it was a big
account considering the interest the goblins had given him) that their rooms
were filled with silk, ornate decorations and refined but still lavish
furniture. And if that isn't a good place to garner some ideas for tasteful
designs for his own use than what was?
"Granger, Hermione!"
Already up to the 'G' section. Huh, this was going faster than he'd thought.
Then again, for most people the sorting took seconds, the longest he'd counted
was a sandy haired bloke, Finnegan something, who took about a minute or so.
When finally called, Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat
eagerly on her head. This one took even longer before the hat finally shouted,
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Ron groaned loudly, mostly drowned out by the cheers, unheard by most except
Harry and Draco. The blonde was smirking, reaching out to pat his hand half-
mockingly, half-sypathetically on the freckled boy's shoulder. "There, there
Weasley. At least Slytherin, and therefore I will be okay."
"You know that if you're going to be in Slytherin you'll be taking classes with
them right?" Harry pointed out, causing Malfoy to pale. Both looked at each
other in a moment of shared misery and commiseration at that, forcing Harry to
hide his laugh under a faked cough.
"Neville, Longbottom!" it was the boy who kept losing his toad, who was called
next, he looked so nervous that he fell over on his way to the stool. The green
eyed boy winced at that. You had to feel bad for that. It took an even longer
time sorting Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" Neville shot off,
probably from all the built up tension and nerves, still wearing it, and had to
humiliatingly jog back amid laughter.
"Malfoy, Draco!"
"Well that's me." The noble blond drawled, swaggering forward toward the stool
with confidence most of the other children had failed to show beforehand. The
hat barely touched his slicked back hair before yelling "SLYTHERIN!"
Draco joined his two hulking child golems looking immensely pleased. Harry
clapped for him which made the child grin even brighter. Ron gave him two claps
which really was more than Harry expected.
There wasn't much more left on that list, which was good for McGonagall, that
sort of needless strain on her voice would definitely ache a bit tomorrow. Then
again. Magic.
"Potter, Harry!"
The hall broke into hushed and not so hushed whispers that made the called-on
boy feel distinctly outside the realms of comfort as he begun walking up to the
rather rickety looking stool. He also felt slightly irritated at them all. God.
Even when trying to be quiet children were still loud. Perhaps he shouldn't
have accepted to come to Hogwarts after finding out his sudden fame. There's
going to be attention and gossip and stares everywhere.
As Harry felt the fabric of the hat brush against his bird's nest of raven
hair, the would-be official wizard couldn't help but feel quite giddy at the
idea of being sorted. Ok more the sorting itself than the actual getting into a
house thing but still. Magic would be absolutely ecstatic to find out some of
these wizards actually had the imagination to make a talking, sorting hat when
he tells her about his experience. Knowledge would probably be more intrigued
at how it had been made whilst the others would wish to use it for their
entertainment most definitely. Honestly though, he just thought it would be
pretty nice right now to talk to someone closer to his age.
Then a piercing scream hit everyone's ears.
It was filled with such blood-curdling fear and anguish it took Harry a few
seconds to move past the sound and realize the source of it came from his head.
Well, on top of his head. It seemed his excitement caused his still rather
fragile control on his more 'deadly' powers to slip out more than usual. The
hat if it was really sentient through human magics, would probably be feeling
like its on the edge of its own demise, literally meeting death head on if you
will. No wonder it was freaking out so bad. Oops.
As much as Harry felt bad about the whole 'terrifying the centuries old hat'
thing this was quite the embarrassing predicament he found himself. And when he
could feel the self aware article began to shift in a desperate attempt to get
as far as possible from him that's when Harry realized he needed to intervene.
Now.
'DESIST AT ONCE HAT.' He mentally ordered with as much authority as he could
inject. If the thing was going to act like he was a tyrannical God then it
wouldn't mind if he lived up to its expectations. The hat complied near
immediately, though it did whimper a bit.'GOOD. NOW SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP.'
The shuffle and hesitant shifting back on his head confirmed the order. Harry
would not lie. That pleased him in a the more primal 'godly' side immensely.
'GOOD.' He praised though the hat shuddered at the word like it was slime
dripping down into its fabric.
That really was the problem with soulless but self-aware objects, they weren't
considered 'alive,' so they fell under an obscure part of Death's domain but
they didn't have a soul which would've been able to inherently connect with the
entity in a way that he had been told felt 'terrifyingly like being welcomed
home.' Without that feeling there was only dread, cold and dark and unendingly
horrifying to look straight into. Since there is no soul to collect, to remake
and remodel, just complex strings of magic and emotion and some faint spark
that could easily be misinterpreted as a personality. Because of all that,
death to these things is what is considered a 'true death' and they know it and
fear it.
Which is really such an inconvenience. It had been such a long time since he's
met anything this self aware, which really makes this Sorting Hat quite the
work of art, so he'd completely forgotten this was the reaction he would garner
in close proximity. Wands didn't count because they weren't really sentient
enough to identify anything other than capability, suitability and power of a
potential master. If pressed (like hard to the point that some of his bones
were already cracking from the pressure) Harry had to say he preferred the
almost perverse need to please him in comparison to being treated like he was
some apocalyptic, invincible being that could destroy one's very existence with
a mere thought. Well, he was an apocalyptic, invincible being that could
destroy one's very existence with a mere thought, but that'sreally not the
point here.
The hat must have felt the entity's disapproval because the magical article of
clothing whimpered again. Harry mentally sighed.'DON'T YOU, I DON'T KNOW, HAVE
TO SORT ME OR SOMETHING?'
'O-of course Death Lord!' A timid voice squeaked in his mind.'Where do you wish
to be placed sir?'
'AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE ABLE TO DISCERN WHERE I'M MOST SUITABLE?'
'Well, you're suited near equally to all of the houses my Lord.' The hat
answered, apparently getting a bit more comfortable as he re-entered his
designated role.'Loyalty to the literal death and hardworking despite your
complaints, such curiosity you have fulfills the thirst of knowledge you would
need for a Ravenclaw, snake-like cunning as well as manipulation is inside you
in droves and finally courage. That one was a bit tricky, but yes you have
courage, it's rather new if you don't mind me saying, did something happen
recently milord?'
Harry thought back to the start of it all, his all powerful self flitting
around his grim throne room fretting about breaking the rules, then that sudden
flare of insistent determination silently encouraging him to actually do
something for once. To act out of his role. To be more than just an end. The
boy chuckled softly, how a few tiny insignificant years, ones that would have
passed by him before as naturally as air through his fingertips, now held so
much, molding and changing him in a way eons has failed to do. 'You could say
that...' His inner voice softer, more human like than it has ever been before.
The hat too must have sensed a changed as the boy could almost feel it's shift
in demeanor, still fearful but now ready to please and pledge loyalty at a drop
of a, well,it.
'So my Death,' the Sorting Hat began more confidently, now finding itself quite
eager in sorting this unworldly being,'What House would you want to honor
yourself into? The House of the Brave? The Cunning perhaps? Or do you wish to
indulge in Knowledge or plan to dabble with the Loyal?'
'I get to choose?' Harry asked, genuinely confused, 'I thought that was your
reason for existence.' He pointed out, with a slightly accusing tone. 
'Yes, well,' the sentient hat huffed,'You're one of the few who can be put in
any House milord. When that rare happenstance occurs it is not up to me
anymore, I can only guide and nudge a person in the direction of what I think
is best. I am something to be recognized and heeded but not necessarily
something to be followed mindlessly.'
The entity-child smiled at the backbone and wisdom this hat was showing to
someone who just a few moments ago, had the thing literally almost running for
the hills. To be fair, death did do that to people, uh, sentient clothing.
'Ok,' he acquiesced amiably, then with little to no thought at all he decided,
'I wish to go to all of them.'
The hat stiffened, which probably in clothing-speak meant the thing had frozen
in shock.
'You can't do that!' It protested indignantly.
'Why not?' Harry asked baffled,'You said I was well suited for all four houses
so why should I limit myself to only one? Because I am certainly not going to
relive this life three other times just to figure out what living how the other
quarter lives, that would be tedious. Plus I need to test out the comfort of
Hufflepuff, the use of spacing in Gryffindor, the artistic tastes of Slytherin
and the libraries of Ravenclaw for a.. project I'm working on.'
Ignoring the blatant implication the boy could easily time travel or cross
worlds (which was extremely hard to do by the way) the Sorting Hat gaped,
disbelief at the sheer dismissal at century old tradition this individual was
insisting he should break. All for the sake of what suspiciously sounded like
interior design.
'But,' it began weakly, 'that's never been done.'
'Well Death's never destroyed a magical hat with his bare hands before but it
isn't that hard for me to do so is it?'
A strangled fearful sound echoed in the child's head. Apparently the joke was
not well appreciated. Note to self: jokes about ending another's existence? Not
funny to particularly sensitive people slash objects. Who knew.
'So?' Harry asked, rather patiently all things considered he may add. 'May I
here your verdict?'
===============================================================================
 
The hall hushed and quiet had began murmuring to themselves in confusion and
anticipation. What was taking so long?
After the hat suddenly gave a terrified ear-splitting scream as it twitched
erratically the moment it descended on the Boy-Who-Lived's head the magical
artifact suddenly went ominously still and silent. It had been twenty minutes
since then. The teachers were giving sidelong looks of worry that were probably
meant to be subtle but failed miserably considering the face that every student
could easily see them at the front of the hall right next to the current person
of interest.
Professor McGonagall looked distinctly uncomfortable, which no one could really
fault considering they were all equally at a loss at what to do in this
situation as well. Though considering the professor in question was the one in
charge of the Sorting it was obvious most of the pressure for someone to do
something was on her. Just as it looked like the woman might take off the hat,
because what else were they supposed to do- It wasn't like the Founders gave
them a set of instructions when they created the hat- the magical artifact
opened its mouth and everyone stilled, waiting expectantly.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
A cheer went up in the house of the brave but it didn't last long before,
"SLYTHERIN!"
The Gryfindors opened their mouths no words coming out from them, the
Slytherin's were no better but they would like to think that they expressed
their disbelief in a more dignified manner.
"RAVENCLAW!"
A few weak claps were given by stunned Ravenclaws, one of them in their true
house fashion, was writing down the whole event as well as questions and
theories accompanying this anomaly. Though most were just struck completely
dumb, eyes glued to the hat who was opening his mouth. Again.
"AND HUFFLEPUFF!"
Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived-to-Defy, then took off the hat, placed it in the
stunned hands of one Transfiguration Professor, looked at the equally shocked
tables of student before him and asked, "So, where do I sit?"
And then the hall descended into chaos.
===============================================================================
 
An emergency meeting was held right after Harry finished the feast. Harry
honestly was not surprised. If anything after all that shouting and general
confusion he actually expected to be whisked off to some office the moment the
Sorting was announced. It looked like a lot of the professor's clearly wished
to do that, they had barely focused on the frankly delicious meal before them,
choosing to gawk at some scrawny green eyed boy. Wasteful really. Because the
food was delicious.
In the end before the emergency meeting, Harry had decided to sit with the
Gryfindors. The Ravenclaws had looked like they were willing to crack open his
vessel's skull to pick at his brain so that was not an option. Hufflepuff was
still a stupid name. Slytherin while probably the house that would give him the
most peace, was decided against as well, simply because they too were staring
at him much too much like the Ravenclaws, just with an extra sharp edge of
calculation that the boy did not want to deal with currently. And that left-
"I can't believe you've managed to get sorted in all the bloody houses!" Ron
exclaimed between mouthfuls of food. Harry politely chose to look away from the
mess his red headed friend was making. Hermione Granger who was sitting on the
opposite side of them, didn't even try not to look completely disgusted.
"Well, I," she began rather haughtily, "think that you've obviously must have
done something." The bushy haired girl sniffed accusingly, "It doesn't say
anywhere in Hogwarts: A History, that you can be in more than one house, much
less all of them!"
"Is there anywhere in there that says otherwise?" Ron shot back, the boy
arguing more for the sake of dislike of the girl than an actual belief that
people can be in four houses. Granger flushed at the rebuttal, and was
generally silent for the rest of the conversation.
"But really, all four houses," A boy with hair the colour of sand mused, "How
will your classes work? Where will you sleep?"
Harry paused from his meal. He had not thought about that at all. However he
quickly shrugged any such worries off. He was on vacation for God's sakes. This
was the professor's headache, not his. And wow, it felt goodto pass off
responsibility.
"I'm Seamus Finnegan by the way," the boy added with a friendly if not slightly
nervous smile.
"Harry Potter." He replied,
"I know." Seamus nodded, "Pretty sure everyone does actually." Harry nodded
too.
"Yeah I've seen the story books. Awful stuff really."
"So it isn't true?" Someone asked down the table. Apparently everyone was
unabashedly listening in on the new celebrity.
"Nope." Harry answered simply, cutting a small appropriately sized piece of
steak and putting it in his mouth with some obscenely tasty mashed potatoes.
Did they mash these things with ambrosia? He would not be surprised if the
answer was yes because ohmygod. "Raised by muggles. Never have I ever, and I
quote 'Rode off toward the English country horizon on the last flying unicorn
as the sunset paved my path to the journey beyond.'"
Most of the older kids snorted at the boy's sarcasm whilst an alarming number
of them actually looked disappointed. Granger was notably one of them.
Ron, who'd already known all this since the train ride, had ignored the general
conversation in favour of freshly baked bread. In the lull of silence though he
looked up from his meal and gave a grin at Harry. "Don't know about you but
those biscuits with that gravy? Delicious. You ought to try some."
The two friends shared a smile, one childish and friendly, the other small and
relieved, then Harry snatched one of the pre-dipped savoury biscuits on the
redhead's plate. "Oi! Not cool!"
"You can take some of my mash, it's bloody brilliant." Harry offered amusedly
at the other's overprotective outburst for food of all things. Green eyes
looked unseeingly at what appeared to be nothing before giving a subtle nod and
murmured, "Compliments to the cooks."
Harry blinked as he suddenly found a mini mountain of fresh steaming mashed
potatoes on his plates. The butter on top still in the process of melting down
on the potato-y goodness. Ah, house elves. Such over eager and willing to
please creatures. Maybe he'll have time to find their kitchens and help out for
a bit? They'll probably have some sort of fit though.
"How did you do that?" Ron's blue eyes were wide and he was breathing hard like
he'd just found his own personal messiah. The redhead tried to do his best
imitation of Harry, blank faced he looked at the wall and murmured under his
breath, "Please can I have some more chicken drumsticks?" Looking down at his
plate the boy's stoic facade broke into the widest grin as he grabbed a large
sauce covered chicken drumstick and bit into it with relish. "Merlin this is
the best place ever!"
"Hey I did not look like that!" Harry exclaimed in a playful protest. Jabbing
the other boy in the ribs with his elbow enough to make him gag a little but
not choke.
"You totally did," Ron teased as he flicked a pea at mock outraged green eyes,
revenge for the almost making him choke from his food. As nice as those
biscuits were, he did not want them to be the last thing he'd ever tasted. "The
only way I could've been more like you is that I dip my hair in tar and powder
my face."
"Well now your just being mean. My hair is way too nice to be compared to tar."
Ron rolled his eyes as he chewed his food. "Ponce you are."
"If I'm a ponce, you're a pig Ron."
As they traded retorts and ate, it seemed soon everyone became more comfortable
around them as their attention soon drifted off to other more mundane things
and topics. There still was far too many eyes on him for his liking but Harry
was used to such things anyway and ignored them all.
"That does look good." A ghost dressed with ruffles commented wistfully as he
watched Ron munch on the chicken. Harry looked up at him with a slight frown,
"Do you want some?" He asked. The intangible being's eyes widened and shook his
head, "No, no, I couldn't, I mean, I didn't wish to insult milord,"
"It's Harry Potter." Harry quickly corrected, glancing to see if anyone heard
the last muttered slip up, a few were watching them but not with enough
attention to catch the last bit. "Please call me Harry."
"Of course, excuse my insolence my Lo- Harry." The small child gave a small
smile at the ghost, "I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de
Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."
"Nice to meet you Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington." Harry greeted politely,
earning a pleased smile in return.
"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you -
you're Nearly Headless Nick!"
The ghost looked extremely unhappy with the nickname, it didn't sound like a
very good one either, but seemed to be visibly refraining himself from acting
out his full displeasure, fully aware of who else was watching him. "I would
prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-" the ghost began stiffly, but
Seamus Finnigan interrupted.
"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"
Harry wondered if pushed hard enough, ghosts could turn red, Nicholas de Mimsy-
Porpington looked pretty close to doing so. "Like this," he said irritably
before tugging his ear causing his head to fall over, a thin bit of skin off
his neck keeping it connected to his body like some morbid sort of hinge. The
stunned shocked faces seemed to please the nearly headless spirit before
remembering Harry's presence. The ghost coughed sheepishly but Harry just
giggled in response, boosting the transparent mortal soul's pride immensely as
he preened at the sound.
Flipping back his head onto his body he turned to face the Gryffindors,
speaking earnestly about that House Cup nonsense again. Harry continued with
his meal.
Considering his background as a malnourished human, it honestly didn't take
long for his stomach to signal its fill, groaning in contented bliss. Harry
still snacked on a brownie slice but otherwise it was obvious he had finished
his meal. As he sat contentedly looking at the other kids still stuffing their
faces with pumpkin pie and other such treats, the corner of his green eyes
lingered on the increasing shadow hovering over him.
"Mr Potter, the Headmaster would like to see you in his office before the feast
is finished. If you please?" Professor McGonagall asked, an arm waved toward
the entrance they came from, suggesting very firmly to follow. Harry nodded and
moved from his seat, completely aware the great hall had quieted down and
watching the scene play out like hawks. A quick glance told the boy that the
Headmaster as well as three other professors weren't at their seats either.
Most likely waiting for him. Harry wasn't going to lie, context that he just
ruined thousands of years old tradition and traumatized artifact leading said
tradition aside, it was a little flattering.
"Lead the way Professor."
From the lack of lips on the woman's mouth, Harry was pretty sure he should
have said something else. Pretty sure.
===============================================================================
 
"I've brought the boy Albus." Was the first thing McGonagall said when she
entered the room. Harry looked around curiously, he couldn't help but compare
the room to his own office. It was a large pleasingly circular room, filled
with strange silver decorations that whirred and gave off funny puffs of smoke
occasionally. The walls were filled with bookcases and portraits of snoozing
people, it was a good guess that they were previous headmasters, and overall
the place felt quite inviting. The only thing his office and Dumbledore's had
really in common were the fact they were circular in design and filled with
books. Though looking at this vastly more pleasant looking room, Harry wondered
if he should redecorate.
Though he did like to think his chandelier made from brightly shimmering souls
were much prettier than those boring candles. So there.
In the midst of the office stood three men and a woman. The woman was elderly,
and of a slightly plump figure but held a kind reassuring smile, striking him
with the image of Love, it was even stronger in her than Malkins. Next to her
was a very short old fellow with a shock of white hair and green robes, brown
eyes looking at him with intrigue, excitement and a glimmer of confusion mixed
with the familiar look of devotion - elf or goblin blood then. Harry decided he
liked the two immediately.
On the other side of the group spectrum though was the darkly dressed professor
he'd met before in Diagon. Well not really. The Professor Snape he'd met in
Diagon was an imposing intelligent man with a dry snarky humor filled with
barbs and jabs. This Professor Snape was sneering, clearly unhappy and looked
like his words were armed with grenades and knives, ready to completely cut him
down with vicious glee. It confused Harry immensely, this sudden change of
regard and attitude. And, while it confused him, it also made him feel a sharp
empty stabbing sensation on his throat that tasted bitter and dry on his
tongue. That was a new emotion. It wasn't anger, no, sadness? He wasn't sure
that was right either. Something more complicated obviously. Disappointment.
Yes, something along those lines. Whatever it was, Harry found he did not have
much care for it so he promptly moved his attention to the last man, standing
in the middle of the group.
"I know you." He blurted out, it wasn't tactful but sometimes tact wasn't
necessary in certain situations. Whether this was one of them or not he
honestly didn't know. "You were the old man who dropped me off on that
doorstep. Mighty cold of you. Just like the weather then really."
The old wizard apparently did not see that being the first thing out of his
mouth. Well Harry didn't either. Oh well. McGonagall was now glaring at
Dumbledore fiercely, the elder of the two cowering slightly under the intense
look. The other teachers glanced at each other but otherwise said nothing,
Snape's sneer flattened into that blank unreadable look he'd seen before the
man left from the potion store. So those three had no idea what that was about
either.
"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore spoke hesitantly, his eyes, which had been bright
blue and twinkling before, dimmed guiltily, "I do apologise if you have had a
hard time at the Dursley's but there is a reason for that-"
Harry blinked a few times before realising what the man was trying to say,
shaking his head the boy responded firmly, "Yes I did figure there was some
sort of reason you left me there. I wouldn't think you were the sort of man who
would just pick up newly orphaned babes and put them in less than pleasant
households for fun." He paused for a bit and then made a slight face on his
pale features, "You aren't are you?"
The twinkle was back and full of humour now. "No, I assure you I'm not."
Dumbledore chuckled.
"I'm still unhappy with you though."
That stopped the chuckling.
"I also thought the doorstep bit was overdramatic and very unnecessary. I've
thought about it for a while now, and I'm sure there wasn't any reason for that
was there?"
The wizard accused shuffled his feet.
"Ah, yes. I do apologise for that but that really isn't what we are he-"
"I wish for a proper apology."
"Why you arrogant-" The tall hook nosed man began furiously, but was stopped by
a hand from Dumbledore.
"Harry's right Severus." He said sternly, "He deserves that much and more.
While I think some of the stories Minevra has said might be slightly
exaggerated in the heat of the moment-" Both professors addressed turned red at
that,
"I was NOT exaggera-"
"Of COURSE she was exaggera-"
"-nonetheless we all know that Petunia wasn't the most.. accepting of muggles."
"Worst kind." McGonagall hissed, furious at her tale being diminished to such
extent. The next time she swore, instead of going to Dumbledore about this
again she'll head straight for St Mungo's.
"Harry I am sorry for dropping you on that doorstep when you were a baby."
Dumbledore apologised, he did look genuinely ashamed of his actions. Harry
would let it go. For now.
"Apology accepted." The child nodded, causing the man to beam.
"Marvellous," The headmaster smiled, "Now back to the minor technicality at
hand."
"Minor." Professor Snape snorted derisively. Like the word had somehow
personally offended him.
"And don't you think we're going to drop that previous subject like you did to
the poor boy on that doorstep." The plump woman added, with a near murderous
look that didn't suit her kindly face well at all. Dumbledore coughed and wiped
his brow. "Of course, course, wouldn't dream of it."
"Hope you do." McGonagall muttered non-too quietly. The bearded man either
didn't hear her or chose at the moment to ignore it.
"Mr Potter, do you know why you've been placed in, ahem, every house?" The
short professor asked, trying to move back to the topic at hand. "We've tried
consulting the Sorting Hat but with all the secrecy spells placed on it and it
being very stubborn in giving even the most obscure of hints.."
"Well. I asked for it to place me like that." Harry answered. The potions
professor sneered at the simple answer.
"Don't be stupid, foolish child. You can't just ask the Hat to do something!"
"But I did. It said that I would do well in any house so I picked all four."
The boy looked distinctly unimpressed by everyone, unable to see what was wrong
with what he'd done.
"You can't just 'pick' all four Mr Potter." The plump witch pointed out not
unkindly. "That wouldn't be fair to the other students would it?"
"But they didn't ask." Harry retorted, unaware of how much he sounded like his
physical age currently. "Furthermore it would be unfair to me to just choose
randomly a house and then spend the rest of my school life regretting it."
"How selfish of you Potter." Snape drawled with a raised brow. "Though I
shouldn't be much surprised."
"Severus." Dumbledore admonished, the black-clad man gave an ugly glare but
silenced himself. "Now Mr Potter, Harry, I don't think you understand the
repercussions of what would happen if you become.. Well.. I'm not fully sure
what to call it right now."
"An individualist?" The short man quipped in helpfully.
"Good enough,"
Harry tilted his chin up and looked challengingly at twinkling blue with
glowing green. "Then by all means please enlighten me of your.. Repercussions."
He confronted, the last word said in almost eerie similar tone of disgust and
disbelief to the tall potions professor's own voiced protests. For a second
Harry Potter didn't look like an eleven year old child, a small boy, for a
second he looked old and powerful and painfully dominating. But then those
strikingly bright eyes of the boy's softened ever so slightly and it could have
almost be dismissed as a trick of the lights and shadows, the boy became a boy
again and Dumbledore could swallow down the lump of -
fearloveconfusionawerespectdreadhope- emotion back from where it came from.
The others may have disregarded it but the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Leader of
the Light, Defeater of Grindelward, knew better. From the even paler pallor on
his spy's face he knew the other must have sensed it too.
What was that?
===============================================================================
 
"The matter of your dorms." Professor Flitwick, as he had introduced himself,
tested with a spark in his eyes. Somehow it had become some sort of odd battle
of questions as Harry answered all their concerns with astounding ease.
"Switch on a bi-yearly bases. Every holiday I move out of my current
dormitories and into a new one until next holidays."
"Classes." Professor Sprout said next.
"Well I can really be put anywhere you want to so that's not a problem. If
anything, that makes things easier for you all. Or you could just swap me
around, fifty percent with Slythindor and fifty percent Ravenpuff. Or you could
go accordance to whichever dorm I'm sleeping in."
"House points." Professor McGonagall added.
"I don't personally care either way."
"Its our reward system Mr Potter. You can't just not care."
"Fine. Then if for example, you were my teacher in this instance, I'll be
considered in the class Gryffindor to prevent unfair discrimination."
"But what about favouritism?"
Harry shrugged, "It's one or the other we could argue really. As I said I don't
mind, we could make me exempt from the point system as well but that'll draw
even more attention." The woman nodded in acceptance at the answers.
"And for the teachers that don't have a house affinity like Professor Quirrel?"
Dumbledore asked?
"Whatever suits the timetable the best. Again that's your decision really."
"Uniform." Flitwick squeaked out, getting much too excited over this.
"Colouring charm."
"Long term projects."
"Then obviously I stay in that class. There's no need for me to hinder my own
education if it demands I require to keep in the same house in that instance."
"Okay, what ab-"
"This is ridiculous!" Professor Snape suddenly spat out. "Why are we all going
along this, this farce?!"
"Because the Sorting Hat said so. And from what I gather you guys follow this
Hat more avidly than the talking yellow sponge square does with his conch on
the telly." Harry replied near on habit by now from all the questions that had
been thrown at him.
The older hook nosed man looked somewhere in between 'unsure what to say' and
'going to throttle someone's neck violently'. Harry did sohope it was the
former. He rather liked this neck of his. Helped him to breathe and everything.
===============================================================================
 
"-so I'll be a Slythindor for Potions, Transfigurations, Defense Against the
Dark Arts and History of Magic."
"And you'll be a Huffleclaw for Charms, Herbology and Astronomy? Blimey that's
confusing." Ron replied, "At least most of the fun stuff we'll be with us." He
added thoughtfully while Harry quirked a brow.
"Us? So Draco's part of an 'us' now is he?" The green eyed boy teased and the
red head to flush slightly, "No! I-I meant us Gryffindors. Just because Malfoy
isn't a complete slimy jerk and your friend doesn't mean he's mine!"
"Sure, sure. Whatever you say Ron." Harry snickered, before eying the table of
green tied students getting up to leave. "Oh, I have to go now."
Ron looked quite unhappy at the prospect that Harry wasn't going to be bunking
with him till next year. "I kinda get why you chose those snakes first since
it'll be best to get the creepy dungeons out of the way but I don't see why
Gryffindor could at least be before Hufflepuff." He grumbled. The smaller of
the two pat the other consolingly. "Well I heard the Hufflepuffs talk about how
their dorms are near the kitchen Ron, and if I can find the kitchen-"
"You have my blessing mate."
Harry grinned.
"Off to the dungeons I'll go then."
===============================================================================
 
…o)0(o...
===============================================================================
 
Extra-_The_one_where_we_see_the_other_entities_try_doing_Death's_duties._Part
1._Probably._Assume_there_will_be_possibly_more._I_don't_know.
"Hello boys and girls," A man in a dark black suit with silver skull buttons
set with blue ghostfire and what seemed to be a Green Day shirt underneath,
burst through the large heavy doors of Hell, hair the color of a desert
sandstorm flying around like it had been caught in one and a wide grin that
could put Cheshire cat's to shame. "Daddy's home!"
His greeting was met with disgusted looks of derision.
"For the last time," A demon, Beelzebub? Pretty sure it was Beelzebub, Lord of
the Flies and all that gross stuff; sighed as he reluctantly pulled his hands
out of some guy's entrails- like he'd rather have hands in disgusting organs
than speak to the still grinning redhead- and wiped the blood on his shirt.
"You are not our father Chaos."
The 'you stupid ass' was left unsaid but very much implied.
Chaos pouted, "Aww are you guysstill mad about me recreating the whole Noah's
arc thing here in hell? C'mon that was centuries ago! And I know for a fact you
guys survived! Bloody cockroaches you all are really. Though you do get that
frome me I suppose." All the demons present glowered dangerously, a few even
were reaching slowly down for something, Chaos couldn't see what. Though as an
entity, he generally had very little skills in the area of self preservation so
he kept going,"Also you all would sell all the souls of Hell just so you could
call Death, daddy! I mean you guys have worse daddy issues than your so-called
holy counterparts upstairs you know?"
Something bloody and sticky flew right at the entity, smacking his nice suit
with a sickening sound. The man was sure it was a bit of an oesophagus.
"Well.. That was rude."
...
"This is ridiculous."
"Well Order," Uriel sniffed haughtily. Oh, Order hated the fact these angels
were made with his own characteristics, it had seemed like such a good idea at
the time. The only comfort was that Chaos stupidly did the same thing too. Any
being with even one of that entity's traits was a headache in itself. "I speak
for the rest of us in that we do not require restructuring. We are doing fine
without our Father."
"You know you should be calling me Father right? Death is technically your
mother if we're going to really look into this family metaphor of yours." At
the furious looks of the winged creatures Order readjusted his glasses and
rolled his eyes. The awe they held for his brother was actually bordering on
perverse. So much for holy lights. "Daddy complexes and abandonment issues. All
of you." The entity muttered.
"Get. Out."
"Fine but I'll be back and I expect you guys to get over it and accept I'll be
in charge for this unfortunate period of time."
Order didn't even know Angels could swear in Enochian. And if he did have a
mother he would've been greatly offended.
...
"Fucking hell."
Time looked at a sweating exhausted entity of Space who appeared suddenly next
to him, leaning on one of his prized grandfather clocks, much to his
irritation.
"What's wrong?"
"All the universes are what's wrong brother." The man tugged frustratedly at
the galaxies in his hair, "Some of them didn't get the memo that Death has left
the building and it's like the moment I turn my back to focus on something else
for a second I look back and the Apocalypse has started!"
Time winced sympathetically at his closest brother's plight. A part of him was
rather grateful about how peaceful his clocks were in comparison, just the
occasional tune up and the uncommon time paradox that needed a bit more of a
personal touch but that really was the limit of his interference. "I can slow
down the clocks for those worlds if you like?" He offered, but Space shook his
head regretfully.
"Once the Apocalypse is in motion only the inhabitants have a chance of
stopping it. Do you know how stupid this is?" Space bemoaned, "Their daddy
leaves and suddenly a hundred years later they decide the best coarse of action
other than waiting aimlessly is to hit the emergency kill switch!"
"Uh, brother, I know this isn't the best time... But you do realize that since
Death's gone you'll have to do your own paperwork in regards to any apocalyptic
events that happen under your watch."
The only response the entity of time got was a faint thumping of his usually
composed brother's head on the wall.
...
"I blame you." Magic hissed as another reaper came through, wobbling under the
sheer weight of documents. Fate whimpered at the sight, tugging at now ink
stained grey hair as she had just had to complete some sort of contract for
Hades and other Greek, Roman deities related to the underworld. It had been six
hundred pages long and not a single word didn't make her not want to rip up
everything to tiny unreadable shreds.
"I know."
"I mean seriously blaming you so hard right now."
...
"I don't know about you but I'm finding this delightful. All this inter-death
politics, quite fascinating really."
Love smiled as Knowledge without waiting for a reply turned and headed straight
toward a group of rather intellectual looking gods conversing in a strange mix
of Gaelic and Romanian Lizard-tongue. Taking a sip of the simply fantastic
blood red wine as she surveyed the usual black gothic decor of Pluto's grand
hall mixed with touches of spring flowers with an approving eye. Truly a fine
example of compromise. She knew those two would work things out eventually,
pity how it all started, what with Zeus's meddling, the old coot.
But now was not the time to curse the stupidity of gods, now was the time to
celebrate a certain couple's anniversary. And who better to do such a beautiful
blessing to reaffirm that love then her?
It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she sent her sweet Death
most of her share of the paperwork. Love sipped her wine again, her smile
turned sly. Nothing at all.
***** Death's day before classes start *****
The_one_where_Death_meets_some_Slytherins,_um,_other_things_kind_of_happen,
gets_lost_at_one_point,_has_a_brief_identity_crisis_(which_was_not_fun_at_all)
and_that's_really_all_that_happens_in_this_chapter._Yeah,_I_know.
"Draco wait up!"
The blond turned from the front of his fellow first year Slytherins - already
he'd showed them his rightful place at the head of the pack, as expected of
someone of his upbringing - and looked surprised as a familiar small boy with a
mess of hair blacker than even his father's finest inks, electric green eyes
and an all too familiar scar contrasting brightly against pale white skin,
strode quickly toward him. Draco couldn't find it in himself to push down the
flutter of delight and happiness that made it's way onto his face like he'd
been taught. However he quickly covered it up with surprise.
"Potter, what are you doing here?" He asked. Ignoring the faint buzzing of
excited chatter around him as the Boy-Who-Lived came towards them.
"I'm going to be bunking with you guys for the first half of the school year."
Harry replied, "I'll explain the system later, for now I'm eager to see the
dorms. It is true they're located in the dungeons yeah?"
Draco gave a quirked half smile much like Harry's usual ones, though Harry knew
that was the most he would probably get with the other in front of such a crowd
of people. Upbringing around here certainly was a strange thing. The green eyed
child could not possibly fathom why any parent would stifle such bright large
grins on their children's faces, no matter the heritage. Well, he didn't really
smile properly either but in his defence he was older than any current planet
and meat suits were much stiffer with the finer muscles on your face when said
meat suit wasn't yours to begin with.
"Obviously Potter," the blonde answered, "Didn't you read Hogwarts: A History?"
Harry scrunched up his face, "Ugh you sound like the Granger girl. She wouldn't
stop talking about that book, thinking back on it now it's probably the reason
how I vaguely remembered the snakes lived in the dungeons."
Now it was Draco's turn to pull a face, "Don't compare me to that mud- I mean
annoying girl." He quickly covered up, but of course the shorter of the two
caught the slight change of wording.
"Wait." Draco was looking distinctly uncomfortable, looking at the ceiling of
the Great Hall and completely avoiding Harry's curious gaze. "What where you
going to say before?"
"Before what?" The blonde questioned oh so innocently, causing glowing green
eyes to narrow suspiciously.
"You were going to call Granger something else."
"Annoying? Because she is you know. Even you must-"
"No, no, no, you were about to say something before that."
"I did no-"
"He was going to call her a mudblood." A dark skinned boy interrupted. Blaise
Zabini, one of the last to be sorted and Harry only remembered him because he
looked just as haughty as Draco first appeared but vastly different colouring
that served to amuse him greatly. Though right now looking at the subdued
expression on Malfoy's face and the thinly veiled aggression on Blaise's it was
hard to see any similarities he'd though he saw before. "Is that a problem
Potter?"
If the green tied house hadn't been listening in before, they certainly were
now. If gazes could cut glass the boy felt he would have been neatly dissected
and sold to the highest bidder by now. They seemed to eagerly wait for his
response, like it would determine his place in the world and how he was to be
treated. Harry was now wishing a bit he picked the Hufflepuffs first. They
seemed super nice. And fluffy. And nearby food. Warm. Little to no
expectations. Actually, why didn't he take up with the Puffs first actually?
It's stupid name. Right.
"Well if someone can explain to me the term then I'll see whether I have a
problem with it."
The majority of the group seemed taken aback at his response. They were
expecting a response, an opinion, not a question. "You don't know what a
mudblood is?" Another boy, Harry can only remember his name was definitely not
Theodore for some reason, asked curiously.
The petite child shook his head at Not Theodore's question. "I was raised by
muggles who refused to tell me anything about magic. Technically, I only learnt
about me being a wizard when I got my letter."
Everyone who heard the statement gasped, horrified, appalled and sympathetic at
once. A few even looked like they were going to be ill, violently so. Crabbe
and Goyle had their mouths open, like the idea of not knowing about magic was
so uncomprehendingly impossible for them their thought processes have melted.
Even Draco looked paler than his usual pallor. The raven haired saviour just
stared at the sheer reaction a few simple truths can create, it was fascinating
if not a little exaggerated.
"You lived with muggles?" Someone said in disgust.
"They didn't tell you about magic?" Another whispered, as if the concept was
some sort of horror-esque myth magicals told their children. People muttered at
the question, almost sickly afraid at the answer. Harry didn't understand. To
be fair though, he found a lot of things he had trouble understanding with such
strange responses. That wasn't even one of the worst things those meat lumps
had done to him, didn't even make it to top ten, yet everyone was acting like
he just confessed to murder.
He also didn't understand the reactions when people confess to murder either
but that was not currently the moral of this story.
"Yes I lived with muggles. And yes they didn't tell me about magic." Harry
shrugged off, ignoring the flurry of scandalised whispers that went even past
inter-house barriers. He could see a couple of the Ravenclaws shooting aghast
looks at him in the corner of his eye much to his faint annoyance. Children,
they are just the most overdramatic little fleshies. "So anyone wish to inform
me what this mudblood thing is?"
A few were about to open their mouths to do just that when they promptly closed
them with a audible click as a large shadow of a man loomed over them, visibly
unimpressed by the gathering. Black eyes immediately locked on the raven haired
Boy Who Lived and the man's face contorted into a sneer. "Why am I not
surprised?" Harry felt Professor Snape should be. After all, the man barely
knew him enough to make such implied assumptions. They were correct assumptions
but still. "Potter, cease whatever nonsense your going on about and let the
prefects do their job."
And then the potions professor left as suddenly as he came, robes billowing
some sort of nonexistent wind. The green eyed child wondered how he could get
his robes to do that.
Two of the older looking kids coughed embarrassed and stepped out of the crowd,
the rest of the Slytherins with the exception of the first years began leaving,
but not without a few backward glances first.
"Well, hullo, I'm Gemma Farley, sixth year prefect of Slytherin." The blond
girl introduced cheerily enough, though it seemed slightly strained. From the
looks shot at his person, it didn't take much to figure out the reason.
"And I'm Justin Brookwells." Came a much more subdued voice, a brunette with
his hair pulled back in a slick ponytail who looked on the students with a mix
of disinterest and a dash of condescension. "We'll be guiding you to the common
rooms and then your dorms."
And off they went.
The Slytherin common rooms were almost exactly what he pictured. A little
nautical, shipwrecked kind of feel but it was all very refined and high class
at the same time. A tad chilly as well, though that was maybe because of it
being located in the dungeons and, from the indication of the windows, under
that giant lake they boated in before. Damn. Harry really should've ordered
some warmer robes or something with fur.
Dark green and splashes of silver and some darkened gold seemed to be the main
color scheme in this place, unsurprising, these people apparently really took
this House pride thing seriously. Harry wondered if this wasn't just one of the
pettiest things he'd ever heard really. House Cup. Hah. Such amusing things the
mortals are. They make amazing magnificent things like metal vessels that fly
through the air, boxes that tell stories through images.. And then they come up
with this idiocy.
When Order talked about maintaining a balance, Harry was sure he didn't mean
this. Though stupidity in every world seems to breed so much it's hard to
believe there's any balance at all. It's almost surprising there is no
personification of Stupid. Surprising, but immensely relieving nonetheless.
The first years chatter nervously as they are gathered in a tight group in
front of the older years. Draco, Goyle and Crabbe were some of the few that
didn't look like a completely jittery mess of nerves, Harry liked to think they
had to attend some weird sort of class for that. Zamboni over there seemed to
have joined them to because they all looked like child sized statues of
nobility, waiting patiently. Expectedly. Much like the older kids actually, oh
they were subtle enough but Harry could pinpoint the source of their stares and
brief glances to the most shadowy corner of the already shadowy room. The boy
knew he could easily figure out the reasoning, whatever or more likely whoever
is skulking in the corner, but where was the fun in that?
As the prefects shifted, it was barely any movement, a tilt of the head, a
nudge to their friend, the smallest twist of their lips, the sort gestures you
make before getting ready for an interesting show. Harry nudged the boy
standing next to him looking somewhere else, still didn't know his name other
than he was not Theodore. "Hey, not Theodore," he whispered, weirdly enough the
kid actually responded to that, "You're looking the wrong way."
"What?"
Harry inclined his head toward the dark corner, "Keep your eye out over there.
I think someone's about to start a scene."
Not Theodore looked at him confused but complied anyway. Curiosity always won
over most things with children. It almost made them predictable. Well almost
half way there anyway.
Soon enough Severus Snape, robes blacker than the darkest starless of nights
strode through the shadows like he owned them, surprising several young
students as they gasped or gave double takes. It was dramatic and very well
timed and admittedly, not exactly unattractive to the entity in the mortal
vessel.
"How did you-"
"Shhh I'll tell you later." Harry interrupted, eyes glued to the tall, dark and
handsome hook-nosed professor before him. He did not want to miss what was
about to be said.
"You are all Slytherins now." He began, intense gaze raking over them with such
focus the green eyed boy near shivered as it passed then lingered on him. "You
are the school's most cunning, most ambitious, and you all have the potential
to be the best. Our House to us is power, it's our pride. It represents us and
therefore you represent it." Woah, hey no pressure at all. "As you may not with
our House comes a certain... Reputation with it. This will hang on all your
heads like a noose ready for anyone to hang you with the first chance they
get,"
Dear lord this is not an appropriate welcome speech for eleven year olds. The
only place Harry could think of on the top of his head that is suitable is
prison. And even then he's pretty sure no one tells those murderers they've got
to do their best to represent their gang. Actually they may. Harry really must
try prison sometime, there were always these stories he heard- this ritual of
'shanking' and something else in relation to dropping a soap bar? Such strange
cultures and rituals that seem to be more of the seeing is believing variety.
"You will be scrutinised by your peers, your teachers and even by your own
headmaster for almost every action you make. Just by being in this House people
will immediately think you to be a Dark wizard, a Death Eater or just someone
you can't be trusted. Outside the confines of this wall no one would take mercy
on you."
Jesus Christ. He bet Hufflepuff never said anything like this. Again, Jesus
Christ.
"But that is why it's even more prudent to stick together. That means, if a
member of your House is in trouble you will assist them. We snakes stick
together, unified in our House. There is safety in numbers and we are your
numbers. We aren't like those Gryffindors, we hold self-preservation and so I
don't expect you to barge head first into any sort of stupidity, if you see
trouble coming towards you, you come toward me."
Huh. That sounded almost kind.
In a harsh, dark and a little insulting sort of way. But then, from what little
he's gathered about the man, that seemed to be his personal slogan.
"Now as you all know the password for now is 'callidus mentis', this will
switched every two weeks and the new password will be written on the
noticeboard the day before it's to be changed. Tomorrow all of you have a free
day, apparently this is some sort of way to acquaint yourself with Hogwarts.
Heed what I said. Be cunning, be smart and don't be foolish." Snape gave a
short nod at the prefects and one last glance at the gathered students before
then making his leave as swiftly as he came.
===============================================================================
 
"May I take one of the window beds?"
Draco looked ready to protest since he had immediately staked claim on a bed
faced across and about a bed to the right of Harry's chosen furniture.
Something about it being his father's or other strange sentimental nonsense.
However not Theordore answered with a "Sure, go ahead." Before the Malfoy scion
could verbally show his opinion, making the platinum blonde look like he was
about to have a right sulk.
The bed next to him was taken by not Theodore- who introduced himself properly
and was actually just called Thodore Nott, who knew?- and the one across him
was Crabbe's, with Draco next to him and Goyle a bed over. Draco however,
apparently wishing to be closer to Harry for some unfathomable reason demanded
Crabbe to switch places with him, the large boy agreed readily enough at least,
more than happy to sleep by Goyle.
Zabini, the more aloof of the five Slytherins (Harry decided he didn't really
count), claimed the bed closest to the door next to Nott. Everyone seemed
pretty excited about the oncoming year, even the dark skinned Italian boy.
"So what are you looking forward to the most Potter?" Nott asked curiously, the
child as far as Harry could tell, had warmed up rather quickly to him since he
helped point out their Head of House. How strange. Not that he was complaining
but the green eyed child had found human mortals always seeming to be such
suspicious little things, what with their constant questions and doubts, even
children these days looked like they wanted constant proof and reasoning. Was
the social interaction known as 'friendship' somehow different to that in this
aspect? Or maybe this sudden rise in trust can only be satisfied in the younger
age groups after meeting certain levels of checkpoints?
"Well, I think I'm quite looking forward to Transfiguration and maybe
Herbology?"
Nott wrinkled his nose at the answer, "Transfiguration I get but Herbology?"
"Yeah Potter," Draco added in, eager to join in conversation. His presence drew
in Crabbe and Goyle and by default Zabini who didn't wish to be left out of the
group. "That's probably one of the most boring classes we've got to take!
Almost no magic at all in that one."
"Hey I think it'll be rather relaxing." Harry defended, his gaze turned to
Zabini who was trying to look disinterested at the whole thing, "Zabini you
agree with me right?"
The dark skinned boy looked almost surprised he'd been brought into the debate
but quickly recovered by giving a small smirk, "I guess it sounds alright,
though Malfoy I'm pretty sure Astronomy is going to be the most boring class
this year if anything."
The pale blonde groaned dramatically, even going so far as to fall onto his bed
with an audible thump. "I totally forgot about Astronomy! My father told me it
was a waste of time it was. At least it's once a week, Merlin help me." His
bodyguards grunted in agreement. The other three boys chuckled amusedly.
"Hey at least we got Defense Against the Dark Arts, that sounds pretty cool."
Nott offered.
Zabini snorted. "Please, did you see that quivering mess of a teacher at the
Great Hall? The one with the turban?"
"Nooo." Draco replied looking suitably horrified. "That man? He practically had
a seizure every time the Hat opened its mouth!"
"Um. I didn't really notice him." The brunette boy confessed. "To be honest
Potter was kind of distracting the whole time."
Everyone nodded in agreement. Harry looked at all of them then mock scowled,
"Well I refuse to apologise for my stunning good looks if that's what you're
implying." He sniffed making all the boys burst out laughing.
"Oh dear god, and I thought going to deal with one Draco on a daily bases was
bad enough." Zabini snickered out causing Malfoy to give the boy a slap over
the head.
"Oi!"
"You're such a hypocrite Zabini, I know for a fact minor countries have died
from drought with how long you take in the shower." Nott pointed out with a
cheeky grin. The Italian spluttered.
"That's not true!" He denied, "Most of my time spent in the bathroom is so I
can properly apply my skincare products."
"Because that's so much better." Harry smirked.
"It- I- shut it you ponce!"
"Why do people keep calling me that?"
They all paused to stare at the Boy Who Lived and as one, re-burst into
laughter. Honestly, the Slytherin first years had been unsure about this Golden
Boy coming onto their territory but seeing Potter joking easily around with
them, pouting at their jibes and easily trading barbs with them- well it was
safe to assume maybe this term wasn't going to be so bad after all.
===============================================================================
 
"Hello I'm Harry Potter."
"T-Terry Boot," The small boy stuttered looking at him in awe. His new friends
were apparently no better.
"Padma Patil." An indian girl immediately greeted, almond shaped eyes
glimmering in excitement, "Would you like to sit down?" She asked eagerly. The
raven haired boy nodded amiably, sitting next to Patil and turning to face the
boy next to him. "And you are"
"Anthony Goldstein," A curly haired blonde managed to get out with a nervous
smile. Harry returned it politely, apparently the Ravenclaws weren't the best
with small talk.
"Uh, so have you guys read the Magical drafts and Potions textbook? Apparently
there's literally no order in how the thing has been organised."
Boot stood up from his breakfast, slammed his hands onto the table and yelled
"WHAT?" and then ran off to go get his textbook.
They all spent the rest of the meal debating over possible patterns, theories,
reasons and just comments in general about Potions. Overall, not a bad use of
time if Harry didn't say so himself.
===============================================================================
"Oi Harry mate! Come on and join me and the rest of the Gryffindors out
exploring round the castle!" Ron shouted with a grin as he ran up to the Boy
Who Lived who was just finishing his meal and conversation with the Ravenclaws.
"Potter, forget them and join Crabbe, Goyle and I in checking out what's beyond
the outer walls of Hogwarts." Draco drawled as he strode toward the two,
pointedly sneering at the redhead's glare. Harry who had been quite innocently
doing well on his own looked at the two large boys behind the blonde confused.
The entourage just gave him a some halfhearted shrugs as an answer. "We've even
brought some Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans to munch on during our
stroll."
"Hah! Harry prefers chocolate to candy Malfoy- take that!"
"I mean I don't-"
"Hmph, well thank Merlin we're also carry a few packets of chocolate frogs as
back up right Goyle?"
"Right."
"Wha- that's cheating! Harry, I'll show you the Gryffindor common rooms as
well! I mean I know you're Slytherin right now but technically you are also a
fellow Griff-"
"You've never seen much magic have you Potter? Why don't I show you a few
spells my father taught me?"
"Well my brothers Fred and George- you like them right Harry? Yeah well they've
actually known some real proper good spells, specially pranking ones. I'm sure
they'll love to show off some if I asked."
"Oh yeah? How about-"
"Uh Malfoy?"
"Yes Weasley?"
"Where's Harry?"
The two boys looked around to find a previously Harry occupied space now empty.
"Great you weasel. You scared him off."
"I did?!" Ron spluttered, "If you hadn't come you gelled up bloody ferret and
went on and on-"
===============================================================================
 
"It is so good to finally speak with you my Lord-" The ghost that snatched him
away greeted excitedly.
The boy gave the spectre a nod and corrected politely if not firmly, "Harry
Potter."
"Ah, yes." The ghost nodded eagerly, "Apologies... Lord Harry." Then he giggled
like it was some sort of inside joke. Harry really didn't see much humour in
it. But he gave a good natured sigh nonetheless.
"I suppose that's really going to be the best I'm going to get huh?"
"And you deserve the best milord."
Suddenly another spirit, this one was the friar from the day before appeared.
Soon enough as if drawn by a beacon more intangible bodies soon followed.
"Milord why don't you allow me your gracious company whilst I show you around
some of the nicest spots to view the greenery?" The friar asked, however before
Harry could even open his mouth another ghost interrupted.
"No, no, Lord Harry will walk with me as I take pleasure in guiding him around
the dungeons. After all he will be living there with me for the first half of
his year here." Bartimus or better yet known as the Bloody Baron insisted.
"Exactly Baron! You've got our Lord for half a year, do not be so greedy. Now
our Lord would much rather take a stroll up to the towers and maybe meet all
the paintings?" The Grey Lady, or Helena Ravenclaw, chided.
"At least my dungeons would guarantee in preventing the Death Lord from meeting
a certain poltergeist yes?" The Slytherin House ghost rebuffed smugly.
All the spiritual beings shuddered at the thought. Harry however looked
curious. There was another ghost that he hadn't met yet?
"A poltergeist you say?"
"No!" The Gryffindor House ghost denied vehemently causing the Bloody Baron to
roll his translucent eyes.
"Smooth Nick." He hissed. The nearly headless spirit beamed.
"Thank you."
Harry sighed.
===============================================================================
 
"Good afternoon Sir." Harry greeted with a slight smile as a hunched older man
he had seen pass by once or twice, was about to walk past him. The hunchbacked
semi-bald grouch paused, and stared at the small pale boy, with suspicious
twitchy eyes. It was almost like he wasn't used to being addressed normally.
Aw. Harry almost wished now that he had that problem. It was either students
who wished to speak to the Boy Who Lived or ghosts wanting to pay their
respects to their Death Lord. The boy felt he almost forgot what it was like to
greet someone else first for once.
"Potter." The man growled like he had just ripped the walls of Hogwarts down
with a giant metal ball instead of greet him like any polite individual would
have. The child mentally sighed, what was up with people either swooning or
spitting over his name?
"Yes I am." Harry answered back smoothly, "Unfortunately I do not know your
name Mr-"
The man was still staring at him like a criminal who've grown three heads but
at least replied with an awed if not extremely wary, "Argus Flich." Harry tried
to give his most reassuring, sincere smile.
"Alright then, Mr Flich. It has been very nice to meet you."
A meow then distracted the air as they both looked down to see a scrawny thing
of a cat preening as it lovingly curled around the child's leg. Harry grinned
as he bent down to scratch the back of the feline's ears, snickering softly at
the way the dust coloured cat just melted into his touch. Glowing green looked
up at the old man. "Is she yours? She's rather lovely."
Flich nodded mutely, for some reason in some state of shock. Unusual man this
one.
"What's your name miss?" Harry addressed the feline, stroking her head as he
did so. She purred something making the child cock his head slightly, "Mrs
Norris is it?" Another string of meows. The boy's smile widened. "It's an honor
to meet you too."
"You can.. You can understand her?" Filch said, his voice now with more wonder
than suspicion. Harry nodded.
"I've always had a... knack with animals you could say sir." Harry stood up,
brushing off any stray hairs of his robes as he did so before facing the
hunchbacked man again. "From what I gather Mr Filch you are a very dedicated
caretaker of the school. Mrs Norris speaks highly of her master." The balding
caretaker flushed pink with pride at that, all traces of mistrust wiped clean
by the simple words of praise.
"It seems you're one of the few kids who've learnt some manners." Filch groused
reluctantly through his reddening skin tone.
"My relatives actually were very helpful in that actually."
"Really? Thought you everything to do?"
The boy's grin grew shark like, more predatory and fearsome than any boy's face
should ever have the right to be, "More like everything not to do." With the
implication in mind the green eyed creature, because Filch could never feel
comfortable with ever imagining this young boy to be like those other snotty
children now, rubbed slowly his other forearm and drawing the old caretaker's
gaze. "They weren't good people sir."
Filch's stomach rolled at that nauseously. He may despise children, may believe
some good corporal punishment like back in the day would do a fat lot of good
to them but child abuse was a whole different story. The squib looked at
Potter, really looked. The skinny almost skeletal figure, bone white skin that
looked like the effects of sunlight simply slid off the boy, how dangerously
sharp those cheekbones were.. His stomach didn't just roll, they outright
flipped and twisted like a professional quidditch player on a pepper up potion.
And then the creature, so kind and polite, with eyes that were so ethereally
vivid they glowed like bright green moons and skin as pale as bone and hair
like tendrils of chaotic shadows, smiled at him- Argus Filch, hated old squib
of Hogwarts- clasping tiny delicate fingers around his own worn calloused ones
and said, "Good people are always the hardest to find. However Mr Filch, for
someone like yourself to be so dedicated to this school I do believe you are at
least not a bad person. So I do so hope we can be on good terms."
Pale blue-ish eyes flickered at the small hands around his own, gaze filled
with something small and child-like and vulnerable before the old man tightened
his lax grip against smooth cool skin. This was a child to be watched. This was
a child to be protected. He could feel it even deeper than his bones, Filch
could almost say in his soul. Harry Potter was special.
"Well," Filch coughed awkwardly, unused to saying anything kindly to well,
anyone really, especially to the bratty students of the place. However Potter's
genuine graciousness made him want to try. At least for the raven haired boy.
"Mrs Norris usually doesn't warm up ta most brats so I guess I'll give you the
benefit of the doubt. I'm heading to my office now, if you want you can follow
around for a bit and I can point around a few little interesting bits of the
castle most younglings tend to ignore."
Harry tilted his head to the side, much like how he did when listening to his
beloved feline companion, listening to his words, not hearing, those were two
very different things. And then the creature gave a fond look, like he was an
animal that pleased him with the words he had said. It should be demeaning,
offending. But it just warmed him up and made him feel whole. It was
terrifying. And amazing.
"I would very much like that Mr Filch."
===============================================================================
 
The library was already closing up for the day when he finally found the place.
Harry cursed under his breath in the hissing baritones of a Burmese Python. He
can't believe he passed what could've possibly been a delicious cinnamon slice
that Filch had ordered for this. This right here was the reason why things like
patience was a virtue. Because if he had patience, he certainly wouldn't be
without dessert.
The boy turned to go back, or at least head to the dorms but his stomach
dropped a bit when he realized the halls looked distinctly different from not
five minutes ago. Harry swiveled full circle confirming his fears. He didn't
recognize the area. And now he was lost. This was the sixth bloody time
already.
Hogwarts. What a little bitch.
As if reading his thoughts, the castle shifted again. This time Harry was sure
he'd been moved to one of the uppermost floors of the castle. Harry was wrong.
Hogwarts was a gigantic bitch.
Of course then the floorboards tripped him.
The boy may have been imagining things but he swore the faint draft in the
hallways was the god damn giant castle shaped piece of rubble's way of laughing
in his face. Chaos and Magic would love her. He hoped Order disliked her, then
he could band together with him and tweak the damn sentient building to at
least not feel the urge to prank physical representations of death.
"When I figure out how to properly utilize my magics I will redecorate you so
bad you'll wish the mortal mundane's 80s fashion came to take you first." Harry
hissed.
Another draft of wind was his response.
For a split second the sentence 'Looks like you beat me to the punch in that
race... Bitch.' Flickered into his head. And WOW. Never had he ever met a magic
castle with so much sass. He didn't know if he liked it or not.
Also sucks to the castle, his wardrobe was gothic at best. The original English
European type with subtle frills and black lace edging, not the leather clad
with buckles that the people of the more 'modern' worlds were into. Actually
confession time, he may have gotten a few gifts consisting of those sort of
clothing and he may have liked those much more than he would like to admit.
Anyway, what was the point again?
Right. Harry was lost. Hogwarts was a massive female dog in the rudest possible
way. And he was pretty sure it was almost past his ridiculous eight o'clock
curfew.
Did he mention that he had no idea where he was?
"Shitting magic castles." He grumbled. The Founders certainly never told him
that part of the tale where their building apparently has a thing with all
powerful entities.
===============================================================================
 
It was way past curfew. From the setting of the moon Harry would've guessed it
was about nine to who knows fuck but he really, really wants to break in the
beautiful bed of his. He can't believe he's missing time with those
delightfully soft pillows. The boy was not happy. And he was dangerously on the
precipice from being snarky to outright mean.
Amazingly at least, the entity stuffed in a child's body hadn't encountered any
teachers nor prefects scouting around. In fact he hadn't encountered anyone.
Just the sleeping paintings had kept him company for the most part.
However that all changed when he bypassed one corner and a very familiar child
caught his eye, causing him to pause and backpedal.
"Crabbe?!"
Crabbe who had been wandering around aimlessly (Harry would like to think his
aimless wandering at least looked purposeful, the larger boy just looked like
he walked in circles and was just dizzy) turned to face the green eyed boy in
surprise.
"Harry? What you doing here?"
"Could ask you the same question really." The smaller child shot back,
disgruntled at the fact that he, all powerful God - with a capital G thank you
very much - Death incarnation, was somehow on the same level as this dim eleven
year old who closely resembled a large chunk of granite. Easily said, this was
not exactly his proudest shining moment. Quickly he moved on. "Uh Crabbe? Any
idea where we are?"
The large boy grunted in what seemed to be a negative manner. Harry looked at
the unfamiliar hallways and staircases forlornly. The darkness of the coming
night fall wasn't exactly helping things either.
"Brill."
Harry began to stride toward a random destination, glancing back occasionally
to make sure the golem child was still loyally plodding along behind him. The
raven haired child knew he shouldn't be so harsh on the kid but really, how
lonely did Draco have to be for Crabbe and Goyle of all people to be what is
perceived to be his closest friends?
"So what are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be with Draco and Goyle, not
that I'm complaining mind you. Just curious." He asked, the sound of quiet
footsteps not enough to fill the room. Honestly, he'd been content with near
silence for millennia of a time yet eleven years as less than immortal and
suddenly there is an inexplicable need to 'say things' in order to escape from
what the humans call the phenomenon The Awkward Silence. To make even he bend
his resolve and love for quiet, truly The Awkward Silence is a terrifying
thing.
Despite that though. Harry didn't actually think the other boy was going to
answer.
"I got lost." Was rumbled out. And Harry did not startle at the unexpected
response. He was older than Fate and Magic and most gods would only ever dream
of what he has seen for God's sake! It wasn't even a particularly loud sound
too. Just an embarrassed mumble of a noise. "Tried to go back to our rooms
after lunch to get a spare chocolate frog and I think I went left instead of
right.."
"If you've been like that since lunchtime why didn't you just ask for
directions?"
The boy looked at him in amazement and awe like Harry had apparently suddenly
revealed his true all-powerful form and then proceeded to summon angels out of
his arse instead of just pointing out a perfectly logical question that anyone
with a sprinkle of sense would have asked. And now he has made up a terrible
image in his head that can never be truly deleted. Joy. He got the idiot out of
the two bodyguards. Or maybe they were both idiots. My god he didn't know if he
should respect the Malfoy scion for putting up with the pair of cinder blocks
or doubt the child's sanity and taste for sticking around so long.
The green eyed boy glanced again at the built, large-if slightly dimmed- lost
eyes of the eleven year old child and softened slightly. Okay so maybe that was
a bit mean. But hey, Harry never had to really deal with people who held mental
facilities that just... lacked. Oh he dealt with idiots, Chaos and Magic were
the leaders of idiots, but they were intelligent and crafty as anything. Gods
could be stupid too, but that was more due to hubris and unhealthy amounts of
alcohol. And when people died they gained clarity and perspective, any
fogginess of their minds -such as forgetfulness, tunnel visions or general
incomprehension when alive- were cleared and swept away.
Though Harry guessed the stupidity can be endearing. In a sad pathetic sort of
way. Yeah, he can see that. Like an abandoned untrained puppy with unappealing
features. And what would you do when faced with such a creature drenched in the
rain?
"Okay, why don't you come with me then?"
Not that. Dammit. That wasn't, what he was going to, no,
"Really?" The boy brightened up, then his face turned slightly insecure,
revealing the child underneath all that giant gruff guard facade. "I mean.. You
sure?"
Bullocks.
Harry gave a small if slightly forced smile. "Of course." Stupid. Stupid.
Stupid. "Why wouldn't I?"Why did he do that?
And Crabbe just looked so happy and it was just so obvious the kid did not have
that many friends outside Goyle and Malfoy, God Harry was just such a pushover.
Because now he felt bad and even if he didn't there was no way he was socially
able to untangle the bind his large mouth set himself into.
"Well come on then. We've got other places to get lost in I guess."
The boy looked confused at the joke but happily complied anyway, walking at a
close distance behind the smaller child. Harry could not stop thinking how
appropriate the dog metaphor was.
It was surprisingly not as terrible as he thought. Crabbe was generally quite
quiet but was willing to divulge things when asked and overall very obedient.
They walked along twisting halls and explored alleys they swore weren't their
before, conversing with some interesting paintings and hiding from an angry
looking Filch with his cat. Harry didn't really understand why they had to hide
at the pair but Crabbe was very adamant about it and it was the first time the
smaller of the two had seen the other take charge so he went along with it.
After that the blocky boy seemed a bit more comfortable with himself as he
began starting conversations instead of just answering in grunts and short
worded mumbles. He was a very curious child which was both surprising and not,
he was eleven years old after all but with a demeanor like his Harry found it
difficult to imagine underneath that admittedly thick head was someone who was
actually interested in things. The green eyed boy guessed it's been a while
since anyone's actually asked how Crabbe was doing and that just made the whole
situation so much sadder didn't it? So he indulged the child, taking time to
draw the boy out of the cement shell he molded for himself, asking questions
about Crabbe's life, about magic, little things.
Harry faltered mid stride at his own thoughts. Actually, he had been doing a
lot of indulging lately now that he thought about it.
That doesn't sound right. It felt wrong. Glowing green darkened to pitch black
holes as familiar endless roaring power crashed against his human body. For a
moment Harry forgot he was Harry, for a brief flickering inferno of shadow and
darkness he was Death, powerful all-consuming Death who was above any
interaction with the living unless it was to steal them to his world. Their was
more feeling in this icy rush of black fires that swam through his crimson
human veins, anger, indignation, wrath, dominance. He was Death and now
somethingmore.
But then he blinked his black soulless abyss of eyes and they flickered back to
vividly just too bright glowing green and then he was Harry again.
And Harry didn't understand what just happened. It was like he faltered, and
something just... came out. It felt like Death on his worst days, vindictive,
enraged, terrifyingly pained and so lonely- but every feeling, every senseless
emotion usually so dulled down with his being had been pronounced and
highlighted in ways that you could only feel when human. What was that? Was he
going to condemn himself to that once he left this world? Where he goes back to
an entity in the darkness and shrouded in black with nothing but his reapers to
keep him company?
The mere thought made his throat constrict and chest feel like it's crushing
against itself, he felt actually sick, cold but sweaty and the urge to expel
the contents of his stomach noticeable in his distressed mindset. This
shouldn't be happening. Why was he feeling this way? He shouldn't care.
Hecouldn't. Not previously anyway. It never bothered him before. He wasn't
capable of such responses. Not this much. To this terrible, horrible,
disgusting extent. He's lived like that for years, centuries, eons the way he
has. There was no reason to fear coming back to it. Back. Going back.
"Harry are you alright?" Crabbe asked, it was then he realized that he was
leaning on the closest wall, trembling, his breath ragged and the extremities
of his fingers tingling and numb. Without thinking he looked at his shaking
hands with horror and slammed them at the wall with a satisfyingly unpleasant
crunch. Pain, crisp and so, so simple to focus on, throbbed around his now
bruised fists, distracting him mercifully from the storm of hurt and confusion
and fear, so much fear for something he didn't understand nor thought possible
to ever comprehend.
"Harry!" The shocked large boy gasped, snatching pale weakly twitching fingers
with his own thicker ones. "What-"
"I'm fine Crabbe." He reassured after a few deep breathes, relishing the ache
as he steadfastly pushed his turmoil down into the furthest shadow away from
his mind. Crabbe didn't look like he believed his words, which was sensible
considering he had just bashed his hands on the wall after having a...
situation in which he behaved... Anyway Crabbe was now nudging his much smaller
person- and either this kid was exactly as strong as he looks or the sudden
influx of unexplainable and undesirable loss of control as well as its after
effects sapped more strength than he cared to admit- and pushing on despite
Harry's protests with such a solid loyal determination that made the green eyed
child want to take nearly everything he'd said about the boy back.
"Prefect, adult, some sort of adult." Crabbe muttered as he half dragged, half
pulled but fully manhandling the small pale boy around the school.
"You don't really need to do this." Harry murmured, though his body seemed to
have other ideas as they went near slack, leaning against the warmth of the big
child. Still he was embarrassed enough at his outburst as it is, this just felt
like the feeling of salt being rubbed into the wound. "Really Crabbe, I do
appreciate it-"
The Slytherin first year shushed him, and shook his head. "Something happened
and Draco's not here so we go to an adult." He said simply.
"But we're out against curfew." Harry hissed. "We'll get in trouble!"
Crabbe faltered a step. Apparently not thought that far. But quickly shrugged
it off and plowed onwards with resolve.
"It's better than you getting hurt."
And what on earth was he supposed to say to that?
It took another few minutes of aimless wondering in the halls before finally
they spotted a bright light coming towards them.
"Is someone there?" A voice called out, probably gearing the heavy footfalls of
Crabbe. The well built boy grunted in the affirmative and soon the light was
upon them, revealing the older Weasley from before at Platform 9 3/4. His
vision may be a bit fuzzy at the edges but really, there was no mistaking the
bright fire truck red hair color. "What-"
"Harry got sick." Crabbe interrupted. "We got lost trying to find our House and
then Harry got dizzy and he was shaking."
That caught the redhead's attention. Harry couldn't help but slightly admire
that, in all honesty that was quite the Slytherin move in diverting focus,
bringing up the injured child card before it fully registers how out of curfew
they were was a smart move, now whether it was intentional or not he couldn't
tell.
"Potter? Harry Potter?"
Crab nodded. Harry gave a rather weak smile. The Weasley prefect looked
conflicted, probably his thoughts on telling them off about running around
after hours and asking what's wrong with the Boy Saviour clashing
magnificently. It seemed the latter won out eventually because the redhead
knelt down and placed a warm hand on the cool scarred forehead of the smallest
child. Harry didn't even realise how cold he was until then, sighing he leant
into the touch as the Weasley frowned.
"He's freezing. I think we should stay calm and just wrap Potter up and rest
for now. If anything changes inform your Head of House but I don't believe this
should warrant the infirmary room." The prefect looked at the larger boy
firmly, "Thank you for informing me, I'll escort you both to your dorms."
Both boys gave the older absolutely relieved looks. Thank the lord. They really
just wanted to go to bed.
===============================================================================
 
Thankfully they managed to get past Snape's personal room without any fuss.
Apparently even the Head Boy had enough sympathy to not throw two first years
to the dreaded Potions master on the very first night here. Harry was
definitely going to have to go thank Percy Weasley the next time he saw him. As
much as he'd like to talk more with the dark haired professor, there wasn't
anything in this world he'd take to willingly see what the man would be like
when rudely awakened at one damn o'clock in the morning.
Seriously, and that's not even due to the fact he could hold this world in his
hands with a snap of his fingers. He technically co-owned every version of
heaven and hell in existence though so indirectly he already had, as some
strange people like to say, 'his fingers in all the pies'.
As they tiptoed past the other sleeping first years the two boys looked at each
other, both basking in the glow that most kids get when achieving some secret
form of rebellion, successfully getting away with something probably considered
stupid and Harry just knew that Crabbe was going to be his favorite out of the
bodyguard duo now.
Harry gives the larger boy a tired smile before diving headfirst into his
thousand thread count sheets with a satisfied soft moan of happiness. Pushing
that strange lull in his temporary humanity aside, Harry was going to consider
this a pretty good day well done.
***** Death's first week *****
The_one_where_Death_has_his_first_week_of_magic_school_and_it_isn't_completely
terrible.
But_then_some_people_have_the_same_opinion_about_the_Second_World_War_so_really
it_was_all_a_matter_on_who_you're_asking._Not_that_we're_saying_that
WW2 isn't terrible._It_was._Um._Shit._Dammit._Oh_my_god_if_the_author_could
think_of_a_better_title_you_would_not_be_reading_that-_I_am_so_sorry.
===============================================================================
"So what do you have today?"
Harry looked up from his half-eaten jam smothered toast at Draco before
swallowing. "First period Charms and second period Herbology with the
Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs."
"Hah, I only have Herbology first. Really Potter, it must suck being in all
four Houses. Now you'll miss three whole classes with me."
"Yes, a real pity that." Zabini drawled across from them with a dry smirk. "I
think you could pay good money to see a Malfoy have to stoop to tending little
twigs and trying not to touch the fertiliser." Harry pretended to look truly
agonised at that.
"Dammit, you're right Draco I am honestly truly so sorry I'll have to miss your
face when you're defiling your hands with soil and feacal matter."
The blonde boy looked like he was about to retort something truly witty and
scathing when he paused. "Wait. What does faecal matter mean?"
"Dung, Draco." Harry informed, grinning at the whitening face of the already
pale boy. "Didn't you know most fertilisers are composed of it."
"It does?!" Zabini half shrieked, despite his teasing apparently the noble
pureblood wasn't aware of that little fact either. The green eyed child sighed
dramatically, shaking his head sadly.
"Okay now I'm really regretting not coming with you guys."
Harry can safely say, if those glares held any real heat- his meat suit would
be roasted medium well done. Mmm. That actually sounded quite good. It is a
pity the whole human sacrifice thing has lost it's appeal to the modern
populace, back in it's prime the trend of human sacrifice never did hold much
finesse in terms of seasoning and flavour. All charred grilled stuff. Nowadays
the entity was sure they would make much tastier offerings.
===============================================================================
"There he is."
"Where?"
Harry twitched annoyed at all the pointing and whispering and staring and oh my
god do these people have no actual celebrities in this world they can obsess
over? Because this was getting bloody ridiculous. There were people lining up
outside classrooms, standing on the tips of their toes to get a good look at
him.
"Over there."
"No way."
"He's shorter than I thought."
'Malnutrition will do that to you.' He thought sardonically.
"Did you see his face?"
"Did you see his scar?"
Bloody ridiculous the lot of them. Here he was struggling to find the Charms
classroom because Hogwarts kept intentionally messing what little sense of
direction he had and-
Wait a minute.
Harry sharply turned to the nearest group of gossipy students, "Excuse me you
guys over there, yes you guys. Any chance one of you know how to get to Mr
Flitwick's Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw class?"
He knew there was an upside to starstruck idiots somewhere.
===============================================================================
Hogwarts, Harry had found pretty quickly, was exhausting.
There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts. A hundred and forty-
two staircases. And in three days he had met every single one at least enough
times to recognise each goddamn one. These were stairs. Harry didn't even
remember his classmates as well as he apparently remembered staircases.
It was like some sort of sick and twisted show of teasing affection the castle
was giving to him because he swore no one else got this sort of treatment.
Bullying. That's right. This sort of interaction is called bullying.
"Potter? Where on Merlin's beard did you come from?" Nott asked surprised at
the sudden appearance of a panting, disheveled Boy Who Lived.
"I," Harry declared, "Am so late for Herbology." Theodore gave him a weird
look.
"We're on the fourth floor."
"The castle won't let me down any lower than third." The paler boy replied
resignedly. "This is bullying this is." He muttered darkly. "Just pissy cause I
took her four masters all to myself."
"What did you say?"
"Oh nothing, just watch this Nott." Harry snapped irritably, before without any
hesitation leaping off the handrails and falling fast toward the ground floor-
"POTTER!?"
-before a staircase swept up to pick up the green eyed not-an-entity and drop
him off at the fifth floor. The child sat up from where he fell and glared
balefully at the offending steps before moving his gaze toward a stunned
Theodore.
"Can you tell Professor Sprout I'm being delayed Nott?!" He shouted. "Or find a
spare teacher or something! Because I will jump off the balcony if I'm
desperate enough I swear to god!" The last part sounded like it was more
directed at the castle than the other but Nott just took that to run faster.
===============================================================================
"Death Lord."
Harry blinked, before giving the unfamiliar spirit a bemused smile. "You must
be the poltergeist Peeves then. I was wondering when I might run into you."
The short, black haired man with wickedly slanted, orange eyes was much more
solid looking than his fellow spectres just gaped in an almost reverent nature.
The child's eyes drifted from the poltergeist's face down to a brightly
coloured ballon in the man's hands. "Is.. Is that for me?"
Peeves did a double take at the balloon he was holding before rapidly shoving
the item in question behind his back and shook his head. Like somehow the
action would make the incarnation of death forget the thing had been even in
his sight. "N-n-no my Lord! That is, that was," He stuttered causing Harry to
raise an eyebrow.
He stuck a small hand out, "May I see it?"
The ghost seemed extremely conflicted, a large part of him probably more than
willing to please the entity to the best of his ability though Harry didn't
really understand the spirit's reasoning for whatever reluctance is making him
hesitate. However in the end the prospect of obeying and making Harry happy
seemed to have won out as the man passed the small balloon gently into waiting
hands. It was heavier than he'd expected.
"Is.. Is there water in this balloon?"
"Yes?"
Green eyes looked inquiringly at orange. Delicate child like face holding the
expression of innocent confusion. "Why?"
Peeves appeared a little indecisive at what to say before finally settling on,
"You throw it at people and they get wet."
"And you do this because?"
"It's fun?"
Harry stared contemplatively at the little water holding balloon. "Throwing
this at others is fun?" He wondered out loud. Peeves nodded eagerly.
"Yes! See?"
The poltergeist pulled out another water balloon and winked at his Death Lord
before throwing it at a pair of some unsuspecting older Ravenclaw students. The
sheer expressions on their faces made Harry startle out a soft giggle of
surprise. "Huh, that is amusing." He commented with a quirked smile.
Peeves grinned, visibly preening at the approval.
"Don't worry milord, you haven't seen anything yet."
Harry did not realise that he may have started something that could possibly
stumble completely out of his control.
===============================================================================
If there was one person Harry would say he viewed as almost a rival in this
place, he would say with some contemplation, a Hufflepuff by the name of
Zacharias Smith. Honestly the boy was such a child.
And it wasn't that he didn't like children. He did. Kind of. It just happened
the general populace of them were annoying and loud and sometimes made Harry
want to silence them all. Permanently. Insert innocent but creepy smiley face
here.
That said, it wasn't that Harry didn't like Zacharias. It just happened that
his mere presence and the action of him opening his mouth alone tends to
implant in his mind the most tempting image of the Hufflepuff's violent and
gory end. Usually by way of wringing that kid's skinny neck. And that
is before he actually begins talking.
The first time he'd met the boy was on the first day in Charms. By some miracle
the castle had decided to let him be early for his first day of class. Thirty
minutes early. Harry didn't even know how that worked considering he had
finished breakfast twenty minutes before the class was supposed to begin.
Fucking magic castles.
Zacharias was already there with a few gathered Puffs and what seemed to be the
majority of the Ravenclaws. It did make the green eyed boy slightly more
mollified to realise that he wasn't going to be standing awkwardly alone for
the next half hour. Two minutes in, listening to the gangly boy that was Smith
use his mouth more than Harry swore he used in all eleven years of mortal
childhood, the entity of death was beginning to regret his previous relief.
"Again as you know, me being a descendent of Helga Hufflepuff herself and all,
I have a very strong magical core that even my parents were very surprised by.
So don't be too shocked if I'm a bit ahead of you all during our school year.
Of course if y-" Only a scant few Hufflepuff's were actually listening and
looking interested at the blonde bigmouth's boastings, the rest of the students
present and within earshot looked like they shared Harry's regrets in arriving
there so early.
"Dear lord my he have mercy on us all." Harry muttered, earning a snort from
Padma Patil, a Chinese girl by the name of Su Li and another more timid pair of
Hufflepuff girls. He turned to the unfamiliar females first with a raised brow,
"How long has he been talking?" He whispered, the blonde one grinned and
replied, "Way too long." The auburn haired girl next to her gave a small
giggle.
"Harry Potter."
"Hannah Abbott."
"Susan Bones."
The green eyed child nodded, "Nice to meet you guys then. That over there is
Padma Patil and Su Li. Terry Boot's the one coming up behind me along with
Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein."
The three boys as stated who had been previously creeping up toward the group
all jumped. "Merlin Harry! How did you know?" Boot asked. "You didn't even look
back I swear you didn't."
Harry smiled serenely before puffing up his chest and imitating the still
boasting blonde boy a few feet away from them. "Well, as you know, me being the
descendent of the Potter lineage myself and all, I have the ability to hear a
teardrop of a baby caterpillar falling from three miles away and can turn into
a mermaid at will." Everyone stared, slowly digesting the outrageously blatant
lie then Corner thumped Harry's tousled raven hair playfully as they all
descended into peals of laughter.
"And what-" An arrogant voice broke in snottily, "-is just so funny?"
Harry turned to see the talkative blonde had stopped his self-centred tirade to
face them all looking rather annoyed, probably at being interrupted from the
sound of his own voice. "Nothing." The green eyed child responded with as much
innocence as he could muster.
The boy didn't look like he believed him but if he did Harry would've been
forced to lower his opinion of the blonde even further and that was
always such a pain to do.
"Zaharias Smith," He introduced, "Descendent of Helga Hufflepuff." Smith added
with no small amount of pride. Like it was a necessary thing to inform Harry of
despite the fact Harry could probably care less. He's actually met Helga
Hufflepuff and as nice a woman she is, she isn't exactly a person whom he would
personally chose to tell everyone about with the same enthusiasm this Smith
character was showing about her. I mean yes, she helped build a school but it
cannot be this big a deal.
"Harry Potter." Harry politely replied, Smith's brown eyes lit up and gave a
large awfully fake grin as he snatched the Boy Who Lived's hand and shook it
without even asking. Harry was not pleased.
"So nice to meet you Potter, funny how you managed to get into all four Houses
somehow, though that's to be expected given your status. I probably would've
got the same treatment really if my ancestor wasn't Helga Hufflepuff, though to
be fair it just wouldn't be right if someone of my bloodline was anywhere but
Hufflepuff. Can you imagine? Helga Hufflepuff's descendent in a
House other than Hufflepuff?"
Good Lord if this kid says the word 'Hufflepuff' again Harry was going to,
going to.. Well he didn't know what he was going to do but it would not be very
nice.
Plastering on a strained smile he just shook his head in the negative, hoping
his lack of verbal response will subtly implicate the fact this conversation
should start dying anytime around now. Unfortunately either Zaharias was even
more conceited than he'd originally thought or his own social skills were that
poor or maybe a mix of the two, nonetheless somehow it pushed the blonde to
keep chattering on relentlessly about himself. Even when he used his best
helpless 'puppy dog' eyes on his friends they could not save him from the drone
of arrogance that had been set upon him like the plague.
By the time they were allowed into class Harry swore to hell and back that he
was on the cusp of literally dying from boredom. And as the physical
manifestation of death he was totally allowed to say that seriously.
His impression of Zacharias Smith did not get any better after that.
===============================================================================
"Woah mate you okay?"
Frustrated fingers brushed through completely disheveled sweaty black hair, the
owner of said hair did not look any better. "I," Harry groused between panting
breaths, "Think Hogwarts is trying to kill me."
"Don't be mad Potter." Draco drawled as he strolled up to the slim lightening-
scarred wizard leaning against the cold walls of the dungeons. Silver grey eyes
eyeing the other's appearance dubiously. "At worst it's just some extra
exercise."
"Exercise is the worst Malfoy." Harry muttered, "I mean it's good for you and
whatever but God, at what cost?"
"Uh, energy. That's why we eat food." Ron answered more than a little
entertained at his friend's plight. It seemed whatever classes the green eyed
child seemed to take always started with Harry in some sort of similar
condition and with a riveting tale on his lips ready to tell them all about how
the castle was singling him out. It's still a little hard to believe,
especially to the teachers but by the fourth day of classes the general
consensus between the first years was Harry Potter was extremely unlucky and
directionally challenged. Even Neville Longbottom was on time more than Harry,
though only just though. "So what happened this time then?"
"Did the stairs knock you up again?" Draco drawled.
"Or maybe they turned into a giant slide so you slid all the way back to ground
floor?" Seamus snickered.
"I like the time you leaned against a wall only to find it was a secret tunnel
and you spent an hour in the dark looking for the right stone to get out."
Zabini added with a shit-eating grin. Dean Thomas gave the Italian boy a high
five for bringing up that particular incident.
"I'm so glad your infamous rivalry between you wankers have been put aside in
favour of mocking my tribulations." Harry scowled. "Seriously."
"Sorry mate just think of it as your amazing charm." Ron offered. Draco, being
the sarcastic little brat he is muttered, "More like amazing stupidity."
Harry decided to let that go after he pulled down the pale boy's tie to reach
perfectly slicked back hair that just screamed to be ruffled and ruined much to
the Malfoy scion's shrieking displeasure. "Potter!"
"I'm sorry Draco," he apologised not looking sorry at all, "but I am amazingly
stupid according to you so I do tend to things that are also considered
unwise."
"Yeah well I'd ruin your hair in retaliation but," Draco sniffed haughtily as
he tried to put back his platinum blonde locks into their previous pristine
place, "it's a little hard to do that when it already looks like a bird
wouldn't even nest in it."
"Hey in Potter's defence I'm pretty sure that no amount of magical hair product
in the world will be able to tame that unruly black mess."
"Thanks Nott."
"No problem Potter."
"But seriously what got you in such a state this time?" Parvati Patil, Padma's
Gryffindor counterpart piped up curiously. Everyone leaned in to hear the
response, even Granger who had been trying to steadfastly ignore them all by
reading the Potions textbook was trying to move closer to the group. Harry
flushed a slight pink and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he murmured
something.
"What did you say?"
"I said," The boy repeated louder, his pale skin a shade darker than before and
his strikingly coloured eyes looking anywhere but at his fellow peers, "a
painting fell on me."
"…You're pulling our legs." Ron decided after a heartbeat of silence.
"Shut up Ron it was a big painting." The Boy Who Lived snapped clearly unhappy
at his confession, "I had to drag myself from under the thing and they're
heavier than they look."
There was not a trace of sympathy in the hysterics that came after, even
Longbottom was chuckling and Granger was trying to valiantly push down her
visible amusement. Harry just glowered at them all. "Yes, yes, laugh it up why
don't you."
"Well if you insist Potter."
===============================================================================
"This… This is hell." Ron groaned as he thumped his head onto the desk. Harry
did not agree but silently thought it should be.
He watched as Professor Binns, a ghost so dull and stuck in some sort of
monotony he didn't even register the Death Lord walk into his own classroom,
drone on endlessly about a war that really didn't seem to be of any importance
in anything. And at least Zacharias Smith had some variety in how he used his
voice, this spirit had little to no inflection or used any other such technique
to capture the audience's attention. It was almost as if the man was doing this
on purpose.
Forget hooked blades, brimstone and fire. This was true torture.
"History of Magic is officially the worst subject ever."
===============================================================================
Transfiguration was actually really interesting.
First McGonagall surprised them all (Harry obviously not included but he played
along anyway) by transforming from a cat to her human self at the beginning of
class. Said some stuff, then turned her desk into a pig and back. Considering
most other classes so far had been just basic lectures and scant little magical
distractions to keep the children entertained. This at least was quite
impressive.
There was a lot of complicated note taking after the demonstration, but much to
the excitement of the others they were all each given a match with the
assignment of turning it into a needle.
Whilst others struggled Harry found himself a natural at it. It was an easy
task and he'd done harder things when showing off to Dudley and Piers but he'd
always found feats like this easiest. It was probably considering
that technically inanimate object by default fell under his realm of expertise.
After all you could say a match was definitely not 'alive' so therefore it can
be considered dead which with that technicality makes manipulation with it so
much easier than if Harry had to do this with a living hamster or something.
Professor McGonagall noticed near immediately his accomplishment, probably due
to the afteraffects of her feline eyesight, and showed the rest of the class
the perfect silver needle glinting under the lighting as she gave Harry a rare
smile of pride.
"Very well done Mr Potter! I don't think I've had any student that's
accomplished this task so quickly."
Harry couldn't help but feel a little shy at the compliment, he still wasn't
very good at taking them even after all the praise his cousin liked to pile on
him. What was he supposed to say anyway? Thank you? You're welcome? Damn social
convention being so complicated. The boy after a bit of internal struggle
decided to go with honesty in the end.
"It was nothing Professor." He replied in a bashfully soft voice, "I did stuff
like this for my cousin most of the time back home." McGonagall at the mention
of Harry's home life looked stricken for a second before smoothing her
expression to curious pride.
"Really? Maybe after class we can talk about what you can do and see whether we
need to reevaluate your skill level."
"If you think that's necessary."
Professor McGonagall flashed another smile, it was a bit more mournful but it
was still a rather nice smile nonetheless, "I do."
In the end only Hermione Granger had made her match look vaguely grey and
pointy, and she glared at Harry the whole time as he bid goodbye to his friends
to walk toward the waiting professor.
"Professor." He greeted.
"Mr Potter," McGonagall returned, moving to sit behind her desk and pulling out
a few objects, "I just want to know what sort of things your capable of
accomplishing with your magic and I wish to ask.." The woman hesitated, for a
moment seeming doubtful at what she was about to ask, "Can you turn the match
to a needle without the use of your wand."
Harry grinned, he knew this woman was sharp, most people when he casually
admitted he did magic at home for some reason just assumed it was only after he
got his wand for some strange reason. Professor McGonagall, despite his initial
prejudice, was a teacher he can see getting along great with.
"Do you want to see? I usually make it a bit dramatic for my cousin, part of
the act and all."
The female professor's lips twitched looking for all intents and purposes
wanting to smile but had used up her daily quota of positive emotions allowed
on her facial features. "I think just the simple match to needle trick would
suffice."
The boy did not pout nor feel a sense of disappointment at the declination.
Harry always did like adding a bit of flair despite his usual personality, a
taste for the theatric was always something one gets when living for far too
long. He obliged anyway.
Without a word he picked up a match and squeezed into his palm, making sure to
look like he was at least straining his concentration at his fist before
opening his hand to reveal a shiny new needle. The Transfiguration professor
looked quite gobsmacked, as if she didn't really believe Harry could've done it
until he did.
Unable to help himself- he blames overexposure to Draco, Blaise and maybe a bit
of Ron for his increase in sarcastic dry remarks- he waves both hands, still
holding the needle, and deadpans with a 'Taa daa.' The professor being who she
was, did not react so it left Harry standing stupidly in front of her still
doing doing jazz hands in awkward silence. Yes, this is what his life has come
to.
"What else have you done?" She asks and grateful to just quietly move past his
moment of idiocy Harry coughs and with a swish of his hand turns the silver
needle into a shoelace.
"I'm good with changing objects to other objects. Inanimate things seem to be
more my forte since I can turn a flower into glass but it's harder for me to
turn it back." The boy explained easily, "I wasn't going to try anything with
actual sentient things either, closer thing I've ever tried was turning a bunch
of leaves into an apple." Harry gave a look of disgust at the recalled memory,
"That was a disgusting mistake."
Professor McGonagall made a strange slightly strangled coughing sound behind
her hand at that, if he didn't know better he would've suspected she was trying
not to laugh. Today just seemed to be a day where he's unintentionally witty or
something. How unusual, he's never been much of a jokester when he was a godly
entity, maybe it was mortality that has altered his perceptions of humor? Or
maybe he always maintained the same amount of witticism but in this world it
was enough to be considered generally funny. If that last theory was true than
the moment Chaos steps one physical foot here everyone would literally be
curled up in laughter.
"Yes, well," She coughed again, "If what you say is the truth than I think
maybe we can provide you with some further extra tasks to your practical part
of the class. In fact," McGonagall picked up a what seemed to be a black string
of rubber and gave it to Harry, "I would like you to make something out of
this. Think of it as extra credit."
Which meant it was not compulsory but highly recommended that he do so anyways.
"Is there some sort of guideline to what I'm meant to be doing or-?"
"Surprise me."
Great. He hated when teachers do that. It's probably why he wasn't good with
art or English classes back in Surrey, tell him what to do and he'll do it but
give him a pencil, some paper and nothing but the instruction to draw 'what you
think autumn means to you' and he'll flounder worse than a literal flounder out
of water. Really, what the hell. At least tell him if you liked the colour
orange or something, Christ.
===============================================================================
Defence Against the Dark Arts was pathetic.
It was no History of Magic but it was still pretty high up there in classes
with terrible teachers that needed to take leave yesterday. Professor Quarrel
stuttered, was probably a liar in that he apparently saved some African prince
from a zombie, smelled horribly of garlic and was just overall twitchy enough
to give Harry a headache looking at him.
There was also something off about the man's soul but for some reason he'd
found himself almost repelled by the idea of looking further into it. He didn't
like the headaches it brought.
===============================================================================
"What have we got today?" Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.
"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Ron between mouthfuls. "Snape's Head
of Slytherin House. They say he always favours them- we'll be able to see if
it's true."
Harry scoffed, "You mean you'll be able to see it's true. I'm Slytherin for his
class remember?" The redhead widened his eyes and then narrowed them at his
bacon like they were the reason he was wrong.
"Bullocks."
"Hey, we can still partner up for today so I don't see how it matters."
Before Ron could reply a soft hoot and a flutter of wings distracted them as
the arrival of Hedwig made herself known. The snowy owl had visited every
morning with the other mail deliveries without fail despite carrying a lack of
message herself so it was surprising to the pale raven haired child when the
bird lifted up a leg to reveal a small rolled up parchment.
Giving the owl some crust off his toast Harry unrolled the letter to read what
it said,
Dear Harry,
I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup
of tea with me around three?
I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.
Hagrid
Ah, right. The half giant fellow. What a nice man, of course he will graciously
accept.
Borrowing Ron's quill ("Oi! Could've least asked!") he responded in the
affirmative and sent Hedwig off on her first reply journey. She seemed mighty
pleased about actually doing some work finally. Maybe he'll send Mr Filch a
note just to keep his pretty bird busy.
Once Hedwig was on her way Harry stuffed the rest of his chocolate covered
toast into his mouth and began making his leave, tugging a reluctant Ron with
him. "Mate what are you-"
"Come on Ron! I don't want to be late and if I'm travelling with someone the
castle stops at least trying to delay me too badly."
"You are so paranoid. The castle is not trying to kill-"
"It is so trying to kill me."
Potions was somewhere in one of the dungeons. It was colder there and damper
and decorated with pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.
Most of the first years looked quite perturbed by that last bit but Harry was
more upset about how cold and damp it was. Sure the cold wasn't too bad despite
his many complaints, it was the humidity that annoyed him. While the others
looked horrified at one jar with a baby pig fetus, he'd shuddered at the mold
growing in every crack in the stones.
If he sees some sort of fungi cultivation in the corner of the room Harry
swears he would scream. He tells this to Ron and a nearby Draco who just look
at him strangely. Harry didn't understand why.
However their beginnings of a conversation were quickly diverted when Professor
Snape, billowing black robes in the nonexistent wind and all, strode into the
classroom ready to take roll call.
Slowly he went down the list of names until he reached Harry's pausing as he
did so. "Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new- celebrity."
The boy was beginning to feel a sinking realisation he was going to be treated
as anything but in this class.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he
began speaking in barely more than a whisper, yet Harry was sure everyone
caught every single word, the professor certainly had the gift of keeping a
class silent without effort. An intimidating yet entrancing man indeed.
"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe
this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the
softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of
liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the
senses…" Very dramatic though. Though the green eyed boy had to admit now he
was getting quite hyped up for what was to come. Damn the man could probably
make a killing if he turned to writing creatively or something. "I can teach
you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death- if you aren't as big a
bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Okay, well, that last sentence wasn't exactly ringing endorsement. Harry and
Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows, he would've done the same to Malfoy
but that required him completely turning around in his seat to face behind him
and that was way too much effort. Hermione Granger though was on the edge of
her seat looking near desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.
"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of
asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Hermione's hand shot up into the air like a bullet. Harry glanced at the sheer
competitiveness coming off from her before facing the unnervingly intense black
gaze of the potions professor. It was almost like the man he had first met
weeks ago had never existed in the first place or something. How disappointing.
"I think it produces a sleeping potion known as Draught of.. the Living Death
Professor?"
Snape stared at him with that unreadable look of his for a long enough time
Harry was wondering if he should just take back his answer but then finally the
older man nodded once sharply. "Correct. Perhaps you have more than just fame
going for you after all."
The green eyed boy felt a little relieved at that yet looking at Ron next to
him, the redhead seemed flushed with indignation. Did Snape do something to
offend him?
Snape was still ignoring Granger's quivering hand.
"Again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Ah, there was the shadow of the easy bantering from before. Snape was
acknowledging their first meeting at last, it may still look grudging and the
man still felt distantly arctic but it was something. Harry gave a faint
crooked smile at the question. "It's a stone taken from the stomach of a goat
Professor and it will generally serve to save you from most poisons."
"Correct. What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
At this, Granger actually stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon
ceiling. She certainly was persistent, Harry'll give her that. It's a little
aggravating but still.
He did faltered at that one though, "But.. there is no difference." Vivid green
eyes looked confused as the black clad male smirked,
"Wrong, the two are the same thing. One point from Gryffindor for a wrong
answer."
Harry reared his head back, "You can't do that, it doesn't even make sense! And
I'm in Slytherin right now!" He blustered, the other Gryffindors were nodding
their heads in equal affronted fervour.
"Ah, apologies then, two points to Slytherin for correct answers then. And for
your information Potter, having no differences and being the same thing
altogether are completely unrelated answers." Snape then turned his focus back
to the rest of the students and snapped, "Well? Why aren't you all copying that
down?"
At least Harry could clearly see why Snape was the Head of Slytherin now. It
was quite amazing how he managed to twist things against the boy. His fellow
classmates however were not as impressed strangely enough at the treatment he
was being prescribed to, even the Slytherins were looking a little
uncomfortable at it. The not-currently-an-entity couldn't see why, this class
was going to be quite entertaining personally.
After all, he did appreciate interesting things above all.
===============================================================================
"Snape sucks." Ron groused as they were leaving Potions. "I can't believe he
took a point off me just because Longbottom ruined the potion next to us!"
"If it helps Weasley, he'd probably have took the point from Potter if he was
in Gryffindor." Draco drawled in what was probably the most comforting way Ron
would ever get out of him voluntarily.
"You can say that because you're clearly Snape's favourite." The scowling
redhead pointed out. "I mean none of you Slytherins can really complain about
him considering he's biased as hell toward all you."
Draco shrugged, it was true after all. Goyle however grunted out a, " 'cept
Potter." With Crabbe nodding in agreement.
"Right, except Harry, sorry mate."
Harry looked up at the sympathetic looks on his friends curiously. "Why are you
sorry?" he asked, "I quite like the Professor. I think he's pretty okay with me
too."
"Potter, I don't know which class you attended but even I know Professor Snape
pretty much hates your guts." Zabini pointed out with a disbelieving
expression.
"He chose me to answer the questions." Harry defended.
"He did it to humiliate you." Draco insisted. "I like Sev- I mean, Snape, I do
but even I thought he was being unfairly harsh on you."
"No, I think we'll end up getting along marvellously." The green eyed boy
replied flippantly, "Listen I gotta go and throw myself off a balcony now so
see you later."
The group watched Harry leave, Ron was the first to speak. "He's delusional."
"I was going to say insane but sure Weasley, let's go with that."
***** Death's getting used to Hogwarts *****
_The_one_where_Death_continues_getting_used_to_Hogwarts_by-_learning_how_to
straddle_hard_sticks_of_wood_to_fly,_gets_detention,_gets_propositioned_by_a
dog,_hunt_down_a_unicorn_vampire_person_with_said_dog_and_Draco_Malfoy,
propositions_a_centaur_and_then_calls_it_a_night._
So apparently Harry has learnt a few more things since his first week at
Hogwarts.
One.  Hagrid cannot cook. His cakes taste like rocks and share the same solid
structure of one too. And the only proper way to consume it is to burn it and
offer it up to the heavens as a 'Screw You' offering to your fellow entities
slash siblings.
Two.  When Professor McGonagall says 'Surprise me.' it is a safe bet to butter
her up with something shiny. The stereotype that the female gender enjoys such
objects has so far served it's purpose well. So far an intricately carved
golden bracelet shaped like to lions running toward each other has been
responded in a generally pleasing manner. McGonagall has been seen wearing it
the next day.
Three.  His wand was way too hyped up to be useful. It gets so needy and lonely
all the time that Harry always takes pity on it, uses it for one simple thing
which it gets overexcited about that something happens- usually some sort of
large hole in a place large holes aren't supposed to be in- and then Harry
decides he's better off wandless until the black stick of wood just looks so
sad and rejected they start the whole cycle over again.
Four.  At some point Binns needs to be exorcised. It is for his own good, for
Harry's own good and for the sake of education's own good.
Fiv- "Potter this does not look like a list of things you've learnt in Charms
last week."
Green eyes blinked at an exasperated Blaise that had been looking over his
shoulder. "We have to write a list for Charms?"
"Yes. And yours is due, unfortunately for you, tomorrow."
"..Bullocks."
===============================================================================
 
 
Flying lessons were okay.
Actually it was pretty brilliant.
Scratch that, it was fantuckingfastic.
Flying never was a 'thing' in the lifestyle that was being Death. Apparently it
was deemed in some sort of invisible legislation known as societal expectations
that beings of death and Death himself do not fly. Dementors do, technically,
but it's really more hovering than flying unless told otherwise. Much like how
tortoises could run if their life really depended on it but their natural
choice of locomotive was more along the lines of plodding along. The same goes
for Lethifolds too, hovering, floating, drifting, maybe a little gliding along
with the winds in their cloud-like bodies but not really 'flying'.
So no, flying was just not something that happened in the under-realms, with
the exception of those giant raven creatures they had but those were like a
'bunnies in Australia' type situation than anything. And if you failed biology
and don't understand that reference then basically just imagine Death (the
horseman not the entity) picking up a flock of black birds to bring home as
pets only for them to mutate and spread all over his lands, annoying demons and
making reapers just generally uncomfortable. But those were really the only
things there that could fly- no, fallen angels didn't count either. Sudden
teleportation however, or manifesting out of a mist of darkness or maybe even
just the classic striding coolly out of the shadows were more his type of
speed.
Right now though, after getting over the awkward and frankly just undignified
stage of straddling a piece of wood, Harry could not see why he never tried
such a method of movement. This was amazing.
Harry whooped with energy he didn't even know he had, buzzing all the way to
the tips of his fingers as the wind hit his face and tugged playfully through
his hair. He could hear the flying teacher lady shouting something about
watching his form and grip but was too busy grinning wildly as he sharply dived
downwards, much to the screams of his classmates, before giving his broom a
strong tug letting his feet just skim the grass before flying back into the sky
again. Damn, now this was finally turning out to be a proper vacation!
Later he made a mental note to figure out how to explain to his Reapers the
wonders of air travel.
"Wonderful!" Madam Hooch exclaimed, she had this unnervingly bright gleam in
her eyes, "Magnificent, amazing, fabulous!" If Harry didn't know better he was
sure the woman would be just spewing out random adjectives, as he landed easily
onto the ground he threw the older lady a bashful grin and shrug.
"That was fun. Is there some sort of game with flight or do we all just try
fancy tricks in the air?"
And then he was eagerly explained what Quidditch actually is.
It still sounded incredibly stupid- the point system alone was just... Anyway,
nonetheless after experiencing the wonder of swooping and gliding and rushing
wind, Harry decided that maybe the game was a little less dumb than he thought.
Though trying out for the game would be particularly tricky considering he was
House-less.
Madam Hooch looked like she was about to cry when he told her that.
===============================================================================
 
Apparently when he's not present the Houses revert back to their original state
of aggressive rivalry. It's quite fascinating really, even if he's never seen
the change himself. Ron and Draco were very good examples of this phenomenon.
Sure they weren't best friends or anything but they had been amiable enough
when Harry had left them to go to their flying class. And only a few short
hours later-
"You guys got detention?"
"Yeah." Ron spat out, his freckled face covered in splotches of mud. It matched
the rest of his body quite nicely. Though it clashed horribly with his hair.
"No." Draco said sulkily at the exact same moment causing the two to glare at
each other with so much venom Harry could practically hear the vicious hissing
sound emanating from them both. Harry just raised a bemusedly curious brow.
"I think you guys are the first in the year to ever get detention.
Congratulations."
"It was all Malfoy's fault!" Ron accused, pointing fingers and all.
"Wha-no, no it bloody wasn't!" Draco spluttered.
"You took Neville's Remembrall!"
"I would've given it back!"
"You were threatening to drop it from the sky!"
"... I didn't say it'll come back in one piece." The blonde muttered
defensively and turning the freckled boy's face an increasingly vibrant shade
of anger. Sensing they were treading dangerously close to shouting territory
the entity-on-hiatus decided now would be a nice time to intervene.
"So what does a detention in a school of magic entail exactly?" He asked, only
hald curious, "I mean you must assume it wouldn't be too bad but still."
"It depends on who you get to serve detention with." Draco responded quickly,
seeing the out for what it was and maybe partly because the boy had this
obvious enjoyment in teaching Harry things that he knew. "My father told me
that Snape won't be too harsh on Slytherins-"
Ron snorted and may have muttered that sounded suspiciously like "Biased git."
But it was ignored.
"McGonagall will probably make you do some lines or something incredibly dull
like that, and Flich, well,"
"He's a complete wanker." The redhead blurted out. Draco looked ready to argue,
more on sheer reflex and principles alone but paused and shrugged halfheartedly
in agreement. "Yeah."
Green eyes looked at them coolly. "I like Filch."
"Merlin Harry, Snape and Filch?" Ron moaned, shaking his head, "You have the
like, worst taste in adults don't you?"
Harry looked at the Malfoy scion pleadingly, waiting for the inevitable
rebuttal to Ron's opinion, instead all he got was a bored shrug. "He's not
wrong Potter." Traitor.
"I hope you guys enjoy detention together." Harry sniffed haughtily.
"Oh hey, now that's just, wait up Potter!"
"Yeah wait up mate!"
"Don't you follow us-"
"I can bloody follow if I damn well-"
Harry shook his head fondly as he walked away from what was obviously another
one of their arguments. It was almost painful how much they reminded him of two
specific rather argumentative entities of order and chaos. Though Chaos would
probably prefer the twins out of the red headed family and Order would
definitely appreciate Professor McGonagall and her no nonsense attitude. She
was most likely the one who had given his friends that detention at- Harry
stopped in his tracks.
"Shit. I have detention too don't I?"
Oh well. He's sure that it'll be a nice little surprise for his friends.
===============================================================================
 
 
Unsurprisingly Harry's first detention was given by one surly potions
professor. Surprisingly the detention had not been the professor's idea.
"I think..." Harry began slowly, solemnly, drawing his friends attention from
both Houses as they walked out of their potions lesson, "I think Professor
Snape might not be very fond of me."
"No." Draco drawled with the verbal equivalent of a desert in the height of
summer in his voice. "Say it isn't so."
Harry nodded seriously. Everyone groaned.
"And you seemed like such a normal kid when I first saw you." Seamus muttered.
"Who would've thought, Harry Potter, has terrible tastes in potion professors?"
"Hey," Harry protested, not completely sure what taste has got to do with it
but felt offended at the tone alone, "I bet Snape tastes great."
An unfortunate passing by Hufflepuff choked and slammed into a wall. His
friends looked nauseated. He watched their reactions confused and
questioningly.
Really, no matter how many years he's experienced as a mortal they still
baffled him. Was the question not some sort of suggestion toward cannibalistic
tendencies? It might be frowned upon on in this world's day and age but that's
what he thought at the idea of turning rabbits into lamps so what did he really
know?
"That. That is disgusting Harry." Ron proclaimed, Harry didn't see why it was
but remained silent. This felt like one of the times where saying nothing and
gathering context for future reference was the best point of action. His large
green eyes however were not as easily restrained as his tongue though because
Zabini gave him a withering look that said, 'You have no idea what's wrong with
what you just said do you? God you are so socially inept but since I find you
most tolerable I will explain this to you later when we are alone.' Yes Harry
did read all of that on the Italian boy's features. In his defense though the
child had like a thousand variations of sneers and expressions of disdain for
apparently every reason. He didn't know all of them obviously but he's had
enough experience with this one to recognize it just from the crinkle of the
nose alone.
"Why do you think Snape doesn't like you now out of all times?"
"Yeah, if anything, we really should be having this conversation last week when
he verbally berated your incompetence because your potion was, 'too aqua and
not turquoise enough,' like what does that even mean?
Everyone made various sounds of agreement. "I'm pretty sure Longbottom almost
cried that lesson and he was on the other side of the classroom." Nott added
thoughtfully. The other Slytherins snorted.
"Please, Longbottom's always about to cry in Potions." Draco rolled his eyes.
The first year Gryffindors looked torn between indignation and reluctant
agreement, though knowing the hotheaded house of the brave, they would probably
argue just for the sake of disagreement with their rivals. Really, this House
thing was exhausting. Hogwarts is many things but school unity isn't precisely
one of them.
"Yeah but Snape obviously thinks Longbottom is incompetent." Harry pointed out,
"I mean, don't mean to be rude to Neville but he isn't the most deft with his
fingers in the art of potions. It would be rather hard to say nice things to
someone who keeps melting all the cauldrons after a while."
With the conversation turned back to the green eyed boy the air of hostility
cleared to more comfortable levels. Well mostly.
"Harry no offence but I'm pretty sure that greasy git would rather choke on his
own hair than say a nice word to you." Ron replied heatedly, "And you do better
than most of the chaps in our class!"
"Yeah, you even helped me when I was about to drop the pickled toad eyes before
dicing them Potter. And you got reamed about sabotaging me!" Zabini agreed with
just as much fervor though obviously with a much cooler composure. The raven
haired wizard savior couldn't help but flush slightly at that and shrugged his
shoulders, muttering something unintelligible about 'not being that big of a
deal'. Of course, somehow, that only served to fuel the other children's
protests even further.
Finally, tiring from protecting the dour professor Harry held up his hand in a
gesture to silence his friends.
"Well I think there is only one solution to this." Harry announced resolutely.
"What?"
"I'm going to ask him." They stared. He stared back.
"You're going to ask him." Someone repeated slowly, he didn't know who it was
that said that but from the incredulous condescension he was going to assume it
was one of the Slytherins.
"Yes."
"You're going to walk up to that man's face and ask him point blank why he
hates you." Definitely Slytherin. Probably Draco.
"Yes."
This was met by groans and sounds of hands meeting faces. Harry can not stress
enough how annoying children were at this moment.
"No."
"Merlin Harry."
"Potter you moron."
"What?" Harry frowned. "Why not?"
"Oh my god Harry you can't just- you don't- oh my god Harry!" Again, can not
stress enough. Children. Mortals. Ugh.
"There is no need to bring God into this." He chided. Really, he should know.
And if God did answer some prepubescent child's whines instead of millennia of
an incarnation of death's pleas for guidance when he needed it then Harry was
going to be severely pissed. "And I dislike the notion that you think my idea
is unwise."
"Unwise!?" Ron burst out, "Mate what you are thinking is the stup-mmph!"
"What I think the Weasel is saying," Draco hastily stepped in as Zabini, with
visibly great disgust, was muffling the freckled Gryffindor's mouth with his
bare hand. "Is that maybe a direct approach to the problem isn't always the
best approach?"
"It is my approach." Harry retorted stubbornly, "I am unsure of Professor's
opinion of me and if what you guys accuse is true then I am justifiably
uncomfortable with being some sort of target in the classroom. Asking directly
will ensure a quick conclusion and I think I'm more than capable of doing so."
"It's not that we don't think you can do it Harry. It's just.."
"It's just that Snape can make grown men cry and we don't think it would be
great if you come back traumatized and forever rendered mute from the
experience."
"And you all think that?"
They nodded.
"Well I'm sorry but I'm going to prove you guys wrong." He huffed, and with
that Harry turned around and walked away. Later on the immortal would probably
grudgingly reflect that maybe he acted a tad too 'young' considering his vast
age but in his defense, he was pretty sure childishness was contagious-
especially with prolonged contact. So it wasn't his fault, it was his lack of
immunity to children. Definitely.
===============================================================================
 
 
"Professor?" The potions master looked up from his stack of grading in slight
surprise which was easily covered up in a heartbeat, his features the chiseled
representation of cool disdain.
"Potter? Classes are on Fridays you realise?"
"Really professor I didn't notice," Harry replied with a slight smile as he
leaned his weight against the edge of the class doorway.
"10 points from Gryffindor for talking back to a teacher." And that wiped the
smile off the boy's face. Correspondingly it seemed to give the older man a
sharp light of gleeful petty vindication in the black pair of eyes.
"Professor Snape I'm not in Gryffindor currently, I don't believe you can just
take house points. If anything I'm still technically a Slytherin."
"You were exclusively Slytherin in my classroom Potter, now that you're no
longer in my classroom you can be any house I wish."
Harry was not entirely sure that, that was correct but decided against
antagonising the teacher and technically 'adult' out of the two. Taking a
shallow breath he asked, "Do you dislike me for some reason?"
He had quite taken to the mortal phrase 'in for a penny, in for a pound,' and
really, Snape's surprised face from the sudden blunt change of subject was
worth whatever answer would be given. "Excuse me Potter?"
"Well," The younger shuffled his feet, absentmindedly wishing he was wearing
some muggle jeans just so he could find somewhere to shove his hands into.
Like, what on this green earth was he supposed to do with them right now? "See
it has come to my attention that you possibly seem to dislike my person
professor. Also my friends said you may hate my guts and everything I could
possibly stand for."
And everyone thought he had learnt no social skills. Hah.
Snape apparently was either stunned speechless for a reason Harry wasn't
completely sure of or just being silently offended at such accusations. Either
way the resulting lack of response was not a comfortable one. "Professor
Snape?" Harry inquired, prompting in what he hoped was an answer.
"I," The dark robed man cleared his throat before looking back at the child.
The emotion in his face was not unreadable per say, but it was something
complicated and deep and if there were people with faces like open books then
Snape's was like opening a dusty tome in a dimly lit room and finding the
writing was the same color as the paper it was scrawled on as well as in Latin
even though you expected it to be written in Italian or somehting. "I do not
hate you Potter."
The boy frowned, "I didn't say hate professor, I said dislike." Harry paused a
bit before frowning at the older man even harder, disapproval and
disappointment radiating from him in a way that probably made the usually so
intimidating potions master inwardly cringe. "Did you hate me?"
The lack of answer was an obvious answer in itself. And wow that was kind of
hurtful to hear. Or not hear.
Pointedly dismissing the hollow pang in his chest cavity Harry pretended that
previous question had not been spoken as he moved on to, "And now? What of your
stance on me now?" The boy asked, voice border-lining to an outright demand. It
sounded completely self-absorbed even to him, but Harry just did not have
people who disliked him. Well as an individual being anyway, not what he
represented. Not really. Sure Zacharias wasn't fond of him but the sentiment
was more than reciprocated so that didn't count. However Harry actually liked
the sarcastic harsh man in the black robes and the idea that Snape despised him
erred the boy more than he'd rather admit. Seriously he was chess buddies with
the Devil, how in Lucifer's name did the older man hate him?
"Now," Snape replied slowly, tasting the word with his mouth thoughtfully,
drawing it out as his mind formulated his response. A response Harry was
waiting with an almost eager anticipation for. With a shuddering sigh like his
answer was some sort of big burden thrust upon him the older of the two said,
"I have reluctantly taken back my first assumption and found you to be...
Tolerable."
Tolerable. That probably meant something yes? From someone like Snape it might
even be the equivalent of a standing ovation. Yes, he could work with
tolerable. Tolerable was good. Harry gave Snape a heartfelt smile of approval.
"I find you tolerable too Professor Snape." He cheekily replied.
The professor hesitated before letting the edges of his lips curl up in return.
They shared an easy quiet space between them, it felt so similar to when they
first met in the shop, and while Harry was intrigued in why that lighthearted
bantering relationship took a sudden swerve to the underworld at the mention of
his name, he was much more content in getting this feeling back. However the
idea that something as flimsy and unimportant as a name of all things could
break such a nice thing was unacceptable.
"I think you should give me a detention."
For a second time Harry had the pleasure of seeing Severus Snape flounder for
words again. "Potter?"
"Because I'm not going to ask why you reacted so badly to when you heard my
name, that's your business," the boy stiffly explained with a confidence he
wasn't sure he actually had at the moment, it seemed like a good idea in his
head. "But I do wish for an amiable rapport and so I will extended a symbolic
branch of the olive tree if you will."
"And you thought me giving you detention would satisfy me?" Snape challenged
derisively, in a way that would've make Longbottom's eyes filled with tears,
but Harry could see the considering look in black calculating eyes.
"You liked to call me out for things which admittedly even I have had trouble
figuring out why. It felt like some sort of vendetta if you don't mind me
saying professor. So I just.." He uncertainly trailed off and made a vague hand
gesture in feeble hopes it could convey what his mouth had failed to do.
Snape just stared at him with that complicated to the point of blank expression
of his before giving a sharp nod and abruptly stood up and gestured Harry to
leave.
The next day Harry got a detention for being a 'menace in the halls.' It was
probably the nicest Snape had ever been in giving someone a detention.
Longbottom who had been present during the whole thing actually did tear up a
bit though so maybe that wasn't exactly true. Though Harry couldn't help but
grin when the man subtly patted his shoulder as he left as quickly as he came.
===============================================================================
 
 
Ron and Draco weren't exactly pleased to see Harry per say. To be fair they
weren't exactly displeased either. In fact Harry would more accurately call
their faces 'gobsmacked' when they saw him happily waving at them whilst he
conversed with their most hated caretaker of Hogwarts.
 "Harry?!"
 "Potter?!"
"Good evening!" Harry called out cheerily. "Did I forget to mention I got
detention too?"
Ron caught up to him first, smacking the green eyed boy's unruly raven head and
grumbling, "Yeah mate, might've slipped slipped your mind a bit."
"Oops?"
Draco, not one to change pace for anyone finally joined the group with his
signature sneer on his face. "Well, well, well, apparently Potter's gotten off
his high horse and joined us on the ground huh?" It was teasingly good natured
which Harry caught on well enough, his red headed friend however was not that
quick on getting sarcasm because the boy went positively purple. However not
wanting another ongoing argument, especially not one during a detention which
he assumed was already going to be quite miserable, Harry decided to adopt his
own teasing sneer and shrugged haughtily.
"What can I say Draco? I decided your usual view up on those large horses of
yours was much too uncomfortable for my liking."
The two pale skinned boys traded grins at their exchange, Ron who while didn't
quite get the humor was aware enough to no longer take offense to the Malfoy
scion. Well, in this particular case anyway. Much. Harry honestly didn't think
there was a time Ron was not offended by Draco. And that went both ways really.
"Actually," Harry was struck by a sudden realization, vivid green eyes
glittered with well hidden mirth, "I thought you guys had your detention
yesterday. You know, lines with Mcgonagall?" Suddenly the two other boys looked
distinctly uncomfortable.
"Yes," The blonde coughed, "Well, we may have uh," More embarrassed coughing.
Harry raised an eyebrow. Well this was going to be interesting. Looking at Ron
the freckled child was pointedly looking at the ceiling, face taking more of an
embarrassed faint pink hue. Actually Draco had the same coloring. "We may have
planned to sneak out of our dorms to commence a wizard's duel."
At seeing the small boy's confusion Draco's embarrassment twisted into a sneer,
"You have no idea what that is. Typical." He snorted.
"Well I think I've got the basic idea down." Harry shot back dryly. "I just
fail to understand why."
"Well it wasn't like I was actually going to go!" Draco burst out angrily, Ron
spluttered. "What?! But you-"
"Ilied." The blonde hissed. "It was going to be a magnificent plan, your
Gryffindor brashness would've practically compelled you to accept the duel and
while you got in trouble wandering the school after hours I would've been in
bed playing innocent."
It was admittedly a very good if not incredibly sneaky plan. Would totally work
too. Of course there was no way Harry was going to say that out loud in front
of Ron. Ron who was doing a startlingly well done job at pretending to skin the
Malfoy child with just his eyes. He may be socially inept but he was certainly
not an idiot so instead Harry said, "Okay so how come you're both stuck here
with me then?"
The two rivals turned to their one mutual friend with faces so sour lemons
would cry. "Granger." Was growled and hissed out with equal intensity. Because
if there's one thing that bonds two opposing sides any faster was a shared
enemy. Now Harry wasn't the biggest fan of the bushy haired girl but he had to
mentally wince for the target of whatever consequences that came from both a
Malfoy and a Weasley's ire. Dudley and Pierce weren't exactly the sharpest
tools in the proverbial shed and Harry had learnt the hard way that there was
no barriers young boys will not pass to achieve their petty vengeance.
Ugh he still shuddered when he saw a full wheel of cheese in the shops.
"She was eavesdropping at us like she actually hadany business in what we did."
Draco sniffed. "Even worse she just barged in and told us off! Like she had any
authority."
"Called us selfish she did!" Ron agreed angrily, "Then after what, five
minutes?"
"At least a solid ten." The blonde corrected with a wry smirk. "Don't think she
stopped for air."
"Yeah, ten minutes, so after ten bloody whole minutes of berating us, calling
us childish and pretty much saying how much better she is, Granger went and
snitched on us! What a chit!"
"Here here." Draco slapped the freckled boy's shoulder before the pair both
froze and recoiled away from each other so fast Harry was wondering if they
choreographed the whole interaction. Draco looked at his hand with disgust,
wiping it on his ropes with emphasized motions while Ron blew furiously on his
shoulder as if the 'Malfoy germs' implanted on his person would float away
before they completely attached onto him. And wow that was a strange visual.
"Alright you brats." Filch groused, having apparently left sometime earlier to
collect his beloved Mrs Norris and a lamp, "Follow me."
"Of course Argus." Harry answered winningly, Mrs Norris purred. The boys behind
him just nodded, at the corner of his eyes the raven haired boy could see Draco
mouthing 'Argus?' at Ron who just shrugged, looking just as befuddled as the
other. "Do you know what's happening tonight?"
The cantankerous groundskeeper glanced at the youngest Weasley and Malfoy
before turning his attentions to his favorite student in Hogwarts. "I ain't
completely in the know but Hagrid's the one in charge tonight." He acquiesced.
"Though I don't see how that oaf could enforce any proper punishment. You know
Potter-"
"Harry." Filch gave a yellow toothed smile at the correction.
"Harry. Well back in my day Harry we would've string these little terrors up by
their thumbs." The old squib gave a slightly manic cackle at that as his
friends began looking increasingly worried at being such a close distance to
the caretaker. If Harry had been 'a real boy' he probably would've been weirded
out too, fortunately he was a physical manifestation of death and other
associated things with it, so he had found the stories Filch offered
fascinating. Why didn't they teachthis in Binn's lesson?
"Their thumbs?" He prompted, "Wouldn't the string cut off circulation?" Ron and
Draco was now looking at him horrified, like he was just casually discussing
torture in front of- huh. Filch shook his head.
"No, no, see we used specially made cuffs. They were made so the only pain was
centered in the arms, like being forced to keep a pail of water above their
heads but taking away the ability to cheat their punishment."
"Wait, couldn't you have just put a temporary sticking charm on the bucket?"
Filch cocked his head, thoughtful, "Never thought of it like that Harry.
Would've made it easier though."
The boy shook his head, "See that's the problem with your magic dependent
society, everything is unnecessarily complicated for some reason."
"It is no-"
"Shut it brats!" Filch barked, effectively silencing Draco's protest.
"Honestly, kids these days." The man grumbled under his breath. The pale blonde
gaped, actually speechless at the blatant favoritism that wasn't aimed at him.
Harry, catching on to the disbelief, looked Draco straight in the air and
winked. Ron had to stifle his laughter with his fingers as his school rival
made a furious choking sound.
===============================================================================
 
 
The three boys stared out at dark cold blackness. The wind was biting, the
trees in the distance were making the most ominous rustling noises and even the
night sky looked like it was about to cry what with the looming clouds masking
what was probably a gorgeous smattering of starlight. Then they all craned
their heads to stare incredulously at Hagrid who was waiting impatiently for
them to step out of the safe, dry, warm castle towards the forest.
"You can't be serious." Draco breathed in horror. "We can't go into the forest,
they're all sort of things in there- like werewolves."
"Hagrid you are joking right?" Ron asked with a weak chuckle as he wrapped his
clothes closer to his body. Harry cursed himself for not bringing his nice
coat, or a scarf, or even just some of those hand jumpers would be nice.
"Nope." The half-giant replied with what honestly was way too much cheer for
someone who essentially just told three eleven year olds they'll be spending
their nighttime detention in the Forbidden Forest searching for something in
the Forbidden Forest that apparently murders unicorns in its free time. In the
Forbidden Forest. Did he mention that they were going into a forest? That was
for all intents and purposes forbidden?
"Professor Dumbledore told us not to go in there you do realize Hagrid? It was
pretty much the first coherent thing he told us about." Harry said very slowly
like talking to a particularly slow rock.
"Yea don't worry bout that 'arry." Hagrid laughed, "It's all been cleared by
the Headmaster it has."
Because apparently the Forbidden Forest was notforbidden and dangerous enough
to warrant wondering around at night for punishment. And to think Harry had
respected that old man's ruling and restrained himself from exploring the dense
forestation temptation. Maybe Headmaster Dumbledore did have a few apples loose
from the fruit basket. Eleven year olds being sent to the Forbidden Forest. At
night.
Forget apples, that man has lost the whole goddamn basket. Theoretically fruit
has just spilt everywhere.
"My father will hear of this," Draco muttered, Harry and Ron couldn't help but
roll their eyes at what was practically the pale blonde's catchphrase, even if
they did kind of agree with the sentiment this time round. But seriously, the
Malfoy head of the family certainly seems to hear a lot of things, Harry half
wondered if Draco actually goes through with those threats half the time he
says them because Draco kind of complains. A lot. Though to be fair Harry did
get quite the nicely written letter from the man a few weeks in to the term,
politely thanking him for being Draco's friend in none too many words. It was
definitely a little cold but Harry does appreciate the good manners the words
were wrapped in.
Unfortunately not even a mumbled threat about the Malfoy Head was going to stop
what was going to be a horrible detention.
Absently Harry noted that Hagrid was carrying this huge crossbow and a quiver
of arrows. And that did not make him feel safe about this activity at all. Also
a large black dog that had been at the half-giant's ankle was practically
latching onto his hip.
"Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what
we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks." Like going into a
forest at night. "Follow me over here a moment." The man led them to the very
edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he pointed down a narrow, winding
earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. Because that wasn't
ominous at all.
"Look there," the lantern was pointedly lighting a few spatters of some
shimmery grey blue liquid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? The silvery
stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by
summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday.
We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its
misery."
"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Malfoy, unable to
keep the fear out of his voice. Good. That is the acceptable reaction to this
incredibly harsh punishment.
"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or
Fang," said Hagrid in what was probably supposed to be a reassuring manner. Ron
and Draco seemed a bit calmer after that but they were eleven. What did they
know? So maybe nothing had lived in the forest that isn't wary of the half
giant and Fang the dogbefore, nothing had been killing the unicorns before
either. But there was certainly something now. "An' keep ter the path. Right,
now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent
directions." What. "There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin'
around since last night at least." Oh dear god. This was almost exactly like
one of those movies Dudley smuggled to watch. There was no happy ending.
"I want Fang," Draco immediately spoke, looking at Fang's long teeth. Ron who
had also been eyeing up the dog's claws glared at the blonde.
"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," And just like that the redheaded
boy's glare turned triumphant as Draco paled.
"I'll go with Draco," Harry volunteered. "That will make the teams more fair at
least." The blonde looked relieved, even Fang looked much less like he was
going to urinate himself. If anything the dog pressed closer to his leg, the
big black beast looking up at him with adoration as he- oh Hell he hated when
animals try to proposition him like that. And the other entities wondered why
he barely bothered to get out of his comfort dimension without their prompting.
Well it was mainly because he was a recluse with slight anti-social tendencies
and hellish workloads. But the unwanted attentions of more sensitive mortal
creatures (he's been lusted over from sphinxes to hamsters and even been asked
out by some very prominent figures in mythology) can be a bit trying after a
while. Extremely flattering don't get him wrong, Death has been around since
near forever and it still genuinely surprises him how these strange, living,
beautiful beings have wished for him as a viable mate.
"Oi, Fang!" Hagrid admonished, looking quite embarrassed for the dog that was
not so subtly doing... things to Harry's leg. "I'm so sorry 'bout that 'arry,
he's never done that before."
The green eyed boy shrugged and waved it off even though he was quite
uncomfortable at the public display, "Don't worry Hagrid, I seem to have an..
Affinity with things like this for some reason."
Hagrid coughed, "Yes, well, I'll definitely have er word with him later. For
now I'll set off around west of 'ere and you'll all can go east."
Harry nodded in agreement, to the direction not the plan. Draco still eyeing
the dog dubiously (even more so after that inappropriate display of affection)
and angrily, like it was somehow Fang's fault that he had chosen wrong,
followed suit albeit much stiffer.
"Well a'right then!" Hagrid announced and really should anybody be that
energetic about this? Ron and Draco at least shared his thoughts, though if
Harry could read their minds (which he couldn't, though he can get impressions
of emotions if he bothered to focus hard enough) it'll probably be something
like, "Holy shit I'm going to die." Or something equally as dramatic. Though
the raven haired child guessed it wouldn't be that dramatic considering their
was a very good chance of death.
And with that optimistic thought he headed into the forest.
===============================================================================
 
 
"You know what bothers me?" Harry announced as they wandered through the dense
foliage and forged through under the eerie night darkness.
"You mean other than us being protected by some cowardly mutt? Or do you mean
the life choices we've made that somehow lead us to this miserable moment?"
Draco grumbled. Harry ignored him.
"Why is there a giant squid in the lake?"
"What." The blonde aristocrat deadpanned.
"Like, it's not a magical creature," Harry continued, "it's not even some sort
of normal squid with magical properties. It's just a larger than normal squid
in what is supposed to be a very magical lake and no one seems to be
questioning it at all. I mean what its wrong with you mort-guys?"
"I should be asking you that Potter.Really, how on earth do you always think up
the weir-did you hear that?"
Both children paused mid-step. Fang whimpered and moved so close to Harry the
raven haired boy thought the dog may just get absorbed into him through sheer
force of will alone. In a gesture that silently ordered the Malfoy scion to
move behind him, Harry silently moved closer to the just audible noises of..
slurping. Urgh. That is disgusting, he's pretty sure in this universe vampires
are supposed to have more tact than that. Vampires also don't drink unicorn
blood in any universe he knows of either so maybe the creature they are looking
for is some sort of chupacabra creature instead? He hopes not, those things
were literally so last century.
Shifting silently Harry edges closer to the source of the noise, with his much
better eyesight and the faint appearance of the moon, the boy could see the
unicorn whose blood they've been tracking. It was a horrible sight as it was in
the throes of dying whilst the creature, no, a human, the thing they were
looking for was human, drank from the mystical horse's arteries. The poor
creature was thrashing weakly, even from this angle the unicorn still held onto
its beauty, long slender legs bent at disturbing obviously broken angles, it's
moonlit body, bright and shining mane and that silver blue blood all too
visible on the dark green forest floor. Harry wished he had a photograph of
this scene, and yes it's a completely inappropriate thought even he recognized
that but there isn't many things in the world that could have such a beautiful,
hauntingly gorgeous death like a unicorn. So excuse him for being reminded that
he had nice things. Okay so maybe nice isn't the word to describe it, but hey,
Death's not exactly nice either.
The unicorn murderer man, and really there needs to be a better name to call
him, must have heard something- did Draco make a sound? He might have made some
sort aborted shriek because any noise Fang made could easily have been
dismissed as background noises in this place- because he had gotten onto his
feet and started moving swiftly toward him. Then, a pain like Harry had never
felt in such intensity before, pierced his head; burning like his forehead had
been set on fire, his scar getting the brunt of the startling sensation. Half
blinded, Harry staggered backward, shocked, confused and in pain.
For a split second the power, the darkness, the sheer nothingness that came so
natural to him sprang forth from where it had previously been so well
restrained, buzzing under the skin of his palm and scratching under the nails
of his fingers eager to be unleashed. It would be so easy to let itgo, let
himself go, take out the danger, drag it down into his world, feel the warm
pulse of soul in his hands and savour it in his mouth. He could feel the stark
blackness urging to be used, creeping into the whites of his eyes and tainting
the red blood in his human veins. A part of him, the more logical, practical,
objective part of him was rather thankful the nighttime surroundings were
masking what was obviously some very inhuman traits being exposed on his human
body.
For a split second every single living being in England shivered, an
unexplainable cold sensation brushing lightly against the hairs on the back of
their spine. Some would say it felt like death was breathing down their necks.
Those would never realise just how close they were to the truth.
One split second.
And then Harry was back. Green eyed, red blooded, physically human Harry. He
didn't know if he was relieved about managing in controlling himself or feeling
strangely strangled in his own body. His forehead still burned.
He could hear Draco inhale a deep shuddery breath beside, probably feeling
something a bit harsher than a brush of cold air. Harry may not have much
experience but the feeling at such close proximity may or may not be something
similar to having shards of oily ice stuffed down forcefully into one's lungs.
The dark cloaked man that had been slurping unicorn blood must have felt it to
because he seemed to be doing some serious full body twitching, like his body
was desperately trying to tear themselves into two but failing. He was
muttering and hissing and occasionally shouting things too, maybe the person
was a mad man? Made sense considering he was drinking blood from an unwilling
and dying unicorn.
The raven haired boy's wandering thoughts focused on the small whimper that had
escaped from the child next to him. Draco was white and shaken and frankly
looked simply horrible.'Oh,' Harry thought, 'Oh dear.' But he said instead, in
a low, soft but solid voice, "Draco. I want you to go run back a few meters and
then I want you to fire up the warning sparks from your wand. Can you do this
for me?"
The words seem to shake Draco from his frozen horror, to tear his eyes away
from the contorting madman and the bloody unicorn in the forest of the
forbidden. For an eleven year old child this scene must be rather traumatizing,
especially with the accidental exposure to Harry himself when he momentarily
leaked his true self out, Harry would have to be more careful from now on not
to inadvertently break these children.
The Malfoy scion turned out surprisingly resilient much to his surprise and
pleasure. With only some hesitation at leaving Harry behind the blonde knew
that it was the safest choice. Harry hadn't exactly hid that he was the more
magically adept out of the two, so with a determined nod Draco ran toward the
direction of Hagrid and Ron.
Not a few moments later Harry saw the faint glow of red sparks and the boy
quirked up his lips. Good mortal child.
Unfortunately the unicorn vampire (nope, still a terrible title) must have
noticed it too as he began pulling out his own wand, raising it up, raising it
toward- suddenly there were hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped
clean over Harry, charging at the figure.
The unusual pain centred around his scar was merciless enough that it made
Harry's knees go embarrassingly weak. His only consolation was that at least he
was still standing upright so he had a near perfect, if not a tad blurry, view
to see who had rescued his person. He didn't need saving, like notat all
really, even without using his own powers the magic he had been gifted was
strong enough to rule America single-handedly if he so wished. But it was a
very nice gesture nonetheless. And the boy isn't sure in all his time he's
really experienced a gallant rescue before so this detention was actually
turning out better than expected.
The man who had managed to cause such inexplicably real pain, pain that the
Vernon lump could never really achieve because Harry wasn't Harry, but someone
wearing the meat suit of Harry and the beatings, the bruises, the sensations of
injury should be dulled, should not truly hurt, not like that, had vanished. In
his place was a centaur standing over him with an intense gaze of scrutiny and
wonder. His hair was pale as Draco's and wildly untamed, his facial hair in
contrast was surprisingly well-groomed, for woodland creature standards Harry
supposed. Even with the inhuman slant of the face and the obviously inhuman
aspects of his lower body, the boy could not stop his eerie glowing eyes from
looking appreciatively at the strong figure of the centaur. Harry was an eleven
year old human boy in body and incarnation of death in soul but he wasn't
blind. The whole 'saving' thing helped to. That was nice.
Sure he isn't much to act on any impulse attractions like some of his brothers
and sisters, and it's been at least a century and a half since he even got
anything remotely close to a date with something (blind date with a Valkyrie,
don't ask) much less a relationship and don't even get him started on anything
more intimate than a few heated kisses. Damn Chaos for spreading that rumor
about certain organs.. Shriveling, if they entered any part of his-
"Are you alright Lord Pluto?"
Harry blinked, the centaur watched him with eyes that were astonishingly blue
and filled with worry and respect and admiration. Giving a slight smile in
reassurance he straightened his previously half-crumpled posture. "Yes, I thank
you for your kindness-?"
The centaur didn't answer immediately, but when he did it was like snapping out
of some sort of daze, centaurs weren't known much for blushing, stoic
mysterious image and all that, but this one was doing so furiously. Harry
thought it was very endearing. "Firenze, Lord Pluto." He replied in an
embarrassed rush, "My name is Firenze."
"Call me Harry then, Firenze." Blue eyes zoomed onto the scar imprinted on his
forehead, widening as he realized just exactly what identity he had taken on.
"You are the Potter boy, but how?"
Harry shrugged, "Call it a whim, my friend and rescuer." Firenze went pink at
the titles bestowed on him, yeah it was probably the titles, the boy hadn't
really brushed up on centaur etiquette recently but it was probably that.
"I do not deserve such praise from a being such as yourself my Lord Pluto."
Firenze murmured, his head bowed respectfully. "If anything I should apologise
for getting in your way."
The young child shook his head and stifled a sigh of annoyance. Placing a small
hand on the shoulder blades of the centaur he spoke cordially, "Be that as it
may, you have gallantly stepped in to help and have warded off my attacker who
had managed to inflict pain onto my person. For that I am grateful my strong
rescuer."
Firenze made a throaty guttural snort that showed his pleasure at the words
despite his reserved demeanor, pressing upward into the cold hand of the child,
he answered, "I am honoured Lord Pluto."
"I'm going to just request you call me Harry at least in front of the human
mortals."
"Of course milord." They stayed like that for a few heartbeats, Harry's hand on
the kneeling centaur's shoulder as they looked into each other's eyes, it was
all very intimate. Very pleasant. The raven haired boy suddenly cursed mortal
growth rate. He could always age himself of course, even change his physical
body's species if he wished (though it would admittedly take some time and
effort) but it would kind of go against the whole 'let Harry Potter grow up'
thing that he had promised Fate. Still, everything went so slow and he's
suddenly struck by exactly how long he's kissed something technically alive.
Not that he would say no to an undead if he was charmed enough. Dullahan after
all always have the most flattering courtings. And vampires come a close second
what with their aristocratic natures- though those have been slipping quite a
bit in these modern worlds. Something called 'Twi-nights' or something ruining
them which was such a pity really.
Then out of nowhere Firenze started fidgeting, with a cough to hide his
awkwardness the half-human stood back up and with an offered hand asked with a
nervous anticipation, "Lord Pluto, would you do the honours and allow yourself
to ride me?"
Almost as soon as the centaur's request left his lips Harry's eyebrows shot up,
his pale skin pinking at the obvious innuendo. Apparently today was the day for
bold propositioning then. "Excuse me?"
Firenze was just kind of gaping in this absolutely horrified way, obviously
mortified at what he just said. Harry felt it would probably traumatise the
poor man if he laughed at the expression of his face, in his face.
"I-I-I didn't mean it like that! Forgive me Lord Pluto I simply meant that your
feet must be tired from your venture in the woods, not that I'm belittling your
physical body, you have a very beautiful youthful body that I have found
admiring despite myself, no, apologies, that's not what I mean, your power
sings to my very soul and seems to draw me toward your presence. Of course it
isn't just that either, I wasn't implying I only like you for your power
milord, not that I like you, I mean, of course I do, respect,yes, I respect
you…" The centaur stammered off, visibly embarrassed at himself. The young boy
could understand, he could feel some second-hand embarrassment himself, it must
be so much worse since centaurs were usually like to see themselves as such
mysterious creatures.
With a soft giggle, he tilted his head, letting his eyes glow a bit brighter
than humanly possible and patted the centaur's flank gently. "I would be more
than pleased to ride you my young Firenze." The half man brightened at that,
not wasting anytime to kneel elegantly down at the child's feet. As Harry
pulled himself onto the horse-like body he couldn't stop himself from purring
into the centaur's ear, "And once my mortal body grows older I wouldn't mind
pursuing a bond that could possibly end up with me riding in another way as
well."
Firenze made an uncouth spluttering whinny at that, and while he couldn't see
his face at this angle, Harry could most certainly see how red the tips of the
creature's ears were.
Suddenly sounds of galloping and the crunching of leaves under hoof was coming
from the other side of the clearing. Two unfamiliar centaurs came bursting
through the trees, heaving and sweaty.
"Firenze!" The black-haired, black bodied and rugged one of the two thundered
as he saw his fellow centaur and child. "What are you doing? You have a human
on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mu- oof!" The pair of
galloping half man-half horses grunted as they collided with an unfortunate
tree, apparently mid-way through the rant they had realised who exactly was on
Firenze's back.
"L-lord Pluto?!" The red headed horse man with a chestnut coloured body
exclaimed in a suspiciously shriek-y tone. "Mars did not foretell such an
appearance as immense as this."
"Yes, well," Harry replied dryly, "My presence did hinder Fate's plan I admit
but I'm sure the stars will quickly realign and adjust soon enough to fit me in
their plans."
"Bane, Ronan." Firenze said lowly, clearly unhappy for some reason, "You should
do well to introduce yourselves to Lord Pluto."
"Harry Potter, please."
"My name is Bane, milord." Introduced the dark haired warrior-like centaur with
a low bow, clearly chastised in the presence of the incarnation of death.
"And I, Ronan." added the auburn haired one, with an equally low bow.
"Bane." Harry greeted with a nod, then turned to Ronan to do the same thing.
"Ronan."
Both centaurs dropped their head down, abashed at being so directly talked to
by such a powerful entity. Harry distantly mused what would've happened if Fate
herself came down to greet the fortune-telling creatures. They would probably
have wet themselves. Firenze would have a babbling seizure. Fate, Death, Life
and maybe even Knowledge and Magic would be the entities that species like the
centaurs would be the most sensitive to, and the most revered after all. If
some entity else like Space for example strolled passed them they would
naturally acknowledge the power emanating from the man but there was no such
natural affinity they would recognize, or at least nothing as intense as what
they would feel for the others.
"May I ask why you have graced this earth with your presence Lord Pluto?" Bane
murmured with undisguised awe. Ronan and Firenze shot their fellow herd member
a dirty look, how dare he question such an otherworldly being of their actions?
It may be one thing to willingly wish to mingle with the humans like Firenze
does but it was a whole different story to question something that they have
worshiped and have long since considered inevitable, untouchable characters of
pure power. The dark haired male had realized this too going by the way of his
paling face. "F-forgive me, I didn't mean-"
Harry put up his hand, effectively silencing Bane's stutters, "I am not here to
demand respect from the loyal hoofed followers of Fate. You may wish to
question my presence and speak casually to me if you like."
The centaur nodded relieved at the reprieve but like the other two, was sharing
an expression of conflicting emotions about being allowed such merits with the
entity now boy. Honestly, Harry enjoyed displays of proper decorum but it does
getawfully frustrating sometimes how formal individuals can be. It's probably
why humans have gained so much more favor and interest by the gods and higher
brings compared to other species. They were so.. delightfully refreshing.
Like the snarky interaction he had, had with Professor Snape. Flyting, was what
the Norse called it, he thinks.
"Anyway, I am here to live out this mortal life of Harry James Potter. Merely a
simple reprieve from my usual duties." More like an accidental but not
unpleasant escape.
Again all eyes were on his scar. And really, if this fixation for such a rather
uninteresting pattern of marred skin continues like this Harry was going to
develop some sort of serious complex about it. He didn't know if he should
cover it up with his hair or slick his hair like Draco, leaving the scar for
the world to see and hopefully desensitising their creepy obsession with it.
Actually that sounded like a good idea. Except he would look way too similar to
Draco for his liking, and probably the rest of the school's.
"What of the prophecy then Lord?" Ronan asked mildly. Harry looked confused.
"Prophecy? What prophecy- no, wait, I know how this works." The boy rubbed his
thumbs in little circles into his temple, "I shouldn't try and mess around with
Fate's already woven story as much as I already have, in fact-" He snapped his
fingers twice, "There, last minute, gone, what were we talking about?"
The three centaurs glanced at each other before looking back at their Lord of
Death. Firenze having a slightly harder time considering said Lord was riding
on top of him, a place that made him puff up with pride, wait till the others
of the herd hear about this. Bane and Ronan had somehow positioned themselves
to cover each of his flanks as they trotted amiably toward the edges of the
forest grounds.
"Lord Pluto, I'm sure you know what unicorn blood is for?"
Harry pulled a face, "Yes, it's honestly quite offending to what I stand for.
Literally." His child like porcelain face soured further, "Only a foolish
mortal with nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a cruel
crime. Drinking the blood of an unwilling unicorn will keep you alive, even if
you are an inch from death. But by slaying something considered the epitome of
pure and defencelessness to selfishly save yourself, they would only deserve a
half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches their godforsaken
lips."
The boy stared at the back of Firenze's head, shining with streaks of silver in
the moonlight with unnerving focus. "But who'd be that desperate?" he wondered
aloud. "If you're going to be cursed forever, my way isbetter, isn't it?" And
if maybe he sounded a little hurt and a teensy bit genuinely distressed at the
thought, well, no one dared to comment. Though a part of their very souls
almost clenched at the sound. If souls could do that of course.
"It is," Firenze agreed solemnly and was rewarded by a gentle but firm caresses
down his spine. The centaur grunted at the pleasure. His companions merely
glared. "But my Lord, are you aware of what is hidden in this school at this
very moment?"
"No but you've certainly peaked my interest now." Harry murmured thoughtfully.
Certainly he recalled a few suspicious behaviours from the staff but he didn't
really pay much to mind. Well until now anyway. "Something to do with this
man's wish for extended life is a good presumption obviously. Something that
could bring him back to both full strength and power. Maybe cancelling out the
curse of unicorn's blood by- oh."
"The Philosopher's Stone." Bane announced gravely. "And the man who would vie
for such an artefact would be none other than-"
"Harry! Harry! Are you alright?"
Draco and Ron were running towards them down the path. Hagrid closely following
along just behind.
The raven haired child shot the centaurs an apologetic look before focusing
back on his more human friends. "I am fine," He answered, "Hagrid there's a
dead unicorn back in the clearing over there."
The half-giant quickly hurried toward the direction Harry pointed at with a
worried nod.
"This is where we leave you," Firenze murmured reluctantly, "I wish we would
have met under better circumstance."
The little Lord Pluto slid off the centaur's back gracefully, tugging Firenze's
face close to him before giving a chaste peck on his scratchy cheek. "If I find
the time I wouldn't mind meeting the rest of your village." He offered kindly,
like he didn't just turn a full grown centaur red with embarrassment.
Bane and Ronan seemed unhappy with this exchange but nonetheless bowed slightly
as their eyes met glowing green. "Good luck Harry James Potter." Bane intoned
seriously. Ronan adding, "We will be honoured should you wish to visit our
village at any time."
The two then turned and cantered back into the dense woodlands, Firenze had a
visible skip in his gallop as he followed. After watching them go Harry turned
back to face Ron and Draco. Both boys looking pale, tired, dirty and half
afraid. Not that Harry could really blame them, even objectively tonight was a
very traumatising experience. So as pleasantly as he could he gave each boy an
one armed hug and laughed softly.
"Well I don't know about you guys but this night actually turned out quite
lovely. Shall we head back to the castle?"
"Insane." Draco repeated, "You are insane." Ron nodded in agreement but at
least the two were smiling as well now. Harry sighed.
Children. He doesn't think he would ever understand them.
***** Death's troll meeting *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry for the last chapter, it's been fixed! Uh, enjoy this one in
     advance I guess (btw I have more chapters on my fanfiction account
     for this story if you really wanted more). Thanks and enjoy~~
_The_one_where_Death_does_some_more_magic,_plays_with_himself_and_then_meets_a
troll._
Today was the day when Professor Flitwick was going to finally allow them to
try the levitation spell. Everyone sans one certain boy was right excited about
it. Most of the lessons so far consisted of more theory than anything, so the
energy vibrating off the new wizards and witches were understandable. Still.
Harry almost wanted to scream at the slow pace they were going if it wasn't so
unbecoming of his person.
Levitation? Really? Ugh, how.. Minimal.
Zacharias true to his idiotic idiot form was blabbing on about how he'll
probably ace this simple task perfectly. Well, he may have simplified what the
blonde had said, but to be fair Smith made it sound like he was the next Merlin
or something. If Merlin's story contained eighteen epic chapters filled with
prose and exaggerated poetry, and fourteen of said chapters would be solely
about the author's heritage and appearance. Because in this scenario the story
would be an autobiography. Because Zacharias was a douche.
"Potter! I challenge you to see who can accomplish a better levitation charm!"
Harry rolled his eyes. Really, people keep saying Draco is the mouthy one but
clearly his friends from the other half of the school have not had the pleasure
of being acquainted with the resident little shit of Hufflepuff. Unfortunately
his patience of this acquaintanceship was starting to wear thin. Harry after
all doesn't and never has appreciated rudeness. With the exception of his
vessel's relatives and maybe Snape, he's never really been treated with such
blatant boorish disrespectful impertinence as well. And this misguided child to
top it all off actually believes he's somehow better than him all because of
some diluted blood he probably shared with a Founder?
Hahaha- Unacceptable.
"I accept Smith if it'll get you to shut up for once." He snapped irritably,
Smith reared his head back in shock and more than a few of his friends and
fellow peers gaped. It wasn't exactly a secret Harry disliked the blonde
between the two Houses but it was usually treated with a cool disdain that
would've made the Slytherins proud. This was probably the first time the young
wizarding celebrity had ever outright showed any hostility and aggression to
Smith. To anyone really. Harry likedFiltch for wizarding god's sakes.
Good. Zacharias really needed to have 'his pegs taken down' as they say. Now
Harry really didn't fully understand where he should take these metaphorical
pegs that presumably represent a person's hubris but if this boastful boy kept
pushing him like this he knew very well where he could shove it up.
"Fine." Smith spat, "Maybe me showing you your place will get you off your high
and mighty horse."
Harry glared, "I do not understand how that is an insult. Having a fine stead
is a very valued trait in any household."
"The height of the horse symbolises arrogance because you're looking down on
them." Terry whispered helpfully, he was one of the Ravenclaw's he was closer
too who had realised Harry's poor grasp with modern slang and metaphors of the
English language. Truth be told Harry did know this term but it was worth
acting stupid to see that furious look on Smith's face.
The shorter raven-haired child gave a soft 'ah' of understanding before
focusing his attention back to a sneering Smith. "Well your horse is
practically Trojan compared to mine." Then his head turned slightly toward
Terry's direction and murmured, "Was that an adequate enough rebuttal?" Boot
gave two thumbs up, which is supposed to show support but for some reason Harry
had a sneaking suspicion that the action was sarcastic in nature.
"What does that even mean?" Smith scowled and Harry just gave him a look of
complete derision, an expression closely replicated by the other Ravenclaws,
especially the ones with muggle backgrounds. Uncultured swine.
Before he could open his mouth to voice that particular insult Professor
Flitwick stride in and it was time for classes to start.
===============================================================================
 
 
"Wingardium leviosa!"
"Woah you got it on the third try Smith, that's so amazing!" One of Zacharias
cronies and partner for the exercise gushed much to the blonde's smug delight
and at least three quarters of the class' vexation. "Well I'm personally not
surprised," Smith chuffed before turning to Harry with a smirk, "Beat that
Potter."
"Now, now this isn't meant to be a contest kids," The part goblin professor
chided cheerily, "But that was very well done Mr Smith!" Flitwick then looked
expectedly toward his green eyed student as well, it seemed despite his words
the short statured man was very curious to see how the famed first year will
handle this charm. And if for some unfathomable reason he found himself
personally quite taken to the bright, quiet Harry Potter as a student, well, no
one needed to know really.
Of course that soft squeak of inexplicable glee and happiness and
ohmygodtheresjustsomethingaboutthisboythatmakeshimwanttobowdownandsweareverythingtohim
when the moment bright, vividly green eyes met his own was maybe a little
telling though. Luckily most of the children were more focussed on Harry like
him, instead of another slip up of the charms professor- really, it was bad
enough he squealed so hard he fell off his stack of books the first time he did
roll call. And it was strangely enough, nothing to do with the child's name.
"Do I have to do this spell with a wand professor?"
Flitwick blinked at the question, a little thrown off by it admittedly. "Mr
Potter I think for your first time maybe you should use your wand. Swish and
flick if you will. Swish and flick." The boy nodded, looking at his jet black
wand a little unsure and the short man just wanted to take his words back for
the mere justification of seeing Potter content again.
In fact he was just about to do that when the young enigmatic wizard lifted his
wand with precise swishing and flicking gestures as he intoned, "Wingardium
leviosa."
And the feather shot up in the air so fast and suddenly it cracked the ceiling.
The magically strengthenedceiling.
There was just stunned silence and maybe the faint noise of dust from above
falling onto an embarrassed green eyed boy. "Uh, sorry for your classroom
professor." Potter apologised sheepishly, "My control in the strength of my
stuff isn't very good, especially with my wand."
This time, Flitwick didn't even try stop the squeal.
===============================================================================
 
Hogwarts was not pleased by the broken ceiling.
She apparently had decided to show said displeasure by making the armoured
knights decorating the halls gesture various unflattering things at the raven
haired physical embodiment of death every single time he passed them. And
considering Hogwarts has been a school for centuries, the level of outright
offensiveness that can be interpreted from the hand gestures alone was
downright obscene at the best of times. Even Harry, with his stunted knowledge
of most things involving social civility balked slightly at some of the more
'upfront' hand actions.
This lasted for a whole week and for the life of the rest of the school they
could not figure out how it was done. The Weasley twins thought it was
hilarious though. They ended up getting the blame. Harry would feel more guilty
about that if they hadn't made it a habit to follow him around the past few
days just so they could learn new obscenities without even using words. They
didn't even try to help him, they just laughed and laughed. Serves them right
it does.
===============================================================================
 
"-so concluding this meeting does anyone have anything notable to say about our
new batch of students for this year?" Dumbledore asked, smiling genially at his
fellow professors.
"This years firsties have some upstanding students, Miss Granger has shown a
marvellous enthusiasm for her school work for one." McGonagall began. The
charms professor giggled,
"Yes, yes, Miss Hermione Granger has shown a healthy interest in her work but I
think I can speak for all that there's another student we are all excited to
speak of."
Dumbledore's blue eyes shined with blatant interest. "Oh? Pray tell Filius, who
is this star student you seem to think we all wish to gossip of?"
The short man clapped his hands, practically vibrating, "Why mister Harry
Potter of course!"
Professor Sprout blurted out a "Finally!" Before immediately covering her hands
over her mouth in a blush.
The potions professor didn't even scowl at the word 'Potter' which really told
how eager he was to discuss the child.
McGonagall coughed but even that didn't mask the slight upturned edges of her
mouth, "Yes, well, Mister Potter has shown to be an exemplary student in my
classes. Outstanding actually. Far ahead of any of the first years, any of the
third years actually." She admitted. "I've been giving him extra tasks to
measure his talent in transfiguration and so far he's not failed to complete
one once. Not counting the one time he misunderstood my instructions." The
usually stern looking woman idly touched a delicate heart shaped brooch pinned
onto her robes, it was silvery and obviously hollow as a luminous pale pink
liquid sloshed inside it. "He also has shown immense skill in jewelry making
and buttering up to Transfiguration professors." She remarked with dry humor
coloring and warming her voice.
The teachers all chuckled at the joke and then it was Professor Flitwick's turn
to stand up, "Mister Potter has also shown incredible aptitude in Charms, he
might not ask as many questions as Miss Granger during class but he's one of
the few I've met that has actually requested to be allowed to be taught more
spells. Spells which he has demonstrated an amazing ease in mimicking. Not only
that he prefers doing his practical work wandless!"
A murmuring of agreement and surprise sprang forth from the various adults,
agreement from professor's such as McGonagall who've actually uses wand based
exercises constantly, and surprise from people like Snape, Sinistra and
Pomphrey who's subjects haven't really required much use for the wand.
"Wandless you say?"
"How is that possible?"
"Explain Filius."
Filius looked very gleeful in complying with the last order, "Mister Potter has
suggested using something that focuses his already large amount of magic into a
more concentrated point like how wands are supposed to results in him
inadvertently overpowering even the simplest of spells. Why, just the other day
you must have heard of the results of him trying out the levitation charm?"
"That was him?" Dumbledore questioned in fascination. "He's the student who
accidentally broke the ceiling?"
"With a feather!" Flitwick repeated, his whole body lighting up at the memory.
"I've never seen such raw pure use of magical strength in my life!"
The transfiguration professor nodded in agreement, "Yes, I've noticed Mr
Potter's done his best work without use of his wand. He claims it's already
hard enough time adjusting to transfigure delicate stuff with his magic without
an amplifier to hinder him." Her fingers fiddled with a golden bracelet of two
lions chasing each other.
"Just how many accessories have you told the poor child to make Minevra?"
Professor Sprout chided playfully, earning a faint flush on the other woman's
cheeks. The astronomy teacher snorted, "And here I was, like a fool, searching
high and low for this mysterious trinket shop."
"Is that what you were doing wandering about at Hogsmeade yesterday Professor?"
Professor Sinistra scowled. "No." She replied sulkily. "But Minevra was being
purposely obtuse on where she purchased those wonderful earrings that changed
into different constellations she wore on Monday."
"I liked that beautiful glass bouquet you have decorated in your office."
Admitted Professor Sprout.
"The floating crystal of seasonal colors is my personal favorite." Added
Trelawney wistfully, apparently not one to not add in her opinion.
"Well back to the subject at hand?" Professor Snape interjected with a tone
that did not bode any sort of variation of humor. "Mr Potter has," the black
clad man paused for dramatic effect, "been adequately doing sufficiently in my
classes."
Somehow that garnered more surprised mutterings from the rest of the adults in
the meeting than any other comment or praise spoken toward Harry Potter. Snape
scowled, fully aware of the reason behind the reaction and was duly offended by
it. "Is there a problem?" He was met with answers of varying negativity. All of
which came from complete liars. If Snape was aware of this he had made no show
of it.
"Word from the Hogwarts rumor mill though Severus, is that Harry's quite the
fan of yours." Sinistra said casually as she inspected her nails. McGonagall
raised a bemused eyebrow at the stone faced potions master.
"Me and Mr Potter have reached an.. Understanding. Of sorts." Snape said
carefully.
"Severus, my boy!" Dumbledore beamed which in turn made the dour faced
professor sour further. "I didn't know you have made friends with young Harry.
I amincredibly proud for you."
"As am I Severus." The transfiguration professor intoned with only the faintest
shadow of a smirk in her eyes. "Though I am curious to how that came to be."
Snape merely made a noncommittal unhappy noise in response. There was no way he
was going to confess that the young Potter scion had been the bigger man, had
been the one to insist on allowing Severus to satisfy his vindications without
even asking what said vindications were and ultimately resulting in the child
almost being attacked in the Forbidden forest at night. There was also no way
that he could stubbornly maintain his admittedly superimposed hatred over the
boy after all that. He may be a bit of an unreasonable bastard but not to the
extent of complete irrationality despite what many may think.
"Well unfortunately while Mr Potter has shown some beautiful manners and a
presented himself as a very good team player, there isn't much to say about his
talent in a greenhouse." Professor Sprout divulged, "Actually he has a bit of a
tendency to, uh, completely kill off most of his plants for some reason. Not
that he did anything wrong, in fact he seemed quite upset when it happens, it's
almost like his presence just invites the flowers to keel over and die."
"That's.. An interesting image." Sinistra replied, "Potter's also quite polite
in my classes but seems to be very unenthusiastic about the whole subject."
"You mean he refuses to learn?" McGonagall asked, trying hard to visualize the
interested green-eyed student she taught with an attitude like Goyle's. Or
maybe even the youngest Weasley.
The dark skinned woman shook her head, "Oh no, apparently he seems to already
know most of the basis for the First year curriculum. He can name all the stars
and constellations as well as the context of them without even flipping through
the textbook. I asked him how he could know so much but he just kind of
murmured something about space and order and drifted off to sleep."
"Sounds to me like our Harry Potter doesn't do well with late nighters."
Dumbledore chuckled, the majority of the staff following his lead. "I guess
even the brightest children have their weaknesses then."
"I-I-I think its q-quite cute." Professor Quirrel stammered timidly, before
wincing like he was in incredible pain for a second. "O-o-or n-not."
The teachers ignored him.
"Okay, then. Anything else to comment?"
"The boy is a spitfire on the Quidditch pitch Headmaster, if he doesn't join a
House team I will cry right here and now." Madam Hooch suddenly declared,
immediately garnering all the Head of Houses attention.
"Dibs!" McGonagall screeched very uncharacteristically, a competitive fire
lighting up in her eyes. Snape sputtered.
"Minerva, you can't, that's not, you can't just call dibs on a student!"
Flitwick nodded serenely, "Exactly, Potter's still a first year, it's not like
he can play this year despite whatever talent he holds in the air."
"Actually," Sprout started, "He's not allowed to bring a broom to school, if
someone just supplied one to him he would be technically allowed to play."
"Also his style is most suited to the role of a seeker." Hooch chimed in,
knowing full well how valued a position that was. There was a pause in the
conversation as the four teachers digested that before,
"Dibs!" Flitwick screamed. And then the protests started all over again though
now much louder and with language much more colourful.
===============================================================================
 
"Good afternoon Professor Snape." Harry greeted as he tapped gently at the
entrance of the teacher's classroom. The potions master looked up with a blank
expression from whatever work he was grading.
"Potter. How unexpected to see you here." The younger of the two smiled
amiably, rustling a couple of parchments in his hand.
"I've got some homework I need to finish and I thought you wouldn't mind some
company." He explained easily. Snape looked less than impressed.
"Why would you assume I need the company?"
Harry shrugged. "I didn't. But I wanted company that wouldn't distract me with
babble because I may have hypothetically forgotten a four foot Transfiguration
essay on the basic theory of space displacement that is possibly due the day
after I realized." The boy widened his eyes innocently and rustled his
parchment a bit louder as if it would somehow further his point. It must have
helped somewhat as Snape's lips curled ever so slightly upwards in a way that
was mocking but at the same time not unpleasant. They weren't friends like
Harry had hoped but there was a tentative banter and amiability that was
enjoyable nonetheless.
"Minevra would weep if she heard you forgot her homework." The older male
murmured wryly, taking that as the cue to enter the classroom, Harry happily
made his way to the front row seat directly across the potions professor's
desk.
"Oh?" Harry began rearranging his writing equipment to his satisfaction, two
quills on the right of his parchment, ink on his left and textbook floating
slightly below eye level on the side with the best light. "I didn't think
Professor McGonagall thought so highly of me."
A scoffing noise was heard at the teacher's desk, "Please, even you cannot be
so obtuse to see how much the woman adores you, she's been showing off your so-
called 'extra assignments' to anyone who's unfortunate enough to notice. The
only one who could possibly be more enthusiastic about you would be Professor
Flitwick."
The green eyed child could feel his face heat at the indirect praise, "The
extra assignments Professor McGonagall gives me is actually entertaining and
requires thought and effort." He deflected feebly.
"Because essay writing needs no use of higher brain function whatsoever." Snape
deadpanned as he continued his own work, and rudely ignoring the sour
expression Harry was pointedly giving him.
"You know exactly what I mean sir." He muttered as he too began his own work.
The conversation dwindled by then, the room filled with just the scritch and
scratches of quills against paper. Most students in the school would probably
think that such a situation awkward and frankly one of their biggest
nightmares, but Harry had found the whole thing rather soothing. It reminded
him of working in his office really, though less lonely. Which actually sounds
rather sad putting that in words.
It takes a solid two hours before he's almost done with his essay. There's
still the conclusion to do but no one honestly cares about that. Harry sighs
and leans back on his seat dramatically and reviewed his work in a way that
only people who cares about not failing but is also aware that he's half-arsed
his work and is probably not willing to put in any extra effort in editing said
work can do.
His handwriting is jagged, stern, more like hieroglyphics than actual English
but it's readable and consistently neat at the very least so Harry decides to
count that as a win. His writing stamina has increased an unnecessary amount
from the school experience, though considering the most he's had to really
write while he was an all power entity of death was just a signature and a few
sentences of criticism or advice for most documents- never in the last six
hundred millenniums had he ever had to write an essay about anything. His hands
hurt. Harry, because he's a cheater, deadens the nerves in those limbs so they
could stop pulsing with pain by the three foot mark.
Thank god he wasn't actually mortal because his vessel's hands were way too
pretty to be damaged by essays of all things. Harry had decided when he goes
back to being well, 'himself' again he was definitely going to retain some
features from his human body. His eyes would definitely be one of them.
"Finally finished I see Mr Potter." A low drawl called out across the near
empty classroom. The raven haired child looked up with a wry smile.
"Yes well, theory has never been much of a strong point with me." He answered a
little self-deprecatingly. It was true. Each entity had inbuilt knowledge that
naturally update over time, however unfortunately that information is only
relevant to their given affinities so some individuals would be naturally much
better versed in things than others. Love could probably recite all the most
romantic, emotional poetry by heart and can tell you the sexiest clothes to
impress someone with just a garbage bag. Chaos knows just the right sentence to
utter to make even the most polite members of society descend into anarchy.
Order instinctively knows how to undo Chaos' mess, usually with a few choice
words himself. Magic is a bit self explanatory. Space can recognize any
universe he steps foot in, Time really likes to recite random bits of history
of said universe. Knowledge knows, well she literally knows everything
annoyingly enough, with the exception of a scant few things which never ceases
to annoy her. Life is probably a close second in terms of being on top of
things in general while conversely Death was inbuilt with probably the least
amount of ingrained information.
The things he instinctively knows are vague, morbid and if they were textbooks
they would be along the lines of; 'Reapers and Dementors and other such
ghouls', 'Spirits, souls and where they go' and 'One thousand and one billion
ways to kill someone, something or everything'.
That was it. Everything else he had to learn by experience and external aids.
The fact that compared to the others he barely visited the outside world did
not help much either. It's always secretly been a sore point with him.
"Yes I do expect it is." Snape says and he does it in such a way that it's
really hard to tell if it was a snide joke or an actual insult. The older male
was difficult like that. "Though I guess I can't hope for anything more from a
child who takes jumping into teacher's arms like a fish to water." Now that was
teasing. Harry blushed and blustered.
"I- I- that happened once!" He snapped embarrassed. Harry had found a while ago
that a less bruising option to his escapades from the bullying of the school
was to yell out to anyone below him and hopefully get caught in their arms. It
was also a horribly embarrassing option that he no longer did much anymore
because he had made the dreadful mistake of accidentally jumping into the arms
of a very surprised Professor Flitwick who had been expecting some Diggory
boy's essay and not an armful of Wizarding Boy Savior shrieking bloody murder.
The Hufflepuff student obviously thought the end result was hilarious because
he burst out laughing at the groaning two splayed out on the flooring, he
looked very sheepish about it all afterwards and helped them up as an apology
for his outburst but Harry could still see the twitching corner of the older
boy's mouth when he scowled at him.
Harry was not exactly proud of that moment. Which was understandable really as
it was not his finest.
"Flitwick still tells that story when he has the chance."
Harry groaned, embarrassed.
===============================================================================
 
 
"Hey guys!" The first year Gryffindors and Slytherins all turned to see Harry
Potter waving as he strolled toward them just as they were leaving Charms
class. All of them in some way acknowledged the greeting but the children
better acquainted with the child and wizarding celebrity lingered back.
"Harry!"
"Potter!"
"Potter."
"Mate!"
"Potter."
"Potter."
And only now did Harry realize, with startlingly clarity, just how many of his
friends address him with only his last name with a mix of cool dignity and
disdain. Huh.
Dismissing that rather useless piece of knowledge the green eyed boy walked
toward the waiting group. "So how was Charms class?" He asked interestedly.
Slytherin-Gryffindor drama was pretty much the only drama you could get around
here. Well, that wasn't entirely correct, it was the only drama Harry could get
around here.
Ugh he does miss being the physical representation of a primordial force
sometimes, he always got first row seats to all the good stuff. That world
where Chaos thought it would be cool to see what happens if natural disasters
like tornadoes somehow meshed to contain sharp toothed killer animals like
sharks?Hilarious. Completely stupid. Irrational. But hilarious. Order actually
had to go to a different more sane dimension and cry for a bit.
Though, being part of the story is pretty interesting too.
"-and I was all, Wingardium leviosa but then Granger was all, it's not
Wingardium levIOsa, it's Wingardium levioSA, and I was all, what-"
Harry takes it back. With interest. Like enough interest that the metaphorical
bank goes into debt.
"- in Merlin's name did I do to deserve getting partnered up with Granger?!"
"Maybe you were a Dementor in your past life? Explain why you're stuck with the
one student who can suck all the joy of magic." Seamus jibed, earning a scowl
from the redhead and some snickers from the Draco and Blaise, the two
Slytherins that decided to join them. Harry himself didn't laugh but admittedly
enjoyed the wordplay immensely. He didn't care what the situation was, puns
were funny.
"I hate her!" Ron declared, "She is such an annoying whiny Know It All! No
wonder no one can even stand her, she's an absolute nightmare."
A soft gasp was heard behind them and the boys turned around to see Granger
staring at them with a blotchy complexion. Harry immediately felt bad.
"Granger, it's-" But whatever pitiful attempt at damage control that his mouth
was about to try went unsaid as, with an audible choked sob the girl ran off in
the other direction. "Well now I feel terrible." Harry sighed.
Looking at the other boys, they too seemed to be struggling with some sort of
guilt. The Slytherins unsurprisingly less so than the other two Gryffs. Of
course them being eleven year old boys also meant that they aren't the best
when experienced with uncomfortable things such as guilt or apologies. "Well,
it was true." Ron murmured defensively, proving his point.
"You guys should apologize anyway." Harry pointed out, because he couldn't
exactly disagree outright with the redhead.
"Me and Blaise didn't say anything." Draco protests in faked guilelessness with
Blaise looking at them all with smug agreement.
"But you guys can't stand her either!" Seamus growled. The Italian Slytherin
shrugged, "Yeah but she didn't catch us saying that. Just that we were present
when you Gryffindorks were mouthing off, in a public area I might add." Draco
tutted condescendingly in the background.
"Harry!" Ron whined, turning to the green eyed child who did not look much
sympathetic to the Gryffindor's plight.
"Ron I can't justmake them apologize." Harry sighed exasperated. He totally
could. He just didn't want to go through all that effort. "And technically,
they are right. Granger probably didn't even notice those two."
"Excuse you-" Draco started heatedly before his fellow Slytherin stopped him
with a whispered annoyed hiss of, "Do you really want to do this now?"
Harry knew this was why Blaise was one of his favorites.
"Come on Ron, you know we went too far," Actually, come to think of it, Harry
didn't do anything either, "Come on, why don't we apologize together after the
Halloween feast thing?" At the look on the redhead's freckled face everyone
laughed and Harry amended with, "Okay the day after the Halloween feast."
"Thank Merlin."
===============================================================================
 
 
He had forgotten Halloween was the day his vessel's birth parents were
murdered.
To be fair though it wasn't as if Harry had actuallymet the two who birthed his
physical body. They were dead when he arrived. So excuse him for being so
callous about the whole thing.
Nevertheless after the fifth rendition of basically 'Hey Potter great job for
murdering that one guy on Halloween, sorry about the no parents thing but I
guess we can't have it all.' Harry was not happy at all. He couldn't even
escape it from his friends who on one side made borderline insensitive comments
or questions like 'Did you remember it?' (Ron) and on the other side of the
equally annoying spectrum just communicated solely on uncomfortable and guilty
stares (Draco).
So it was no surprise to himself at the very least did he find himself hidden
in the darkest corner of the library (that wasn't forbidden) playing chess
against himself- the only person in Hogwarts that hasn't been an annoyance to
him today apparently. Even Snape was especially harsh and snappish.
Unfortunately as refined and intelligent as a game chess was, the pieces were
apparently magicked much like the talking hat but with a much lower
intelligence so every figure was staring at the child like Harry was about to
commit some sort of board game genocide on them. It was not helping his mood
one bit.
The food at dinner time better be fantastic or Halloween this year officially
sucks. Which is unfortunate because Death adored Halloween, or lesser known as
Samhain. The day where nature takes a turn to slumber and the ground becomes
deadened and hard, when the veils separating the dead from the living
momentarily weaken and spirits are strong enough to cross over to mortal
realms. This was totally his holiday.
So yes, that was how Percy Weasley, prefect of Gryffindor, found one Harry
James Potter in a right sulk, terrorizing chess pieces.
"You know your skipping classes." Was all the older Weasley said after a small
pause. Green eyes looked balefully at him.
"I am aware of my offenses. As is the professors who had suggested I take the
day off due to the circumstances of today." Harry sniffed unhappily before
turning back to glare at the frightened chess pieces like it was their fault he
wasn't in class. The bishops at this point were looking heavenward and praying
in various ways while the pawns just looked ready to wet themselves.
"Oh. Well I'm sorry for your loss." Percy offered halfheartedly, Harry
continued staring down at the board to cover a smile.
"You know you're the first person to say that to me today."
"Really?" The surprise and indignation on the younger boy's behalf coloring his
voice was so genuine Harry could feel some of his sour mood fade away a bit.
"That seems rather..."
Harry nodded solemnly, "I know." He agreed before glancing back up to the
Weasley prefect with a small smile. "So I appreciate the sentiment all the
more. Thank you."
Percy flushed lightly apparently unsure what to do with the thanks. "Oh, uh,"
Taking pity on him, vivid green eyes shined amusedly as Harry asked, "Would you
like to play a game with me? If you have time of course." He amended hastily,
fully aware of Percy's rather uptight ways from various Weasley family stories
he's heard plus complaints from some of the students.
The prefect looked painfully startled at the invitation. It seemed this Weasley
didn't have many friends, or at least ones close enough to play games with.
Harry could empathize with that. Being Death doesn't earn you many friends
either. And Percy doesn't exactly have the privilege of making new friends
either.
"Are you sure?" He asked and the younger of the two waved the uncertainties of
the older airily away.
"Does it look like I have any plans till dinner time?" The question was obvious
in its answer so the red head cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to
reassemble some semblance of his previous haughty look.
"I suppose one game shall suffice. But then I really must continue my prefect
duties." Percy finally decided seriously.
Harry nodded as solemn as a grave, "I wouldn't dream of disrupting your tasks."
That seemed to crack a smile out of the older boy who finally sat down on the
opposite side of the board. "Just one game is all I ask."
"One game." Percy acquiesced.
They played till the evening.
===============================================================================
 
 
"You cheated." Harry accused with a laugh, Percy gave an offended look so real
Harry wondered if the usually uptight prefect had been pulling everyone's leg
this whole time. When finally settled and relaxed, Percy was much funnier and
adorably awkward than the other Weasley's described him as.
"I am a prefect." Was all he answered in an indignant huff. "Cheating is not in
our ways."
"Of course," Harry replied dryly, "I'm sure all of you swear a blood oath with
one hand across your chest and the other on the great book of Merlin to never
play foul in the name of chess, board games and all that is sacred."
"Now that you know our secret you must either join us or die." Percy
deadpanned, barely missing a beat in the banter. Harry cocked his head as if in
genuine contemplation, "I don't think I could live with such a heavy weight
over my head like that yet at the same time I rather enjoy having a head in the
first place.." The first year paused for effect before finally deciding, "I
would choose neither option and go on the run."
The Weasley prefect gave him a look that perfectly conveyed how he thought
about Harry's chances of survival if he ever went on the run from a chihuahua.
Which was completely rude though at the same time perfectly fair, in retrospect
it was probably pretty accurate if he actually was a mortal child with arms
skinnier than flower stems and skin softer than their petals. Honestly his body
looks like a willow fae child of the night, prettily pale and so delicate that
even the faint morning light will burn him to ashes. Even more honestly he kind
of likes it. His usual look is a bit more intimidatingly graceful and regally
dark but there is always an appeal to stark contrasts between appearances and
natures like now.
"Speaking of having to run I do think we must get along before the feast starts
tonight." Harry added on thoughtfully as he finally looked away from Percy and
the chessboard, and noticed how empty the library was. Well, emptier. Ms Pince
hadn't even deigned to warn them about the time either which meant she's just
really rude or she trusts them alone with her precious library. Harry does not
believe in the latter option much. Percy too must have reached a similar
conclusion as he looked around surprised at the silence. Then he cursed,
jumping out of his seat, face red, looking a mixture of annoyed, frazzled and
embarrassed as the prefect fully absorbed how much time has actually passed.
"Bloody buggering bludgers! I didn't even notice it's near evening!"
Harry motioned the pieces on the board to pack themselves up much to their
little ceramic indignation before getting up from his seat. "Did you have
anything you had to finish before tonight that I could assist you on?" He tried
helpfully, "I mean it was my fault that you got so distracted Weasley."
Percy was wearing that surprised expression on his face again, maybe his
friends don't offer to help with his duties? That must be terribly irritating.
"Really? Uh, no, other than patrolling and overseeing the festivities I don't
have anything that needs any immediate attention."
Harry nodded, "You must be really good at being a prefect despite it being your
first year being one though. The Slytherin fifth year prefect Masonfield
constantly complains about the sudden workload." Percy spluttered, his face
pinked but unable to hide the pleased expression at the compliment. "That's
hardly fair," the older boy finally said with a shy crooked smile, "Masonfield
would have trouble even if his only job is to sit there and look, well,
adequate."
"Petty insults Percy Weasley? How very deplorable of you." Harry snarked with a
faint grin, Percy reciprocated the action before he remembered exactly how late
it was. The redhead looked torn between running out to make a head start on
making sure his assigned tasks are perfectly completed or chatting a bit more
with the boy saviour. Luckily Harry choose to pick for him.
"Well, this has been a surprisingly enjoyable day. We should do this again
sometime." The younger child said, giving the prefect a perfectly good and
polite pass to excuse himself. Percy took it gratefully as well as reluctantly
and power walked quickly out with many glances backwards. Harry patiently
smiled and waved every time the redhead looked back at him like he somehow
expected the green eyed child to have faded into nothingness or something, and
said redhead would flush slightly each time he was caught. After Percy finally
was out of sight Harry too decided to head to the great hall, though at a much
more sedate pace.
===============================================================================
 
 
The tables were literally staggering with the sheer amount of food placed on
it. As both an entity whose own dining tables were barely ever made use of and
a child with a history of malnutrition the sight was awe-inspiring and
incredibly impressive. Another ingenuity of mortals was again made known
through the wondrous smells of the culinary delights.
Harry's pretty sure he can hear Ron drooling across the hall at the table of
the Red and Gold at this point. Draco beside him was trying to subtly wipe his
mouth with the back of his hand. Even some of the teachers are completely
ignoring the raucous sounds of the feast in favor of mooning at the golden
crusts of pie and the slick juices oozing from the roasted chicken whilst all
on golden plating.
Clearly gluttony is going to be the biggest vice of the night.
Harry and everyone else happily helped themselves to the gorgeous food, the
sound of chewing louder than the usual chatter of the students for once. In
fact, he was just about to snatch up the last fat overstuffed jacket potato
right from Goyle's meaty paws when Professor Quirrel came barreling into the
halls, sweaty and terrified. The turbaned teacher ran toward Dumbledore's seat,
slumping against the table, elbow un-sanitarily in the gravy bowl as he heaved
out, "Troll.. In.. Dungeons... Thought you ought to know.." Then he promptly
fainted- which was very nice of him to at least wait till he warned everyone
but at the same time it was awfully annoying as it also meant Quirrell
effectively left a whole school in a state of panic he caused.
There was a huge uproar obviously. There would've been something wrong if there
wasn't. Harry totally understood that. It was very understandable. What Harry
didn't understand was why this uproar was so. damn. loud? He just wanted to
finish his potato in relative peace. Or at least in quiet panic. Was that too
much to ask?
It took some fireworks from Professor Dumbledore's wand to settle everyone
enough to hold some form of attention. "Prefects," The headmaster addressed
slightly strained, it was probably because of the whole troll in school
situation but Harry's pretty sure the sheer shrieking volume played a good part
of it as well. Really, how was Quirrell still out cold? "Lead your Houses
immediately back to the dormitories!"
Percy was one of the first to move, he was in his element. "Follow me! Stick
together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay
close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a
prefect!"
The redheaded prefect whilst rounding up the chattering Gryffindor first year
managed to catch eye contact with Harry and sent him a look that so visibly
communicated how the boy should be careful. The green eyed child quirked the
ends of his mouth upwards in bemusement at the worry, however it turned into a
small frown as he noticed a certain bushy haired first year was missing from
the group. Turning to a rather distressed Draco he asked, "Do you know where
Granger is?"
Clearly that was not an appropriate question for the situation because Draco
responded with a loud, increasingly hysterical, "Potter who cares where Granger
is, last I heard she's off crying in the girls bathrooms on the third floor and
hasn't left since, anyway don't you realise we dorm in the dungeons?! The one
where the bloomingtroll is supposed to be?! Potter my father is going to hear
about this if we end up attacked or eaten by the troll!"
And of course the nearby Slytherins overhearing that little revelation lost
their collective shit. Apparently possible death is enough for these young
aristocrats to throw away most of their dignity and enthusiastically join in
with the escalating chaos. Masonfield, Gemma Farley and the other Slytherin
prefects were looking increasingly frantic and frustrated with them all,
shooting glares especially toward the Malfoy scion as they tried to calm their
House down.
Harry would take some entertainment out of the whole thing if he wasn't being
so busy fretting about what to do with the information about Granger. If she
had been in the bathroom this whole time there would've been no way for her to
know about the troll. And while it was mostly Ron's fault, Harry did feel a bit
responsible for being the reason why she isolated herself like that in the
first place. Not a whole lot but enough to feel guilty if she died by troll of
all things.
The disturbing image of smushed, tenderised bloody flesh staining bathroom tile
was enough for Harry to slip from the frenzy of the Slytherins and out the
hall. Just as he was about to make a break for it with his tiny little limbs a
hand gripped his shoulder so tightly the boy yelped in surprise and pain.
"Potter, where in sweet Merlin's name are you going?" Percy was radiating
disapproval like heat off a furnace.
"I was going to warn Granger about the troll because she has been in the third
floor bathroom crying and doesn't know about it." Harry explained as calmly and
as succinctly as he could. Percy was a stickler for the rules but he wasn't
completely illogical about them. The older redhead paused and released his grip
on the smaller boy's shoulder much to Harry's relief, Percy surprisingly had
some insanely strong strength in his hands.
"And you're sure Granger is in the third floor bathrooms?"
No. "Yes."
Percy narrowed his eyes but after a beat of silence reached some sort of
conclusion in his mind because he nodded and announced, "The other prefects are
already guiding the students to their respective dorms and the professors will
be too busy either assisting or looking for the troll. I will accompany you to
look for Granger."
It was more than Harry hoped for so he agreed and the pair ran off.
They managed about a good six feet before once again they were interrupted with
the arrival of Ron. "Mate where ya going with Percy?"
"Ron go back to the group." Percy ordered immediately causing his younger
sibling to scowl.
"Harry's my best mate, I'm coming with." He declared stubbornly. The two
brothers stared each other down until Harry coughed pointedly and Percy finally
relented with a hissed, "You better listen to everything I say as prefect."
Which to that Ron rolled his eyes in a distinctly unimpressed manner before
agreeing with obvious fake sincerity. The older Weasley's face, pinkening at
the blatant disrespect and disregard of his sibling was about to open his mouth
no doubt to start some sort of tirade on the rudeness of it all before Ron
whispered, "Is that Snape? What's he doing skulking 'round here?"
It was. Quiet but quick footsteps were heard passing by as the potions
professor walked past them, the trio had been conveniently hidden from view by
a griffin statue and so was luckily unnoticed. As the man crossed the corridor
and turned out of sight the three boys finally let out a breath that they
didn't know they were even holding till then.
"Professor Snape should be with the other teachers searching for the troll."
Percy murmured, "There's no reason for him to be on the third floor."
Ron, in true eleven year old fashion said, "We should totally follow him."
Harry looked up at the ceiling and wondered if Hermione would have graduated by
the time they finally arrived to rescue her.
"We are not going to stalk Professor Snape." Percy insisted.
"But that slimy snake- no offence Harry,"
Harry held up his hands, "None was taken until just now. Thanks Ron."
"No worries mate. Anyway that slimy snake is definitely up to something! He's
on the third floor, you know, with the forbidden corridor? We have to check it
out."
"I don't know if you realize but we're also suspiciously on the third floor as
well. And we don't have to do anything Ron. Especially if it's stalking a
teacher."
"Actually," Harry coughed awkwardly, "we do kind of need to follow him a bit
Percy, the directions to the girl's bathrooms are in that direction."
Percy sighed as Ron gave a silent but no less enthusiastic fist punch to the
air.
===============================================================================
 
"Guys I think we've got company." Harry whispered as they neared their
destination.
Ron scrunched up his nose. "What is that awful smell?" He asked while Percy
took one drawn out sniff and paled.
"Troll." The prefect hoarsely whispered, causing his brother to adopt a similar
whitened coloring on his own freckled face. Harry secretly rolled his eyes at
the unneeded dramatics. He had literally just implied that.
Hearing grunting and a shuffling of what could be either really giant feet or
the sound of a tree learning to walk for the first time, the boys wasted no
time in pressing themselves against the wall and sheltering underneath the
shadows as they watched the troll lumber past.
Harry had seen a lot of trolls as Death. Mainly because he was Death and
therefore has seen a lot of everything really but also because trolls in
general tended to be ugly, slow and stupid- traits that generally get most
individuals killed often. Anyway, the point he's trying to get is, that this
specimen of the species was probably one of the most physically unappealing
individuals he's ever seen.
It looked already like a particularly ugly troll but this one happened to be
made of grey dirty play doh that had been just played with by some unruly
toddling mortal child. Squished and deformed. The smell did not help in the
troll's favour either. Harry was going to soak himself in warm rose soap for an
hour after all this ridiculous nonsense. He may be 'slumming' it with the
mortals right now but he was a being greater than any god and refused to smell
like the excrement of a dumpster truck.
All three watched as the troll slowly passed them and entered one of the nearby
rooms. Which was all well and good except, "Bollocks. I think that's the girls
bathroom." Harry swore.
"Maybe Granger has left?" Ron tried weakly. Which was of course when a high
pitched scream of terror echoed in the room the troll had wandered in. "Never
mind."
"I'll go in and distract the troll." Percy said, ignoring his brother, "Both of
you get the girl then get out of here."
It was a very simplistic plan and the things that could go wrong was virtually
endless but there wasn't enough time to argue or delegate so the first years
nodded and bolted into the bathroom. Harry ran in wondering if the owner of his
human body would have got into this mess or it was just him, while Ron ran in
swearing various words in a rather creative fashion. Well, at least the
freckled boy would have one hell of a Halloween story to tell for his first
year at Hogwarts.
Though while he hasn't personally met the woman yet, that horribly embarrassing
shouting magic letter thing of Ron's the morning after their detention would
heavily suggest the Weasley matriarch would be less than entertained by this
story. Hermione Granger was against the wall opposite them, terrified tears
running down her cheeks and just generally looking as if she was about to
faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it
went. Seriously, Hogwarts was a aesthetically pleasing school to look at but if
Harry was a parent he doesn't think he would want to put his child in here.
It's kind of a shitty school if you value things like student safety, a concept
that seems to be lost here.
"Percy, any time now!" Ron shouted.
Percy, in his brillance and fifth year knowledge of magic, threw a rock at it.
It wasn't even a particularly big rock either. Neither first year was very
impressed but took the distraction for what it was and ran around the troll,
toward the frightened girl.
"What are you waiting for Granger? We have to go!" Harry demanded as he and Ron
pulled her frozen body up from the tiled floor. Percy, finally getting his act
together was shooting off various latin words along with rainbow coloured
sparks that didn't seem to be damaging anything but the troll's patience. There
is a suspiciously strong implication there about what to expect for future
Defense classes. To be completely fair though, trolls do have notoriously high
defences what with iron-like skin, a decent resistance to magical attacks, and
being composed of mostly muscles, mud and dirt. Nonetheless, it does not
inspire much confidence anyway. "Come on woman, run!" He screamed as the entity
noticed the prefect being pushed back toward them and the troll looking at
Harry in hunger. Whether carnally or digestively the answer anyway was a very
strong hell to the no.
Stupid trolls and their stupid tiny, idiot brains that can't even recognise
death if it slapped them in the face. And that's completely literal.
The prefect then must have cast a particularly nasty hex or something then
because a very blue fizzle of what seemed to be lightening caused the creature
to roar and bring it's full undivided and furious attention to the older
redhead who looked distinctly regretful at casting the spell right now. With
another roar the troll lifted one of it's giant meaty arms- the one holding a
club which Harry didn't even want to know where it got, seriously this school-
ready to swing at Percy, Granger had meanwhile sunk to the floor useless in her
fear and Ron beside her whipped out his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!" He
screamed, causing the club in the grey creature's hands to jerk in the
creature's hand. The troll hesitated for a moment giving the prefect time to
try to escape out of it's arms length.
Seeing this though resulted in the arm being raised to strike again and Harry
knew that if that hit connected the best outcome in that situation would be
that Percy breaks all his ribs, he's lucky enough for one of them to hit his
heart and dies a swift death.
Told you he was a morbid son of a female dog.
"Ron, do that again." He demanded frantically in which his friend looked at
him, scared and unsure. "Trust me." Harry said in what he hoped was in a very
inspiring manner. It must work because a determined steel enters blue eyes and
Ron points his wand out again, this time with Harry joining in with his own
wand. He doesn't really need the wand but the thing promised to be good and the
image is much more dramatic than if he just shouted the words.
"Wingardium leviosa!" They shout. Immediately the club is yanked out of grey
thick fingers much to the troll's obvious confusion, it rose high in the air,
higher and higher upward until the thing just hovers unsteadily and drops.
There's a sickening crack and then the troll was swaying, teetering like an
unstable ball on a tightrope, and it too began to fall to the ground. The
impact between troll and bathroom floor made Harry momentarily lose his
footing. Everyone stared. There didn't seem much else to do.
"Is, is it dead?" Hermione asked softly. Percy walked up closer to it, still
looking very shaken from the whole ordeal.
"I don't think so. Someone needs to go report this to a profes-"
There's the sound of footsteps incoming fast and with what can only be
described as incredibly awful timing, Professor McGonagall burst into the room,
closely followed by Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell coming up from
behind. Quirrel, who already looked sick from the running, took one double take
at the unconscious troll and whimpered, dangerously close to fainting again.
The troll roared like five times and the whole breaking off sinks bit in the
beginning was incredibly noisy and yet only now the cavalry arrives.
While Snape went over to where Percy was to examine the creature's state, Percy
went to join the three first years shifting uncomfortably under Professor
McGonagall's stare. Harry felt compelled to apologise for everything he's ever
done wrong in his life while simultaneously wanting to hire her because of
that. Hell could use someone like her. Order would probably love her. It will
be an amazing, terrifying romance and Chaos would probably cry.
"Professor McGonagall," Percy started warily, his face fearful, actually he
looked more afraid of her than the troll. He couldn't blame the prefect of
course. Harry had never seen the woman look so angry. Her lips were so thinned
they were near nonexistent.
"What on earth were you thinking?" Her voice was doused with a cold icy fire
that was her fury. Ron was still holding his wand out in the air like an idiot
which wasn't helping their case at all. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why
aren't you in your dorms?"
At this she stared down at Percy who shrunk under her glare. Snape at the same
time gave Harry a look that could pierce a glacier and the boy cast his green
eyes to the floor, hoping he could somehow ignore the painful needle like
sensation that was undeserved guilt welling up inside him. Which was stupid and
illogical because he shouldn't be feeling terrible at all, he literally just
saved a little girl. Apparently no one told his body that because it
involuntarily closed in on itself, adopting a guilt ridden pose.
Then Hermione spoke up in a small, weak voice, "It was me Professors." she
said, slowly getting up onto her feet, "I- I was looking for the troll because
I, uh, thought I could deal with them because there was this book I read you
know, on trolls and I just thought.." Finally Ron dropped his wand, though more
out of shock than anything else. Hermione 'Goody Two Shoes' Granger lying
outright to teachers? Plural? "If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. It was
about to finish me off when they arrived, I'm sure if they waited any longer to
fetch someone else I-" She trembled and wasn't able to finish her sentence. She
didn't need to. McGonagall's face softened at the shaking young girl, after
Harry, Hermione was a close second among her favourite students.
"Oh Miss Granger, you foolish foolish girl," The transfigurations teacher said
as she gave the younger girl a hug, Hermione hung her head. "How could you
possibly even think this was a smart idea?"
Harry finally decided to glance back at the still glaring Snape, the intensity
of it having dissipated enough to have become bearable during Hermione's
explanation. Ron was still gaping at Hermione, apparently trying to comprehend
her lying to help them get out of trouble. Percy just looked relieved this
whole thing could finally be pushed behind them.
"I'm sorry Miss Granger but I'm going to have to deduct five points from
Gryffindor for this," Snape now just looked infuriated now, Harry couldn't say
that he thought such a level of anger was appropriate considering the girl was
obviously traumatised now but he had to admit that it was a very light
punishment for someone who admitted to going troll hunting. Ron and Draco just
talked about going out of the dorms after hours to duel and they had to spend
their night searching for unicorn murderers in the Forbidden forest. It all
seemed incredibly unbalanced. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt
at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the
feast in their houses."
Once Hermione left, the female professor turned to the three boys. She wasn't
smiling but she didn't look like she was going to verbally rip their throats a
new one now either. "You boys were lucky, not many children can go up against a
full grown mountain and get away relatively unscathed. You each earned
Gryffindor five points, Dumbledore will be informed of this. Now you may go."
If anything Snape looked like the one who was going to verbally rip their
throats a new one, Harry however was the only one who had noticed. As the
Weasleys were turning to leave, the raven haired boy made no such move.
Professor McGonagall raised a brow, "Mr Potter? I distinctly remember
dismissing all of you." She said shortly and oh, so she is still quite upset
with them.
"Well, I was waiting for my reward professor." He explained innocently.
"I've already given your reward Mr Potter."
Harry stood strong, "No offence Professor McGonagall but it isn't much of a
reward when I'm currently in Slytherin."
The professor had the decency to look ashamed at that, "Oh my apologies, I
just,"
"She just had forgotten considering how foolhardy and brash you acted, much
like a Gryffindor." The deep rumbling voice of Professor Snape spoke as the man
walked toward them. McGonagall bristled a bit at the insult of her House but
she was still a bit too chagrined to retort. The dark clad professor put a hand
on the raven haired boy's shoulder and gave him a look that if Harry didn't
know better would have been classified as proud. "However as I'm sure that it
was probably that Slytherin side of you that allowed the rest of those children
to inevitably survive the confrontation I judge you earned your House a good
twenty points. Let's go Potter."
And with that the potions professor swivelled toward the exit dramatically,
billowing robes and all and strode out, leaving both Harry and McGonagall
staring. A few seconds later, the much more annoyed face of Snape reappeared,
"Potter," he barked, "Are you accompanying me back or not?"
Harry couldn't help but laugh softly, bidding his transfigurations professor a
good night, he ran toward Snape.
***** Death's first filler chapter *****
 The one where Death doesn't really have much happening to be very honest.
Though Snape does get injured twice. Which, is like, I don't know. This feels
like a 6000 words of filler to be perfectly honest.
Harry decided to go flying on one of the school's brooms. He quickly regretted
it. Okay, more like he didn't regret the flying in so much as he regretted
landing back on the ground where a small crowd had gathered.
And that wouldn't have been so bad if the small crowd hadn't consisted of one
extremely enthusiastic Oliver Wood. Oliver Wood who looked close to
hyperventilating. "You," He pointed at Harry like it wasn't completely obvious
who he was talking to. "You have to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team."
"Now hold on!" A larger brunette boy bustled out of the crowd, "If Potter's
joining any team it's going to be the Ravenclaws!"
"Davies." Oliver Wood hissed like he'd been burned. Then he hissed again as a
tanned Slytherin that Harry recognised as Marcus Flint shoved the Ravenclaw
aside.
"Please, Harry is a Slytherin, he's joining our team." He sneered.
"Only for the rest of the term!" Wood protested shrilly, Davis after regaining
his balance nodded fiercely. To make things even worse and more awkwardly
embarrassing, a teenager that can really only be the Hufflepuff Quidditch
captain came bursting through with a panting even shriller holler of, "Well in
that case Potter should join us!"
The Hufflepuffs in the crowd cheered at that. Which surprisingly resulted in
them being the House that instigated the coming riot. Funny, Harry would've
thought it would have been the Gryffindors what with their huge bonfires of
passion and minimum mouth filter.
Soon enough students from every year were arguing with anyone with a different
colored tie. Harry wasn't even sure they were fighting about him anymore.
"-I don't think-"
"-you can shove your thoughts up your-"
"-well there's no need fo-"
Slytherins, Gryfindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, were going at it like
shouting was suddenly a competitive sport.
Harry was no longer there to witness it.
He had better things to do.
===============================================================================
That was a lie. Harry really didn't have anything better to do. He's done his
homework, extra assignments and all. He's done... Huh, that's it actually.
Boarding school kind of sucks.
After putting back the broom and mentally wondering why on earth these people's
first reaction upon gaining the knowledge and magic to create flying objects
was to imbue said bequeathed gifts into an object obviously made for the
intention of cleaning floors, Harry wandered aimlessly around the courtyard. He
didn't feel like surrounding himself with pre-adolescents right now and the
older students like the Weasley twins, Percy and Diggory had classes at the
moment. Which is unfortunate because Diggory was more of a last resort than
anything. Not that the boy wasn't pleasant despite their first meeting, it was
just that they barely make any actually conversation due to their unfamiliarity
and general lack of shared interests.
Filch's company would be nice enough to have but unfortunately that meant
spending a lot of time having to search for the caretaker, which meant spending
a lot of time skulking around Hogwarts. The castle that lives to try trap
entities of death in its various elaborate and frankly just plain stupidly,
unnecessary, secret rooms.
Harry didn't even want to know why there was what looked like a underground
shop for collars and dog training in the school. And yes, that is what it was
and he refuses to believe otherwise.
So yeah Harry is not going to willing go through another reluctant round of
'Lets fuck over the Death Lord by trapping him in forgotten kink rooms,' for
another afternoon if he could possibly help it for the rest of his mortal and
immortal life.
"Harry!" Harry looked up to see Ron and Granger running up to him. Ron, all
smiles and freckles while Granger looked shy and nervous. Apparently after the
whole troll incident the two Gryffindors have managed to become something akin
to friendship. Children tend to be quite simple like that. However since Harry
was not some child and tended to be made of more complicated stuff. He hadn't
felt the same strong bond being forged with the girl, just a mild appreciation
for her sticking up for them.
"Ron, Granger." The brunette cringed slightly at the formality of using her
last name but still stubbornly smiled.
"Hermione is fine thanks."
Harry tilted his head and coolly looked at her before cracking a small smile
and accepted with a succinct, "Hermione then." Turning to Ron, because the
green eyed boy still remembered how rude and hostile Granger had been for no
good reason other than petty jealousies and how uncomfortable it all was, he
then asked, "What are you doing here then?"
Ron's grin quickly turned into a scowl. "Snape, that greasy bat, took points
from us just for bringing a library book out of school grounds- and he
confiscated my book!"
"But you are on school grounds." Harry pointed out obviously.
"Exactly!"
"I know right!" Granger blurted out then blushed at the sudden attention. "And
uh, he looked hurt too." She added awkwardly.
That though got Harry's interest, "Snape looked hurt?"
Relieved to be holding a conversation with the Boy Savior of the Wizarding
world, the girl nodded, "Yeah, he was limping."
"What's wrong with his leg?"
"I dunno but I hope it's hurting him real bad." Ron muttered, earning a glare
from the other two children.
"I'm going to check to see if he's okay." Harry huffed before leaving. Though
he walked away just slow enough to hear Granger give the freckled boy a good
whack on the shoulder and a hissed, "Ron! You can't just disrespect professors
like that!"
The green eyed child covered his mouth to hide his laugh. Maybe he and Hermione
would get on okay after all.
===============================================================================
After a minutes hesitation Harry changed direction from the staff room to the
infirmary.
It took a while and maybe two or five ghosts trying to help give directions
before he finally found the medical wing of the school. He tentatively knocked
and entered, observing avidly around the unusual, sterile room. Being Death,
he's visited many hospitals, emergency rooms, heck even the occasional GP,
though it's quite the refreshing twist that for once he's here for healing
purposes instead of uh, non-healing purposes.
It was more spacious than the 'modern' medical facility he's been to in other
worlds. Old and traditional springs to mind, the almost church like interior
only emphasizing it. There's too many windows to be practical in his opinion
but it's all very aesthetically pleasing. He wouldn't particularly feel very
safe in here but at least he would feel like he was in a romantic movie about
doctors in the 1800s.
"Hello? Is anyone in?" The boy asked tentatively. A matronly dressed, grey
haired woman bustled out of a doorway toward him as a response.
"Yes, how may I help you?" She asked nicely, "I'm Madam Pomfrey, the matron
around here."
"Harry Potter." He greeted just as politely, "And I'm not here for myself but I
wondered if I could get something for a friend?"
"A friend you say?" The older woman frowned. "I'm sorry Mr Potter but if your
friend is ill I think it would be best if you bring him or her here."
Harry flushed and shook his head bashful, "No, I mean, he's not my friend per
say and he's not sick." He tried explaining. "I noticed he's scrapped his knee
or something and I just, well, I thought it would be nice if I-"
Madam Pomfrey was looking at him like she's suddenly figured out the secrets of
this universe and was damned amused by it. "Ah, I see. Well I normally don't do
this Mr Potter but I'm sure we can find something to help impress your
'friend'." The boy can practically hear the quotation marks around the word
friend, he has no idea what she's implying but if it'll get him the stuff he
wants he'll contemplate it later.
He beams brightly at the matron and gives his thanks as courteously as
possible. She seems to melt under the appreciation and bustles quickly to get
some sort of magical equivalent of numbing anti-bacterial cream. When Madam
Pomfrey hands over the small cream container she's still grinning at something
obviously, adorably, hilarious that Harry just couldn't for the life (or death)
of him see.
"Well, I hope you tell me how it goes with that 'friend' of yours." She says
before going back into her infirmary office, chuckling all the way.
Seriously, what was so funny?
===============================================================================
It didn't take as long as he thought to find Snape in the castle deathtrap that
is Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry doesn't know what to feel about the
lack of twists and turns and petty attempts at murder. Suspicious is a good
start. As is unease, apprehensiveness and disturbed.
Like that one time he saw Chaos give Order a hug for no reason. A goodness to
honest loving hug and a'Despite everything I do respect you as my equal and
you're a pretty okay guy,' speech, which sounded terrifyingly genuine. It's
been a good ten thousand years since then but Order still occasionally shudders
and swerves his head around like a spooked owl out of nowhere. Everyone pities
the poor guy every time he does that. Well, obviouslyalmost everyone.
Harry made his way down to the staffroom and knocked quietly. There was no
answer. He knocked again, a little louder. Nothing. The child frowned. Well, it
was a stretch to think that the professor would be there but at the very least
he thought someone in the staffroom would be able to point him in the right
direction.
Finding the door unlocked, Harry pushed it open and quietly scuttled into the
room. Turns out, it wasn't as empty as first thought.
Snape and surprisingly, Filch were inside. Harry kind of felt bad about that
last thought, obviously Filch being part of the staff, would be seen in the
staffroom. That was terrible of him to assume otherwise. The potions master was
holding his robes above his knees, revealing a terribly bloody and mangled leg
which Filch was providing bandages to. The entity-on-hiatus looked down at his
palm sized jar of magic cream which now seemed very inadequate in comparison to
the injury.
"Blasted thing," Snape was muttering grumpily. "How are you supposed to keep
your eyes on all three heads at once?"
Three heads? So they have a Cerberus guarding the Philosopher's Stone.
Interesting. Maybe he can go give the beast a little talking to about going
easy on the professor. Harry's sure that would be much nicer than some useless
cream. With that decision made, the raven haired boy began backtracking out of
the room. Unfortunately the doors this time round had decided to become fairly
uncooperative and gave out a audible creak. Fucking Hogwarts.
"POTTER!" Snape's face was contorted and twisted in red furious anger,
immediately dropping the robes to hide his blood-soaked disfiguration. Harry
winced at the rage and embarrassment rolling off the tell hook nosed man.
"I'm sorry for intruding, I just-"
"GET OUT! OUT!"
Harry did not need much more encouragement to obey.
He closes the door firmly shut and presses his head on the opposite wall as the
child tries to still his beating heart. He doesn't think he's been yelled out
like that to the point of fleeing in ever. It feels bitter and nauseating in
ways Harry knows he doesn't want to experience again. He feels like an actual
child right now and he loathes the sensation this time.
There's a soft swishing sound of the door behind him opening and Harry turns to
see Filch looking worried for him. It's strange how easily that comforts him.
Human emotions are so fickle and interchangeable in ways that make Harry almost
dizzy experiencing it. The comfort though, he finds welcoming with outstretched
arms.
"Hullo Mr Filch." He greets and is absolutely horrified to hear his voice waver
and throat wet and shaking like a little baby bird shivering in the rain. Harry
doesn't understand how his body has just given up on him like this, against
Vernon's meaty paws the human vessel of his understandably would exhibit signs
of stress and pain but this was just words. Not even a lot of words. And he was
tearing up. Harry wonders if he can just will himself to die of the shame
growing inside him.
He probably could but that would be a mortification in itself.
"Potter are you alright?" The squib caretaker asked gruffly in what must have
been an obvious failed attempt in sounding soothing. "What were you even doing
snooping around the staffroom?" Filch then chastised, more because he was
better used to scolding children than for any real malice.
"I, uh, I heard Professor Snape was hurt." Harry explained feebly, now feeling
incredibly silly. What was he thinking, trying to, to what exactly? Impress
Snape? In a whispered voice he added, "I wanted to give him this."
Small pale hands clutching at the little glass jar with the cream lifted to
show the older man. "It's some sort of healing cream for open wounds.. I think.
Madam Pomfrey gave me it when I said I needed some for a friend."
Filch's eyes seem to soften as the explanation goes on, by the end of it he
actually cracks this smile that seems to completely transform him from bitter
hated caretaker of Hogwarts to something much more 'grandfatherly'. Harry
thinks it suits him. "You're a good kid Harry." Filch praises with such warmth
that the green eyed child felt his own skin tingle at the heat.
"Thanks Mr Filch. I appreciate that." He answers bashful.
"Here, why don't I pass on your very thoughtful gift to Severus." Harry
hesitated, unsure of his gift, especially after Snape's.. reaction.
"I don't think that I should."
"Nonsense Potter," Filch snapped, "You did good and don't let anything tell you
otherwise. If Severus won't value your good will then I'll keep it for myself.
Kids as decent as you are rare and I refuse to let you turn into some, some
delinquent brat because you were disparaged."
The raven haired child giggled at the caretaker's defensiveness. "Sir I think
one disappointment would hardly turn me into a Weasley twin." He teased,
causing the usually cantankerous caretaker to huff indignantly.
"I rather hope not. It's bad enough you hang out with those felons. Now hand
over the cream Potter."
With an annoyed, resigned sigh that's only half faked, Harry acquiesces his jar
to Filch. The man nods, seemingly pleased at that and he tells Harry to go do
whatever and beat it in a surly but fond manner that Harry has decided he
loves. He doesn't care what the student population of England thinks, Filch is
going to go to a very, very nice place when he goes to his realm.
He might not objectively deserve it but Harry was the boss. He can make the
Devil eat mint chocolate chip ice cream and force him to admit he likes it,
even though he obviously doesn't. Ironically the heavenly Michael doesn't like
chocolate mint chip ice cream. Apparently there's a difference. It's kind of
weird.
===============================================================================
Dear Death,
I have researched appropriate ways to write a letter because apparently our
fellow brothers and sisters said I'm 'boring' and 'dull'. You never called me
that.
 I miss you.
Anyway I have heard its customary to write things like asking how you've been
and if you're enjoying yourself however since there is no way you could reply
back sans shouting your message to the sky for a few hours, that advice was
pretty much redundant. We've been watching you obviously though the gaps
between observations are getting a bit longer now that we've ascertained you
have pretty much got the human thing down all right. It's not that we don't
care, I mean we were all ready to jump down there when we felt you, the real
you, threatening to burst your mortal seams but as much as we like to forget,
you are one of the most powerful of us entities meaning that there's literally
no real danger at all.
For the world your in is a different story altogether. But we have infinite
copies anyway so it's not a huge deal.
It's terrifying being one of the only coolheaded mature ones left. Space is one
of them but he's never there. Surveying alternative universes and trying to
minimise all the apocalypses which is fair but still.
It's a nightmare is what it is. Life is doing whatever she pleases, Chaos is
encouraging her, Order obviously is tagging along trying but overall failing to
stop it, Love just says adventure is a men's romance and Knowledge isn't
stopping them because she wants to observe for research purposes. Also Space
had been conveniently absent trying to prevent some sort of superhero civil
war. Which I grudgingly believe is true because that sounds that ridiculous.
So I do hope your first time at mortality is treating you well. As you know I
spent my first time as an esteemed mathematician who eventually succumbed to
the addiction of gambling and drugs so I do advise you be careful. Just because
we are above humanity doesn't stop us still from being human.
Everything is somehow more real and it's one of the closest things to
frightening for entities like us who belong on a much more intangible scale to
the others. Space ended up as a reclusive shaman in the jungle because he
couldn't stand all the stimulation of everything in such a concentrated form so
I'm sure he'll give some good, if vague, advice.
Time
===============================================================================
Snape watches the old squib come back into the staffroom and greets him with a
scowl and a harsh, "What were you even doing with the boy?"
The professor's usual pallor was, and had been for a while now, blotchy and
pinkening unattractively with his anger tinged mortification at being caught by
a student in such a position. Somehow it was even worse because it's not just
any student, but Harry Potter. And even then Snape wasn't completely sure if
it's the Potter part or the Harry part of the name that bothers him the most.
Filch uncharacteristically didn't seem too angered at the intrusion of the
child, in fact he seemed quite aggravated toward Snape of all people. While the
potions master wouldn't call themfriends, Filch and he had an.. understanding
of sorts built on many mutual dislikes, including children in general. They get
along well enough, or at least don't particularly argue with each other so it
surprised Snape to see the caretaker look right about the cusp of doing so.
"Mr Potter looked shaken at your display Severus," Filch growled, "I was
comforting him."
Snape sneered, "He's hardly a delicate flower Argus." And the hook nosed male
stubbornly ignored any discomfort or niggling sense of guilt he felt at the
memory of the child with the brightest green eyes look at him the way he did,
surprise and shock and maybe even some fear.
"He may be no flower but he's a good kid." Filch scowled, passing some small
jar to the professor. "He was here to give you this."
Snape took it with a cool disdain he wasn't really feeling, inspecting the
cream suspiciously from all angles of the jar and finally opened it, taking a
short perfunctory sniff. "This is a wound cleaning paste with numbing
properties." He commented, surprised. "Potter gave me this?"
The caretaker's scowl turned triumphantly smug, like some incredibly grumpy
father who just proved their child could be the key to world peace or something
ridiculously sweet like that. Personally Snape found himself preferring the
scowl. That sort of expression on Filch was just unnerving. Irritatingly so
actually.
They didn't speak while they bandaged his leg. They didn't speak as they parted
ways. He didn't speak as he stared at the little jar in his hand. He didn't
speak as he slowly applied the paste inside.
There was no words, because none were really needed.
===============================================================================
The next day was a Quidditch game between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins.
Harry went to watch because everyone else pretty much did and he was, to be
completely honest, vying for some company right now. He wasn't going to go
originally, flying was fun, but watching others fly? Not so much.
It was curious, the contrasting needs to be alone in solitary silence and the
urge to go to nearest familiar face and wrap his limps around their body like a
koala bear. Human mortals were so weird.
Harry was sitting in the Slytherin area, mainly because he had more friends
there and also they tend not to be as nosy as his friends in the other houses.
Okay that wasn't true. They were just as nosy as those other children, they
just tend to be a lot more subtle and a lot easier to play the oblivious card
with.
There was a lot of cheering and booing around him that he may have tuned out in
favor of snuggling himself into his clothes. Harry was kind of regretting going
outside now, he should've totally just made a Harry blanket burrito and lay
there. This sucked. He's got it on good account from Dudley that blanket
burritos were amazing.
Suddenly there's this collective gasp across the student body and that, that
gets Harry to look back up to the sky.
It's one of the Gryffindor players, the new seeker actually, whose broom also
seems to be rather taken with the concept of those mechanical bull rides. The
seeker was pretty much screaming at the top of his lungs and dangling on to his
broom like it was a lifeline- which it technically was. Now this was
entertainment. Harry was so glad he wasn't playing right now.
"Did someone push the broom too hard or something?" He asked the captivated
first years.
Draco shook his head, eyes never leaving the poor seeker. "My father told me
nothing can interfere with a broomstick except if one used some power Dark
magic. No student should be able to do that here."
Harry stared at the platinum blonde and his explanation incredulously. How much
effort did these fucking magical wand-waving losers put in flying brooms? Are
they serious? That's like spending time overpowering a skateboard when they
totally had the skills and resources to build a car, or at least a goddamn
motorcycle.
"Oh bloody hell, what's that Granger girl doing?" Blaise muttered, garnering
the attention of Harry, Draco and Not. Crabbe and Goyle was still staring
upwards but it looked like they were more invested in the floating clouds than
the seeker about to possibly die. Classic Crabbe and Goyle.
Anyway, the Gryffindor first year in question was doing something that
Harrywants to call sneaking, but was more on the lines of quietlyfighting her
way across the stands toward them. She even knocked over Professor Quirrell in
her slightly violent quest to reach them.
Except it turns out she wasn't heading for them, but instead has crouched down,
wand in her hand next to-
"What's she doing to Professor Snape?" Harry whispered in the horror one would
usually feel when they watch a train wreck inevitably happen in slow motion. It
didn't take long for the question to be answered however as the hems of the
potions master's black robes quickly caught on fire.
"Oh my god, remind me to avoid that psycho later." Not said faintly as they
alternated between watching Snape put out the flames inflicted onto his
clothing and Hermione returning back to Gryffindor where she high fived Ron.
Gryffindor ended up losing by ten points by the end of the game but after some
enthusiastic rioting it was decided that the match would be repeated next week
due to suspicion of sabotage. There was some very strong implications in that
announcement by Lee Jordan that Harry was going to be very seriously bribed in
the next six days by one seriously insane Quidditch captain. Harry's heard
about the Gryffindor's training regime from the Weasley twins and he wants no
part of it so he immediately bolts from the stands.
===============================================================================
"You think Snape was cursing the seeker's broomstick."
Ron and Hermione nodded vigorously, "He was muttering a lot and his eyes were
practically glued onto the bloke!" Ron explained.
Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Guys I don't know how to break it to you,
but everyone was looking at the seeker. He was a little hard to miss, what with
all the turning and dropping and incredibly shrill screams."
"But Snape was also muttering nonstop!" Hermione argued, "I know about jinxes,
you need to keep eye contact at all times. Snape didn't look away at all, he
could've been jinxing that broom." Once again the green eyed entity in mortal
skin leveled an incredulous stare against his friends.
"Could've." The raven haired boy deadpanned. "Could've been doing something to
the broom and your first reaction was to set him on fire? You could've just
shoved him like you did Quirrell."
"But that'swaaay less funny." Ron muttered under his breath, earning two dirty
looks. "Look mate, I know you've got this weird Snape thing going on and right
now I'm kind of really hoping this is a Slytherin thing rather than a Harry
thing, but we are almost absolutely positive Snape was up to no good."
"And I'm absolutely positive that Snape is not 'up to no good.'" Harry
countered, then with a pause, "And I do not have a weird Snape thing."
"We will agree to disagree." Hermione placated.
"About the Snape up to no good thing?"
"Or the weird Snape thing? That again, I do not have."
The bushy haired girl sighed. "Both... Idiots."
Both boys looked at each other and grinned.
===============================================================================
"Professor Snape, are you there?"
"Come in."
Harry opened the door to Snape's office and slowly entered. Snape didn't seem
to be particularly surprised at who he had invited in or if he did the man
certainly was very good at not showing it. "Potter," the older male intoned,
"What are you doing here?"
Green eyes looked down at the floor, averted from Snape's person. The memory of
the last time they met still ringing in his ears. Because apparently Harry had
some sort of issue with people he respected shouting at him.
Oh god, does he have some sort of problem with confrontation of authority
figures that he hadn't noticed?
"I came to see if you were alright. Considering you were set on fire and all."
There's a pause as Harry continues looking down at the flooring and Snape, well
Harry doesn't really know what Snape was doing in the silence because he was
too busy admiring the carpeting. It's uneasy and uncomfortable and Harry, whose
never been good at complicated social interactions in the first place, is at a
loss at how to fix this.
"I'm sorry, this was.. Doltish of me. I should go." The child mutters, pale
skin no longer so pale at the moment. As he turned to leave, embarrassed and
unhappy all over again, a hand larger than his on suddenly made it's presence
known on his shoulder.
"Thank you."
Then just as quickly the warmth of the hand was lifted, along with the cold
curling weight wedged in Harry's throat. The boy didn't reply and the professor
didn't say anything more but both left the room with a small smile on their
faces.
===============================================================================
Dearest Death, my brother of darkness, of souls and all things macabre,
There are thousands upon millions upon billions, to the point of infinity and
beyond, of universes out there and it so does amuse me how you've decided to
partake in an adventure in this particular one. Sometimes I wonder if there are
more worlds that even I am unaware of, or if we are in itself an alternative
universe. Maybe there is one where you are still comfortably living in your
domain, one where you enjoy these travels with the undying enthusiasm of a
child or even a world where you still haven't grown out of your 'Dark' phase,
unable to break out of your powers control from your mind.
It truly is nourishment for the mind to think such things. Makes even us feel
small and our actions worth nothing. Like we are mere words in a story.
So many skies, so many clouds and many more stars. Are we just like a sky?
Holding our worlds so possessively like how the night grasps its stars, yet we
are so busy looking at those tiny balls of fire that decorate the dark that we
cannot see that there is something beyond the clouds and stars.
But for now forget my rambles of skies and worlds and stars. For now we talk of
you dear brother. To experience the world not as a god nor a beast but of a
human mortal must be as captivating as is terrifying. For someone so
intangible, representing the intangible, it's so hard to feel that sudden rush
of strong sensory input that comes from tangibility. Even emotions you've
experienced previously is like a halfhearted shade under a rainbow.
Everyone has problems the first time, and the second, and the hundredth time.
For me, the entity that embodies one of the most incorporeal of things,
becoming mortal in itself didn't hurt as much as feeling the sensations around
me for the first time. I could feel each time my veins were pumped with the
blood of my vessel, rain was like shards of jagged glass and the sun felt like
it was frying me from the inside out. My problem relating with mortality was my
intangibility, my powers to so easily move through thousands of worlds, never
touching and always watching was my weakness. All of us siblings on some level
have similar problems like I, but you and I more so than them.
However where my failures tend to be rooted from touch, yours lies in living.
I hope you think hard on my words. And I bid you the best hopes and memories
for your first mortality.
Regards,
Space
===============================================================================
It took one night. About twelve hours. Sometime around the middle of December.
The whole of Hogwarts had woken to the usual rolling hills outside to be
covered in several feet of snow.
Christmas was coming.
And Harry, who had literally no plans, is staying in Hogwarts.
Oh he could probably go off somewhere. Japan would be nice. Afghanistan not so
much but he's always wanted to play a soldier's game. Actually Harry could
probably go off to a whole other universe, he hears his dear reaper Death is
having frustrations in one particular one- maybe a little father-son
cooperation might be the best way to spend his time.
But the idea felt weird, almost wrong in his head. Like he was meant to stay
here.
Like it was Fate.
Harry scrunched up his nose in annoyance. Fate's always been very adamant about
certain things, things may change in various timelines and worlds divergent
from the original story but there would always be constants. A place, a person,
an event. Constants that allow the story to still be in the hands of Fate's.
And apparently staying for the winter holiday was one of them. Urgh.Why.
"I do feel so sorry," Draco began haughtily as he sauntered towards Harry
staring at the signage sheet for students staying back. "For all those people
who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home.
What do you think Potter?"
Harry, without breaking any eye contact, pulled out a quill and wrote his name
on the end of the list with a flourish. "I don't know." He said smoothly, his
expression showing none of the absolute glee he feels at Draco's face. "Ask me
that again after the holidays."
He wasn't the only one staying back in Hogwarts. Turned out Ron and his
brothers were staying too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania
to visit Charlie. Harry was too polite to ask out loud who the hell was this
Charlie character. Percy, after quite a lot of laughing- something that Harry
had tried to avoid by asking Percy in the first place- had to explain his
family tree andwoah, there are way too many kids in the Weasley equation to
share the same mother. Harry's never had the unfortunate opportunity to
experience childbirth himself but he knows enough to know that you should never
cross a woman whose experienced it seven times.
Jesus Christ. Ron and the others must've been the cutest babies under the sun
or something. Because hamster babies were adorable- and those occasionally get
eaten by their parents.
As he and Percy walked through the corridors, the prefect telling Harry various
family stories and Harry listening with bemusement, they ended up being
interrupted by a giant fir tree blocking the way and a half giant pulling it
toward them.
Suddenly a little familiar freckled face popped out of the greenery. "Hey
Hagrid, need a little help?"
Hagrid, still haven't noticed the two observers watching the whole scene just
shook his head. "Nah I'm all right, thanks Ron."
"Hi Ron!" Harry called out, Percy gave a half hearted wave as both Hagrid and
Ron locked eyes with them. The red headed first year was about to reply when
something seemed to pull him back out of the tree. There was some muffled
conversation and Harry was pretty sure he heard the Malfoy heir and then a
proceeding war cry from Ron.
"Should we stop them?" he whispered to the older Weasley who shrugged, a
gesture very uncharacteristic of him when it comes to the rules of the school.
"We can't get to the other side in time," Percy explained, "It would be best to
wait until another prefect or professor-"
"WEASLEY!" Came the booming deep voice of one very angry potions professor that
caused all three individuals on the other side of the three to wince. "-see?"
Hagrid was already poking his own head through the fir, defending Ron for
whatever conflict that had occurred. There was some more talking that Harry and
Percy this time heard more clearly, points from Gryffindor were taken, Ron
complaining about Malfoy and Snape, Hagrid inviting all of them somewhere.
Before they knew it, all four (five if you include the tree) of them were in
the Great Hall where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with
the Christmas decorations.
The hall looked stupendous. Trims of holly and mistletoe hung all around the
walls, and there were towering Christmas trees decorated around the room, some
shining with small icicles, some sparkling with many candles. Professor
Flitwick had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them
over the branches of the new tree. Harry was incredibly impressed. "I am
incredibly impressed." He says, because yes, that needed vocalising.
"So how many days until your holidays again?" Hagrid asked.
"Just one," answered Hermione, then tearing her eyes away from the beautiful
christmas scene she added. "And that reminds me -Ron, we've got half an hour
before lunch, we should be in the library."
The redheaded first year scoffed, "Uh. No."
"Ron." Hermione hissed, pointedly elbowing him so hard that Harry's pretty sure
Ron choked on his on spit.
"Oh, yeah, you're right," He groaned.
The Potter heir and the Weasley prefect shared a long suffering and suspicious
look.
"Holy crap guys." Ron stared, rubbing the spot where Hermione jabbed him. "You
too look way to scarily similar right now for me to deal."
"The library? Just before the holidays too?" Harry sighed, "Hermione I totally
understand but Ron, and I mean this with love, wouldn't voluntarily step in the
library unless under explicit threat of death."
"Not even threat." Percy remarked. "There would actually have to have been a
wand pointed at his back before he would even think of studying."
"Oh mygod." Ron breathed in horror, "You two have been bonding." He accuses
with the sort of tone one would use when they find out someone's secret hobby
was hunting people for sport, or kicking bunnies, or cockblocking. Needless to
say, it's incredibly amusing.
"And we really need to get going." Hermione hurries, pulling away the youngest
Weasley who looked ready to hyperventilate. "Things to do, stuff to research,
not like anything bad of course, just research, you know how it is. Bye!"
"BONDING!" Ron shouted right as they turned the corner and went out of sight.
Harry and Percy stared out at where the two had made their escape. "That was
strange." Harry commented. Percy just shrugged again, he seems to do that a lot
now that they've established a friendship. "Honestly, it doesn't even make the
top thirty weirdest things I've seen one of my younger brothers and their
friends do."
"Well that isn't fair, I'm pretty sure top thirty consists of only Fred, George
and Lee Jordan's exploit. Ron probably doesn't even make top fifty."
The prefect grinned as he put his hands up playfully, "Guilty."
"Mr Potter, Mr Weasley," The usually fond but stern voice of the
transfiguration professor called out with almost childish enthusiasm. "If
you're done chitchatting maybe you would like to help with the decorations?"
Professor Flitwick, with his usual childish enthusiasm squealed out an excited,
"Yes, yes, Mr Potter why don't I teach you how to make some coloured bubbles to
help speed up embellishing the trees?"
"Mr Weasley can help me place the stasis charms on the snow and ice."
McGonagall added with a smile, both boys returned it with an equally large
grin.
"That sounds great Professor." The prefect agreed honestly with Harry nodding.
By the way, the life-sized ice reindeers? Totally Harry's work. Though Percy
did a great job at the sleigh and Flitwick spelled the whole thing to move but
Harry is still pretty stoked at how great his reindeers. Maybe this holiday
won't be as boring as he thought.
***** Death's first Christmas *****
The_one_where_Death_has_his_first_Christmas_in_Hogwarts_and_a_ton_of_gift_wrap
was_harmed_in_the_writing_of_this_chapter._Also_there's_a_mirror,_but_it_isn't
used_to_admire_anyone's_stunning_good_looks.
Christmas break was pretty good. Harry actually found himself quite busy the
days coming up to Christmas Day. It was nice. There was afternoon tea with
Filch and Mrs Norris. He read new books in the library while Ron tried
valiantly to study... something, the kid refused to show Harry what he was
researching but it was obvious he wasn't very good at it. Sometimes Harry would
throw out random dry comments on the redhead's frustration that would've made
Malfoy proud, until Ron inevitably gives up and they go outside to fly. Percy,
being one of the few prefects still there had nightly rounds almost every other
day, which the boy would tend to gallantly volunteer his company to, spending
the hours around the castle talking about their day and their families.
Fred and George and Peeves had this 'war' going on for a solid week that
subsided entirely of very embarrassing but admittedly creative pranks that went
from classic magicked water balloons that held more potions than innocent water
in them to more complex hijinks which resulted in dog-sized spiders covered in
goose feathers and the second floor halls being covered with lime flavoured
jelly. And somehow Harry had ended up as their official 'judge' in all of this
nonsense because apparently it was his fault. Which, let it be stated for the
record, was completely false. He did not start that mess. And whoever says
otherwise are dirty liars.
It didn't matter though because as a judge Harry finds himself always present
during these 'events', so he's pretty much been in the middle of every
metaphorical and literal train wreck to happen in the castle since the
beginning, much to the child's chagrin. Most of the students still in school
have managed to catch on to the pattern and pretty much would flee if Harry's
so much as in the same room as them. Cowards. Ron, bless him, still hasn't
connected the dots and just complains when he gets pelted with rubber ducks or
painted orange. Though the green eyed entity isn't completely sure the redhead
even realises they're are any dots to connect in the first place.
Of course after a week filled with mayhem it was Harry's civic duty to put his
foot down. And if that happened to be the day that those morons covered him in
salted maple syrup when he had just gotten out of the shower minutes ago, well,
who was going to argue?
His hair smelt like cheap candy for two whole days despite all the cleaning
charms and showers. Neither the twins nor the poltergeist was seen during that
time. Which was smart of the trio. Because if they met Harry will be pretty
sure they'll be never seen again.
Sometimes, when he was bored of playing with the children, the boy would go out
to the Forbidden Forest to greet the centaurs. Firenze happily showed him to
their village and he was greeted with a reverent welcome. Their were a small
population and a dying one if the lack of females were any indication but
Christmas was coming and Harry chose not to comment on their dilemma for now.
Instead he distracted them by regaling everyone with stories of the stars and
of the gods that no constellation alone can tell.
And when he didn't feel like going outside to converse with the centaurs, Harry
would actively seek out a teacher to chat to. Maybe even learn a few things.
Like transfiguring and moulding stuff with glass, or charming stuff to move.
He's absolutely terrible at those things but the child enjoys the feeling of
being challenged.
So yeah, it wasn't exactly what his fellow entities would have called a
particularly fun holiday but Harry was pretty content all things considered. He
had hot chocolate in his hands that always filled up, a variety of mortals to
entertain him as he pleases and the satisfaction of watching snow outside
whilst he was warm and snuggled cozily in thick blankets. And that's good
enough for him.
===============================================================================
Hi brother,
It's Life, your favourite counterpart? It's my turn to write and just gotta say
bro you are doing like okay at the whole living thing.
B+ for creativity. Your Life points were lowered because you didn't do anything
that interesting for the first decade of your life. I mean really? You are
literally wasting your life. Go visit some other worlds, go visit a different
universe, heck go to Las Vegas I am not joking do it first chance you get.
Honestly I don't even understand why you're even in school, granted it's a
magic school with some seriously cool stuff but it's still a school. Like ugh.
How could you even stay still in those walls, I would absolutely die by now.
Of course that's why we're opposites I guess, anyway I'm keeping this brief
little brother but I am missing you and so's everyone else blah, blah, blah.
Your paperwork is so cramping my style but I'm doing okay with the delegating
bit. I only made six of your reapers cry today so it's a huge improvement.
See ya,
Life
===============================================================================
Actual Christmas was admittedly not that exciting. Oh it was Harry's first
proper Chrismassy Christmas, fitted with greens and reds and.. Things. Harry
was not much of a Christmas person. That was more of a Time or Space holiday
than anything, because whatever the universe, this particular holiday always
seemed to be 'timeless'. Chaos just liked the holiday for watching disorganised
people shop for gifts the day before. Actually, Chaos likes a lot of holidays
for that reason. And to screw with people. But that's just standard of a good
time in general when it comes to the representation of all things chaotic
anyway.
It was quite flattering to receive his own gifts though. Ones that have been
gift wrapped too. That's a pretty new concept. As Harry, he didn't get gifts
that weren't food or borrowed items from his cousins. As Death, well, he
got gifts, obviously, but they weren't exactly gift wrapped optional- unless
you count when Love sent over that inhumanely, insanely good looking dark elf
prince that had a bow on his… No that probably didn't count.
It was quite the Thanksgiving treat though. He both got a lot and did a lot
of giving and said numerous thanks to various things if you know what he
means. Ah yes. That was a good day.
But again, not gift wrapped.
Harry looked down at his various colourful presents and something akin to
absolute delight seem to tingle in his chest as the boy saw that they were all
addressed to him. It wasn't like the distantly pleased buzz he would get as an
entity, this was vivid and intense and so simplistically human. The Slytherin
dorms were empty so Harry wasted no time to satisfy his twitching fingers and
carefully began unwrapping the closest gift, which quickly became a brightly
coloured paper massacre.
"Well... I see you've got your gifts."
Harry's head snapped up to see his highly amused House Head leaning at the
entrance of the dorm bedrooms, then back at the ripped up patterning in his
hands before looking back up bashfully. "I.. Uh.. Merry Christmas?" He offered
to the smirking professor, failing absolutely terribly in trying to subtly
brush off the tattered remains of paper on his lap. How on this earth did he
manage to make such a mess with only one box already?
Snape made a soft huffing sound that the green eyed boy had quickly acquainted
with as the closest thing the older man had at laughter so far. He's adamant
he'll make the potions master laugh properly one of these days. Preferably not
at his expense though. Like currently so. Once again pale hands try and brush
the paper off his black cotton pajama bottoms. Alas the gift wrap stubbornly
clung on. This must be its revenge. Cruel, embarrassing revenge.
The professor made the huffing sound again. "Merry Christmas Potter." He said,
walking towards the smaller male and sitting on the bed opposite as easily as
if he owns it. He's in black robes this early morning, Harry's almost tempted
to say it's his usual teaching robes but no, he's pretty sure that's just what
the man's sleeping wear looks like. Jesus. Even he didn't wear that much black.
Okay no he did but that wasn't the point here.
Not completely sure what to do in this social situation Harry glanced at the
professor sitting perfectly upright on the bed before opening the box. "I've
never had a real present before." He confessed quietly. The older man made a
thoughtful noise and when he flicked his eyes upward for a second the raven
haired child thought he saw a pained expression on the other's face, but that
was quickly shoved away in favour of greedily soaking up the image of the first
in many gifts to come.
There were assortments of candy and chocolate from his not as close friends and
upperclassmen he's chatted with occasionally. Snape ended up accepting a sugar
quill, two cauldron cakes and some sort of disturbingly bright green lollipop
under Harry's ceaseless insistence. He got a copy of Frankenstein from
Hermione, something which amused him to no end. He's always been quite fond of
the work for obvious reasons. There was even an emerald green hand-knitted
jumper from the Weasely matriarch which Harry immediately put on, which
resulted in a few snide comments from the older man. Ron himself had, according
to the card, piggybacked on the Weasley twins' gift of experimental pranks, a
gift which was half confiscated the moment the dour professor realized what the
present was exactly and who gave them away. Harry managed to snatch away a good
amount of the strange assortment of trinkets (which he really hoped didn't
activate upon contact or anything like that) but he's going to have to
definitely apologise to the two red headed pranksters if any future pranks in
the potions room don't work.
With a sheepish smile the boy pushed back the already opened gifts away from
them, slipping the items in his arms into an empty box, something that wasn't
lost on the potions master if the narrowing of his eyes were anything to go by.
"Give it to me Potter." He demanded softly but no less stern.
"But professor, it's my gift." Harry did not whine.
"It's a menace to education."
"Well, that's a little harsh.."
Snape lifted up one of the twins' assortment of pranks, it looked like a really
small lava lamp to be perfectly honest. "This-" long fingers shook the thing
gently to emphasize what he was talking about like it wasn't already obvious,
"Was used last year to cover the classroom with sticky paint. In every corner
and crevice."
Harry winced, he should probably never open any presents from his redheaded
friends in front of a Head of House again. Except for Percy. Who got him a
perfectly respectable if slightly tattered scarf of dark red. It was very kind,
particularly as it was obviously out of his own pocket, hopefully the brand new
self inking quill and 'muggle' wristwatch he sent back was just as well
received.
"Well it's not like I'm the type of student to actually use them." And okay,
maybe Harry was whining a little bit and making little grabby motions at Snape,
"Come on Professor, please?"
Snape looked amused again at the pleading expression on the child's face but
shifted the various prank gifts behind his back nonetheless. "While that may be
true Potter, your friends are less likely to strike any sort of trust in my
heart." Then with a pause, Snape eyed Harry with mock suspicion, "Not to
mention your ability to stand your ground against them."
Hurry huffed, "One, rude. And two, my friends aren't all unruly like you imply.
Hermione's good."
"She set me on fire." Snape deadpanned. Harry winced again.
"You knew?"
"She wasn't exactly secretive with her intentions Potter. Even if I didn't see
it coming, half the school did."
"What about Draco then? He's your godson."
"And as my godson, know full well how the boy can make trouble when he wants
to."
"Well how about-"
"Don't even get me started on the youngest Weasley."
Harry gave the older man a look. "-I was going to say Percy." The child
finished. "Honestly even I know Ron would be the first person to use them given
the chance."
Snape looked thoughtful before shaking his head and smirking. "Doesn't count,
the Weasley prefect's not even in your year."
"You never said that!"
"The point still stands. And I'm letting you keep the ones you've managed to
snatch aren't I?" The professor raised a challenging brow. Harry grumbled but
reluctantly moved on to the next colourfully wrapped presents. He knew a
useless effort when he saw one.
Draco's gift was unsurprisingly elaborate, all the way down to the wrapping
which was pale blue covered in silver snowflakes that actually moved depending
on how you shook the box. "Do you have a gift from Draco?" Harry asked
curiously. He was feeling a bit guilty right now at opening all these gifts in
front of the professor while the man just sat there and watched. Logically the
entity-child knew that Snape had at least one present from him but it's kind of
like trying to eat at a restaurant while ignoring the homeless man staring at
you through the window. Like he wasn't feeling that much guilt over it, but
that didn't stop him feeling uncomfortable.
Snape didn't answer the question but instead just took out his own present from
the Malfoy's, unshrinking it from an unseen pocket in his night robes. Either
the man thrived on the growing uncomfortableness of the situation or he really
did forget to bring his own gifts out and partake in the festivities. Yeah.
Obviously the first option, the bastard.
"It's from Lucius and his wife Narcissa." The professor explained as Harry took
in the smaller, less brightly coloured gift in Snape's lap. "From the note
attached, my godson had been too busy trying to find the perfect gift for you."
Snape said with a wry smile, "Apparently Lucius ended up helping midway through
because Draco wished to one-up all the Weasley's gifts combined."
Harry laughed. "That does sounds like Draco." He looked down at the large box
and began opening it whilst Snape did the same. "Huh, now I'm worried what he's
going to think of the gift I gave him now."
"Unlike your ability to say no, I do have faith in your gift picking skills."
The professor drawled as he unveiled a glittering golden engraved set of
measuring scales. Now Harry was actually seriously worrying about how his
homemade gift to the Malfoy heir would be received.
"I don't think you should say that when you haven't even looked at my gift to
you yet." He pointed out.
Snape paused in his careful examination of the scales to look up at Harry with
something akin to fondness. "That's true, but I'm inclined to believe it
anyway."
Harry makes a soft 'oh' sound and ducks his head to try and hide the pale pink
flush rising up from his cheeks. Instead of trying to answer that head on the
boy deflects by picking up his blonde friends gift and admiring it in the soft
morning light. "Well I hope your not expecting anything like this or you're
going to be sorely disappointed."
The small unmelting carving of Hogwarts castle fitted with it's own little
patch of Forbidden forest and a molten silver Black Lake glittered.
"I don't enjoy useless trinkets." The potions master snorted as he looked
derisively at the shining, shimmering statue. A icy tentacle from the sliver
depths came up to wave at the boy. Obviously Snape had no idea what he was
talking about, this is a brilliant present.
"You know if my gift to you ends up being jewelry or whatever else you define
as a 'useless trinket' we are both going to be very embarrassed now aren't we?"
"I think I can get by." Snape replied with a raised brow.
They continued opening presents after that, well, it was more Harry opening
presents and Snape commenting and criticizing them as they went along, but it
was still a very enjoyable time for both parties. The Diggory boy sent him a
pillow with bright yellow flowers which was not as entertaining to Harry as it
was to Snape. Nott gave him a book on basic Wizarding history. Blaise's gift
consisted of coloured pencils that changed shade at will and a simple
sketchbook. There was even a present from the wretched child Zacharias Smith,
some gaudy ugly golden badger that was charmed to shine brightly like a disco
ball. Harry took one look at and dropped it like garbage. Snape must've agreed
with the action because he pointed his wand at it, muttered something under his
breath and turned it into a mouse.
"I am not feeding Hedwig that." The green eyed boy declared. "She is a
beautiful bird and I refuse to taint her with the trash that comes from Smith's
spoilt grubby little hands."
"Your hands are smaller than his." Snape commented because he could, earning
the older man a squawk of indignation. "You're relationship with the Smith boy
is surprising."
"Why would you say that? I despise self entitled untalented brats who think
they're better because of some ancestor they're probably not even that directly
related to." Harry scowled as he nudged the rather clingy transfigured rodent
away from his pyjama pants. "Is it so wrong that there are people I dislike?"
"Not.. wrong." Snape said slowly, "Just unusual." Which, fair, Harry has been
pretty amiable to most of the student population of Hogwarts sans Zacharias and
his idiot groupies, but it wasn't like he's declared a full out family war with
them like the Weasleys and Malfoys apparently had.
"Yes, well, you try talking to Smith on a semi-regular basis and you'll want to
strangle his neck too." He sniffed, not missing the twist of a smile on the
professor's face.
"If he's anything like in Potions then I'm inclined to have to agree with you
there." Snape acquiesced easily, "Now hurry up Potter, you've still got a few
more gifts to unwrap and breakfast will start in an hour."
Some of the presents were just plain predictable, books from the Ravenclaws,
more edible treats and generalized gifts from people who just wanted to send
something to the Boy Who Lived, an occult book from Piers and Dudley which was
always a good laugh, and the Dursley's themselves-
"Is.. Is that a wrinkled £5 note?" Snape asks, unable to hide his surprise and
disdain at the poor excuse for a gift. Harry grinned sardonically, "Would you
believe that this is the nicest thing I've gotten from them? I should keep this
for posterity honestly." He muses right as he begins smouldering the crunched
up money with a small flame he sprouted from his fingertips.
"But," The professor for once seemed to be at a loss for words, like his whole
worldview had shifted a little bit and he didn't know what to do with the new
scenery, "They're your guardians."
"Well they aren't very good ones," Green eyes rolled, it wasn't like he was
hiding what was happening to him in Surrey, people always liked to assume.
"There was no bending over backwards to accommodate my needs or anything, not
that Uncle Vernon could if he wanted to."
Snape didn't say anything to that so Harry continued opening his Christmas
gifts. Even the professors and staff seemed to have given him a few, he's
rather glad he got presents for literally everyone he knew. Obvious upsides to
having a body that had a rich heritage and the 'soul' of someone who can woo
goblins with its presence is that you barely need to worry about the cost of an
island much less a few nice items. Flitwick's gift was an enchanted
dreamcatcher that made dreams much more vivid and ensured less chances of any
nightmares. Filch had made some sort of good luck charm that smelt like
lavender. Sprout's present, true to her name, was a small pot of seedlings and
a note about how excited she was that he'll be moving into her house next. And
McGonagall had given him a Nimbus 2000 which made Harry grin and Snape scowl
simultaneously.
"You will not join the Gryffindor Quidditch team Potter." The professor ordered
in a manner that was only half serious.
"But professor," Harry teased, "They bought me a broom, I am pretty sure I'm
obligated now to repay them with my body."
Snape coughed, a faint dusting of red on the tips of his ears before looking at
Harry straight in the eyes and replying, "And if my gift ends up to be better?
What would you obligated to do for me?"
The younger boy flushed at the undertones of the potions master's joke but gave
a wry confident smirk either way. "Well it depends professor, but I think I
could be convinced."
"It's the one wrapped in dark green." Snape pointed out. There were two gifts
left, the green one that Harry now knew was Snape's and a plain brown parcel.
With a jittery anticipation the boy reached out to claim and unwrap the
present. Midway through he couldn't help but glance up to see black eyes
watching him intently.
"Why don't we open presents at the same time?" He offers, the older of the pair
nods in agreement and un-shrinks a light grey box with a light green ribboning.
"Fine."
It doesn't take long for both of them to take out their respected items, even
with Snape's penchant for delicately opening paper like it was made of crushed
diamonds or something. Harry looked at the small bottle of see through but
sludgy liquid with more than a little confusion, there seemed to be a
handwritten manual accompanied by the filled glass container but looked toward
the potions master for clarity anyway.
"It's a work in progress but I thought you would appreciate it." The professor
coughed and gave a tentative smile which looked very nice on the man but still
explained nothing. Inwardly sighing at the fact he had to read a manual so
early in the morning, Harry picked it up and began skimming through the first
page. He got four sentences in before it clicked.
Harry gazed up at Snape with awe and a healthy dose of pleasing warmth,
"You made a potion for me."
"It's more of a liquid coating." Snape tried to dismiss, "Theoretically your
muggle machinations should work in moderate magical densities when essentially
covered."
"You didn't have to though," Childlike fingers held the bottle with much more
delicacy now, the professor may skim over the details but Harry's not naive
enough to not know how much work that must've gone through the whole process.
He was extremely flattered. "This, it's, now I'm truly nervous in how you'll
take my gift to you." The boy sputtered.
"Don't be obtuse boy. It's called a gift for a reason," Snape sneered, lifting
the lid of the unopened box in his hands. "Honestly, you would think I've
brought you the moon."
Harry's already owned a few hundred thousand moons, hell, he's hung a few of
them himself and honestly he felt those were way less interesting than what the
humans implied. Nothing like this. This thought and effort and time and sheer
creativity all mixed in one tiny bottle and a few inked characters. Snape can
have his moons. This was much better.
Before he can tell the professor this, there's a soft noise of surprise which
took precedence of the boy's attention. Snape held up a pair of sleek white
gloves which had faint black markings of scales circling the edges but other
than that it was a simple design. Feeling the need to both preen and explain at
the curious expression holding Snape's face captive Harry gently put down his
present and shifted himself to a more comfortable position.
"They're for potion making. It's thin and soft enough so your sense of touch
isn't compromised but I requested cooling charms so you can handle hot
cauldrons and resistance to other various things." Snape easily slipped the
gloves on his long, slim fingers and Harry tried very hard not to think about
the image, especially in reversed.
So he has a thing. You don't live as long as he without a few surprising self-
discoveries. Sue him.
Snape looked a little surprised as he surveyed the fit of the piece of
clothing. "It's perfect." He murmured and Harry grinned, stupidly proud at the
compliment.
"Honestly, you would think I brought the moon." The boy mimicked playfully
getting himself a rough ruffling on his head.
"Insolent boy." Snape chided but there was no heat to it, "Now come on, you've
got one more to unwrap and then you can go skip off to talk with those
redheaded menaces about food or pranks or mocking the Malfoys or something
equally incessant."
"You have a very specific image of the Weasleys Professor."
"Tell me I'm wrong."
Harry paused. "Fair enough." He shrugged before giving a pointed look. "But
it's still rude."
Snape raised a brow as one corner or his lips curled. "Just open it Potter."
"Sure thing Professor Snape." The boy grinned. Taking the parcel in his hands
the raven haired child turned it around to see if he could discern the identity
of the gift giver. He furrowed his brows a bit when he couldn't find any note.
Maybe it was just inside the wrapping?
Slowly ripping the brown paper away, something silvery grey fell almost fluidly
like water onto the ground, lying in an elegant heap of shimmering folds. Harry
had to give a double take at the fallen item. He recognised that fabric.
He used to own that fabric.
"It can't be.." Harry snapped his head up, eyes glowing brightly with shock and
for once, suspicion.
"You know what this is?" The child asked, not able to fully prevent his voice
going a little high pitched and funny at the end. Snape didn't seem to notice,
too busy staring at the light silver cloth. Harry didn't blame him. He was
having trouble not keeping his eyes on it either. Though the displeasure aimed
at it from the professor was a little unwarranted.
"It's your father's." Snape answered through gritted teeth, like admitting it
took actual physical pain.
And wait. What?
"Father's?"
"Yes, it was quite the- favoured item of James Potter." Oh. Right. Harry had a
sire. Obviously. He'd almost forgotten about that. "It's a-"
"-Invisibility Cloak." Harry finished for the potions master as he picked up
the cloth and draped it over him in one quick, graceful movement, hiding his
body in the process. The boy had to say, it was felt good to have something of
his own back in his hands again.
Though he quickly realised his slip up when the Head of Slytherin looked him
strangely and slowly said, "Yes. But how did you know that?"
"I read it in one of my readings?" Harry tried. And then, "Oh look at the time,
we should head down like right now professor. I would so hate to be late for
Christmas."
Snape still didn't look wholly convinced with what he was selling, but
thankfully let it go. Harry was getting way better at this whole social thing
now that he was human. The boy looked mournfully at the Deathly Hallow hugging
his body, he wished being invisible was an acceptable norm at the dining table
but alas, it was not to be.
With a soft sigh he pulled off the Invisibility cloak, trying to ignore the way
the fabric instinctively clung to his person and gently folded it, tucking it
under his pillow. He'll put it back on tonight.
===============================================================================
It turns out they still ended up a good forty minutes early to breakfast, Harry
had unfortunately just didn't need much sleep and Snape was either a naturally
very early morning person or he had trouble sleeping too. They ended up parting
ways when they saw the empty hall, the boy deciding to go toward the Gryffindor
tower to see how his redheaded friends were doing and the professor, well,
Harry wasn't sure where he went but he went somewhere.
"Merry Christmas!" Was the first thing shouted in the green eyed first year's
face once he entered the Gryffindor dorms. As well as a couple of streamers
and- never mind that, how on earth do the Weasley twins always know where he
is?!
"Oi! Ron c'mon Harry's here!" George shouted behind his shoulder whilst Fred
leaned on his other with a sly smirk.
"And look, Harry's got a Weasley sweater too!"
Now that he'd mentioned it, both twins were wearing bright blue sweaters, each
with a giant yellow letter corresponding to the beginning of their name knitted
on them. Fred slunk over to Harry's side, over exaggeratingly inspecting his
green sweater like an art critic checking out a new post-modernist sculpture.
"Harry's is better than ours though," He mused, stroking a non-existent beard
as he did so. "She obviously made much more of an effort even if you're not
family." Fred pouts.
George, never one to be far behind Fred, too had found his way past Harry's
personal space bubble and was grinning like a loon. "Fred says that but you
know he was the one to insist to mum that you should get a sweater in the first
place." The twin cackled as his counterpart turned red and slapped George
upside the head possibly a little harder than necessary causing said twin to
burst into a string of muffled chuckles.
"Well I wasn't the one to tell her to make it green so it could match his
eyes." Fred hissed, turning his brother's face into a similar shade as his own.
"I did not, Percy did!"
"Well I didn't see you exactly disagreeing. In fact, your exact words dear
brother of mine-"
There was a lot of hushed mutterings and heavily worded facial expressions that
Harry had kind of zoned out of by then. He's not really sure what they were
talking about but he's managed to figure out that the twins also helped with
the jumper which was very nice of them. And Percy too. Very nice of them
indeed. Though the murmurings and such right now were a little less so.
"Mate!" Harry smiled a little gratefully when Ron finally showed up with half a
chocolate bar in his mouth and a half opened gift in his arms. "I just opened
your gift Harry and I gotta say oh my Merlin, you are the best." He gushed
gleefully.
The raven haired boy laughed and the twins had finally stopped whatever teasing
they had been doing beforehand to watch on curiously. "Ron it's just a bag of
muggle candy bars, it's not a big deal."
"The. Best." Ron stressed. "I've had that Milky way one and I'm pretty sure I
didn't see any stars but it was delicious."
Chewing on his chocolates Ron finally noticed what Harry was wearing. "Oh mate,
your wearing a Weasley sweater." He pointed out rather obviously.
"And where's yours by the way?" George asked, leaning on Fred's shoulder who
was leaning on Harry's head like some strange unstable tower. "Yeah Ron," Fred
added, their grins back on their faces again, "Come on and get it, they're so
cozy and warm."
"But I hate maroon." Ron moaned half heartedly but went to go get it anyway.
Harry didn't really blame the reluctance, maroon didn't seem to be a very good
colour for any of the Weasley's really.
"What's all this noise then?"
The curly haired Weasley prefect peered his head into the room disapprovingly
before looking surprised at seeing Harry there with the rest of them. Percy had
clearly been in the middle of opening presents as well because he too was
carrying a similar lumpy orange sweater in his arms. It seems all the Weasleys
were late sleepers no exceptions then.
"C'mon Percy, get it on, we're all wearing our jumpers!" Fred beckoned, George
cackled, "Yeah, you've even got the 'P' for prefect on it! Perfect prefect
Percy."
The oldest Weasley brother began spluttering out various disagreements but it
was too late, like snakes the twins had already found their prey and before
Harry even knew it, Percy was practically pinned side by side by two identical
cheeky smirks as they wrestled their older brother into the offending item of
clothing. The resulting scuffle was enough to draw out Ron, wearing an
admittedly abhorrent coloured sweater.
"Does this happen often?" Harry asked, unsure whether he should keep watching
or take pity on the prefect and step in. Ron snorted and rolled his eyes.
"Are you kidding? This is nothing."
===============================================================================
After breakfast Harry and the Weasleys spent most of the afternoon in the midst
of a furious snowball fight which even Percy had joined, not to mention most of
the other students still left behind on the school grounds. Making snowballs
turned out much harder than the boy had originally thought, throwing them even
harder. Ron was in near hysterics the first few times Harry had finally gotten
a decent looking ball of snow, only for it to disintegrate upon itself the
moment it was flung into the air.
His redheaded friend practically asked for a handful of snow shoved down his
shirt. So, it really was all on Ron really.
Obviously the child howled at the icy cold while Harry giggled at the look of
shock on the other's face and it was probably around then when the snowball
fight turned into a snowball war.
At some point some cheating sixth year pulled out his wand and started
magically pelting snowballs at anyone wishing five feet of his person. The
twins had began colouring snow to confuse people and Percy looked like he was
deeply regretting most of his life's decisions. Ron and Harry had decided to
overcome their previous differences and team up, Ron with his impressive aiming
and Harry with his wandless magic made them pretty amazing. The green eyed
child wasn't sure how one could possibly win in such an activity but he was
pretty sure that they were pretty darn close to it.
Though luckily, before the whole afternoon could escalate into anything too
violent, the call for dinner was made and hunger on christmas was apparently
not something to be ignored for everyone was soon rushing inside, faces pink
from the cold and frost in their hair. Harry did not blame them at all once he
saw the banquet spread out on the tables at dinner time.
Fat roasted turkeys that were practically sweating in meat juices, platters of
buttery potatoes cooked in various ways, freshly cooked bread rolls every few
feet along the tables… Let's just say Harry was immensely grateful that human
senses like taste are so much more enhanced compared to his usual body.
Then there was the dessert. Lord almighty, Harry was never the biggest fan of
Christmas puddings but he thinks he could make many exceptions to the rule as
he takes his first bite and practically melts at the sweet silken texture. Ron
who had been eating like a starving man had not even slowed down when the
puddings arrived, despite the redheaded boy still holding a turkey leg in one
hand. It was almost enough to put someone off their appetite. Almost.
Harry looked up at the teacher's table and observed that the professors have
been drinking an awful lot going by the reddened face of Hagrid. At one point
he's pretty sure the half-giant landed a quick kiss on Professor McGonagall's
cheek, who also seemed to be quite drunk because she just giggled and blushed
like a teen. Snape was taking a long gulp of whatever alcoholic concoction was
in his goblet and just generally nursing his drink while scowling, dare he say,
sulking at the edge of the table. The Headmaster didn't seem to have had much
alcohol at least, which was good considering that it would've been a pretty
terrible school if every adult tonight got smashed on school grounds. However,
the old wizard did have on a flowered bonnet which struck respect and awe in
absolutely no-one.
By the time dinner was finished every witch, wizard and entity felt too full
and sleepy to do much of anything but get ready to fall asleep. Well, except
for maybe Percy who last he heard was chasing Fred and George around the castle
because the twins took his prefect badge. Harry had trudged back to the
dungeons, ready to go have a well deserved nap in his room for one of the last
few times before moving to Hufflepuff.
God, that's going to suck. Zacharias Smith's going to be there. Harry's going
to be forced to commit painful, painful murder on the boy's face.
Okay not 'forced', he's not into victim blaming but he's definitely not going
to feel great about the homicide. Afterwards anyway. Probably. Oh my god he
is so going to end up killing the Hufflepuff isn't he?
As soon as he reached his bed, the green eyed entity pulled out his cloak from
under the pillows, letting his fingers slip between the delicately fluid
texture lovingly. It's strange how he's been reunited with it all these
centuries. The child wondered if he'll see his other Hallows, it's not like he
was particularly emotionally attached to the items to be perfectly truthful.
With the exception of the cloak in his hands which was just a shred of his own
favourite travelling cape back then- something designed by Space who had been a
little obsessive in dimension altering fashion at the time- the Hallows were
essentially some mundane object he picked up by that riverside and imbeded some
powers in it.
It's a tad hard to feel connected to something you've literally only owned for
less than a minute really. And since the only reason he even made them was to
piss off (kill) those brothers of Peverall and find himself a possible master
they were kind of useless to him right now other than a simple connection to
his original existence. Even then it wasn't worth much.
Thinking about it a bit further, does that mean if he ends up with all three
Hallows he'll be his own master? Is Fate trying to say something? Because
despite what most people may think, he is not exactly a strong, independent
woman that don't need no master to function. No. Uh. Well that didn't make much
sense. The point is, a master would anchor him theoretically and that would
help quite a bit with his minor 'control issues'.
Pale hands tightened their grip on the invisibility cloak.
So a master would be very preferable, but if he has all three in his possession
at the same time then… But wait. The child shaped entity scrunched up his
face,- if in this world Harry Potter gained possession of this Hallow, wouldn't
that mean there's a chance a Harry Potter in another parallel universe could
possibly earn all three of the Hallows? Oh dear, did he just kill off his
potential master? But then there should be other Harrys out there. Does he get
multiple masters or is there just one Harry James Potter out there who could've
been and he'd just took over his body? Shit. He's just going to leave all the
details be ironed out by Space and Fate. This was getting way too complicated
and meta.
It took a while before Harry finally pulled his attention away from his Deathly
Hallow existential crisis to notice the small note that had fallen conveniently
by his feet. Picking it up, he could see it was written in a narrow looping
handwriting he didn't recognise;
Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was
returned to you. Use it well.
A Very Merry Christmas to You.
The letter was left unsigned. But whoever sent it had definitely put some sort
of charm on it because Harry could feel the magic urge him to explore with the
cloak. He felt more awake, more aware, and an intense rush at the thought of
being to go anywhere again without being seen by anyone. The boy wondered if he
should go to Snape and report this, he's pretty sure this is the magical
equivalent of drugged candy yet the spell was holding him back, enhancing his
possessiveness to the object so Harry would only want to use the cloak by
himself.
The boy probably could have just shrugged the compulsion off, it was actually
quite a strong bit of spellwork he had to admit but nothing that he would
actually struggle too hard with. But Harry had to admit he was curious to this
person's end game. So instead of doing the normal thing one should do when
realising they've been put under some sort of charm like a sane person, Harry
chose to let the spell carry out it's purpose and crept out of the dorms with
his cloak on his shoulders. Wandering through the darkened halls, the child
noted that he was walking up toward the higher floors of the castle. The fact
Hogwarts wasn't doing anything to hinder him meant either she too had some
Christmas in her spirit or someone explicitly warned her not to.
Harry had a vague suspicion on who wrote that note.
He finally arrived in what seemed to be an empty classroom. Empty with the
exception of one giant mirror standing right in the middle of it. A giant,
ornate mirror. With a golden frame and clawed feet. Yeah, he was totally going
to miss that if it wasn't in the middle of the room. Good thinking creepy note
writer.
There was an inscription carved around the top which, being of an annoyingly
petite stature, Harry had to get on tip toes to properly read. It took a few
moments before the boy realised it wasn't written in any language he'd known
but instead was just written backwards in english.
Harry hummed thoughtfully at the etchings, a mirror that showed your heart's
desire was a dangerous sort of thing. Not even he would really want going
against him. But the boy had come this far, and it seemed only he should be the
one to see what he truly desires so at least there would be no confused voyeurs
wondering why his reflection would show like world destruction or something.
It's not something he particularly desires but he is Death, maybe
subconsciously that's all he wants, he doesn't truly know. That's what makes
the mirror so terrifying.
With a slow, deep breath, Harry takes a step back from the mirror and looks
straight at where his reflection should be. But as expected, there was no
reflection of his physical self. Instead, there was his original form or at
least what he'd first thought to be his previous appearance. He was still tall,
lithe to the point of skinny but in a handsome almost prettily ethereal way and
his hair was still an untamed mass of shadowy curls that moved like the waves
of the sea in the darkest hour of the night. But there were differences when he
looked closer; he seemed softer, less bones and angles and fear. The entity
before him looked confident and secure and stable. His eyes were glowing green
as they are now but even brighter, shining with something that Harry couldn't
even understand and he was smiling, such an easy wide, bright smile that looked
both awkward and fitting on his face.
And there were people behind him, beside him, all around him. It made Harry's
mortal heart speed up and his 'soul' clench at how comfortable that person he
had always desired to be fit in like that. There were his fellow entities,
laughing and joking like a family, a proper real one and not the makeshift
thing they had going on for them where sometimes they had their moments but
most other times they stuck with their own domains, loathing their
counterparts. And with immortality flowing through their nonexistent veins,
most of the time was a very, very long time indeed.
Then there were the mortals he's met and adored, still alive and not just
simple souls in his collection or lost in the cycles of reincarnation. From a
talking pig he'd once met in ancient Greece to Yzesye, an alien conqueror of
nine planets, they were all there conversing like inside the mirror was just
one giant party. The most prominent of the mortals he could see at the
forefront of the reflection were the people that were still alive now, Ron and
Malfoy were arguing about something, Percy and Order seemed to be getting along
splendidly while the twins and Chaos were snickering ominously in the corner.
Filch and Mrs Norris were giving the stink eye to a sassy red haired orphan
child, McGonagall was chatting politely to a faerie queen and Firenze was in
the midst of some sort of heart attack in front of Fate.
Snape was surprisingly, right by his side, looking for all intents and purposes
rather irritated by such a sheer amount of individuals. His mouth was moving in
what Harry imagined to be for snarkily commentating about his displeasure and
the person that was meant to be him just threw his head back and laughed. Those
green eyes glowed eerily, obviously inhuman but they looked at the potions
master with this emotion, emotion he shouldn't have and-
And Harry didn't realise he was trembling, hand on the mirror like if he pushed
hard enough he could be that person.
"Shite." He laughed hoarsely, his voice shaking ever so slightly, "This was a
bad idea."
===============================================================================
He ended up coming back the next night. It was hard not to when your desire was
just a few floors away and Harry was so weak. He knew the thing was dangerous.
"Back again Harry?"
Harry pivoted around, darkness inadvertently seeping from his nails before it
was quickly pulled back at the sight of the Headmaster of Hogwarts sitting on
one of the desks shoved to the wall. Luckily it was dim enough for the old
wizard not to have noticed his slip up but still he cursed himself for his
carelessness.
"..I didn't see you sir."
Dumbledore smiled. "It is funny how even the invisible can be so nearsighted is
it not?"
"Just because no one can see you doesn't mean you couldn't trip over a rock and
fall." Harry retorted, the older man's smile grew wider.
"Indeed." He agreed amiably before hopping off the desk and walking toward the
boy, "And I see you have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."
"I show not your face but your heart's desire." The child murmured, Dumbledore
seemed almost surprised that he'd cracked the relatively simple code but nodded
anyway.
"Yes, men have wasted away looking at what they found here. Nothing but your
deepest most desperate desires filled out before you."
"A family." Harry whispered and the headmaster shot him a sad look before
continuing on.
"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow." Dumbledore looked at the
child solemnly, "Harry, you should not go seeking out it anymore. After all it
does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."
Which, yeah, was all well and good if it wasn't insanely obvious that the man
had effectively led him here to the mirror in the first place. Harry's pretty
sure it wasn't for anything particularly malevolent but it wasn't going to win
the Headmaster any points in his favour anytime soon either.
"Now why don't you put that admirable cloak on and head back to bed Mr Potter?"
Harry cocked his head but complied. "Professor, what do you see in the mirror
then?"
Dumbledore gave him a small smile, "Me? While I see myself holding a pair of
thick woollen socks." It was an obvious lie, the look Dumbledore gave the
artefact was much to sad for just plain old socks but Harry kept quiet anyway.
"One can never have too many good socks after all, another Christmas gone by
without getting a single pair too." The headmaster sighed. "People always
insist on giving me books."
The green eyed child gave an obligatory chuckle at the obvious deflection
before shrugging on his cloak and turning to leave. But of course, not without
a last, "Oh? And thank you for this admirable cloak professor!"
***** Death's end of first year *****
The one where Death finishes off the year by getting roped in to some heroic
rescue for a magic rock and then accidentally killing a professor. Really, this
school is truly the epitome of the word 'Safety'.
School came quickly after Christmas was over. Empty halls got, well, less empty
and Harry moved into the House of the Loyal.
It was a very nice dorm, certainly a little tacky compared to the elegant
finery covering Slytherin's but it was filled with sunlight and plants and soft
cushioning that gave it a distinctly comfortable warmth that the house of green
and silver just couldn't replicate with sleek ivory carvings.
Taking his trunk, Harry placed it under the bed opposite the door. While he
wasn't exactly sure of the internal dynamics of the Hufflepuff first years, it
was easy to give a good guess in which bed would least likely to have been
taken. His new sleeping arrangement was the only one in the shadowy corner,
every other part seemed to be absolutely soaked in sunlight. It was truthfully
a little unnerving.
Soon enough though Harry got used to it. He got used to classes starting up
again. He got used to remembering not to go to the dungeons at the end of the
day. And impressively enough, he got used to ignoring Zacharias Smith for
extended periods of time.
Well he transfigured himself some earplugs. But still.
He still hung out a lot in either Gryffindor tower or the Slytherin dungeons
with his friends but now he made a bit more time for his Hufflepuff and
Ravenclaw acquaintances he's been friendly with like Susan Bones, Hannah
Abbott, Terry Boot and Padma Patil. Unfortunately with the exception of Anthony
Goldstein, Harry wasn't exactly on good terms with the rest of the Hufflepuff
boys once he'd made his feelings on Zacharias very clear. Truly the downside of
being loyal- it always seems to blind people to the point of mule-headed
stubbornness and a sort of sheep mentality.
Unfortunately the shepherd in this metaphor was 'I am a descendant of Helga
Hufflepuff, hear me roar' Zacharias Smith which meant Harry had to deal with
mini Smiths in the dorm who were all rude, brash and loud. The only saving
grace so far was the other more sane students in the house also didn't
appreciate the boastful child's personality. Plus the sheer comfortableness of
the furniture. Because seriously those pillows were soft enough to make one
forgive murder. Harry definitely needed some of that sort of thing in his life.
Or Afterlife at least.
The first year Ravenclaws all in all were more annoyingly curious than outright
rude, which was a refreshing change of pace considering his new roommates. The
green eyed boy had taken to answering their incessant questions with a patience
and an equally irritating vagueness that may have been inspired by a certain
physical manifestation of space.
It was quite the game for the knowledge loving students to try and wrangle out
a straight answer from the Boy Who Lived. Harry had a few sneaking suspicions
that there was some sort of competition going on there that he wasn't aware of
because the questions he'd been asked have been something as simple and
irrelevant as favourite colours to more complex opinions on the political
weighting that Muggles have. Which is to say none at all. But the point was,
there were much too many queries to not be skeptical about it. And Terry Boot
as well as the other Ravenclaws were all suspiciously tight-lipped on the
subject too.
Not that Harry really cared.
Overall, despite his new House placement not much had changed since the boy had
quickly found preference with his Gryffindor and Slytherin friends and
therefore spent the majority of his free time with them. Though ever since the
school term had started up again the youngest Weasley and Granger had been much
more reserved, taking their time up in the library researching some big project
or whatever. Harry was curious to say the least, especially when they refused
to tell him about it.
That, Harry admittedly cared about.
Nevertheless he didn't want to push the subject since Hermione would get all
huffy and Ron would look all conflicted and constipated whenever he tried to
bring it up. Instead for the most part Harry let it slide, only giving a few
choice remarks when the lies got especially terrible. Someone's got to teach
them some better excuses because the green eyed first year knew for a fact that
Ron hates spiders and in no way was he skipping lunch of all things to go hunt
them with Hermione. It was more embarrassing being forced to listen to such
things than infuriating.
Of course even research took a backseat when Harry finally figured out where
the kitchens were. Ron looked like Christmas had come again when he had invited
the gluttonous redhead up to visit for the first time. Though it was nothing
compared to the expression of utter bliss and wonder when they took one step
into the place and all the house elves had turned to run toward them, whatever
delectable concoctions still in their hands.
He's pretty sure Ron almost cried when they told them to come back anytime.
Well cried as much could with their mouth stuffed with pie. The freckled boy
had a serious problem with food in the entity's opinion. In fact he had
promptly told Ron so as they left earning a half eaten blueberry to the face.
And no matter what Ron said, Harry certainly did not scream like a banshee. He
had just protested the lack of hygiene of the the mushy blueberry. Loudly. In a
banshee like fashion.
Hermione and he still were awkward, this period of separation not helping much
either. In classes the girl still seemed to be incredibly competitive in vying
for the best marks, especially against Harry and maybe Draco because apparently
he called her blood muddy or some childish nonsense, their relationship was
definitely more friendly at least but the frustration was real.
The Slytherins were more or less unaffected by the change. Zabini said he would
forgive him for moving if the green eyed child gave him his treacle tart. Harry
didn't but the Italian first year forgave him anyway. It helped that he had
been casually wondering out loud how many knives one could possibly stick
inside a human eye socket before they eventually bled to death with
excruciating detail. The few perks of having the knowledge of all things dead
was that you can whip up the best horror camp stories. Also no one wants your
treacle tart.
Draco whined for weeks about being abandoned for the lesser House of
Hufflepuff. It was funny the first few days of course. Various complaints were
made by the young Malfoy from how far away they were now, to listing the many
reasons why badges were stupid animals. Harry's pretty sure Draco doesn't
exactly know what badgers were.
"-and they eat uh, capsicum! That's like the worst vegetable ever Harry! I know
you hate it-"
It was sweet really. In what was possibly the most annoying way possible.
And Crabbe and Goyle, well, Harry isn't completely clear on how they're taking
it but the boy had a feeling that the two hadn't even realized that he's no
longer dorm-ing with them anymore. Absentmindedly he wondered what it must be
like to be them, it would be oddly serene being able to ignore everything for
the simpler pleasures the world had to offer.
Professor Snape the first time he saw the Boy Who Lived's new House colors had
given him some obscure expression on his face that could've translated to 'I
totally forgot about Potter not being in Slytherin oops' all the way to'May
rains of fire descend upon your yellow-tied person for deceiving me.' Neville,
who he had been chatting to at the time about herbs, nearly had a small stroke.
It is really so hard to see the painfully timid boy as Gryffindor, even for
Harry.
On the bright side, the boy had gotten to properly know Cedric Diggory. They
had a teasing banter going on based on friendly insults and jibes, something
that caused much double takes from their fellow 'puffs who had always seen the
handsome teen as the kind of the 'cool, nice, pretty boy' type character.
Honestly the only reason that their friendship bloomed like that was because
the Quidditch player walked into the first year dorms to politely ask Smith to
keep the noise down when he saw his bright yellow Christmas gift sitting idly
on Harry's bed and promptly burst into laughter. Harry of course swiftly
retaliated by throwing said Christmas gift in the older teen's face. Really, it
was the start of a beautiful friendship.
Cue Malfoy complaints here of course.
Harry almost missed the classic renditions of 'My father will hear of this.'
===============================================================================
It took longer than expected for the inevitable confrontation with Ron and
Hermione. For children these two held some surprising restraint for people
who'd been boring holes at the back of his head constantly the last two weeks.
Ron especially so. It looked like whatever secret he was trying to keep from
his best mate was eating him alive sometimes. Harry had to say he was impressed
with Ron for sticking out for so long. Annoyed. But impressed.
They ended up cornering the wizard saviour in a secluded classroom somewhere on
what he thinks was the second floor. Harry wasn't completely sure. He just
grabbed any hand railing on the way down from his fall and hoisted himself onto
solid ground before being whisked away by the Gryffindor pair.
"Ohthank god," Harry groaned when they practically manhandled him into the
room. "Finally. I've been waiting for weeks to know what the hell you guys have
been doing."
Ron looked just as relieved as him about this and Hermione just seemed bashful.
"It's a long story.." The freckled boy started but Hermione interrupted, "Have
you ever heard of the Philosopher's Stone?" she demanded in a rather
condescending manner. If Harry didn't know better he would think her slightly
smug at knowing something he didn't.
Granger was a nice girl. But she was also quite the petty one. Ron seemed to
have got fairly used to her because he didn't seem to be so irritated at the
interruption. Which, good for him. The youngest male Weasley needed another
close friend. Harry wasn't particularly fond of his choice of course but the
redheaded child could do worse.
"Oh, you mean the one locked up in Hogwarts right now?" Harry asked with a
overly sweet smile. He can be just as petty as the bushy haired girl if that's
what she wants.
Hermione gaped at him, stunned to speechlessness as Ron burst out a, "Blimey
mate you knew?! See Itold you we should've gone to Harry!"
"Snape's planning to steal it!" The girl rushed out as if her words were
running out of her mouth, ready to prove their worth. Harry raised an eyebrow.
"No." He said slowly, "No I don't think Professor Snape is."
"We saw him heading to the forbidden third floor corridor." Hermione hissed.
"And you know that injury of his before? Apparently it was a giant dog bite!"
Ron added in a much more excited attitude, evidently not fully comprehending
how serious his partner in crime was taking this. "A Cerberus guards up there,
me and Neville saw it ourselves when we were running from Filch."
"Not to mention we overheard Snape threatening Professor Quirrell into telling
him how to break anti-Dark Force spell." The girl pointed out with Ron nodding
in agreement before bringing up another thing Snape had done.
"To be fair though," Harry began once the barrage of accusations started
slowing down, "Snape sounds threatening at least forty percent of the time.
Also I'm not sure if you've been to Defense class recently but Neville made
Quirrel cry five minutes in because he accidentally.. I'm not exactly sure what
Neville did but the fact is Neville made Quirrell cry. So seeing the man
tremble at Snape's presence isn't really shocking."
"Yes but-"
"Do you have any proof?" The raven haired child stopped Hermione before her
protests were formed. "Is there some sort of recording where Professor Snape
admits he's been planning to rob an extremely powerful artefact?"
"Well no." Ron muttered sheepishly, "But Harry, I know you have a weird Snape
thing-"
"For the last time. I do not ha-"
"But you gotta admit mate its suspicious." He finished stubbornly. The other
boy tilted his head before nodding.
"Fine Ron. I admit the amount of coincidental evidence is quite suspicious."
Before the two Gryffindors could butt in again Harry gave a stern look which
easily shut their mouths temporarily shut. "However, as your friend I need to
stress that its still not exactly damning. If you went up to the other
professors right now with that sort of accusation, all it takes is Snape
himself saying otherwise and he's in the clear. Which I still think he is by
the way. It's kind of obvious you guys don't like him."
Hermione looked convinced at the logic of his argument, visibly muling over it
while Ron, who's always been the more emotional out of the three, still looked
ready to argue. "Then we can just poke around a bit more, I'm sure-"
"No." Harry said firmly, wanting to put this subject up for a swift and
painless execution. The Philosopher Stone was an object that attracted danger
like Chaos dipped in honey. Okay, well maybe not to that extent but he still
wasn't going to let these eleven year olds go after it. "You've done enough
poking around." He insisted admonishingly, fully aware of how old he sounded
right now, "Exams are around the corner and I bet you two have barely studied
despite the fact you've been hanging out constantly at the library."
Fully, painfully aware. Jesus Christ he was so old.
God he's not even capable of producing actual children and now he's apparently
stuck with two. They are so lucky he's had experience with unruly kids
considering what his Reapers get up to when unsupervised. And his Grim Reaper
'son' with his three horse riding friends. And Magic. And Fate. And Space. And
that one interesting time with Order. And Life. And Chaos. Oh god how could he
almost forgetChaos.
Hermione appeared to be taking his words to heart because her face was a
scrunched up mixture of shock, bashfulness and worry. "I totally forgot exams
were so close!" She wailed, "I haven't even rewritten my notes!"
Even Ron looked kind of anxious. Taking pity on the both of them Harry
graciously offered to help them study, an offer Ron left up to like a dying man
who'd just gained salvation and Hermione reluctantly agreeing too.
"Mate can we get some sandwiches too?" The redheaded boy asked, flinging an arm
around the skinnier boy's shoulder with friendly ease as the three made their
way up to the library, "You know for uh, study snacks."
"Ron you can't eat in the library!"
Harry laughed before fake whispering in the pouting freckled child's ear, "I'll
see what I can do yeah?"
"You're the best Harry."
===============================================================================
"Professor Snape?"
"Potter it's ten minutes near curfew and your new dorms are a good fifteen
minutes away, normal sized human beings or not. Shall I just deduct the thirty
points now and spare us all the trouble?" The tall potions master asked dryly.
The small entity just shrugged.
"Do what you must but I did come down here for a reason sir."
"And what," Snape drawled, "Is this so-called important reason that you
couldn't have waited tomorrow morning somewhere other than in front of my
personal rooms to inform me of?"
"Well I want to know how well protected the Philosopher's Sto-" He didn't even
get to finish his sentence before the professor whisked him into his quarters
with a harsh tag of his arm. Harry, surprised at the sudden action and unused
to being so roughly manhandled since the Dursley's, naturally ended up
stumbling from the force and crashing onto the ground in an undignified,
unhappy tangle. The boy looked up at the professor disgruntled and unamused.
"Ow." He deadpanned.
"How do you know about the Stone?" Snape demanded with a face like an oncoming
storm, you can hear the thunder rolling in the distance. Still, it seemed they
were on amiable terms at least because the older man still went over to help
Harry back up on his feet. Dusting himself off Harry couldn't stop himself from
looking around the professor's living room curiously. It was unsurprisingly
quite empty and full of books. If he craned his head slightly to the left he
could just make out a picture frame on the-
"Potter." Snape growled. Harry turned to look at him, oh yeah lightening and
thunder and hail was definitely in the forecast if he didn't get his mouth
moving soon.
"I knew about the Philosopher's Stone since after that first detention you gave
me." He answered honestly, Snape seemed somehow even angrier and paler at the
same time. Is this what the humans mean when they say 'white fury'? Harry hoped
not. "It's not like I particularly cared about it so I ignored the fact the
staff of this school saw fit to bring that thing here until now."
Looking a bit less furious with that backhanded reassurance Snape relaxed ever
so slightly. The man was still as taut as a high strung violin but at least now
Harry was somewhat positive he wasn't going to suddenly break that composure of
the professor's. "You're telling me you weren't even remotely interested in one
of the most powerful artefacts made by man? And I'm expected to believe that?"
Snape's eyes bore down into his own and the boy inexplicably felt the strangest
sensation, as if his brain was being lightly stroked by a fine haired paint
brush. It was.. odd. Not too unpleasant, any deeper maybe, but this
almosttickled. Harry refrained from giggling like the child his body was
though. He's pretty sure that wouldn't go well with the severe professor.
Instead he maintained the eye contact, vivid green glimmering with the mirth he
couldn't fully suppress at the unusual caresses and replied with nothing but
the truth on his lips. "Not even a bit."
Also the most powerful artefact? Please. That stone is junior league at best.
The professor looked surprised at that, like he actually believed him. Harry
certainly wouldn't have if the tables were turned, humans always did have a
thirst for many things that this alchemic rock could provide them. Riches.
Power. Knowledge. Immortality.
Maybe Snape trusted him more than he thought? That would be.. more pleasing
than he really understood.
At that musing the feather light touches seemed to recede from his mind and
Snape looked like he had he swallowed something sour, or had just admitted the
house of the brave was a shoo-in for that year end cup they're always talking
about. The professor appeared to have begun reaching out to Harry's person
before aborting the movement like he had been shaken awake from a dream. With
an awkward clearing of the throat Snape gave him an unreadable look.
"I, believe you." He stated. Harry gave the older man a small smile.
"Thank you."
There was silence after that. It didn't feel as short as it must've been. But
there was some unnamable presence in that silence that made it seem feel like
Time himself was literally dragging his body through the room with nothing but
his arms. Except for obviously less funny or sad. The atmosphere was less
distinct and yet at the same time suffocating.
"So if you haven't found any reason to bring this up before why now?" Snape
asked and Harry sighed in relief as the moment passed.
"Oh right." The child snapped his fingers repeatedly as he recalled why he was
here in the first place. "Yeah, Ron and Hermione know."
"What."
"Also they think you're the one whose going to steal the Stone."
"Excuse me?"
Harry looked at the potions professor's reaction, sure he sounded
understandably offended but there was an underlying resignation there that
Harry wasn't much of a fan of. "Of course I didn't believe them." He declared
firmly, hoping that Snape would understand that the boy was aware that the man
wasn't the cruel snake in the dungeons so many thought him as.
Snape was a proud, strong man, it unnerved Harry a bit to see the man so
accepting of such a horrible implication. Harry himself wouldn't have stood for
it if that happened to him personally.
The taller potions master cracked a crooked grin at the smaller child's
stubborn belief in him, misguided as it is. He refused to admit it out loud but
Snape could at least confess to himself that it was rather warming for someone
to trust him as much as Dumbledore without even an Unbreakable Vow to bind him
to his word.
"The problem is," Harry continued on, unaware of the half smile on the Head of
Slytherin's face. "Knowing those two, after exams are gone they're going to go
back to trying to play detective in this half baked mystery they've made. And
normally I would just let them have their fun but," The soft features of the
boy's face twisted slightly with worry and a maturity that had no right to be
on someone so young. It made Harry look infinitely older than his years and
Snape couldn't help but stare.
"But I can't in good conscience let them get hurt. Especially when I'm fully
aware of what sort of attention the Philosopher's stone tends to bring in."
"That's very.. good of you Potter." The older of the two finally responded a
bit lamely.
Harry looked up at the man, his gaze a green glow like a light at the end of a
dark tunnel Snape felt his own be drawn to it. "So will you at least tell me
what sort of protections are guarding the artefact? At the very least so I can
be reassured that my friends will be okay."
Snape stiffened. "Don't you think you should be asking someone else then
Potter? Reassurance isn't my strong point after all and I'm sure Professor
Mcgonagall would be taken in by your sob story."
The child gave a soft growl of frustration as small hands pushed back his hair,
"That's not what I meant and you know it professor."
"Then what is it that you mean? Because Potter, it sounds suspiciously like
you're trying to wrangle up details of something expressly forbidden to you."
The older man said coldly. Harry's eyes widened, half a manipulative action to
make the professor feel bad and half because he genuinely didn't even think of
that and he wanted the other to be fully aware of how much that accusation
stung. Okay so maybe it was all manipulative but he was still a bit hurt.
"I'm not, I'm not using you for information. Honest." He whispered, letting his
arms fold around his skinny chest in a defensive and at the same time
pathetically adorable posture. And yes the child was fully aware of what that
sort of thing does to people with souls. Pathetically adorable is a look he had
practically mastered. Silent judgement and Obliviously attractive are also some
'looks' he's also been told work wonders for him.
As expected it worked and Harry could practically hear the soft but oh so
satisfying crack in the potions master's demeanour. "This information doesn't
leave the room." Snape relented, the man walking toward a dark green couch
situated in what Harry figured was the living room. With a careless gesture
toward the furniture in question the older of the two summoned up a tumbler of
some sort of whisky, examined it speculatively, before downing a good portion
of it in one swift motion.
Taking it as his cue, Harry sat down on the sofa as quietly as he humanly could
and waited. He didn't have to wait long because Snape, after another swallow of
the beverage- though this time from a proper glass, presumably conjured- sat
down in a rather cushy looking chair in front of the boy. A part of Harry kind
of wished that he took that spot but let the thought slide away, Snape looked
ruffled enough. The whole feathers flying saying? Not something the entity-
child wanted to witness firsthand.
"Unless an emergency calls for it." Harry tried to reason.
"If an emergency called for it you go straight to me or another professor you
foolhardy buffoon." Snape snapped irritably, pouring himself another glass.
Truly a role model for all teachers to stand up to.
The first year rolled his eyes agreed with a sulky, "Fine."
"Good. Now the Philosopher's Stone is very well protected, there are seven
various trials provided by seven of the professors themselves including me-"
Snape began listing the different barriers securing the stone to the child who
listened quietly and with a growing feeling that at the moment he found hard
pressed to name. It made his stomach bubble and his head feel light, his heart
pound and the boy felt a prickling nuzzle at the back of his neck. Harry knew
what the feeling was. It was on the very tip of his tongue.
"- and that's why you have no need to fret like some mother hen Potter." The
potions professor and Head of Slytherin ended, looking at the Boy who Lived
expectedly. He'd probably thought he was reassuring or comforting or giving
Harry some relief but no, that wasn't what he was feeling at all. What he was
feeling was more on the lines of,
"I think I'm horrified." Harry replied faintly. "Can I have some of what your
drinking please?"
"Absolutely not Potter." Was the immediate and devastating reply. As a
primordial force of death and darkness he's never been one for taking up
alcohol like some of his other siblings but right now he's pretty sure his
child meat suit would soak up the drink like a sponge. And damn does he need to
be liquored up right now.
"Can you at least, I don't know, alter your security choices? Or even your
definition of security." The boy groaned, sinking his face into his hands.
"Because I'm severely disappointed in you Professor Snape, the other six
professors, especially Headmaster Dumbledore and generally the foundation of
all Wizarding education."
"You are over exaggerating."
Harry stared at the older man. "AmI Professor?"
Snape stared back. "Yes. We took every precaution."
"Every- there's only seven security measures."
"Yes but-"
"Any half competent first year can get past all of them except for obviously
the last one which you refused to tell me but I am putting what little optimism
I have on the Headmaster left into it. Actually…" Green eyes narrowed, "You
guys are doing this onpurpose." He accused.
The silence was short but telling. Now that he was actually looking instead of
mourning the death of logic in wizards, Harry realised that the older male had
been hiding his amusement beforehand this whole time, in the faint creases of
mirth in his eyes and the pursing of his lips. The child could tell what he had
missed now that all the traces of humour were gone and a very different
appearance graced the potions master. Serious and piercing, no where were any
of his edges softened like before.
"I think it's time to leave Potter."
Harry stared, his own lightheartedness fading fast. "Yes." He agreed frostily.
"I think so too."
Standing abruptly up, hands clenched to the sides of his robes the boy let
himself be led out of Snape's quarters. As he stepped out of into the halls
Harry heard the other murmur a quiet, "I am regretful at how things ended but I
do not regret what I won't divulge."
Harry made no show of if he heard the man and walked away.
He had some things to think about.
And a Headmaster to vent his frustrations on.
===============================================================================
"Password?"
The whites of Harry's eyes seeped black, emphasising even more the unearthly
glow of furious green. "I suggest you move away creature of stone before I do
it myself." He snarled.
With a gulp the gargoyle immediately obeyed. If Harry was in a slightly better
mood he would've thanked the statue, if a little sarcastically. Unfortunately
Harry was not in a better mood, he was in foul ugly mood that he had slowly
worked up to during the walk from the dungeons to the Headmaster's office. If
the stone gargoyle had a working bladder it would've emptied itself. The
paintings certainly looked like they had if the lack of people in there were
any indication.
Stomping into the office the first thing he noticed was the Phoenix looking at
him curiously. It was probably a good thing that was what he laid eyes on as
just seeing the beautifully fiery bird was enough to let the darkness shifting
out of him to calm enough to recede back. As if recognising it's duty done the
creature of fire settled back down on it's perch lazily, much like a person
getting ready to watch a movie.
"Mr Potter." Dumbledore who had turned to face the unexpected intruder looked
quite surprised when he'd realised who exactly was it. "How did you get in
here? Not that this isn't a pleasant surprise."
"You're trying to bait me." Harry said lowly. The elderly wizard raised a brow
and looking genuinely confused.
"Excuse me?"
"The Philosopher Stone, the unicorn attacks, the really halfhearted traps."
Harry listed off his fingers while he tried to burn through the headmaster's
head with his eyes alone. "I think you are being purposely obtuse on purpose
professor. And if you think I wouldn't see the big picture then you obviously
should've made an effort to get to know me better."
"And what.." Dumbledore paused, giving the young child a considering stare as
he sat down behind his large mahogany desk and steepled his fingers together,
"Do you think is the big picture my boy?"
Harry looked at the older man annoyed before purposely walking to the edge of
the man's desk and picked up a glass bowl filled with circular yellow sweets.
"Ah, how rude I've been. Mr Potter would you like a- MY LEMON DROPS!"
The sound of glass shattering was accompanied by small childish hands slamming
on to the desk between the two. "The perpetrator responsible for slaughtering
the unicorns is obsessed with prolonging life, hence the fact only blood has
been taken from the creatures. But as everyone knows, drinking unicorn's blood
without consent is a stupid thing to do unless," Harry picked up a bunch of
lemon flavoured candies and melted them down in his hand until they hardened
into one large yellow rock. "Unless the criminal had his eye on something far
greater in the first place."
With just a little pressure Harry let the sweet crumple in his hands, watching
the older wizard's whimper at the damage. "You would've known this and
logically set traps accordingly, but to capture, not to kill. Yet all your so-
called safety precautions, even if we assume that maybe the end game was to
catch this person in the act itself, are disgustingly easy to get past."
"Now that's not very nice, the professors-"
"If you tell me the professors did their very best in ensuring no-one could get
to the stone I will cry Headmaster." The boy warned. "I will actually cry. Real
tears. Because most of the things you need to get past those trials is a good
grasp of the first year, and I'm going to repeat this again, first year
curriculum, the ability to sing the alphabet well and maybe a fairly
intermediate skill in logic."
"Professor McGonagall's protection was quite clever actually." Dumbledore
countered weakly. "Also, how do you know about all of the levels?"
"That's neither here nor there." Harry casually dismissed. "And Professor
McGonagall's chess set doesn't even need to be played. It can pretty much be
ignored, it only feels like your obligated to play. Like when someone asks how
your feeling you immediately say you're okay, even when you're obviously not."
The boy dramatically inhaled some more air into his lungs, truly the problem
with having such limited breath span, "And to be brutally honest, it's got
nothing to do with her subject of Transfiguration."
"What's that got to do with anything?" The Headmaster asked, apparently he's
gone from shocked, confused straight onto just plain embarrassed with a good
dash of distantly amused. At least the crazy old wizard was having some fun
over this. Admittedly ranting on all the flaws of Dumbledore's plan had quite
the soothing effect and now even Harry was feeling better enough to see the
humour in this situation.
Harry shrugged, "Not much except everyone else kept to their respective
subjects and character. It just kind of annoyed me."
Dumbledore chuckled at that before his face turned more serious. "Mr Potter,
your deductions are quite accurate, scarily so I admit but why would you think
I was, to put it in your terms, baiting you?"
The first year cocked his head to the side, "Well it's more of a hypothesis of
mine really. The fact you ensured first year students could overcome these
obstacles either means your expecting this person you're trying to catch to be
incompetent," That earned another chuckle from the elderly wizard, "Or maybe
you want someone else to confront this criminal. Someone who has just joined
the Hogwarts cohort and is expected to uphold the title of Wizard Saviour?"
"That… may or may not be the case." Dumbledore said warily, the headmaster
watching the child like it was the first time he really saw Harry Potter. "You
truly are a remarkable young boy aren't you?"
"I am what I am professor." Harry replied with a wry grin as he gestured to
himself, "Nothing more, nothing less."
"So you may or may not be correct in your assumptions of me may or may not have
been doing what you may have thought. What would you do now Mr Potter if I may
ask?"
"Well I may or may not be particularly pleased with the steps you may or may
not have taken to this point of time but my friends may or may not have gotten
mixed up in this mess, resulting in me may or may not going and ending up
following what you may or may not have wanted me to do in possible the first
place."
Dumbledore blinked, "I.. may or may not have fully understood what you have
said Mr Potter." He confessed and this time Harry actually giggled.
"That's okay Professor. You may or may not want to know anyway." And with that,
the Boy who Lived sauntered casually out of the office, the doors opening
before the child like he owned the place.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts watched the boy go with a wistful smile and a
twinkle in his eyes. When the doors finally closed the elderly wizard looked at
Fawkes fondly and stroked his beard. "Well. I certainly didn't expect that."
Fawkes gave a quiet squawk.
"Yes, yes, this is turning out to be a much more interesting new era than I
first thought." Then, looking forlornly at the glass shards and cracked pieces
of the lemon flavoured hard candy he added, "I just wish people would stop
doing that."
===============================================================================
Now Harry didn't want to be brag. But he totally, as the young people say,
'bombed' the exams. Which is to say, he did very well. Not that he released
some sort of explosion midway through the tests.
Transfiguration, Charms, Astronomy and Defence against the Dark Arts were
easier than learning to breathe, both in the written and practical aspects. In
fact, with the exception of History of Magic (which he might've have instead
detailed a four foot essay on the various ways a ghost could be exorcised from
the living world instead of some old Goblin war treaty), the child was fairly
confident that all his written papers were quite perfect if he did say so
himself. The Defence paper was a little bit more challenging mainly due to this
excruciating headache he had somehow built up during that time though, it was
strange. Maybe his human body is allergic to concentrated garlic smells?
Herbology as expected in the practical element didn't go so well, what with
there always seeming to be a good fifty-fifty chance of whatever plant in front
of Harry shrivelling up at his touch. The boy had contented himself to a
perfect zero in that portion of the exam. That really couldn't be helped.
In Potions the colours were slightly off to what they should have been but
Professor Snape had been unusually silent when he examined his Forgetfulness
potion. Actually the dour faced man had been unusually silent since their last
meeting. Harry wondered to himself why he found himself wanting to be friends
with such a complicated sourpuss.
As said before Transfiguration and Charms was a breeze. Professor Flitwick
called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap
dance across a desk and wandlessly the boy had made the pineapple tap and jive
and samba to the rhythm of some music he conjured himself. Professor McGonagall
asked them all to turn a mouse into a snuffbox. Harry, who had spent a large
chunk of this year creating special 'assignments' for the woman knew exactly
the sort of aesthetic appeal that she most admired. And he pulled all the
stops, from ornate gold carvings of frolicking lions to the intricate crimson
edging and smatters of rubies.
Now he could have had easily not shown off to such a condescending extent but
Zacharias, the night before exams started might have proclaimed that his
parents would get him a whole number of gifts if he got first place in any
subject and, well, that just wouldn't do. Also Hermione's face when he showed
off that snuffbox was worth its weight in gold.
Speaking of which, the exams were exactly the sort of thing that managed to get
Ron and Hermione's mind off the Stone and their insistence that Snape was the
culprit. Even when it was finally over the trio along with Harry's Slytherin
friends flocked toward the sunny grounds outside to relax and revel in the lack
of academia.
"That was far easier than I thought it would be," Hermione commented as they
all settled comfortably in the grass. "I needn't have learned about the 1637
Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."
"The what of the what?" Harry asked sleepily.
"Something about potions I think." Ron tried helpfully.
"Well at least there's no more studying." Blaise offered tentatively to the
Gryffindor boy who groaned appreciatively at the idea.
"Yeah," Draco grinned, he had the faintest smudge of ink on his pale skin which
no one wanted to point out least they incur the vanity of a scorned Malfoy.
"And we've got a week before we find out how badly Weasley's done, there's no
need to worry yet Granger."
"Oi!"
Everyone laughed and for once the two Houses almost seemed to get along,
bantering and trading friendly enough insults, though Hermione looked a little
distant not that anyone but Harry really noticed. She looked like she was
nearing some sort of epiphany. Or heart attack.
Suddenly her eyes lit up and Harry could hear the little 'ding' of her brain as
she grabbed Ron's arm and stood up. "Ron! I just realised something, we have to
go right now!"
The redhead looked reluctant but all it took was another sharp tug and a hissed
"Ron." and the two were off toward the castle like a shot. The freckled boy did
give an apologetic glance at Harry and waved goodbye but Hermione didn't even
look back, too engrossed in her earlier realisations.
"Well that was rude." Nott huffed with Crabbe and Goyle nodding their heads as
they mushed on a chocolate frog.
Blaise frowned like the two leaving was a personal offence to him. Considering
it was one of the first time's he'd ever tried passing the metaphorical olive
branch to the two, it probably was.
"Wonder what that was all about?" Draco sniffed.
Harry watched them go with a growing suspicion. "Who knows."
===============================================================================
"It's tonight," whispered Ron, once Harry managed to corner the two in the
halls just when Professor McGonogall was leaving. "Snape's going through the
trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs, and now he's got
Dumbledore out of the way. He sent him an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic
and I bet the Ministry will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."
"Guys it is not Snape, I cannot-"
Hermione gasped. Harry and Ron twisted around. Only to see Snape standing there
right behind them.
"Good afternoon," The professor greeted smoothly with an odd, almost sinister
smile. "You really shouldn't be inside on a day as nice as this- people will
think you're up to something won't day?"
And wow, it was almost like the man wanted to freak people out into believing
he was killing unicorns and stealing magic stones. That was just disturbing.
Hermione and Ron seemed to agree if their rapidly paling faces were anything to
go by.
Beetle black eyes slid toward the smallest boy of the trio, lingering on Harry
while his smile dropped from his face. With a small nod of acknowledgement
Snape then strode toward the staffroom.
As soon as the black robed professor left their sight, the two Gryffindors
immediately huddled around Harry looking twice as determined now. Whatever
intimidation tactic that had been was obviously ineffective.
"Right then, here's what we've got to do-" So, so ineffective. "One of us has
got to keep an eye on Snape, wait outside the staff room and follow him if he
leaves it. Hermione, you'd better do that." Ron whispered.
"What?" Hermione asked a little put out. "Why me?"
Ron rolled his eyes, for once the positions felt rather reversed and Harry had
to stifle an inelegant snort. "Obviously because your the only person here that
would have a proper excuse to hang around a teacher's lounge." Then in a fake
falsetto voice Ron fluttered his eyelashes, "Oh Professor Sprout, I think there
was a spelling error on question six,"
"Oh shut up," Hermione huffed before it turned into a round of giggles that
Harry happily joined in with. "And Harry could have just as much reason to be
there than me."
"Yeah but I'm useful in a fight." Harry pointed out smugly, laughing when the
bushy haired girl playfully slapped the top of his head huffily.
"Also Harry has a weird Snape thing so he can't be fully trusted." Now it was
Hermione's turn to be laughing while Harry huffed.
"Honestly there is no Snape thi-"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say mate, come on lets go." The Boy who Lived
grumbled but went along anyways.
Though Ron's plan just wasn't meant to be because as soon as they began
loitering around the forbidden third floor corridor they met face to face with
Professor McGonagall. And she was storming mad. "Fifty points from Gryffindor!
So you think you can just get past our enchantments, well I have had enough of
this foolish nonsense! If I even hear you've comeback around here again I'll
take another fifty, no, eighty points from Gryffindor! And you Mr Potter,"
Harry winced, that right there is the sort of intimidation that Snape should
have used. Harry was certainly very afraid. "I don't know if this was something
Mr Weasley dragged you along with or not but I am severely disappointed with
you. Forty points from Hufflepuff!"
The two boys just nodded and scampered off before the second wave of rage came
down, the green eyed first year followed his friend to the Gryffindor tower and
patted his back consolingly. "At least Hermione's watching out for Snape." He
reassured.
And of course that was the moment Hermione came out of the Fat Lady's portrait.
"I lost Snape."
"Well he is rather thin, lanky and dressed all in black- you sure he's just not
in a shadowy corner?" Hermione cracked a grin at Harry's attempt at a joke but
Ron uncharacteristically looked quite grave.
"Guys this can't be the end." He said defiant and determined. "We can't let
Snape win. Not this."
And oh did Harry so want to defend Snape but the situation was much too movie-
esque to ruin at this point. Also he might be still a tad miffed at the man. He
looked at the bushy haired girl a bit resignedly, knowing at least she will
know how he stands in this before turning his head back to Ron and nodding.
"Fine. But I refused to be caught and expelled so we are using my Invisibility
Cloak."
Ron's face instantly brightened, "I knew you would come through for me mate!
Now le-wait you have an Invisibility Cloak?"
The green eyed child scratched the back of his head bashfully. "Did I not tell
you guys?" Ron groaned.
"See 'mione? We should've totally talked to Harry about this ages ago."
"Yes." She admitted sheepishly, "We should've."
===============================================================================
Harry decided it would just be easier if he hung out at the Gryffindor Tower
till nightfall, he didn't want to go back to his dorms when it was dark since
it tended to freak out the paintings whenever he passed. Instead, the child
popped down to get his cloak during dinnertime and then joined his friends back
in the tower. The other two restless and pacing whilst Harry cuddled his cloak
to his chest.
Unexpectedly Harry was the first one to crack.
"Okay this is killing me, let's just go now." Ron and Hermione jumped onto that
suggestion faster than hungry hyenas on a freshly slaughtered gazelle.
"We'd better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all three of us. If
Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own.." Ron trailed off, blue
eyes having spotted something.
"What are you doing?" said a voice from the corner of the room. Neville
appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the toad, who looked as
though he'd been making another bid for freedom.
"It's nothing Neville." The redhead tried to persuade while Harry wondered what
he should do with the obvious cloak in his hands. He didn't have to decide in
the end because Hermione grabbed it and stuffed it behind her back. Rude.
Neville obviously did not look too persuaded. It did not help that his
Gryffindor friends couldn't have looked any more guilty unless they painted
their faces with the words GUILTY on them in bright red. "You're going out
again." He accused.
Harry glared at his friends. How many times have these kids been caught? "Oi,
how many times have you guys gotten caught?"
"No, no, no," Said Hermione, like repeating the word would make it somehow less
false. "No, we're not. Uh, maybe you should go to bed, Neville?"
Neville shook his head. "You guys can't go out, Gryffindor is already in too
much trouble thanks to you guys." Then to Harry, "Not you of course." He said
apologetically.
"No, seriously, how many times have you guys gotten caught?" Harry repeated.
"Neville it's really important you don't understand." Ron pleaded by the chubby
boy wasn't swayed. If anything he looked even more determined.
"I-I can't let you do this." Oh boy. "I'll f-fight you if I have to!"
"Neville, don't be an idiot!" Ron whisper shouted.
"Don't call me an idiot! And I won't let you make us lose anymore points for
our House! Besides you told me that I should stand up for myself."
"Yeah but not to us." Ron tried explaining frustrated.
The temporary Hufflepuff slapped his hand to his face.
"Go on, just try to hit me." Neville demanded, apparently now getting into it,
his fists up in the air ready to fight.
"Do something." Ron hissed desperately to Hermione. She looked at the freckled
boy before stepping forward toward Neville who took a small step back. "I'm
really sorry about this Neville." The girl raised her wand and-
"Woah, woah,woah." Harry said, practically throwing himself between the his
friends and the terrified Neville. "What the freck Hermione?"
"I- it was a full Body Bind hex." She whispered, looking quite regretful at
what she had been about to do.
Neville was staring at Hermione horrified. Well, those two were probably not
going to be friends anytime in the near future.
"Look." Harry began firmly. "I get we have stuff to do and a time limit not to
miss but that's not okay. You may be one of the best students right now but
we're also first years, can you imagine if you got the incantation wrong?
Something like that could have paralysed him!"
Hermione looked suitably alarmed, though not as alarmed as Neville who looked
torn between being ready to faint or to try inching away from the girl as
subtly as possible. The entity-turned-child turned to the scared boy and gave
an awkward smile. "Neville, I am really so sorry for what Hermione did. It was
inexcusable and I hope you can forgive us for it."
The two behind him nodded their heads vigorously but Neville shot them a
surprisingly hard stare that made them stop. "Y-you didn't do anything Harry."
He stuttered, deftly avoiding having to forgive his fellow housemates. Neville
even gave a shy smile, maybe the boy was braver than he looks all things
considering, "I guess I can pretend I didn't see you guys tonight though."
"Thanks Neville I'd appreciate it a lot." He said genuinely, he did not have
the time nor inclination to deal with anymore drama this year. "And if we do
get caught I'll see what I can do to make sure Gryffindor doesn't get punished
again."
The brunette first year blushed, "No n-need, you already did enough by saving
me."
Harry winked cheekily, "Anytime."
With one last guilt-inducing expression that made both Ron and Hermione squirm,
Neville went back to his rooms. When he was gone from sight Harry clasped his
hands together satisfied at the social bomb he'd managed to diffuse. He was
getting much better at these situations.
"So, let's go. We have a rock to rescue right?"
===============================================================================
When they got to the third floor corridor, the door was already slightly ajar.
Obviously their mystery person was kind of stupid.
"Well, last chance guys if you want to leave," Ron murmured under the cloak.
Hermione shook her head, "We're coming with you."
"And I don't like the idea of you two going in alone." Harry drawled.
"Especially now that I know how terrible you guys are at not getting caught."
They pushed the door slowly open, all internally cringing at the inevitable
sounds of the old hinges squeaking and the following rumbling sounds of what
sounded like three very grumpy giant dogs. Even though the Cerberus can't see
them under the cloak, the hound could still smell something amiss. Though it
didn't look that ready to maul anyone anymore, in fact it seemed happy, eager,
almost…
Oh dear.
Yeah Harry really didn't want to confront the three-headed beast if he could
avoid it. Hagrid's cowardly dog was bad enough. He doesn't think with this
petite mortal body of his could handle that sort of trauma.
"Does anyone have some sort of musical instrument? Or just a really decent
singing voice?" Harry hissed.
"Looks like Snape brought a harp." Hermione pointlessly pointed out, the
instrument lying innocently in the corner. "It was probably charmed to play
till he got past Fluffy."
"Great. So he's a fan of the classics." Harry rolled his eyes, "Now if you do
excuse me but I want to know if you have the ability to produce music whether
from a procured item or the holes in your head so we do not, in fact, get
mauled." In more ways than one.
"I.. can't sing." The bushy haired girl blushed.
"I.. forgot to bring the flute Hagrid got me." Ron admitted.
Harry turned around to face his fellow partners in crime under the cloak and
glared disbelieving. "When this is over you are going to owe me. So hard."
"Yes." The redhead fervently nodded along with Hermione who added with an
eager, "So hard."
With one last narrowing of his eyes he turned back to face the slightly
distorted room through the cloak and sighed. He suspected this, but right now
it couldn't be anymore obvious. Despite everything, he's still a complete
pushover.
"Uhh, what should I sing?" He muttered half to himself.
"What about Waltzing Matilda? That always got me to bed when I was small."
Hermione suggested.
"I've never heard of that one." Ron said a little baffled.
"It's a muggle song." The girl explained.
"Waltzing Matilda? Yeah okay, I think I know that one." Harry agreed, then with
a small breath he began to sing. Considering his childlike state his voice was
still quite nice, he'd like to think, despite it being quite feminine.
"Waltzing Matilda, she'll come and kill ya, Waltzing Matilda, Matilda said she.
And she'll sing as she watches and waits till your feet will boil, cause you'll
come a' waltzing with Matilda that's she."
"Wait that's not-"
"Down came a passerby, helpless and all alone. Up jumped Matilda and grabbed
him with glee. And she sang as she shoved his body through her sharpened claws,
'You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.'"
"Merlin."
"Waltzing Matilda, she'll come and kill ya, She's Waltzing Matilda, Matilda
said she. And she'll come over yonder to ask you for your final dance, You'll
come Waltzing Matilda with she."
"Harry-"
"Up went the body, mounted on his own-"
"HARRY!" The boy looked at the two annoyed, for some reason they were looking
quite ill. "What is it? I'm trying to- oh huh, Fluffy's already sleeping. I
must be better at this singing thing than I thought."
Ron and Hermione stared at the unconscious three-headed dog, all it's mouths
frothing as it lay uncomfortably on it's back.
"Mate, you could make skeletons shiver with that song." Ron said slowly, Harry
was touched. What a sweet thing to say.
"Thank you." He said genuinely. The redhead looked confused, "No I meant- mph!"
Hermione's hand covered Ron's mouth as she hastily answered with, "Let's not
waste anymore time shall we?" Harry nodded, still feeling quite pleased at his
friends praise. He's secretly quite proud of his voice, many of his subjects
always told him it was 'beautifully chilling', 'painfully haunting' and 'shook
them to the literal core' but it's very flattering to get that sort of critique
from people not obligated to tell him so.
The Devil's Snare trapdoor was fairly easy to get past, they didn't even
realise what it was because the moment Harry accidentally leaned on it when he
fell the whole thing just shrivelled up and died. It was quite embarrassing to
be honest. "Cheer up Harry." The girl tried as Harry walked with his face in
his hands. "I mean, plants are quite, the Devil's Snare is,"
"Mate you could totally work as a magical weed repellent."
Harry blushed and tried to bury his face in his hands even further. It did not
work.
"Hey, can you guys hear something?"
"Yeah like rushing water or-"
"A ton of tiny wings." Harry finished.
They reached the end of the passageway and before them was a chamber filled
with small shiny keys with wings, fluttering and tumbling all around the room.
On the opposite side of them, distanced by the keys, was a heavy wooden door.
"Okay so we're probably going to have to find a key to fit the door." Hermione
mused.
"Are you serious?" The youngest Weasley bemoaned, "There must be hundred of
these things."
"Key with broken wing.Come." Harry intoned, immediately summoning said key.
When he showed his prize triumphantly the other two looked a little dumbstruck.
"What? It was the only one that's obviously been used. And you guys seem to
keep forgetting, I'm like your overpowered mascot character here."
The next room was McGonagall's giant chess board. He wondered how much money
went into this sort of thing instead of for proper expenses. Like better
quality teachers and security. Despite knowing they could just bypass it
completely, Harry allowed Ron's moment to shine. The boy needed some proper
confidence for himself after all.
In the end proper confidence was gained but the consciousness of Ron himself
was gone, knocked out cold when he sacrificed the chess piece he was riding.
Not wanting to leave him alone in the room like some kind of bastard, Harry
wandlessly and wordlessly lifted the redhead's prone form into the air and with
Hermione, moved to the next door.
Which had a troll lying unconscious as well.
It's nice to know that unicorns this man would happily murder but a troll was
just too much for the man's delicate sensibilities.
Finally the second last door, Snape's room, was opened and it was bare except
for the table contains seven different bottles and a riddle. Once they stepped
in, both the exit behind them and the entrance to the final room flared purple
fire and black fire respectively, trapping them in place. Harry once again let
his friend have a go at playing the hero and it wasn't very long before
Hermione picked up the smallest vial and announced it to be the answer.
"But there's only enough for one person." She said worriedly. Harry closed his
eyes and withheld a sigh. Damn Fate was so obvious.
"You take that potion that get's you and Ron back through the other rooms and
get a teacher, hell, scream bloody murder if you have to. And use the brooms
back in the key room to get there."
"But what about you Harry?"
Harry quirked a crooked smile. "Ain't it obvious?" Hermione gasped,
"But what if.. You-Know-Who is there?" The boy cocked his head, curiously. So
that's what got those two children so hyped up. It wasn't just the possibility
of Snape but also the so-called Dark Lord. Made sense. Not much logic but made
sense.
"Well I was pretty lucky the first time yeah?" Harry waggled his brows,
purposely pulling attention toward the scar on his forehead.
Hermione's lips wobbled, and suddenly she threw herself at Harry and
constricted her arms around him.
"Hermione?" He asked slightly strangled and a tad confused.
"Harry -you're a great wizard, you know. I am sorry for being such a, a git to
you." The raven haired boy chuckled and awkwardly patted her back.
"Hey, it's a little trying at times I admit but that's what friends who are
rivals are yes?"
She looked up at him with wide teary brown eyes. "Y-you consider me as a
rival?" She said in awe. Harry nodded. "Of course, there's no way I would look
down at you."
She hugged him tighter and the scrawny child could feel his bones grinding at
the pressure. "You better not get hurt out there then, because I am going to
best you next year and I need you to be in top shape for that." Hermione
demanded.
"Then you should really let go." He said with a harsh wheeze.
===============================================================================
So turned out the person who murdered unicorns for their blood, who Mars had
foretold to the centaurs, who had planned to steal the Philosopher's stone was
not Snape. Which, Harry wanted to point out, he never doubted for a second.
Turned out though the culprit was none other than Professor Quirrell. Which
admittedly never even crossed his mind.
To be honest he still kind of thinks someone shapeshifted into Quirrell and the
usually quivering man is sleeping soundly in his garlic infused bedroom.
"I bet you thought it would be Severus didn't you?" The man mocked, looking
nothing like how he'd portrayed himself the past year.
"No. Not at all." Harry deadpanned. "But I am surprised it was you through
sir."
Quirrell laughed, "Potter, still so polite. But of course you didn't think it
was me, after all, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor
Quirrell?"
"It was very smart, I am actually incredibly impressed." The boy admitted
easily and honestly. The turbaned man seemed surprise at the praise, even a bit
forlorn.
"You were always one of the nicer brats here, it is a pity that I'm going to
kill you."
And with that Quirrell snapped his fingers ropes sprung out of nothing but the
air as they wrapped themselves snugly around Harry. The first year Hufflepuff
once again was impressed. Not only could the man act but do some magic
wandlessly and wordlessly, apparently a feat of strength in this world. Maybe
his stories weren't as false as everyone first thought. Harry wished to
continue seeing what more the Defense professor could do so he laid back to
watch.
Turned out there wasn't that much after. Quirrell said more of his piece,
literally explaining everything he had done like some egotistical fool and then
muttering his annoyance at the Mirror of Erised that was apparently the last
thing between the Philosopher's stone and them.
"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"
Yeah this was disappointing. Harry wondered if Quirrell's soul tastes like
cheese, surprisingly complex for it's bland appearance but ultimately only good
in it's first bite.
"Use the boy... Use the boy..."
And holy shite, was there a second soul in the older man's body? That can't be
right, unless there was some very special circumstances, forcing two souls to
coexist in one body takes an incredible amount of strain and deformation on
both parties.
Whilst pondering on this, Quirrell had dragged him in front of the mirror,
ordering the child to tell him what he saw. Harry rolled his eyes but complied
anyway. He forced himself to imagine the Philosopher's Stone in his pocket and
easily enough it was there. The mirror was pretty much charmed to make sure
whoever takes the ugly thing wouldn't want to use it for himself.
There was literally no need for any of the other crap. Dammit Dumbledore.
"What do you see?"
"I see me smashing Dumbledore's stupid bowl filled with candy." Harry lied. It
was less his greatest desire and more of a very accurate premonition.
The professor looked completely thrown with the answer and the child used it to
move away, quietly loosening the ropes as he did. Then, on the back of the
taller male's head, a raspy chuckle was heard.
"Interesting.. Let me speak to him.. Face to face."
Quirrell balked. "Master, you are not strong enough!"
"I have... enough strength for this."
'If you have to pause between sentences you probably don't.' Harry internally
commented. He was getting irritated now. Close quarters with the Defense
professor was taking its toll and his head was starting to ache like he'd been
punched there.
Quirrell shakily began unwrapping his turban, the pain in his forehead was
absolutely blinding and when the Defense professor turned around it took a few
seconds to recollect himself to see-
"Oh Mr Riddle." Harry breathed forlornly as he realised who exactly was on the
back of the man's face. "What have you done to yourself?"
It was... Unnerving. There really wasn't much he could say about it. Where the
back of Quirrell's head should've been was instead the twisted, scarred face
that the entity could only recognize because of the all too familiarly colored
crimson that bore into his eyes. What was even more horrific than that was when
Harry forced himself to look deeper, he had to cringe at the absolute
blatantdisfiguration of the already tiny remains of the soul inside. He's
surprised he hadn't just shattered.
Sure he'd always had a morbid fascination in the dark and twisted and oh so
interesting, even when it came to his previous souls, especially his souls. But
this was beyond that. This was pathetic and ugly and heartbreakingly tragic.
Maybe it was a by product of being so human the last few years but Harry didn't
feel the same curiosity and intrigue he knew he would've felt before all this.
He just felt sick and sad.
"Harry Potter." The face whispered, apparently he hadn't heard him, nor
recognised him. The child faced entity wasn't much surprised after such an
amount mutilation self inflicted on the being. It'll take time, ages for the
shard to repair even half the damage if he manages to free himself from the
already occupied meat suit.
"See what I have become?" The face said. And oh, Harry saw, the thing was if Mr
Riddle saw. Mr Riddle had been smart and sarcastic and quite charismatic even
as a dilapidated wraith. This self proclaimed Lord Voldemort, for that's who he
must be, was a weak, pathetic shard clinging and afraid as it acted like an
inelegant parasite on the unsuspecting Quirrell who probably wasn't even fully
aware of how this would really affect him in the long term.
The boy moved closer, rope bindings slipping off him as easily as water would
have, and looked up at the two faced man sadly. "Yes, I think I do."
And then he reached up on the tips of his toes, both hands ready to touch each
face to seperate the souls from slowly destroying each other more than they
already had. However who he made contact with skin, something surprising
happened.
"AAGGHHHH!" Quirrell screamed, immediately dropping to his knees, "KILL HIM,
KILL HIM!" came the frantic tortured cry of Voldemort, their faces blistering
and what seemed to be melting.
Harry, surprised at the unexpected reaction startled quite violently,
tightening his grip and inducing even more howls of pain.
"Fuck!" He jumped back, unsure of what just happened. Harry knew he didn't do
anything, he was absolutely sure of it so then why-?
It was too late for the men though, the sight of them was not aesthetically
pleasing in the slightest. Burnt skin and blisters and open bloody wounds.
Definitely not something easily described. Once again Harry couldn't help but
be glad the real Harry Potter wasn't there to see this.
===============================================================================
In the end he let Mr Riddle go. Quirrell's soul was drained nearly dry for all
the good it did and wasn't very salvageable. That saddened him in a way the
loss of life would have saddened his fellow counterpart. He ended up untangling
and sometimes even ripping the twisted tendrils of Mr Riddle and Professor
Quirrell's two souls to get them apart, it was messy work and there was
probably some more damage from it as well but finally what little left of
crimson red was recovered and set free. Once again it turned into a wraith like
form but now so much less distinct, unrecognisable.
Mr Riddle didn't even look back, so lost in the madness he incurred on himself.
Harry felt quite glum as he sat there, deformed carcass by his side as he
swallowed the pale yellow soul down his throat. The soul will be recycled in
him, broken down and remade with other bits he's feasted on until it becomes
something new entirely. It was a hollow victory.
===============================================================================
"So in the end what did you do with the Stone?" Harry asked as he sipped a cup
of herbal tea. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he sucked on his favoured candy in
a suspiciously familiar glass bowl. It had been three days since and while
everyone's been fretting over Harry- who thought that one whole day in the
infirmary to recover form the 'shock' was a bit much- the commotion has more or
less been settling down.
"It's been destroyed." Dumbledore answered, Harry stared, tea forgotten.
"What about Flamel?"
"Ah yes, we had a little discussion and Nicholas and I thought it to be the
best."
"Won't him and his wife die then?"
"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes,
they will die." Dumbledore smiled like he wasn't just talking about the death
of an old friend. Harry wondered if he could get his reapers to pro-order those
souls for his private collection. Original Flamels were so hard to get these
days.
"Wait." The child paused. "So you spent money on all those stupid traps which I
had to pass, willingly endangered students and I ended up killing a man for
absolutely notHING?!"
The old wizard looked down at his hands. "Yes well, when you say it like that
it does sound quite awful doesn't it?"
The sound of glass shattering and the door slamming was all he got as an
answer.
"I.. Should have seen that coming."
===============================================================================
Harry sat next to Cedric at the End-of-Year Feast, something which the older
boy had insisted after hearing a (very dramatic) retelling of what the Boy-Who-
Lived had faced. The rumour mill surprisingly was more or less correct except
for the last part which was something only Harry and Harry alone would truly
know. The edited version was still Quirrell being the surprise culprit but in
no way or form was Voldemort mentioned. The boy wasn't sure if that was the
best idea but he knew that the man would take at least two years to recover
enough mental and spiritual power to do something as significant again, there
was no point fussing right at this moment at the very least.
Green and silver decorated the halls to celebrate Slytherin winning House cup
for apparently seven times in a row. Good for them.
Less good was when Harry had walked into the hall and it was like silence was a
plague that descended upon the people like the locusts on well, anything
really. Same people were actually trying to stand up from their seats to look
at him. It was like the beginning of the year all over again.
Thank god Cedric was still his usual friendly self or Harry would've moved
tables to some House less annoying.
Dumbledore arrived a minute or so later, the chattering slowly drying away once
he stood up to speak. There was a lot of the usual nonsense that Harry had
learned now to tune out and then came the thing almost everyone was waiting
for. "So, without further ado the House points thus far are- in fourth place,
Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with
three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and
Slytherin, four hundred and seventy- two."
A storm of cheers came from the House of the Cunning and it was probably the
most raucous he'd ever seen from the usually so dignified Slytherins bar the
troll incident on Halloween. Harry clapped cheerily along with them,
considering he was all and none of the Houses, the boy was quite exempt from
any real feelings of House pride.
"Yes, Yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must
be taken into account."
The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles turned into looks of confusion
and everyone was looking at each other similarly baffled. Drama much?
"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me
see. First to Mr. Ronald Weasley..."
Ron went absolutely red, almost purple in the face. Harry didn't even know you
could do that without getting angry. Truly he still had much to learn.
"…for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award
Gryffindor house sixty points."
Gryffindor's shouts made the Slytherin's beforehand seem like mere whispers
they were so excited and loud. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects
with the pride only an older brother could posses, "My brother, you know! My
youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!" The Weasley twins
didn't look much better, thumping their younger brother on the back and
screaming various things.
"Second -to Miss Hermione Granger... for the use of cool logic in the face of
fire, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."
Harry's sure Hermione just burst into tears at that point. The first years and
other members of her House seemed to be looking at her with pride for probably
the first time. Gryffindor themselves were rather beside themselves, in just a
few moments they were one hundred and twenty points up and in second place.
"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great
deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our
friends. I therefore award thirty points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."
Well that seemed a little unfair at this point. Neville at least looked shocked
and was hugged by a good dozen people. Slytherin had almost completely lost
their bright eyes and childish grins. It was more than a little pitiful.
"And finally," Dumbledore began putting them all into a state of silence. "To
Mr. Harry Potter, for his courage, for his cunning, his intellect and his
loyalty to his friends… I give each house one hundred points."
There was a pause as every mind in the room viciously tried to work out the
math and realise yes, Slytherin was still ahead by roughly ten points. Once
again the Slytherin's cheered their victory relief and annoyance a common
enough theme in their faces. The Gryffindors looked downhearted that they
didn't get the sudden win that they hoped but they seemed pretty proud of the
almost turnaround that had occurred.
That night Harry followed the Slytherin's down to the dungeons and
congratulated them for a well earned victory. He had been responsible for quite
a bit of points as well and would have been miffed if that had been ignored in
favour of some quest for the apparently destroyed Philosopher's stone. They
talked and chatted, Draco seemed to be quite interested in what Harry was doing
after school was over. And also about his mansion.
"You know my room is big enough that it can fit in another bed if it's needed."
The Malfoy heir boasted, giving Harry some serious side eye. "And we have
peacocks that live in the courtyard, giant white ones!"
"That's really cool Draco." Harry praised.
"Also my family dining ro-"
"Oh my GOD." Blaise suddenly shouted, cutting himself off from a conversation
he was having with Nott to face the pair. "Harry, Draco is trying to ask you
over for the holidays."
"Blaise!" Draco shouted, his pale face pink with embarrassment.
Harry blinked. Well, it wasn't like Privet Drive would be much exciting to
satisfy him the whole time back. "Yeah sure."
"See Blaise you fool, you've ruined my carefully constructed p- Really?" The
platinum blonde wizard turned to look at the other hopefully. Harry nodded
amused.
"Yeah, I've got to go back home for a week but I'll be more than happy to stay
with you the rest of the hols."
Draco looked absolutely giddy with delight.
"And yet again I am bereft of the gratitude I deserve." Blaise muttered.
***** Death's holiday in a holiday *****
 The one where Death has a holiday in his holiday.
 Or, the one where Death meets the Malfoys, Dobby and Snowflake the stalker
peacock
"That is so cool! Do me next!" Dudley squealed excitedly whilst Piers shrieked
with glee as he began whizzing through the air like a homicidal plane. Harry
smiled and waved his other hand in an upwards motion, levitating the larger boy
off the ground much to his absolute delight.
They did flips and swirls and generally just recreated that Peter Pan scene
with Harry as Wendy. Which, he would like to point out was unfair and so not
cool considering he was the one who got them up in the air in the first place.
But then Piers pointed out Tinkerbell was the one with the magic fairy dust and
Harry quickly shut up after that.
Petunia had gone out to town to get groceries and generally gossip with the
other housewives this afternoon and Vernon was having his post-lunch Sunday nap
so today was a good day to freely show off the wonders of magic to his cousin
and friend. Harry recounted his year in boarding school to the excitable
children, patiently answering their questions and possibly, maybe embellishing
a few details and facts.
"You really saved your friend Ron from a cursed mirror?"
"Yes, but to be fair, he also defeated the black army using his strategic
skills and the help of the white army."
"Wicked!"
Not exactly his proudest moment but it felt awfully fun exaggerating his tale
and watching his captivated audience gape and 'oh' and 'ah' at his words. "-and
as I struggled against Professor Quirrell and Voldemort I accidentally touched
their bare skin, which began burning their flesh! It was actually quite
gruesome as they practically shriveled and blackened under my touch. Of course
poor Professor Quirrell didn't make it but Voldemort? Well, who knows."
Dudley blinked before his mouth curled into a wide grin. "Holy cow Harry, and I
thought boarding school would be a lot more boring. Even a magic one."
"Though isn't it strange you immediately burned them just by touching? How does
that work?" Piers queried curiously. Harry shrugged, "To be honest even I don't
comprehend what had happened that night. It was.. Odd."
"Maybe it's foreshadowing," Dudley put out there with a laugh, "We learnt bout
that in school. But that sort of stuff only happens in stories." He added.
"Yeah, maybe it's like you and Voldemort's souls are magically linked." Piers
joked. All three boys laughed at that but Harry's was unnoticeably strained.
Children's intuition was terrifying sometimes.
===============================================================================
So turned out he had a piece of Mr Riddle's soul embedded into him.
It was more than a little embarrassing that some prepubescent boys figured it
out before the fucking entity of death. Actually, it was kind
of absolutely, stick your head in the hole, mortifying.
Harry spent a few hours that night, literally soul searching before he found
the telltale crimson shard of another soul amidst the cloying black shadows of
his own. He had to admit it was quite a lovely image. The red glow of the jaded
fragment, wrapped tenderly by loose strands of the inevitable ocean of
darkness, gently trying to coerce the single light of color into its depths.
The struggle of the broken soul against the inevitable was beautiful in its
tragedy.
He watched for a while. In the swirls of shadows and death that were the inner
layers of his being, he watched Mr Riddle's small soul desperately staying
above the surface, determined not drown as it fought against the natural flow.
They are usually three types of people, Death mused contemplative. People who
accept death as easily as they accept the sky is blue, people who laugh in the
face of it as they run headlong into danger and people who fear it and run the
opposite direction as fast as their little legs can carry them. Eventually,
they all succumb to his touch, no matter how reluctant.
So maybe there's really one type of people in the big picture, the people who
die.
And yet there is Tom Marvolo Riddle. The Man Who Escapes From Death. Even now,
just a fragment of him, surrounded by his end and yet still somehow keeping
afloat after all these years. Stronger souls have lasted only mere minutes when
consumed by him yet this little spark of life is still going strong, shining
it's red glow dimly but no less determinedly.
Such a feat was both offending as it was awe inspiring to be perfectly honest.
Luckily for Mr Riddle, Death had fond enough memories of him when they went on
an impromptu camp together so the awe-inspiring component of what he was
feeling soon won out. Death mentally scooped out the little shattered soul of
crimson red with a gentleness that mother's held their newborns, and lightly
pressed his lips on the shard, letting it glow a little brighter as its own
shade dimmed darker, a deeper red with the faint swirling shadows of darkness
now filled with it.
'It would be such a pity, after all, to let even one part of his soul
disappear,' Death mused idly whilst he placed the little piece of soul back
into the never ending darkness of his own being, this time his vibrantly green
eyes which stood out all the more in this near colorless world, observed with a
faint sense of pleasure as Mr Riddle's soul now casually floated on top of the
tendrils of black. The shadows that had once tried to submerge the vivid color
now flicked at it curiously. Death smiled at that, it had been a long time
since he loosened the hold of something so clearly meant to be his. Yet at the
same time, he had marked it, tethered it onto his own self in a way that's not
ever been done before.
Nothing too permanent, it was more of a hitchhiker situation than anything
really. 'After all,' Death thought idly, the little crimson piece now bobbing
quite contentedly floating in a sea of lifeless expanse, 'I've got to collect
all the pieces to get the real prize.'
===============================================================================
Dear Death,
It's Fate.
Um. I just want to apologise for being the reason you left in the first place.
I didn't mean to pressure you, though I really should've known better to not
take advantage of your nice-ness.
But you're gone now and I see you are having a pretty good time despite
everything. I'm currently trying to archive and do a soul count of the dead in
Universe #78204, World #344185 where some sort of freak shark whirlwind
happened?
Again I am so sorry for what I've done. I don't think I've ever repented as
hard as I'm doing now. So. Sorry.
Also uh, sorry for making the Dursley's so shite. If it helps at all, I've
toned down the mistreatment in my new original Harry Potter story, worked out
most of the plot holes and such like getting the baby to survive without
resorting to asking my big brother for help. Though the real Harry kind of ends
up a bit dumber than I considered, which isn't really fair considering I'm
comparing him to you.
But he just got his Hogwarts letter and oh my god it's actually so obvious
he'll never be a Ravenclaw you know? Well, of course you don't. You'll see
later I guess.
Hope you have a good second year!
…Also maybe you should bring a rooster to school? Just a fun suggestion heh.
===============================================================================
"POTTER WHERE ARE YOU, YOU DAMN MONKEY!"
Harry giggled maniacally to himself as he watched another group of determined
children ran past his tree. The Harry Hunting game had gotten bigger than ever
before now that Dudley had the forethought to make everyone pay up two dollars
and the winners get all the money as a prize. There was at least four whole
neighbourhoods worth of kids searching for him, probably more since the two had
taken to spreading it across the school. Harry's pretty sure he's seen more
than a few older teenagers trying to look like they weren't playing the game.
"COME OUT COME OUT HARRY!" Piers shouted with what looked like a lasso in his
hands. "YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO!" One of Dudley's friends added with an excited
edge, he was holding a skateboard. The pale raven haired boy grinned wildly at
the promise of a good chase, putting his head out so it appeared through the
branches he called,
"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT I DO."
Jumping out of the tree Harry then dashed away like a madman, delighting in the
startled screams and shocked yells.
===============================================================================
"Uncle Vernon." A swine like grunt was his answer and the wet mulching sounds
of potatoes and steak bits, "This Sunday in the evening one of my friends will
be coming over to take me to their place for the rest of the holidays."
The older man's eyes narrowed, "Nnugh mizaming nemends?" Harry sighed.
"Yes uncle, one of my wizarding friends. His name is Draco and his parents are
considered nobility in that world if that helps at all."
"Vernon, dear," Petunia simpered, having already been won over ten minutes
beforehand when Harry pointed out the logic that he wouldn't be tainting her
perfect household for long and that the Malfoy's were filthy rich. "I think
it's a rather fabulous idea that the brat should be gone as soon as possible
dearest."
Vernon scowled. Obviously unhappy about having to give his nephew any form of
happiness. Bastard.
"Fine. But I expect every summer holiday to be like this." He groused.
"Wait, but what if I'm not invited anywhere that year?" Harry protested. "I
can't just impose."
"What? Freak afraid his few friends get tired of him by then?" Vernon guffawed
at his own joke, his wife giggling along with him. Then he stopped abruptly,
beady eyes laser focused on the thin green eyed child as he hissed- "I don't
care boy. A week in my house is the most you're getting now that you've asked
for it and showed how ungrateful you really are. If you can't find somewhere
then I hear the homeless shelter has some new blankets."
Harry could not believe this man had the gall to say such a thing. To kick a
boy from his only home. Even Petunia looked uncomfortable at his sneers,
excusing herself from the room with a torn expression on her face. Not that the
boy could bring himself to care.
"Well thank you for your support then uncle." He spat out, immediately earning
himself a heavy handed slap to the face. It stung enough to bring tears to his
eyes but the worst part of it was the fact there was still potato and gravy on
that hand. Instinctively he gingerly touched his cheek, screwing his face up at
the grease splattered on it than the actual act of physical violence.
Disgusting blob of fat. Harry wouldn't even feed the man to the lowest of
hellhounds lest they keel over from indigestion.
"Don't you ever talk that way to me again freak!" He hollered, the obese male
pushing his chair away to stand up just to slap the boy again. This time, Harry
crumpled down onto the kitchen tiles, his eyes glowing a furious green up at
his vessel's uncle.
"If anyone's a freak here it's you." He sneered at the man. "Hell is too good a
place for a man such as yourself." Vernon went an absolutely startling shade of
purple, Harry was pretty sure he's never seen that colour on a human's face
before at all which really didn't bode well for him at all.
Of course, he was right. The younger of the two grunted at the impact of the
foot hitting his stomach, swearing under his breath as the kicks descended on
him in waves, his saving grace was that Vernon was good enough to hit in
various places on the body instead of focusing on just his abdomen but was
still dumb enough not to think of doing anything truly creative to Harry at the
moment. "You dare speak of hell boy?!" He screamed, "I'll give you hell. You
wouldn't know hell if it kicked you in the back!"
Harry probably would have laughed if not for the terrible ache in his back. Oh
yeah, he may not know Hell inside out as much as others may have but Vernon
sure as, well, hell will do so soon enough. The fat man is going to
be very well acquainted to the fiery pits. And a stake. A very sharp stake.
He's not sure when but his control must have loosened during the beating
because the boy could hear his aunt's shrill shriek and a clatter of something
hard falling onto the floor. "Demon!" Petunia hysterically screamed and Vernon
in some mix of horror and absolute fright punched Harry's face hard enough that
the boy had to throw his head to the side and retch.
"Freak!" Was all Vernon shouted, practically kicking the heaving, coughing boy
into the cupboard under the stairs. Harry was glad Dudley was at some camping
thing with his school friends right now, he didn't think a young child should
witness what monsters his parents were. "You'll stay there till Sunday and then
I better not see your sorry face for another year."
The door slammed shut and the sounds of multiple locks echoed in the small
darkened room. Along with Harry's groans of agony as his human body felt like
it had been lightly sizzled under the cool air and then drizzled in garlic
salt. Oh god, he would taste so good covered in butter and thyme right now. So
he was hungry too. Sue him.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck." He muttered under his breath as he wiggled out of
his ill-fitting clothes, only to lay on the floor in an undignified near naked
heap with a relieved sigh. This is probably the lowest point of his immortal
existence. It was both humbling and humiliating. "Fuck."
===============================================================================
"This is where the great Harry Potter resides?" Lucius Malfoy sneered as he
surveyed the similar looking rows of bland houses with their similar looking
gardens, though admittedly the garden in front of them was a bit nicer than the
others. His wife was pressing a silken handkerchief to her nose, glancing at
the mundane magic-less neighbourhood warily.
"It is rather.. lacking."
"Come Narcissa, let's fetch the boy and leave as quickly as possible." The
Malfoy Head murmured, brushing a reassuring hand against hers. Narcissa smiled,
brushing back lovingly. "Yes let's." She agreed. "Though from the stories our
little Dragon tells us about him, I admit I imagined some sort of gold-plated
mansion."
"I thought it would be a diamond encrusted castle." Narcissa laughed softly at
her husband's dry dramatics.
"Of course you would dear, and people think Draco's personality come from my
side of the family."
Lucius didn't answer, but the faint curling upward of his lips was enough to
know he heard and was deeply amused as he knocked on the door with exaggerated
disgust that made her curl her lips up in turn. She always did adore the man's
humorous side to his personality, she's never said it out loud but she was glad
the Dark Lord was gone. With their name back on as one of the most prestigious,
the old Lucius she'd fell in love with had finally reemerged from that icy
cruel countenance that he had molded for himself. It was still ice and sharp
edges but it no longer was the harsh, unforgiving way it once was.
The pureblooded wizard barely knocked twice before a woman with the unfortunate
physical appearance of a giraffe opened the door. Lucius raised a surprised
brow, "Good evening miss," He greeted cordially, the horse like female took one
glance at his face and blushed.
"Oh my," She giggled, "And you are?" She batted her eyelashes in some misguided
belief that it made her any less unappealing than she already was. The platinum
blonde could hear his wife snickering a few feet behind him.
Valiantly ignoring the urge to give a much less than polite response to the
mud-blood, the man just gave a strained smile, "My name is Lucius Malfoy, me
and my wife Narcissa are here to pick up Harry Potter?"
At the name of the Boy Who Lived, the woman immediately paled, "But you guys
aren't supposed to be here until tomorrow evening." She whispered.
"Yes but we did send an owl yesterday informing an early arrival." Lucius
pointed out, Narcissa who had grown tired of waiting was now also next to her
husband explained, "Lucius and I have a formal gathering with a few important
dignitaries that evening, and our son was very much looking forward to his
friend coming over so we couldn't possibly delay Mr Potter coming over."
She gave a sweet smile to the muggle, condescending and confident with the
belief of being infinitely better than this magic-less middle-class household.
"Where is Mr Potter anyway?"
When there was no answer coming from the strangely speechless woman, just a
gaping mouth and darting eyes Narcissa felt a strange niggling feeling that
something was terribly wrong with the situation. Lucius must have felt
something was off too because he took one step closer to the woman, enough to
be intimidatingly close without having to touch her, narrowing his eyes. "Yes,
where is Mr Potter? My son is eagerly awaiting his arrival and I would loathe
to disappoint."
"Uh, yes. Just wait right here and I'll get the lazy boy up." She huffed,
seemingly putting herself together again. The blonde couple looked at each
other before facing the matriarch of the house.
"Thank you but would you mind so terribly if we came in to see him?" Lucius
purred in that way that proved how good of a politician he was. The brunette
paled only further, obviously due to the etiquette-induced corner she'd been
put into.
"The boy's room is a mess." The muggle answered stiffly, "I'll get you all some
tea before fetching him." She faked a smile which the two Malfoys returned in
kind as they were led into the house.
Narcissa looked around in wondrous horror at the.. decor. "It's a lovely home."
She complimented half-heartedly. The muggle, for they still don't know her
name, beamed and began animatedly boasting about her meagre lifestyle like she
was the lucky one out of the three whilst she made tea. At least the tea was
admittedly quite lovely.
Once they all sat down for some obligatory chit chat, an enormous whale of a
man came bumbling into the room. "Oh this is my darling husband Vernon," the
woman introduced brightly, apparently against all odds looking like she was
having a pleasant time. Narcissa couldn't even tell if she was pretending,
which if she was, kudos because the blonde Slytherins were certainly having
trouble. And they've had luncheons with Fudge of all people. "Vernon, this is
the Malfoys."
The obese male, Vernon, took one look at the fine furs adorning Narcissa and
the general nobility of their looks before giving the pair what Lucius thought
was some sort of attempt at a charming smile. He couldn't really tell, all the
sneering jealousy in those eyes were making it hard to even think the word
charming in their presence. "Good evening, I trust Petunia has been a
delightful host as usual."
"Yes, Petunia has." The head of Malfoy agreed reluctantly, it wouldn't do to
antagonize Potter's guardians after all. Even if Draco wasn't frighteningly
obsessed with his newfound friend, it was just plain good sense to make
connections with the mascot of the Light side, even better for him if he forged
some sort of bond with the child. "But we really must pick up your child and
take our leave soon."
Vernon made a confused noise. "Dudley's away at summer camp."
Lucius glanced at his wife which she accurately interpreted as, 'What in
Merlin's name is a Dudley?' before subtly rolling his eyes back to the walrus-
shaped muggle.
"No dear," Petunia giggled nervously, "They're here for the boy."
"Potter." Lucius clarified getting annoyed, not once had they even said
Potter's name, were they even in the right place? "We're here for Harry
Potter."
The response was immediate, Vernon's countenance went from friendly enough to
down right loathing. "Figures you freaks can't even follow a proper schedule.
Does your kind not know what a fucking calendar is?" He actually spat out at
the shocked Malfoys.
"Excuse me?" The Malfoy patriarch said disbelievingly at the sheer outright
crass of it all.
"I'll just get some more tea shall I?" Petunia offered, already sliding away to
the kitchen, Narcissa also stood up as well. "Can you please show me to the
bathroom as well?" She asked sweetly, Petunia readily agreed.
"Vernon didn't mean to be so.. Rude. He's just had a rough day." The muggle
woman explained hastily as they walked through the hall. Narcissa didn't buy
the excuse for a second but made a sympathetic noise anyway, "Such a shame
that," she lied, "I would ha- what was that?"
"What was what?" Came the slightly panicked answer. Obviously you didn't need
half a drop of sense to know how suspicious that sort of response was.
"I heard a knocking sound," The pureblood looked meaningfully in the direction
she thought it came from, the lady found her gaze directed at the staircase.
Petunia gave a strangled laugh, "Oh my silly Duddikins must have dropped a ball
or something. You know how kids are."
"I thought you said your son was away on a camping trip."
A soft thumping noise was heard again and quiet curses which Narcissa followed
with a growing sense of dread. "Why is the cupboard door locked?" They couldn't
possibly have, it was unthinkable, "Is there someone in there?" She asked
loudly, half toward the locked door and half directed at the horse faced mud-
blood. The other woman looking like she was about to have a stroke.
"Cissa, darling?" Lucius who had heard his wife, walked into the halls followed
by an enraged but white faced Vernon Dursley. If the sheathing of his wand was
any indication, the Malfoy head had given the larger male quite a thorough
introduction to what adult wizards unhindered by underage laws could do.
"What's wrong?"
"If what I think is true," Narcissa began, glaring poisonously at the
mudbloods, "Then the answer is absolutely everything here. Alohamora!"
The locks on the cupboard door under the stairs clicked open much to the cries
of dismay from Petunia and the angry shouts from Vernon. Tentatively Narcissa
Malfoy knelt down and opened the small door, Lucius quickly by her side both in
support and curiosity. It was dark inside and smelt musty, like old mothballs
and rust. The tiny room wasn't fit for one of their house elves much less an
eleven-year-old wizarding saviour.
Because that's exactly who was residing under the staircase, green eyes eerily
glowing in the shadows as they blinked owlishly while his undernourished, thin
frame was all too visible under the darkening bruising and ratty pyjama
bottoms.
"Merlin." Lucius breathed in horror. Children getting harmed by their families
happened, even in the Wizarding world, but usually it came from overly strict
training than anything in order to help the child succeed. Goodness knows that
Longbottom child is a good example of it. But this was just sickening.
"Y-You FILTHY MUDBLOODS!" His wife screamed, doing an amazing impression of
Walburga Black, she was so clearly upset at seeing a child her son's age in
such a state but the head of Malfoy was too busy still trying to comprehend the
sight before him still. He's done some pretty cruel things in his life as a
Death Eater he must admit, not out loud of course but still. This wasn't
training, there wasn't any reason for such behaviour inflicted on a boy. This
was just abuse.
As Narcissa began tearing the Dursley's a new one with just her words alone,
Lucius bent down lower to poke his head into the dusty cupboard. "Mr Potter?"
The Potter boy surprisingly looked quite amused at the whole thing now that the
platinum blonde could make out the child's expression with what little light
was there. "Please Mr Malfoy," He said in a very polite voice, like
he wasn't half naked with bruises all over his body whilst in a previously
locked cupboard. The rasp at the end the only vocal indication Potter was
feeling any sort of strain or pain. "Call me Harry, I think we've kind of
reached that point."
Harry gestured at his barely clothed form as emphasis to his point with a wry
smile, the older man let out an involuntary chuckle before quickly covering up
his mouth. How uncharacteristic of him to act in such an inconsiderate manner
considering the very serious context. The boy, however, didn't look offended at
all, instead he looked almost pleased with making the blonde male laugh.
"You look very nice when you laugh, it's a lot like Draco's." Harry praised,
stretching his arms as far as the space allowed him to. "I've already packed my
belongings and Hedwig should be waiting outside for us." The child informed
Lucius cheerily, "I just need to get changed so if you'll be so kind to close
the door?"
The boy trailed off, looking at Lucius expectedly. The Malfoy head just looked
down at the boy, "And what of your injuries, Potter? Your priorities are sorely
lacking if the first thing you request is for a change of clothing."
"My injuries will heal," Harry dismissed easily, "I'm eager to meet with Draco
though so if you don't mind-?"
It was almost admirable how the green eyed boy was being so flippant about his
current state of self, well if it wasn't so very saddening. Whoever decided to
put the Boy Who Lived in this abusive hellhole was either a very sadistic Death
Eater with a grudge or some incompetent dunderhead that couldn't tell a wand
from his finger. Reluctantly the older man shuffled out of the cramped room and
shut the door, turning around to see with more than smug satisfaction as his
wife had reduced the muggle woman to hysterical tears and the fat swine of a
man into a bloated piglet.
"-DISGRACEFUL BOTH OF YOU, AND YOU CALL YOURSELVES PARENTS?! I CAN'T
EVEN CALL YOU MUDBLOODS, YOU TARNISH THEIR ALREADY FILTHY NAME!"
Ah, it's times like these you can really see the Black side of her family
showing. He's always loved how cool, calm and collected the woman could be much
like him but it's that controlled fire which rarely comes out that really
sealed the deal.
"Now, now Mrs Malfoy, while I thank you for your good will- I think the name
calling and, uh, pig-turning, very humorous really, is but a bit extreme,"
Harry said jovially as he stretched his limbs since he was now freed from his
room. He sighed contentedly at the popping noise of his cramped joints.
Lucius and Narcissa had to give a double take at the child. No longer was he
the malnourished beaten victim of a child they had seen before, now Harry
looked completely different. His skin, while an almost bone white, was
unblemished by any marks and Harry himself looked healthy, if a little on the
gaunt side. Hell, the boy was pulling off the skeletal look in a way that was
somehow darkly elegant.
As they gawked in a very undignified manner Harry surveyed the scene bemused
and interested. The Malfoy matriarch was quite the lady indeed, McGonagall and
her would probably make a simply terrifying duo if they became friends. Mr
Malfoy seemed nice enough as well, yes, he thinks he would enjoy staying at
Draco's place for the next few weeks.
Clapping his hands, the eleven-year-old looked at the Malfoy's with a soft
smile and said, "Shall we head off? Once we turn my dear old uncle back into a
more humanoid form of course."
"Mr Potter," Narcissa began uncertainly, "You look.. Well."
Harry tilted his head slightly, letting his green eyes widen to immeasurably
adorable lengths. "I am as well as I'd always been Mrs Malfoy, though I thank
you for the kind compliment."
"No I mean, what-"
"JUST LEAVE!" Petunia screamed, clutching the fat pig in her arms, "LEAVE YOU
FREAKS!"
"Oh do shut up," Lucius frowned, with a muttered spell and a wave of his wand
the hysterical woman was silenced. Then turning to the intriguing boy he asked,
"Are you sure about these muggles?"
"My cousin Dudley's a good kid," Harry stated firmly. "I loathe my uncle and
aunt but I would prefer my cousin to still have his parents intact that you
very much sir."
"That's.. Selfless of you." The boy giggled, "Please sir, no need for such
formalities. I'm fully aware I'm being, like Draco says 'Awfully Gryffindor.'"
Lucius gave a quietly relieved sigh, "Well thank Merlin for my son's good
sense. Cissa dear?"
"I heard Mr Potter," The Malfoy matriarch gave the small child a gentle smile,
"My curses will only last a day at best and I think my husband's will last for
about-" "A week." "-a week."
Harry shrugged, "Good enough for me."
===============================================================================
"Harry!"
Harry gave an easy going grin at his obviously delighted friend. "Draco it's
great to see you."
The Slytherin looked tempted to actually throw himself into a hug with the
other boy but one glance at his parents stopped him mid-way, instead opting for
a friendly pat on the back instead. Harry winced a bit but kept smiling
nonetheless. The two older Malfoys, who had not stopped inconspicuously staring
at him the whole time must have noticed because now they were just blatantly
staring at him. Like if a weighted gaze was a less metaphorical saying, Harry
would be on his knees under the pressure.
"Draco, dear, why don't we go make sure Harry's bed is ready? Your father will
show your friend to the.. bathrooms." The elegant lady of Malfoy house tried,
Draco did not look much too impressed with the idea but with a meaningful look
from his father he complied. Though from the faint grumblings in the distance,
it was far from quietly.
Once the two was gone Lucius turned to the small black haired boy, hands
crossed across his chest whilst he put on one of his most disproving
interrogation face that Harry had probably seen. It was right up there with
Order's and Time's. Snape's is pretty good too but there was this fatherly
disappointment in the blonde's expression that gave it that extra sharp edge
that made you want to curl into a ball and confess.
Honestly, if Harry wasn't older than the earth he was standing on and if Lucius
wasn't well, someone who used to call themselves a Death Eater of all things
than Harry was sure that he too would want actually admire the man. No wonder
Draco respected his father so, what with that carrot stick thing the man had
going on.
"Now Mr Potter, I hope you don't think you can just get away without explaining
yourself yes?"
Harry sighed and snapped his fingers, the moment he did it was like his healthy
looking appearance just slid off him like oil, leaving ugly yellow-brown
bruising all over his body. While Lucius vaguely expected this, it still didn't
stop the involuntary hiss of displeasure and sympathy to the obviously painful
looking appearance. The man is sure people run over by those giant, ugly muggle
smoke vehicles would be less bruised than this boy.
"We need to go to the Ministry about this at once." Lucius decided near
immediately, "I will not condone such disgraceful, disgusting behaviour." Then
with another considering once-over at the beaten child he amended, "But to St
Mungos' first of course."
The green eyed young wizard frowned. Yes what those flesh lumps did was
terribly wrong and Harry did want them to suffer, but those two days of being
coddled after accidentally killing Quirrell had been practically suffocating.
Also, Dudley does need his parents, he's only twelve years old after all and
Aunt Marge was a frightful person to vacation with much less live with. No, he
certainly didn't want that for the poor child, even for the satisfaction of
seeing those rotten souls suffer.
They had eternity for that sort of thing later after all.
"Sir if I may, I rather you didn't." The older male looked at him
incredulously.
"You rather I let you rot in that revolting household." He said slowly, as if
the speed of his words was the one thing confusing him about this conversation.
"Rot is a very negative word." Harry purred, "I'd like to think of it as a..
dose of reality?" The boy winced at his choice of words. Maybe the blonde
wouldn't pick it up and throw it right back in his face.
"A does of reality? For what Potter, battered wife syndrome?"
Trying to defend people you really hate kind of sucks. "I just don't want to
lose contact with my cousin." He replied honestly, "And while my aunt and uncle
treat me worse than a rabid mutt, Dudley has done no such thing and doesn't
deserve to be an orphan like me because of me."
"So you're just going to take such treatment?" Lucius challenged with a sneer,
"I expected more from the so-called Golden boy and even more from a friend of
my son's."
"Then what would you have me do then?" Harry asked heatedly, disliking what the
older of the two was implying. "Would you have me stand up and admit what has
happened to my person? I'm a very important figure in the Wizarding world Mr
Malfoy and you know very well there will be far-reaching consequences to this.
I don't want to be pitied and I don't want my aunt and uncle to be sent away.
Things that would most definitely happen if we told the Ministry."
Grey eyes narrowed, "Those are just excuses, you don't wish to be pitied? You
don't want this cousin of yours to be raised without parentage? And for that,
you'll let yourself be starved and bruised and bloodied?"
"It's one week in a year." Harry defended weakly, to explain how this sort of
physical inflictions don't truly bother him would be near impossible. But his
arguments did sound rather flimsy if said like that.. "Uncle Vernon told me if
I wanted to come here I might as well do so every summer holiday."
"You are aware my family and I aren't going to be always here as your private
bed and breakfast." Mr Malfoy pointed out.
Harry scoffed at that causing the blonde to look slightly offended and a little
taken aback by it, "Of course I'm aware sir. Even if I wasn't, while this is a
lovely house and all, I wasn't exactly planning on staying every holiday."
"Then what are you planning to do?"
The boy shrugged nonchalantly, "I don't know- traveling sounds good." He
wondered absentmindedly if his favourite horse rider, the closest being to a
biological son he had, the Grim Reaper, was still in that strange outcasted
world of his. Apparently the fast food was of a much higher quality than the
mortals there. Harry definitely planned on visiting sometime in the future now
that he had the time.
Mr Malfoy was looking at him with a condescending, 'aw how cute is this child
with its naive stupidity' expression. Obviously the expression much like
everything else about this man was much more dignified than the average person
but Harry could still tell. "You want to travel."
"Germany sounds pretty nice, nothing bad happens in Germany after all." Harry
joked airily. "Or the Middle East, I hear the food is simply explosive."
"Mr Potter I don't think you are fully comprehending the sheer wrongness dealt
to you." The man said soft and insistent.
"Mr Malfoy I don't think you understand that I very much don't give a damn." He
retorted, the child was getting annoyed at the older male's apparent morality
to this context. It seemed the Malfoys weren't as Dark and cold-blooded as they
like to make themselves out to be. "I do not want my childhood to be judged by
the Ministry."
"Well since you are just a child your wants do not hold much sway when the
health of your person is called into question." Mr Malfoy sneered, "If it makes
you comply I will see what I can do to prevent incarceration for those muggles
and only take away their rights as guardians."
The Malfoy head sounded like such a suggestion was poison-forming in his mouth
with the way he spat it out, like it was the foulest thing ever tasted. But
maybe because of this, Harry felt his mouth stretch painfully through the
bruising into a bright grin.
"Really? Oh thank you Mr Malfoy! I would've loathed for Dudley to hate me for
getting rid of his family." The child beamed, bright green eyes so intense as
they shined happily under the lighting. "Though if I may have another request
sir?"
Lucius was ready to just agree and get it over with. Most people usually
compromised in his favor, crumpling like wet parchment under his tone. But
Draco's friend, Draco's abused wizarding savior of a friend, of course had to
be not most people. The blonde just had the most redundant argument with an
eleven year old and lost, maybe if he pushed on a bit harder he could have got
the permission to give those mudblood scum a little taste under the darker
spells of his wand, but Lucius also knew that he needed to be in this stubborn
boy's good graces.
And that won't happen unless he reluctantly lets those foul people live,
unfortunately.
"What is it now Mr Potter. You may be the Boy Who Lived and my son's friend but
I do think you're pushing the envelope a little too hard."
The delicate features of Harry and his admittedly adorable smile then turned
positively Slytherin. Lucius shivered at the sight. He may certainly think of
the Potter scion as nothing but an interesting, confusing, useful little pawn
of a thing right now but he thinks he could certainly learn to like the child
soon enough.
Draco truly had good taste in companions, Crabbe and Goyle withstanding.
===============================================================================
Harry Potter wasn't just good taste Lucius soon realised. Harry Potter was
delicious ambrosia that no wizard nor witch couldn't eventually succumb to.
Said boy sniffled cutely, rubbing a particularly ugly looking bruise on his
thin pale arms. The entire Wizengamont was practically melting in the face of…
that face. The head of Malfoy had his doubts in letting Potter take charge of
everything but things couldn't have gone smoother if it had been slathered in
lemon scented body oil.
What would have taken an annoying prolonged few weeks just to get an
appointment for something like this turned into a mere fifteen minutes once
people realized who exactly was waltzing up to the Ministry. Things got down
even faster if that was possible when Harry dropped his glamor once the
secretary witch asked for the reason the great Boy Who Lived was here. Lucius
had honestly never even knew the ministry could be so efficient.
Fudge was there in a heartbeat, the overweight man smelling a public relations
opportunity like a blood hound, cooing at Harry with only slightly exaggerated
sympathy while simultaneously loudly ranting about the injustices of it all.
After that a court was quickly compiled, Dumbledore looking shaken and
nauseated when he caught sight of Harry, the other Wizengamont members were of
a similar opinion when they saw the fragile-looking child.
Even with Dumbledore's weak protests, they managed to lift guardianship from
the Dursley's before dinnertime. Harry was currently in a limbo status as for
the next few months the child will be subjected to various custody battles and
debates and bribes. There wasn't one family in the Wizarding world that didn't
want to have the great Harry Potter as an honorary member of their bloodline.
"Narcissa dear?" The sly blonde Malfoy murmured to his sleepy wife as they got
ready for bed.
"Mm?" She hummed, still smiling fondly at the recent memory of Draco chiding
his friend for being so late and the following excited babble of her son as he
haughtily insisted of a spooky late night tour of the mansion to make up for
it. If the witch listened hard enough, she's sure she could hear the faint
noises of excited children and soft padding footsteps.
"I hear the Weasleys are vying for custody for Mr Potter."
Narcissa smirked, knowing full well what her husband was asking and fully
approving.
"Well, we can't have that can we?"
===============================================================================
It came to the surprise of absolutely no one that someone from the Ministry
blabbed about Harry's home life.
That they had to do this on his birthday was completely fucking inappropriate
though. Whoever this Skeeter woman was, she is both a coldhearted bitch and
extremely good at what she does. Since what she does is spin magnificent tales
that exploit people's trauma and secrets, the two statements aren't entirely
unrelated.
Draco, sweet naive child that he was wrapped up in spoilt ignorance didn't
fully understand the extent of the abuse Harry suffered but still gave him a
very big hug anyway. Then helped Harry ignore the sudden influx of mail related
to his tragic childhood by aiding his friend in opening up his various gifts
and talking about who might end up adopting Harry.
"Look, they've even got a running poll betting on who gets you!" Draco waved
the newspaper in his face, the graph and what's written in it stark in it's
black ink against the paper.
"I'm so flattered." Harry said dryly as he gently pushed the paper away from
his face. "Not objectified at all."
Draco frowned as he continued reading the poll. "Us Malfoys are tied with the
Weasleys?" The blonde sniffed haughtily, "Well that's just unacceptable."
Harry hummed vaguely in acknowledgement as he opened another present. Chocolate
frogs again. Great. He'll put it aside next to the other ten boxes. Harry kind
of gets why Dumbledore wanted socks for Christmas.
In the midst of opening another generic gift from some stranger he's never
heard of, a house elf popped into the room. "Young Master Draco, Young Master
De- Harry, Master Malfoy is coming here with a guest."
"Thank you." Harry said politely, with a soft nudge to the blonde boy, Draco
also mumbled his thanks, making the elf sob before disappearing.
"See Harry, this is why you don't say thanks." Draco grumbled.
"Oh shush and eat a chocolate frog."
More grumbles and then the faint sound of something being unwrapped and eaten.
The green eyed boy smiled. Adorable.
"Happy birthday Mr Potter." Mr Malfoy greeted as he strode elegantly into the
room. "I see you've seen the papers so wishing you a good morning would be
rather redundant."
"Thank you sir," Harry said politely, craning his head up to show off his good
mood via smile. "And I-" The boy trailed off as his gaze wandered off to the
side of the Malfoy Head as he noticed just exactly who Lucius' guest was.
"Professor." He nodded a little stiffly, remembering their last encounter and
the dimmed flickers of anger associated with the memory.
He wasn't angry anymore. Harry has existed far too long to get hung up over
such small things but that certainly did not mean he was just going to let it
slide and be the one to take the first step in giving the proverbial olive
branch.
It seemed his cold manner vexed the older man as the professor's jaw clenched
in response. "Potter, do you mind if we talk alone for a moment?"
Harry purposely took a few drawn out seconds of pondering before pushing
himself off the wrapping laden floor with a put upon sigh. Snape eyed him
strangely before giving a sweeping turn with his robes and walking out from
where he came. Harry gingerly followed him.
They ended up somewhere in one of the many random lavish guest rooms, far away
from snooping Malfoys and spying portraits. Not that any portrait would dare
defy Harry since they were all as afraid of him as the Sorting Hat was. Unlike
the Sorting Hat unfortunately, they weren't weaved by some of the most powerful
wizards in this world and therefore are not as aware of the existence of
entities such as himself. Honestly Harry isn't sure what exactly they must see
when they look at him but it's certainly not attractive.
"Is there a problem Professor?" Harry asked, arching his neck to the side in
indirect defiance. He may be a push over, but among the entities he was
definitely one of the most passive aggressive. Well.. Second most. When Time
gets ticked, you can always count on him to slowly but inevitably wind you up.
And ooh, there's that twitch in the older man's jaw again. That was oddly
satisfying.
"Potter.." Snape started slowly, Harry would almost think it was hesitant if it
wasn't so disapproving. Though maybe it was just the boy not being exposed to
the snarky professor for a while, Snape always sounded on some level
disapproving.
"Happy birthday." He said, handing over a palm sized green present to the
physically younger of the two.
Harry waited expectedly for more. He was severely disappointed as all he got
was a blank stare and a small parcel in his hand.
"Oh." The child said, trying but probably failing to hide what he was feeling
right now. "Well.. Thank you sir."
He felt a large hand softly brush his hair before the sounds of footsteps left
the room leaving Harry alone with his tiny box. Not completely sure what to do,
but knows enough to be aware that arson is not the correct response to this
situation, Harry just unwrapped the little present with growing bitterness.
Harry wanted to throw it in Snape's big nosed face.
How the fuck dare he dismiss him in that manner? He did not emotionally invest
himself to building some relationship only for this stubborn man to break it
down because of his pride. The fact he was pretty much doing the same thing by
refusing to bring the topic up was not the point here. Harry was an eleven year
old child for goodness sake, well he wasn't, but he should be treated as such
dammit.
Actually no he shouldn't be treated like a child. Except for in these
situations. Because.. Damn Snape for making him feel this confusing convoluted
way!
Ripping the wrapping harshly, Harry paused as he caught sight of words written
on the box underneath.
'I'm sorry.'
With much less anger than before, the boy slowly lifted up the lid. Inside,
cozy and snug against soft fabric was a beautiful twisted thin vial with golden
brown liquid, it was connected to a short simple black ribbon. On the ribbon
was the silver scrawl of 'For when you feel horrified.'
Unscrewing the lid, Harry took a small whiff to determine yes, inside was
indeed whisky, not just any whisky, the child was fairly sure it was the same
whisky Snape had been drinking during their last conversation. Something light
and static fluttered inside the base of his neck as he giggled.
Stupid emotionally stunted human mortal. How dare he? How dare he even?
Harry demurely wrapped the ribbon around his neck, enjoying the feel of the
fabric and weight much more than he expected, before tucking it under his robes
as he made his way back to where the Malfoys were waiting. Knowing Snape, he'd
probably left the manor once he handed him the gift. How dare he?
How dare the man make Harry forgive him through thoughtful sweet gifts?
Harry's smile hasn't faltered once since he put on the vial. It
was infuriating.
===============================================================================
Staying at the Malfoy mansion was very enjoyable. The food was fantastic, Draco
was amazingly willing to please him- it was almost depressingly obvious that
this was the first time the blonde heir had brought a friend home for the
summer, and the pillows were made of literal clouds. Also Mr Malfoy's hair was
like spun gold and Harry was maybe a tad bit obsessed with it.
He accidentally brushed against the man's hair once and it was like silken
spider webs. Harry wants to pull on it as the man kisses his neck an- okay so
maybe the infatuation was partly with the man himself as well. Who could blame
the child? The Malfoy head had literally scooped him out of the cupboard and
saved him from the wicked Dursleys, how could you not swoon. He would have
played around with the same thoughts about Mrs Malfoy as well but her hair is
honestly not as nice.
But seriously Lucius Malfoy's hair was like gossamer threads spun by the
heavenly choir and when sunlight touches it, it sparkles like fairy dust.
Needless to say, Draco must never know.
Anyway, it was a rather lovely holiday. Except for maybe one thing.
Actually, two things.
Harry frowned as once again the shadows at the edge of his gaze disappeared as
he turned around.
"Harry?" Draco asked, "What are you looking at? Never mind, come on it's a
beautiful day to beat you on the broom." The blonde heir teased, Draco had been
a bit stiff in the beginning, adorably nervous really. But soon enough they
managed to resume their playful banter- just not in front of the other's
parents.
"Pssh," Harry rolled his eyes, "In your dreams, the snitch totally flew into
your hands the last time on purpose out of pity."
"Harry Potter, the Sore Loser who Lived."
"You should really stop looking at a mirror so much Draco, you're seeing
yourself in everything."
===============================================================================
It started with meeting the peacocks.
Well actually it also started during breakfast the first morning at the manor.
There's two different things. Obviously they started at different times. This
was not the best start to a story. It wasn't the best start to anything
actually.
Breakfast happened first, because it's the most important meal of the day.
Sitting at the table Harry could not help but openly stare at his plate. The
Malfoys couldn't help either as they took one glance at what was on Harry's
plate and it was like their eyes were locked onto the absolute mountain of food
in front of the tiny boy. Harry didn't even like breakfast food that much. Sure
pancakes were nice occasionally and crunchy bacon is delicious anytime of the
day but he was picky with eggs and just a few bites of cereal is enough for
him. Give him a juicy cheeseburger any day. A breakfast wrap or something
equally breakfast themed is more a 'will eat if given to him but otherwise
given the option refuse to order' kind of thing.
So seeing the heaping piles of scrambled eggs, glistening sausages, roasted
tomatoes, enough bacon strips to recreate a baby pig and what Harry thinks is
the actual loaf of bread toasted in front of him was vaguely sickening.
"No offense Mr and Mrs Malfoy but I feel like you are trying to tell me
something." He joked weakly as he looked at his meal warily. Goodness, you
couldn't even see the plate.
Mrs Malfoy pursed her lips, "I assure you Mr Potter we've done no such thing."
Then, calling one of the house elves, she ordered a good three quarters of it
gone. It still left way too much breakfast goodness for him but at least he can
make malnutrition an excuse for his lack of hunger.
It got worse though.
After that Draco insisted on showing off the prized Malfoy peacocks that
wandered the courtyards. Harry, naive fool he was back then, readily agreed. He
really should've known better when he agreed.
He really should've known better when Draco introduced him to their favourite
prized peacock. Smaller than it's brothers and sisters, this one's beauty was
unmatched- feathers as paler than Harry's own skin, tinged with an icy blue
that made him look like it was some sort of delicate carving of ice instead of
a living breathing creature of flesh and blood and bone. His size certainly
didn't match it's large personality either, the larger birds seem to step away
when it practically swaggered toward them confident in his beauty and Harry
could see the Malfoy pride brimming in the avian creature.
Truth be told, even he was immediately taken with the elegant magnificence of
this bird that seemed to be made from snow and ice. Harry had knelt down and
cooed his greetings at the bird, praising his appearance and loveliness.
That too he should've known better.
Snowflake the peacock cooed.
===============================================================================
Dobby, Harry thinks he could've handled. After managing to corner the elf who
had somehow thought it was his blood bound duty to do everything he could to
keep Harry Potter safe and happy, Harry had explained bluntly how he was
freaking Death and therefore that while the help was nice, it was not
necessarily needed. That resulted in a lot of tears and head banging on the
elf's part but soon enough the message sunk in. Kind of. At least that weird
tirade about how 'Harry Potter should't be going back to Hogwarts,' thing was
forgotten so the child will take this as a win.
House elves he has learnt, while incredibly enthusiastic to the point of
intense masochism, just want their masters to be happy and to know they are
doing good work. A lot of good work. Just politely giving an order or sixteen
to the enthusiastic elf and a 'thank you' is enough to satisfy the creature for
a solid morning.
Of course indulging in these servantile beings' masochism encouraged the other
elves to ask to do work from him. It was getting a little hard to think up some
orders on the fly but Draco helped well enough. They even made a nice little
game of most creative demand, which Harry was currently winning because he
asked for Dobby to take a Monopoly game from the Dursleys.
Okay it wasn't really that creative but to the purebloods they were absolutely
fascinated with the thing. Once Harry explained the rules the Malfoys took to
the muggle game like sharks in fish infested waters. By the end of the night Mr
Malfoy, who had managed to put his wife in debt and fool his son into some sort
of Ponzi scheme and somehow lawsuited the hell out of Harry, admitted that
maybe muggle games weren't too bad after all. It definitely was much more
intellectually stimulating than those exploding gobstones.
So no Dobby, with his pure innocent desire to help, along with the rest of the
house elves, we're not too bad.
Snowflake on the other hand however was terrifying in ways that Harry never
ceased to believe. Like he's the physical representation of an unstoppable
primordial force and yet he's pretty sure Snowflakes the bloody peacock was one
too in a far different sense. A perverted sense for all those who are too
obtuse to understand.
Now to clarify, Death has had suitors. Female, male and those in between. It's
one of the few carnal pleasures he gets and while he doesn't do it as often as
his fellow entities, Death has had a fair share. He doesn't make love either,
the entity wasn't even sure if he was capable of that sort of thing in this
sort of context. He's fucked and gotten fucked. Rough, fast and filthy. Slow,
gentle and precious. He's done things with three out of the four Horseman
at once. Death the Horseman was not at all pleased. Didn't even top his top ten
carnal exploits.
The point is, Death, and therefore Harry (spiritually at least) has gotten a
lot of intercourse. From mortal animals to magical beings to deities to that
one purple alien who may or may not be dead set on killing a bunch of planets
and calling himself Death's champion. He's not a blushing virgin. Okay no, he's
just not a virgin.
So there should be no excuse for him being sexually intimidated by a snow white
peacock called Snowflake.
But he is.
He totally, totally is.
===============================================================================
"Oh look, Snowflake's back again." Draco pointed out, unaware of his friend's
full body flinch. "Funny, usually he hates everyone. Father is pretty much the
only one he deigns to interact with. I'm pretty sure I've only seen Snowflake
like three times a year."
Harry wished he had that problem. He's seen that persistent bird everywhere.
Usually when he was in some sort of state of undress. It was like overtime he
began stripping, the white peacock was. just. there.
Like now, just as he was mid-way through taking his shirt off after a
particular hot day of catching snitches. His pale eleven year old torso
slightly toned and very sweaty are half exposed to the world, and more
importantly Snowflake. Peacocks aren't well known for being predators but with
the look in this one's eyes, it's hard to imagine them as anything but right
now.
"Yeah.. Funny that."
Snowflake coos.
===============================================================================
The boy wonders if Snowflake was a magical peacock. That can be the only
explanation how the bird has managed to get past all the magical barriers he's
tried constructing whenever he has a bath.
Also he did not shriek when the feathery elegant bird jumped into the bath
while he was happily soaking in rose scented bath oils.
He also did not almost drown himself in mortification when Dobby popped into
the bath too, apparently having sensed his distress.
When he came back into reality, the entity now mortal child realised that
reality has a peacock that has taken his undergarments. Harry has never been
harassed in this manner in his life. He wants to both cry and laugh till he
cries. Either way there will be tears. And lost clothing.
"DRACO YOUR PEACOCK'S IS STALKING ME." Harry screamed as he hastily wrapped a
fluffy towel around his waist.
The only sounds from his friend was muffled laughter. What a prat.
===============================================================================
"So Potter," Blaise drawled as he skimmed through some book as they waited for
Draco to get ready. They were supposed to go shopping for their school books
today and the Italian wizard's mother apparently had an impromptu date, hence
his presence at the Malfoy manor. "I hear from Draco you're afraid of
peacocks?"
"I'm not afraid of peacocks." Harry scowled.
"No, he's just afraid of Snowflake!" Draco shouted from the bathroom like the
prat he is. Blaise raised a judgemental brow at the Boy Who Lived.
"Snowflake? The small one who thinks he's better than literally everyone else?"
There was a suspicious coughing sound from the olive skinned boy and Harry
narrowed his green eyes at him as he studiously ignored the heat on his cheeks.
"You don't understand," Draco said coming out of the bathroom, steam visible
from the room as the blonde grinned madly. "Snowflake for some reason loves
Harry. Harry show him the trick." He egged on, apparently having found the
whole Snowflake situation hilarious once he finally caught on.
"What thing?"
"I'm not showing him the thing."
"Oh come on Harry, show Blaise the thing."
"What thing?"
Harry huffed but did so anyway. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began unbuttoning
his robes much to the italian boy's befuddlement. Once the green eyed child
started lifting his shirt, then Blaise began to voice his confusion, "What are
you-"
He stopped midway through when an innocent coo of a peacock was heard. Looking
down, Blaise almost jumped when a small white peacock who was now ruffling open
his tail feathers, suddenly appeared in the middle of the room. Harry gave both
Blaise and the flaunting bird a long suffering look before redressing himself.
"Now that you two have essentially pimped me out to Snowflake for your
amusement, you guys are buying me ice cream."
Snowflake cooed.
"No you can't come."
Snowflake cooed sadly.
===============================================================================
Diagon Alley was seriously crowded. Like seriously packed, especially around
the bookstore. Which is a pity considering that was where the trio plus Mr
Malfoy, was heading.
"What's all this about?" Harry wondered aloud. "Some sort of sale?"
"It's a book signing." Zabini answered annoyed. "Gilderoy Lockhart."
The green eyed boy brightened at the name. "Oh my god really? I enjoy his books
immensely!" He said excitedly earning various disgusted looks from his friends
and Mr Malfoy. Clearly they weren't fans. "What?"
"Lockhart is a buffoon." Stated Mr Malfoy in no uncertain terms. "While I find
it's prudent not to show distaste of him publicly, especially considering his..
high regard from our kind, he is, in no uncertain terms, a buffoon."
Harry shrugged, "So? His stories are very riveting, even if his
characterization feels a bit weak."
"Harry.. I know this sounds ridiculous but.." Draco laughed awkwardly, "Do you
happen to think Lockhart's stories are fiction?"
Harry looked confused, "Of course, they are children adventure books yes? It's
all very dramatic and interesting but clearly unrealistic." The disgusted
expressions surrounding him turned highly amused. Even the Malfoy Head was
hiding a smile behind his mouth. "What?"
"Potter," Lucius began before he couldn't continue any further for fear of
losing his composure in public. Luckily his son had no such conniptions. The
older blonde will talk to his son about acting in such a manner but for now he
will leave it be.
"For such a smart person you can be bloody dense about things." Draco
snickered, "Lockhart's books are our textbooks for this year, Harry."
"We have a creative writing course?" Blaise slapped him on the head.
"Now you're being deliberately obtuse. It's our Defense textbooks. As in, those
stories you've read? Are non-fiction texts."
Harry stared at all of them. Waiting for the punchline. It didn't come.
"Oh." He said.
Which was of course when Gilderoy Lockhart hugged him. "See! My eyes have never
deceived me, Harry Potter is right here!" He declared and suddenly it was like
the horde had descended upon them like ants on maple syrup pancakes.
Ugh, breakfast food. He's so sick of breakfast food and damn Dobby with his
wide expectant elf eyes watching him the whole time.
There's a lot of clamoring and noise going on, Gilderoy Lockhart's clear and
loud as it went on and on. "-and I thought to myself, 'It can't be Harry
Potter?' and I just had to have a closer look to see you see, and lo and
behold-"
Harry blinked hard at the sudden flashes and smoke coming from the old
fashioned camera aimed at the pair. If he had the ability to lift up his arms,
he would be happily rubbing away the dancing white spots in his vision. But
alas, the blonde wizard physically restraining him was preventing him this
simple relief.
"Nice big smile, Harry," said Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth.
"Together, you and I are worth the front page."
Harry smiled. Maybe if he did so he could earn the privilege of breathing.
It seemed to work well enough since Lockhart finally let go after the final
flash. The green eyed boy quickly tried to make his way over to the smirking
Malfoys and Blaise, his gaze also catching sight of red hair and freckles but
for now he had to focus on escape. However again the smiling wizard caught him,
arm over his shoulders like they were somehow friends or something, announcing
how yes, the great Gilderoy Lockhart will indeed be teaching Defense Against
the Dark Arts in Hogwarts this year.
And to think Harry thought he liked the man as an author.
He still did, but now that he was aware of the obnoxious personality behind the
quill the general reading experience is tainted.
===============================================================================
"Bet you loved that, Harry?" Draco drawled teasingly once Harry managed to
crawl out of Lockhart's grasp. "Not enough that the whole Malfoy house elves
and peacocks served as your personal fan club for the holiday, now you can't
even go into the bookstore without making it to the front page."
Harry was just about to retort with a cutting and absolutely devastating
comeback, he was, really, but then an unfamiliar voice interrupted him.
"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" A small redheaded girl with
freckles said, glaring at the platinum blonde boy. A Weasley? Ron did mention a
sister come to think of it.
"And a girlfriend Harry?" Draco crowed, because clearly Mr Malfoy has not
taught his son well enough to not get carried away in antagonising to the point
of pulling in random strangers into the conversation. Despite the Malfoy head's
usual hot-cold demeanour with an extra side of frosty, the man clearly liked
coddling his child. "My my, Snowflake will be positively murderous." The
redheaded girl, angry and confused went a positively scarlet colour.
Suddenly, Ron and Hermione burst in through the mass of people.
"Oh, it's you," said Ron, looking at Draco as if he were something unpleasant
on the sole of his shoe. Draco sneered in response. It seemed absence does not
make the heart grow fonder. Internally the raven haired boy sighed, it seemed
he's going to have to make the two renew their reluctant truce again this year.
"Ron!" said an older red headed man who must be Mr. Weasley, struggling through
the crowd with Fred and George. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here,
let's go outside."
"Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley."
It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, sneering in the
exact same way. It would have been amusing if Harry wasn't in the middle of
this mess of a family feud. He wasn't a Weasley nor a Malfoy, so why the fuck
was he literally in the middle of this? He just got harassed by a B-class
writer, he should be having ice cream and hot chocolate.
"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, cold and curt.
"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All those raids.. I hope
they're paying you overtime?"
He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart
books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner's Guide to
Transfiguration. 
"Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said with exaggerated disdain. Mrs Malfoy was
right, the older blonde loved to dramatise. "Dear me, what is the use of being
such a disgrace to the name of all wizard kind if they don't even pay you well
for it?"
Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny. The resemblance in the two
pureblooded families was absolutely startlingly. Harry is pretty sure genetics
is not supposed to work this way.
"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizards, Malfoy,"
Mr Weasley said.
"Obviously," Mr Malfoy sneered harder if possible, "We also seem to have a
different idea on parenthood. After all, it seems you aren't aware of the term,
quality over quantity-"
There was a thud of books falling to the ground as Mr. Weasley threw himself at
Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spell books
and texts fell down under the ensuing tumble. There was screaming and hair
pulling and pushing and everything. Admittedly it was pretty hot.
Draco, Ron, the twins, the girl and Blaise were shouting encouragement as a
woman who might have been Mrs Weasley shouted for the fight to stop, aided by a
pleading shop assistant.
Percy was suddenly by his side, face red and embarrassed. To be fair, Harry
probably would be too in the teenage boy's position. He'd always thought Percy
might find himself a bit out of place with his family sometimes, part of it
being the usual phase of a teen obviously but this certainly wasn't going to
help much. With a soft nudge at the older redhead, Harry gave him a reassuring
crooked smile when Percy looked down.
"Well at least your dad's defending your honour like the princesses you are,"
Harry said lightly, Percy still looked plenty embarrassed at the scene his
family was making but at least the other saw enough humour to smile slightly at
the joke.
Sometime during the exchange Hagrid had wondered into the bookstore and
separated the two family patriarchs apart. Mr Weasley's lip was split and Mr
Malfoy looked like a book hit him in the face what with the faint pinning on
his pale cheek.
When Mr Malfoy looked at him though, Harry could see the older man look
slightly abashed at how he must look in the Wizarding Saviour's eyes, it
quickly faded as he shook himself out of the half giant's grip. Eyes glittering
with malice Mr Malfoy summoned the battered transfiguration textbook from
before, shoving it into Ron's sister's book filled cauldron. "Take the book
girl, after all it's probably all the best your father could give you," He
spat. "Come on Draco, Harry, Blaise."
Shrugging helplessly Harry followed, though not before mouthing to Ron an
apologetic 'I'll write you?' in which, with pursed lips, Ron nodded. They had
been exchanging letters the past few weeks and it'll be a shame to cut it off
so soon before school started up again. Giving his freckled friend a thumbs up,
Harry hurried to catch up with the fuming Malfoy.
He couldn't help the feeling that this felt slightly ominous to the year ahead.
***** Death's loathing on Lockhart *****
 The one where Death decides he hates Lockhart
"I am so getting onto the Quidditch team this year, just you guys wait." Draco
announced, his finger pointing accusingly at his sprawling friend. Harry
flopped his arm over his head as he lay on the train's comfortable compartment
seats.
"Draco I never said you couldn't." He groaned. "In fact I distinctly don't
remember saying anything actually." The boy just. wanted. to. sleep. He had
woken up at two in the damn morning with a peacock in his arms crooning
happily. He did not have the patience for this train ride.
The sliding doors slid open to bring in a red faced Ron. Because of course,
that was exactly what Harry needed.
"Malfoy." Ron growled.
"Weasley." Draco sneered.
"Potter." Harry muttered just to be contrary. He wasn't even looking at the two
boys, just up at the ceiling as he felt his body try to become one with the
train. "Now for the love of all things holy and magic can you guys just not?"
"His dad insulted my family!" Ron protested.
"His dad insulted mine!" Draco defended.
"All I'm hearing is that your dads did it." Harry pointed out, still unmoving.
"I don't see why we have to revert back to the beginning of last year."
"Harry it may surprise you to hear this but the only time we are remotely civil
is when you're around. There is no reversion." The Malfoy heir said dryly.
The arm covering his face slid off to lie limply off the edge of the seats so
bright green eyes blinked at the two boys bleary and annoyed. "Then do that
then." He hissed, "If you two are going to act like the children you are then
do it away from me or do it here so then I will take great pleasure in pushing
you two out of the window where your bodies would tear and splinter into
horrifying bloody carcasses and your faces will be so mangled your own fathers'
won't be able to recognize you from a raw meatball."
Both boys stared at the irritated child with equally sickened expressions.
Coincidentally enough Ron made a similar face when he sang his rendition of
Waltzing Matilda. "Yeah okay Harry." Draco whispered, his hand lightly pressing
his lips in a scandalized fashion. "Merlin."
"What's up with Harry, Malfoy?" The redhead side murmured.
"He didn't sleep well last night because Snowflake found his way into his bed."
Draco explained quietly, grey eyes watching warily as Harry slowly settled back
in his previous position. "Apparently he ended up hiding in my sock drawer at
five am."
Ron stared at his unfriendly rival. "There are so many questions. I don't know
where to begin." He confessed.
"Well luckily for you Weasley I do." Draco said gleefully. And then launched
into the epic unrequited love story of Snowflake the peacock and the Boy Who
Lived.
When Harry woke up two hours later, still groggy but feeling infinitely much
more human than before, he was greeted to the sight of a large stack of
assorted candies and his friends, both Gryffindor and Slytherin, giggling as
Draco Malfoy regaled them once again about the time Harry almost had to go to
St Mungos because somehow Snowflake had made his way onto his broom and the boy
was so shocked he fell off just as he was about to take off. Luckily his arm
was just bruised and not fractured or that would've been a much more mortifying
story than it already was.
Harry groaned and silently cursed the Malfoy scion before going back to sleep
again. He did not want to be awake for this.
===============================================================================
The Gryffindor table, much like every other House table, was filled with noise
and chatter and 'Oh my god, how have you've been doing's.' Hermione apparently
went somewhere with her parents. Ron groused about Harry not being over at his
place that holiday. The boy was fairly sure he's going to be guilted over to
the Weasleys come Christmas break. No he was completely sure. And already ready
to crumble dammit.
"So I didn't know your sister was coming to Hogwarts this year- from the
impression in your letters I thought she was like.. Six."
Ron guffawed, "Naw mate, though she certainly can act like a six year old
sometimes."
"Like you can talk Ronnikins!" One of the twins shouted somewhere on the other
side of the table. Harry didn't even want to know how.
"Shut it Fred!" The freckled redhead turned his head and shouted. "Or I'll tell
Harry what you said in your sleep that one time that you insisted was an
accident!"
"It was an accid-DON'T TELL HARRY!" A bunch of girls shrieked as the Weasley
twin practically slid on the table in an attempt to reach his annoying youngest
brother. The freckled teen flailed a bit as he pulled his body closer to the
pair. Then, mustering up the shreds of today's pride and dignity, Fred turned
to a highly amused Ron and a wide eyed Harry Potter, his arm holding up his
head as he lay on the table. "Hey.. Harry, how are you doing?"
Harry pressed the back of his hand to his lips as he tried not to giggle.
"Definitely better now that you're here Fred."
Fred beamed brightly, his pale freckled face pink, probably still from the
embarrassment. His brother, doing the less spastic thing, had walked around the
table to stand behind Harry and Ron, giving a faked put-upon sigh. "Children
these days." He tutted.
Ron, high from the knowledge that for once he had the upper hand against his
prankster brothers grinned madly and added, "You know someone else also says
things in his slee-" The redhead's smiling mouth was muffled by a blushing
George's hands. Fred tutted mockingly, still on the table and had visibly
gotten used to lying on it.
"Children these days."
"I think I should be the one saying that." Every turned to look up and there
Professor McGonagall was in all her stern and disapproving glory. Fred slid off
the table to slink between his brother and the Boy Who Lived. "The Sorting is
starting and I very much hope for your sakes that I won't have to come back
here again."
All the Gryffindors in ear shot nodded as one, it didn't matter if they had no
part in it, one look from their head of House and they were just compelled to
agree. Harry liked Professor Snape, he did, but hell, the human child in him
respects the hell out of McGonagall. Even the entity of him is admittedly a bit
intimidated by her.
Hermione on the other side of the table might have whimpered a little. Harry
only judged her a little for that.
===============================================================================
Ginny Weasley, Ron's sister, was a little weird in Harry's opinion. Ron told
him she was always weird but usually in a much louder manner. The redheaded
Weasley girl flushed at that, punched her brother on the shoulder and ran off
to the front of the group walking toward their dorms. Even Hermione, who had
been engrossed with Gilderoy's 'A Voyage with Vampires' book commented
offhandedly about that.
The green eyed boy didn't have the heart to tell Hermione that Gilderoy's books
weren't products of fiction. She'll find out soon enough.
Fred and George too were acting a little different too, not in a terribly odd
way or anything. They were still joking and grinning and generally just being a
right laugh, but Harry couldn't help but notice they seemed to be sticking to
him closer than usual. Lee Jordan was there too, he was a funny guy as well but
the boy couldn't help but feel the teen was aware of something he wasn't
because every single time one of the twins accidentally brushed against him,
jostled by the crowd, Jordan would get the slyest grin and would wink at Harry.
Harry does not know what to do with that.
Even Percy, who as prefect was up there in the front of the Gryffindor group,
kept sneaking glances at Harry. The boy was pretty sure he knew what this was
all about but he couldn't help but be curious nonetheless.
"Hey, Fred, George?" Two near identical faces turned to look down on him.
"Yeah Harry?"
"What can-"
"-we do for you?"
Harry blushed slightly, the faint dusting of pink decorating his pale features.
His idea sounded silly now that he was about to say it out loud. Silly and very
self-centred, but what else could it be to warrant such strange behaviour other
than them wanting him?
"Um," He began nervously, "Do you really want me so badly?"
There was a sudden 'oof' as the twins collided with each other and arms and
legs fell together in a messy heap. "What?" George croaked.
The green eyed child blushed harder, now he felt even worse. Ron was staring at
the whole thing confused. "Why are you so surprised?" Ron asked. "It was bloody
obvious even to me that you two and Percy want Harry badly."
There was another crash as Percy stumbled over nothing but the floor, from
their angle they could only see that the tips of the prefect's ears were
practically burning. "Percy wants me too?" Harry said surprised, Ron nodded
vigorously while his older brothers tried to untangle themselves from the
flooring.
"Yeah, you should've seen them this Summer Harry. I mean, they practically took
my right as best mate to complain about you not visiting. And over the time we
exchanged letters it was all, 'How's Harry doing?', 'Does he need rescuing from
the Malfoy's?', 'I read the Prophet, is he doing okay?', 'Can I write to
him?' Honestly, it was so annoying."
"Oh," Harry said, immensely flattered. Then shyly he looked at his friend and
asked, "Do you want me as well?"
By then they were holding tightly the captive attentions of literally everyone
there. Oblivious to it Ron scoffed, "Of course I want you mate! I've literally
wanted you since Christmas last year."
"I've wanted you before that!" Percy blurted out, earning everyone's interested
gaze as he tried to hide his mouth with his hands like it would somehow
convince everyone that he hadn't just said that.
"Well we've wanted you since that time on Platform 9 and 3/4's!" The twins
chorused determinedly.
Harry looked down bashfully, his cool hands pressing against his very warm
face. "Oh." He repeated softly. "I didn't really think, I mean, if I knew I
wouldn't have said yes to Malfoy for my first time."
George made a soft choking sound as Fred and Percy went suspiciously crimson.
All three, plus the older Gryffindors of the group were staring wide eyed at
the child, the latter looking like their favourite soap opera drama had just
revealed a last minute plot twist to the season finale. Ron gave a decisive
nod, crossing his arms smugly as he did so.
"I told ya Harry, me and my brothers would have shown you a much better time!"
More choking sounds were heard across the House of the brave and the bold. By
then everyone had given up any pretenses of actually walking to the dorms in
order to watch the scene. McGonagall certainly won't be pleased with any of
them but apparently her wrath was something that failed to register with
everyone currently. Harry had no idea why these people are so obviously
eavesdropping on what was clearly a personal conversation. House of Courage?
More like House of the bloody Curious.
"I don't know, I had a pretty fun time with the Malfoys. You know that game we
played last time, yeah, we were up the whole night doing it- Mr Malfoy
practically screwed me over their dining table!"
Someone legitimately sounded like they were dying. Harry is vaguely sure it was
Percy. He hoped there wasn't some sort of magical virus or anything hanging
around. The boy hasn't experienced illness before but it wasn't exactly
something on his bucket list or anything. Especially magical illness, ick.
Ron grinned, apparently being the only healthy one here, plus Hermione but she
was still reading her book so she didn't count. "Yeah well I betcha that once
my family learns the rules we'll have a hell of a time as well- though the
twins will probably be at you on both sides so you gotta be careful and all,"
Yup, that noise definitely was from Percy.
Harry laughed, "Oh I'm sure they'll love it, but I've got more than a few
tricks up my sleeve so they can't strip me down so easily. Plus I've got my
best friend to help me out in a pinch yeah?" Ron laughed too, bumping his
shoulder teasingly.
"Of course mate, we'll scratch each other's back yeah?"
"Duh."
"So you really will?" The redheaded boy said hopefully.
Harry sighed fondly, "Of course I will, I want all you guys as well."
"Wait what?" Fred asked officially lost, verbalising what the rest of the older
children's own thoughts.
Ron rolled his eyes at the hopeless confusion painted on the majority of the
students' faces. "I hope I'm not like this when I'm that age. Honestly you guys
are making such a big deal over Harry going to our place over the hols."
"What."
"You guys wanted me to join you all for Christmas at your place didn't you?"
Harry asked nodding, to himself at his rather astute conclusion. "I mean if I
had known all of you wanted me over I would have told Draco I would visit his
place another time, I just didn't think you guys wanted me to impose.."
The older Weasleys stared at the nodding boy with a mixture of disbelief and
embarrassment. Their fellow housemates were not exactly stunning examples of
understanding either what with their gawking open mouths and visible
incomprehension painted on their faces.
"Yeah." Percy finally muttered.
"That's totally-" George began in an awkward murmur.
"-what we meant." Fred finished weakly.
"My family is actually so weird." Ron whispered to Harry. Harry couldn't help
but silently agree.
===============================================================================
There had been a lot of staring and pointing during the feast. Harry kind of
expected that considering how many papers dedicated to his home life had
managed to be printed in such a short time. There were pictures of his uncle,
his aunt, his hospital photos which were certainly not supposed to have been
given to the public and even a slightly blurry photo of his medical records.
Whoever this Skeeter lady was, was fucking good at what she does. And is so
getting sued once Harry figures out if there such a thing as a magical lawyer
in this convoluted world.
McGonagall took him aside after she finished introducing the first years to
Gryffindor, her lips pursed and every so slightly trembling. The boy actually
thought she was going to cry. He really hoped she wouldn't. Because while he
has grown socially and emotionally during his time as a human, he was not ready
to deal with crying in any form. Especially from a woman he had come to kind of
respect and fear.
Wordlessly the woman pulled the thin child into a tight hug. "I-" She began
hoarsely, "I have failed as a teacher and I am so sorry."
'Fuck. Okay. Uh.' Harry looked up at the ceiling hoping for maybe a sign, some
help from a deity, Lucifer would be good in this situation funnily enough, he's
always had a knack with people in vulnerable situations. Unfortunately it
seemed the Devil was busy because nothing but a well decorated ceiling answered
him. Figures. "That's not true." Harry tried, hesitantly half wrapping his arms
around the professor and awkwardly patting her back. "You're a great
professor."
McGonagall tightened her embrace and said nothing. Which was fine. He could
sense she needed the silent reassurance, and that, was something he could give.
===============================================================================
They were starting on the more 'magical' type plants apparently. The green eyed
boy had to stare warily at the tufty little plants of a purple green colour
that Harry had a sinking suspicion to what exactly it was.
Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the middle of the
greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored ear- muffs were lying on
the bench. "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today."
Fuck.
Harry did not do great with plants, human form acting as a buffer or otherwise
his skill was mediocre at best. Harry also did not like loud noises or babies.
So, it may come as a bit of surprise but seeing that Mandrakes were wailing
plant babies from the stereos of hell, Harry also were not exactly fond of
Mandrakes either.
Professor Sprout explained some things and Hermione, true to form answered
every question asked. The Boy Who Lived didn't notice, much too busy wondering
if he could make Ron do his share of the potting. Probably not. Maybe Hermione?
It turned out that there was no chance to even ask as the moment they put on
their earmuffs that pretty much blocked all sound in the immediate area the
first Mandrake was uprooted and it just went down from there. They squirmed,
they kicked, they flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their equally
as sharp and unnecessary little teeth. These things lived in the ground for
god's sakes. What on earth do they need limbs and teeth for?
It was obvious they were extremely disgruntled at being taken out from the
earth but for some infuriating reason they seemed stubbornly adamant not to go
back in either. Harry had spent six whole minutes trying to push a particularly
large one into a pot before deciding that, since no-one could hear him, he
could whisper various methods of torture to the magical foliage in cruel,
excruciating detail. That seemed to do it as just a few sentences in explaining
what exactly flaying was in plant terms, his Mandrake just went limp and easily
was shoved back into it's new pot.
Still, by the end of the class, Harry was sweaty and covered in dirt and just
generally feeling disgusting. Trudging quickly back with the rest of his class
back to the dorms for a quick shower, Harry groaned at having to tear himself
away from the hot water to go to Transfiguration class. It took a lot of
shouting from the other boys before Seamus and Ron had to literally drag him
away from his beloved steaming water.
"You and your showers, it's absolutely ridiculous." Ron muttered.
"You're ridiculous." Harry muttered. "Seamus, tell Ron he's ridiculous."
Seamus laughed. "Sorry mate, but I think it's you whose ridiculous."
"Prats the both of you."
Transfiguration, as usual, was incredibly easy. As his fellow second years
struggled to turn their beetle into a button- something that he had managed
before Professor McGonagall had even finished her instructions- Harry had idly
transfigured his insect into a jewel encrusted scarab out of sheer boredom.
The young Weasley, in contrast, was not doing well. Somehow he had summoned up
a small foul-smelling puff of smoke and accidentally squashed his bug in the
process. McGonagall was not pleased. Harry tried to help but even he wasn't
exactly sure what was wrong with Ron's spell casting.
Handing in what they had done by the end of class certainly did not improve
Ron's mood any, especially since even Neville managed to get his beetle to show
some sort of button like change.
"What've we got this afternoon?" asked Harry, in an attempt to change the
subject as they walked to the hall for lunch.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts," answered Hermione immediately.
"Why," demanded Ron, seizing her schedule, "is it that you've outlined all
Lockhart's lessons in little pink hearts?" The bushy haired girl snatched her
schedule back, blushing furiously.
"Oh don't be like that Ron," Harry said with a tired smile, "She's just a fan
of the books yeah? I like how descriptive the narrative is in my opinion, what
about you Hermione?"
The girl gave a grateful smile before launching into an excited rant about 'A
Voyage with Vampires' that she currently had in her arms at the moment.
Personally Harry hadn't liked it, even when he did think Lockhart's books had
been children's fiction, but he listened along and commented occasionally when
appropriate either way. Ron just kind of grunted and made sulky insults in the
background, really, Harry didn't understand why Draco and the redhead didn't
get along more.
About five minutes in through lunch and about fifteen minutes in Hermione's
tirade, Harry felt a pricking sensation at the back of his neck. Looking behind
him he saw a very small, mousy-haired boy clutching what looked like an
ordinary Muggle camera in his hands.
When the smaller boy finally realised green eyes was on him he went a bright
red, clutching his camera to his chest.
I'm- I'm Colin Creevey," Colin introduced, taking a hesitant step to the raven
haired boy. "I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think- would it be all right if,
maybe, I, can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera hopefully.
"Really?" Harry blinked.
"So I can prove I've met you," the boy breathlessly said, edging further
forward. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me, about how you survived when
You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how
you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead," And of course eyes went to
his scar on his forehead. Harry wondered if getting a tattoo would take the
attention away. Though unless the tattoo was earned by murdering the next
dictator he highly doubted it would work.
"A boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the
pictures will actually move." Colin continued excited, "It's amazing here,
isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the
letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm
taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had
one of you?" The boy looked up at Harry with wide imploring eyes, "And uh,
could you sign it as well?"
Harry just melted under that hopeful gaze. How on earth could he reject that?
"Of course Colin, I would love to be in your picture." He said kindly, moving
out of his seat to stand next to the awed looking child. "Hermione could you
please take a photo with me and Colin?"
"Oi why didn't you ask me?" Ron protested as Hermione readily agreed.
"Because Ron you've never handled a muggle camera before in your life and I've
seen you grind chicken leg bones with your teeth like the animal you are."
Harry said happily as he wrapped an arm around the blushing boy.
The redheaded boy made a face and purposely opened his mouth revealing a half
chewed up.. Something gross. "Such an animal." Harry repeated through his
smiling teeth. Colin giggled.
===============================================================================
"Harry, a word please?"
Harry bid his friends a quick 'see you,' before making his way to the front of
the class where Gilderoy Lockhart was waiting for him. "Yes professor, is there
something wrong?" He said politely. The blonde teacher leaned down on him and
smiled, Harry could literally feel the light coming off the man's teeth
touching his skin.
"Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career
isn't sensible," The man said like he was imparting secret words of wisdom. But
in that over acting way like some invisible camera was watching them and
Gilderoy was making very sure the audience could hear every wise word that
comes from his shiny mouth. Every wise, stupid, word. "A tad bigheaded to be
frank. Very arrogant of you." Every. Stupid. Word. "There may well come a time
when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but I don't
think you're quite there yet."
The Defense professor gave a low chuckle and Harry felt any sort of respect for
the man plummet like a plane crash. As the man took a step back, Harry wasted
no time tugging his robes in a huff and walking to seat himself next to Draco
and his bodyguards.
"You're father's right Draco," Harry scowled, his face pink with humiliation at
Gilderoy's insinuations. "Lockhart is an idiot."
The platinum blonde let out an amused breath before glaring at all seven of
Lockhart's books that he'd piled onto his desk. "Told you so."
Before Harry could say something else the whole class quieted down as Lockhart
cleared his throat. The self centered blonde man then gestured to one of his
many winking portraits of himself on the wall.
"Me," he introduced, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary
Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch
Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award- but of course I won't talk about that. I
didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"
Few people smiled at the joke. Hermione had giggled. Harry had not ever been so
ashamed at the girl till now.
Lockhart said a few more things before then presenting everyone with a surprise
pop quiz. Honestly Harry was pretty sure he was going to do pretty well in it,
what with being a former fan before meeting the author essentially soured his
experience, well, he thought so until he actually read the questions.
1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?
2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition? 3. What, in your opinion, is
Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?
It went on for two whole pages, both sides.
54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?
"This is bullshit." Harry hissed to his friend. "This man is so awful he's
ruined every book he's ever written for me."
"Ugh, I know, like number 36. List three things you find to be Gilderoy
Lockhart's best feature, Merlin I don't know. What about his gaudy sense of
fashion?" Harry smiled at that.
"Or the fact his teeth are so well charmed to blind his opponents at a
distance?" Draco cackled quietly.
"Ooh very nice Potter, don't forget his blond hair implants."
"Writing it down as we speak."
"Good, I'm doing that too."
In the end only Hermione got the full points to the quiz, she blushed under the
man's praise as Ron scowled next to her.
Unfortunately the class was still not over. Harry missed the showers. So much.
Gilderoy with an elaborate flourish, lifted a large, covered cage onto his
desk.
"Now be warned!" The man said with a spooky low voice, Harry may hate the
blonde's guts now but he had to admit the professor had the skills to tell a
story, "It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to
wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know
only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain
calm."
In spite of himself, Harry felt intrigue at what was hidden under in the cage.
Even Dean and Seamus had stopped snickering at the man now. Neville was
cowering in his front row seat. Draco was leaning subtly in his seat.
"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in his low voice. "It might
provoke them."
The whole class stilled waiting, Lockhart revealed what was in the cage with
one fell swipe of the cover.
"Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."
Seamus involuntarily let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't
mistake for a scream of terror. The Slytherin's snickered and the Gryffindors
giggled. Even Hermione with all her hero worship of the man didn't look much
impressed, though it seemed she was trying very hard to be.
"They're not- they're not very- well, dangerous, are they?" Seamus choked back
another laugh.
The pixies, electric blue and shrieking their heads off like rabid budgies on
stereo, were batting against the cage bars, tiny hands reaching out to the
students. Lockhart tutted at Seamus, "Don't be so quick to judge, these
creatures are devilish and tricky."
When he noticed that the class was still far from believing the man said
loudly, "Well then, let's see what you make of them up close and personal!"
Harry's head shot up at that. "Wait what?"
It was too late, the cage was opened. The tiny blue creatures shot out, pouring
out like a flying vindictive waterfall. Two were lifting poor Neville by the
ears. The more intelligent ones went straight through the window to spread
terror somewhere else. The rest preferred to stay and bring chaos and havoc.
Chaos would love the tiny blue bastards.
"Peskipiksi Pesternomi!" Lockhart shouted, wand pointed at the general midst of
the blue swirling storm. Of course it had no effect, if anything it sent the
pixies in an even bigger frenzy. The blonde celebrity's wand was stolen and
thrown out the window, leaving the man running to go dash out of the room.
"I'll uh, leave you all to gather the rest of them up and back into the cage
okay?" He yelled before leaving with a slam of the door.
"Wait till my father hears ab-OW OW OW!" Draco screamed as the pixies began
tugging on his slicked back hair.
"I cannot believe him!" Ron roared as he batted a pixie aiming at his nose with
a book. "The bloody git just left us here!"
"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," defended Hermione,
freezing two pixies at once with a stupefy and stuffed them back into their
cage.
Harry scoffed, "Hands on? Are you actually serious? That man obviously knows
no- don't you fucking dare." He looked at the pixie zooming to his person and
fixed a glowing green look at the blue creature's direction. The pixie
shuddered, stopping mid-flight to hover around the wizarding saviour
uncertainly. The pixies closer to the hovering one, too stopped their actions
mid-way to see what the fuss was all about. They then all began fluttering
around Harry, chittering excited and fearful at once.
Soon enough all the pixies were circling around an annoyed entity dressed up as
a child.
"Woah mate," Ron breathed, the rest of the class looked similarly amazed. Harry
just rolled his eyes. Took those blue buggers long enough to notice him. If
they even tried to do what they did to Neville on him though.. Well, Harry
doesn't think there would be any cornish pixies alive in this world and any
subsequent worlds anymore.
With a sharp almost military movement, Harry pointed sternly to the cage and
barked out a loud, "IN," which, the creatures immediately complied.
"Dude," Dean said, "That was awesome." The rest of the class nodded and Harry
just waved them off. Too busy mentally maiming a certain blonde, blindingly
white teeth narcissist of a wizard.
"Oi," Draco suddenly piped up with a frown, "Why didn't you do that sooner if
you could just get them to do whatever you wanted?"
"Well that's a very easy explanation Draco." Harry said, "Obviously it never
occurred to me at the time."
The class was much less enthusiastic about him now.
===============================================================================
The first Saturday was probably the worst Saturday he's had in Hogwarts since
he's enrolled.
"Whhhyyyyy." Harry whined, rubbing his eyes tired and teary.
"Come on Potter!" Oliver Wood, Gryffindor Quidditch captain said with an energy
that one should never have when the sun has barely even started to rise.
"Gryffindor is going to get a head start with training!"
"But I'm not on the Gryffindor team." Harry groused.
"Yes Potter but you are one of the best flyer I've seen." Oliver said happily,
"And your technically in Gryffindor currently.. So I at least can make you fly
as our temporary seeker, you know, since our last one graduated and all."
"And my permission was not even a factor in this?" The boy said resigned. "Also
I'm pretty sure you're current seeker would take offence to that."
"Psh Lee Jordan's only doing it as a favour, he rather sit back and snark than
do any real training." Despite his protestations, the older teen must have
sensed his weakening resolve because he gave him a pat on the back.
"Good man. Here're your robes and get ready to fly some laps. Let's start with
something small- fifty sounds good." Oliver winked and then left to give out
more hellish training to the actual members of the team. Harry looked down at
crimson red robes in his arms.
"Dammit."
===============================================================================
"Mate are you not finished yet?!" Harry lowered his broomstick closer to the
stands where Ron and Hermione had been sitting. His hair was a windswept mess,
pale face pink with exertion and expression jealous as he gazed at the toast in
his friends' hands.
"We've barely even started." The boy complained. "I just finished my warm up
laps and Oliver had been talking to the others about their strategies."
Hermione cocked her head curious, "I don't understand why you were doing laps
if everyone else wasn't."
Harry shrugged, "Since I'm not actually a 'real' Gryffindor and Seeker position
doesn't necessarily require much strategy I think Wood thought it to be safer
if I didn't eavesdrop. Honestly I'm pretty sure the only reason I'm here is to
somehow either convince me to join the team or this is a long term plan where
Wood wants me to end up training his new seeker. I dunno."
"Quidditch is stupid." The girl finally said after a short pause, much to the
redheaded second year's squawk of indignation.
"It is a little dumb isn't it?" Harry agreed, enjoying the annoyance on his
friend's features.
"You're a little dumb." Ron groused getting Harry to smile amused. That's when
he noticed a soft clicking noise somewhere off the side of his vision. Turning
to glance to his right, the boy saw Colin and his camera taking a multitude of
pictures of his person. It would be cute if it wasn't a little creepy. "Hey why
are there Slytherins here?"
"What?" The Boy Who Lived's gaze followed his freckled friend's, and true to
form there was a group of royal green robed students holding broomsticks
heading towards the Gryffindor team. "Oh dear I should go see what's up."
Doing just that, the child took up his magic cleaning tool and floated
gracefully down to the pitch, Wood and Flint, the two captains, were facing off
against each other like a bad cowboy film.
"Flint." Wood scowled.
"Wood." Flint sneered.
Deja vu much?
Their teams had gathered around their respective captains for support. Harry
was wrong. This wasn't a bad cowboy film. This was a terrible mafia movie.
"What are you doing here?" The Gryffindor captain asked in a very impolite
manner.
"What are you doing here?" Flint had shot back, "We booked the pitch
beforehand, see?" The larger, mean looking teen unfolded a piece of parchment
that held permission for just that, signed by Severus Snape. A little unfair
considering Snape was their Head of House or whatever but legitimate all the
same.
Still both groups began bickering like the children they are about who gets the
quidditch field.
"But I booked the field!" Wood positively screamed. "I booked it!"
"And the note I've got says otherwise," Flint tutted smugly, "Shall I read it
to you? 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice
today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.' "
"You've got a new Seeker?"
Harry watched as the quidditch captain of Slytherin smirked before stepping
back to reveal an equally smug Draco Malfoy. The boy was so very sure that a
flair for the dramatics just came with being a Slytherin.
"Draco I told you, you could do it!" Harry cheered, walking over to the
platinum blonde with open arms. Upon seeing his raven haired friend, the
arrogant facade slid off the other and the excited, eager proud child was
revealed underneath. The Malfoy scion accepted the offered congratulatory hug
with as much silent modesty as he had.
Which was nearly none by the way. So Harry really did appreciate the gesture.
Even if it last three seconds before the bragging began.
Harry also deeply appreciated that the platinum blonde child hadn't noticed he
was not at all listening to said bragging. In fact, he was far more interested
in the increasingly heated exchanges between the two rival House teams.
Honestly Hogwarts should introduce a new sport to this school, this obsession
was bordering on ridiculous in how seriously its taken. Like competitive
knitting. They can make the patterns magically move and stuff. There's probably
some sort of gender feminist controversy there but the trash talk would be
absolutely hilarious.
The shouting began to really escalate and some teenagers were starting to take
out there wands. Hermione and Ron by then had joined in at the sidelines. It
was getting so loud that Draco had stopped talking.
Then someone called Hermione a mudblood and it somehow devolved even further.
Tears, screaming, weird protective hugging over the bushy haired muggleborn
witch. Who by the way, while upset, was far from crying openly like that
Angelina girl hysterically yelling 'How dare you's at the House of the
ambitious. Ron had tried to curse the offender but like most of his recent
spell casting that didn't work and he ended up with slugs in his mouth.
"Holy shite Ron!" Harry said as he shrugged off Draco's one handed hug and
knelt down next to his fallen redheaded friend, now puking slugs. Ugh. That is
not a pleasant fate for anyone. The green eyed boy was feeling very nauseous
just looking at him.
Draco surprisingly also went to Ron, grabbing his arm in an attempt to lift him
up. Looking at Harry he snapped, "Don't just stand there we need to head to the
infirmary."
"That's ways away!" Hermione moaned also looking quite sick.
"Hermione, help Draco with Ron and head toward the castle." The Boy Who Lived
ordered quickly, making no room to argue, "I'll fly and get the closest
professor since they'll hopefully know how to... Reverse that."
Not even looking to see if they nodded their agreement, Harry grabbed his broom
and swiftly zoomed up high to survey the grounds. Unfortunately the only people
he saw was windless, half-giant, Hagrid in his hut which was located a
reasonable distance from the field, and Professor Lockhart.
"Nope." Was all he said before diving nose down at a breakneck speed, easily
reaching the hobbling trio that had made not much distance since he left them.
"Change of plans guys, I'm levitating Ron and flying him to the infirmary, meet
you there."
The Malfoy scion spluttered as Harry with a flick of his hand lifted the ill
looking freckled child like it was nothing. "Then why the bloody hell did I
even have to do this in the first place? What the hell Harry?"
"Well I didn't know Lockhart was my only professor option at the time did I?"
Harry shot before flying toward the castle with Ron by his side and a trail of
slugs in their wake.
===============================================================================
So good news, they had a potion to help Ron's tragic ailment immediately so the
poor child didn't have to 'wait it out' like Hermione suggested. Bad news was
since Ron was the one who attempted to cast the spell in the first place and
Harry had flown at an alarmingly impressive speed inside the castle walls, they
were getting detention. Ron polishing silverware with Mr Filch and Harry-
"Oh please professor," He pleaded, vivid green eyes widening as unshed tears
made them shine, adorably pathetic under the lights. "Can't I have Filch watch
me polish trophies too?"
"I'm afraid not Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall said sternly, "I suspect Mr
Filch would go far too easy on you, plus Professor Lockhart requested you
particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, both of you."
"But I was doing so well avoiding that man." Harry whined softly, not soft
enough apparently because the older woman's mouth pursed into a thin line
showing her displeasure.
"Mr Potter as good intentioned you were before, you know I will not condone
disrespect to another professor." She scolded, but the effect was rather lost
in the glimmering mirth in her eyes.
"Maybe I should be punished much more severely?" The boy said hopefully, "I
hear Professor Snape is in need of an unruly student, uh, slicing bat wings?"
"Good try Mr Potter," The transfiguration professor deadpanned dryly, Harry
slumped in defeat.
Ron patted his shoulder empathetically. "If it helps at all I would trade with
you in a heartbeat."
"Well if it makes you feel any better, same goes for me."
The redhead cocked his head to the side thoughtfully before replying, "It
doesn't actually."
Hermione sighed, "Well I guess technically you two did break the rules." Ron
rolled his eyes.
"Oh shush 'mione."
"She's not wrong Ron."
"Don't put salt in the wound Harry."
===============================================================================
For the first time in his life, Harry prayed for death to take him. It was a
rather odd and confusing experience when he realised what exactly he was
wishing for. Did this count as an existential crisis? Either way, all the boy
could do was let his hand guide the quill to write the next insipid fan's
address, tune out Lockhart's weirdly intimate knowledge of said fan, look at
the clock over head and hope that his big brother Time would take pity on him
and free him from this dull hellhole.
People says you can't die from boredom, which is technically true, however as
Death, he knew that people can die because of boredom. His eyes fluttered close
for a bit as he let the sharp tip of the inked quill ever so lightly trace a
vein on his neck, shivering at it's touch. Oh yes he was half seriously
contemplating that sort of option if detention doesn't finish in the next ten
minutes. Or if his defence professor launches into another self-centred story
about him and his super fan of the week.
Then again, his eyes flashed open to glare annoyed at the blonde smiling man
sitting in front of him, maybe killing himself wasn't necessarily the correct
solution to this. Emphasis on the word himself.
"Come . . . come to me. . . . Let me rip you. . . . Let me tear you. . . . Let
me kill you. . . ."
Harry jerked startled. While very in tune with his current thoughts of murder,
that certainly was not his own thoughts.
"I know, surprising isn't it?" Lockhart continued on, mistaking the child's
surprised movement as something else, " Top of the charts for a whole year,
even I was quite shocked!"
"Uh, professor, did you by any chance hear something?" Harry asked. The older
man just looked at the boy blankly, Harry expected as much. Insipid fucking
moron. He hoped the professor aged really, really badly.
===============================================================================
Harry paused, Nearly Headless Nick was at the other end of the corridor looking
troubled and frustrated and angry, obviously muttering under his breath as he
floated around. Now a good person would go up to the ghost and ask what was
wrong. Harry would go so far to say he did not qualify as either good nor a
person but he sighed and went up to the spirit anyway. Not because he wanted to
be good or anything. He was much too tired and annoyed from his detention to
muster any sort of genuine kindness.
No, he was doing this because he is, as stated so many times before, a goddamn
pushover and awkwardly uncomfortable enough to feel morally obligated to ask
the brooding ghost what's wrong. Also Nick was kind of blocking the way to the
dorms.
"…don't fulfill their requirements… half an inch, if that… So unfair…"
"Is something wrong Nicholas?"
Nearly Headless Nick spun around so fast in his surprise his barely connected
head almost disconnected from his body completely. "Death Lord!" He gasped, "I,
uh, I-"
Harry rolled his eyes, "Oh come now Nicholas, you are my House ghost right now,
it isn't wrong for me to listen to any of your woes either way."
"I think that's supposed to be my job as House ghost milord." The spirit
pointed out, his translucent lips faintly twitching in amusement despite his
nervousness. The boy can appreciate the good humour in the undead man.
"Yes, well, nonetheless I would like to hear the reason for your woe. After
all, if it's in my admittedly extremely wide jurisdiction I could possibly
help."
"Well," The ghost said shyly, "It's not really that important to be honest,
it's just I thought I could apply for this hunt thing except apparently I
didn't meet the requirements…" In spite of trying to sound lighthearted there
was an audible note of bitterness in the spirit's voice.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You mean the Headless Hunt?"
Nearly Headless Nick nodded furiously. The raven haired boy gave a thoughtful
huff. "I can see how you're particular lack of.. complete decapitation could be
a problem for you."
"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and
my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of
pain and ridicule but this is just discrimination at this point. It's barely
half an inch of skin after all." Nick burst out, frustration and disappointment
colouring his words as he gestured wildly to his neck. To be honest Harry kind
of understood why the ghost wouldn't be accepted into such a 'club', after all
from what he hears, they actually use their bodiless heads for many of their
activities. He's pretty sure the poor nearly headless spirit would've felt much
worse if he was accepted and then forced to the sidelines to watch them head-
juggle or something.
"Well do you want me to sever your head completely then?" Harry offered kindly.
Nearly Headless Nick stiffened.
"Y-you can do that?" He asked both disbelieving and hopeful.
The entity-on-vacation scoffed, "Of course I can Nicholas. I just need
something sharp, like scissors or a blade."
"Just give me a moment!" The ghost squeaked before melting into the walls.
Harry barely had to wait a minute before Soon to Be Headless Nick flew back,
his face concentrated as he mentally floated a small but wickedly sharp looking
dagger. Dark and blackened with age, small hands gingerly felt the intricately
carved handle of the blade- some sort of bone from a magical creature, unicorn
most likely. "It's one of the few personal heirlooms I have." Nick explained
softly.
"It's beautiful." Harry complimented.
Then he tilted back his head, opened his mouth and slowly dipped the dagger
into his throat, blade first.
The spirit almost screamed at the action but no sound came from his mouth as
smokey tendrils, the colours of the darkest shadows on a moonless night, seemed
to reach out and curl around his offered weapon. It was like black flames,
clawing at the blade, licking around the edges as it darkened the dagger even
more. The entity's eyes had rolled back but instead of showing the whites of
them, there was only endless, unfathomable black.
It was horrifying and so unworldly, the ghost numbly traced the cut of his neck
subconsciously as he watched the whole thing unfold. He felt scared, and
humbled, and awed as the feelings of death emanating from such a small far-like
child washed over him, making him ironically feel more alive than he has in
centuries.
Bright glowing green irises rolled back into the boy, his Lord's, head to stare
at the spirit, the whites of his eyes still blacker than a midnight of empty
nothingness. Wordlessly the dagger was raised out and upwards, completely
pointing up into the air as moonlight failed to shine on the sheer black it was
now coloured as. There was a heavy pause, it felt ceremonial and so Nick waited
and watched. He watched. And he watched.
But somehow he must've blinked, never mind that ghosts have no need for such
things, because one moment the blade was high, rising to meet the moon, and the
next it was no longer there, limply held at his Lord's side. Nick looked up
curiously at his dagger, it no longer was the colour of void, instead it shone
dangerous and pride in the faint light of the night as it matched the sky in
colour. Wait. He looked up?
The spirit's eyes gazed downwards to see familiar floating feet that shouldn't
be on his eye level unless… With a gasp he willed his body in front of him to
pick him up and it did easily, if a little clumsily. "I.. I.." The ghost was
simply speechless as the fact he too was headless slowly sunk in.
Harry offered the dagger back, his eyes still black darkness and unearthly
green light. There was even still wisps of smoke coming from pale lips, like
translucent ash coloured snakes struggling to seep out. "Take your blade back.
Show these Headless Hunt-ers that I have personally beheaded you, I'm sure that
will get them to welcome you with open arms."
With a wave the entity left. Watching the Lord of Death walk away, it was so
hard to connect the delicate small figure of a child with such immense,
overwhelming power sometimes. Now, as Headless Nick hovered, eyes respectfully
never drawing away from the fragile boy's presence until he was completely out
of range, now he would never have that sort of problem again.
***** Death's Death Day Party *****
Chapter Notes
     So, there is going to be some underage slash in this fic. Mainly
     because as the author I have no patience to wait for so long, but
     also because of... Well actually that's pretty much it. It won't be
     too explicit. Maximum some medium to heavy making out really.
     Well, uh, you've been warned but hope you enjoy nonetheless.
_The_one_where_Death_goes_to_a_Deathday_party,_which_is_not_a_day_that
celebrates_the_greatness_of_his_self_but_the_day_that_Newly_Headless_Nick_died.
Just_in_case_you_didn't_know._
The Gryffindor house sticks up for each other through thick and thin. Something
they take great pride in as one of the 'Lighter' houses in the school. And
something the older Weasley boys found to be quite thankful for after their
embarrassing outbursts and confessions. It helped a lot that near everyone in
the school admits to the Boy Who Lived's number of charms. Even Zacharias
Smith, who has proclaimed very loudly his hatred over the green eyed second
year, is always suspiciously lurking around at every corner the Potter heir
turns.
Sure there's gossip, it wouldn't be a school without it. But in a society where
you can live up to 300 if you're careful enough, and arranged marriages are
still common enough not to be considered barbaric- well, there wasn't any
actual problems with two consenting individuals of any sex in a relationship
like that. Well, that's not true. The ones with a muggle background were mildly
disturbed at best. And if Harry had any parents alive they were sure to worry
about the lack of a heir.
But it was plain to see how infatuated the older boys seemed to be now that the
Gryffs knew what to look for. The glances. The thoughtfulness. It's in the way
they would shyly shuffle around an invitation for a simple chess game (Percy),
the way they seemed to practically beg for attention as pranks seemed to rain
down around the Boy Who Lived yet barely even doing so much as grazing the
child (the twins), or the way they all seem to perk up and puff out their
chests a little bigger when the young Potter boy was around. It was obvious and
adorable and the general consensus was they were actually kind of annoyingly
sweet.
Well Percy was being annoyingly sweet. The twins, with their weird peacocking
prank mating ritual, was just annoyingly annoying.
So overall the House of the brave as one had decided to keep the Weasleys'
little outbursts to themselves. Well, the older ones who actually understood,
did at least. Third years and below generally had the innuendoes go above and
beyond their little heads and had pretty much forgotten the whole thing by
then. But not the upper years, they had decided to do the mature thing...
 "Six sickles that the twins and Potter get together a month before Christmas
next year!"
..And bet on them like racehorses...
"Nine that Percy confesses by the end of this year and their relationship will
only consist of handholding and cheek kisses until Potter reaches sixteen!"
"A galleon for George- and ONLY George dating Potter by next Halloween!"
"Twelve knuts that it's NO WEASLEY and MALFOY wins Harry over by their fourth
year."
"Uh, have you seen Diggory with Potter?! A galleon on them having at least a
summer fling!"
"That centaur Potter hangs out with is literally a dark horse- three knuts!"
"Okay, who's the sick fucks who put down only one twin?! Obviously they'll
share!" Lee Jordan screamed, as he jumped up from the couch. Then turning down
to look at the two obviously embarrassed twins, whose skin tone was currently
matching very well to the colour theme of their House, he grinned, "Am I right
or am I RIGHT guys?!"
"Merlin, shut UP Jordan!"
...Also teasing them like no tomorrow. That is also a very mature thing they
are doing.
"No way! It's so obvious George is more heterosexual!"
"You better bloody take that back."
"Make me."
"Also, which one of you put Snape and Harry as their bet for two knuts?
Honestly guys take this seriously."
===============================================================================
 
Harry wondered if he killed another Defense teacher this year, would that give
him a reputation? Like, one is an unfortunate accident. Two is just plain
suspicious. It'll look like Harry has a weird agenda with DADA professors,
which is so not true. If anything, it's the DADA professors that have an agenda
with him.
"Hey Mr Filch, hypothetically, if I murder Professor Lockhart-"
"I've already got an empty graveyard with the engraved tombstone of a cousin I
don't have on it." The old squib said immediately before taking another sip of
his tea. It was some flowery indian blend Harry had bought for the caretaker.
Filch loves it.
Harry grinned into his tea. "You're the best Filch. It's a wonder more people
don't like you like I do."
Filch snorted. Mrs Norris purred between Harry's legs.
===============================================================================
 
"You got invited to a death day party?" Hermione asked with keen interest, "How
fascinating! I bet not many people who are alive get to go to one before."
"Sounds dead depressing to me.." Ron muttered as he frantically tried to
bullshit through another foot of the properties of certain types of soil. "Heh,
get it?"
The bushy haired girl rolled her eyes, "Yes Ron, very funny." She said in a way
that exactly conveyed how unfunny it was. "But seriously Harry, this is so
exciting! You have to tell me everything!"
"Weeeell.." Harry drawn out with a sly smile, "Headless Nick did say I could
bring a date."
"Headless Nick?" Ron asked, "You mean Nearly-Headless Nick right?"
The raven haired boy coughed awkwardly, "Yes, right."
"Oh can I be your date Harry?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"NO POTTER NO!" Some older Gryffindor girl sitting next to them suddenly burst
out before her friends clasped their hands on her mouth. When they finally
released her, she turned to the trio acting as casually as her embarrassed red
colouring would allow her to be. "I mean, Potter! Potter. I think, maybe, as a
proud prefect of Gryffindor House you should be accompanied by another prefect-
who is not me. Maybe a redheaded Weasley with a badge and a love for yo-
adhering to the rules?"
Percy Weasley who had been pretending to read in the corner of the common room
blushed. Fred and George weren't even trying to pretend not to listen, they
were however, valiantly trying to ignore the whispered teasings of their
housemates around them. The dark skinned comedian Lee Jordan looked like he was
about to go up to the three first years to say something but George shoved what
seemed to be a chocolate frog into his mouth. A rather foul tasting one if the
sour expression was any indication.
Unfortunately for the two red headed tricksters, there was only so many gross
chocolate frogs in the world and Alicia Spinnet had already bounded up to jump
into the space between the young wizard saviour and the female 'Parry'
supporter. "Actually Potter," She purred, "While I agree you should be
accompanied by an older male, Percy and the other prefects will be busy
surveying the Halloween Feast."
Harry frowned, unsure how things had escalated so quickly. "Uh. Okay. I guess
that makes sense."
"Actually maybe instead of one Weasley, why not bring two?" Spinnet suggested
mildly, like she hasn't been plotting ways to get the twins and Harry together
since she bet seven sickles on them. "After all we wouldn't want something like
last Halloween to happen to you."
The green eyed boy thinks that if anything like last year happened again, he's
pretty sure he can take it. The whole date thing he said was a joke in the
first place. Headless Nick had literally given the go ahead to invite a flock
of Dementors if Harry wished it to be. Originally he planned to go alone since,
considering how any person he invites to this party would end up sticking by
him the whole time. Pretending to be anything but human Harry Potter would be a
trial in itself. Hermione would be far more interested in ghost history to
really pay attention to himself at the very least.
"Well I don't want anyone to skip out on the Halloween feast," Harry demurred,
"However I wouldn't say no if someone saved me some food for afterwords? I
mean, I don't think a deathday party filled with dead people will have the
most.. solid of cuisine. I would deeply appreciate it if someone could maybe
snag me a sandwich? Or a chocolate cake or something?"
"I could do that." Percy piped up, earning at least three of the most unsubtle
thumbs up Harry has ever seen. Gosh, Gryffindor really does love helping a
fellow student out. It's funny, he's never seen any one this enthusiastic about
helping Ron with the homework he's currently struggling in. Maybe it was just a
really weird camaraderie all the Gryffindors have with food? Because that
actually explained so much.
"No need, dear brother of ours," Fred spoke out, with George adding in
smoothly, "We will kindly provide our dear Harrykins the sustenance for
tonight, I'm sure you'll be very busy with your prefect-ing duties."
"I hear the Hufflepuff table has much better desse-"
"Shut it Bell." Alicia snapped.
"Make me Spinnet."
"Draco would totally know what Harry likes to eat."
"So would Blaise."
"Don't you da-"
As the whole room descended into arguments and general shouting, Harry and his
friends slunk back to their dorms as quietly as they could. "Any idea what that
was all about?" The green eyed wizard saviour asked a little baffled. He
doesn't mean to stereotype but it seemed hotheadedness was a common factor in
these people. As well as a weird obsession to feed people apparently.
Ron and Hermione shook their heads. "Not a bloody idea mate." The redhead
replied, "I feel like it was something to do with my brothers but I heard
Malfoy's name in there?"
"Really? I heard,'Diggory is straighter than a ruler dammit, go brain yourself
on an acorn and bleed out.'" Hermione said. Then, in response to the boys'
stares she shrugged. "I have a good memory, don't be so surprised." The girl
defended.
Ron rolled his eyes at her sensitivities. "That was not what we were surprised
about 'mione but okay. Sure."
"By the way, the offer's still up for Nick's Deathday party Hermione if you
still are interested to go?" Hermione looked tentatively pleased.
"Wow Harry! Are you sure?"
"Positive." Harry said, "And before you protest Ron about being left out- it's
going to be old dead people and probably no food."
The freckled child clicked his mouth shut, making a scandalised judging
expression like it was just that disturbing that someone would choose listening
to some century old kook instead of have a slice of pumpkin pie. Which, saying
that out loud, Harry found himself kind of agreeing with that sort of logic.
Damn, now he wants to skip.
"Well have fun at that." Ron said dryly, "I'll save you some chips and stuff.
If my brothers end up actually getting you food- super weird by the way- we can
do the whole midnight snack thing. It'll be way fun."
"I'm sure it will be." Harry agreed.
Ron grinned back.
===============================================================================
 
"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry bossily. "You saidyou'd go to
the deathday party."
He sighed, looking forlornly at the colourful decorations that celebrated his
holiday. "Yeah, yeah Hermione I know." It's not like he's regretting his
decision to go to Nick's Deathday, Harry has been admittedly feeling a little
homesick in all this surrounding life, and spending time with some of the
undead will certainly remind him of his domain. However the human child inside
him (and yes, he's found it a little unnerving that he's developed a childlike
mindset over these years, its a mature child but a child nonetheless) was
sulking about how there would be an obvious lack of colourful decorations,
adornments, lavish foods and just all around 'fun'.
Essentially he was torn, on one hand the entity in him wanted a good proper
Samhain- offerings, ghosts and darkness, and a small but now no less important
part of him wanted a satisfying Halloween- candy and music and costumes galore.
Either way, Hermione was right. A promise was a promise. And there was no way
Harry was going to skip out on Nick's Deathday. It's been a while since he's
gone to a deathday after all.
The way leading to Headless Nick's party was lined with candles but unlike the
ones surrounding the Great Hall, the effect was far from bright and cheery.
These were tall, thin, black tapers, all burning an eerie blue. The candles are
dim, ghostly lights that cast intimidating shadows that flitted around the two
children. With every step they took, the temperature dropped, and Harry
couldn't help but shiver in part delight at the gothic atmosphere of the place
and part because it was actually getting pretty damn chilly. There was the
faint whisper sounds of screaming wails and nails scratching in despair.
"Music to the ears yes?" Harry sighed happily as a particularly terrified howl
echoed through the hall, his friend who was looking at him incredulously,
hugged her robe closer to herself.
"This actually explains so much." She muttered under her breath, shuddering as
a plaintive wail cut through the air.
"Did you say something?"
"What? Oh, nothing. Nothing."
Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow but said nothing. He won't judge like his
young friend is doing. Children will never grasp the classics of music.
Beethoven, Mozart, the screams of the damned, Destiny's Child… You know, the
classics.
When they finally arrived, they were greeted by the sight of Not so Headless
Nick in front of a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.
"My dear friends," The headless spirit said mournfully, looking like the
epitome of a scorned, grief-stricken ghost. "Welcome, welcome . . . so pleased
you could come. . . ."
Then with a sweep off his plumed hat, Headless Nick bowed low, ushering the two
children inside. The dungeon was already full of translucent people, mostly
drifting around a crowded dance floor. The quavering sound of thirty musical
saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform echoed
hauntingly. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with hundreds of the
same wicked looking candles that had lead them to the party.
"Careful not to walk through anyone," Harry advised, Hermione nodded and was
checking out a group of scholarly-looking spirits in a corner speculatively.
Turning shyly to her friend, the bushy girl gave him a pleading apologising
expression.
"Uh, I know this is really rude considering you did invite me and everyth-"
"Go, have fun." The Boy Who Lived dismissed with a smile. This was perfect. "I
wanted to do a little solo exploring myself. Why don't we meet by the- and
she's gone."
Shrugging, Harry turned to the mass of bodiless partygoers, his glowing green
eyes sliding to the nearest gaping ghost as he smiled, elegant but wide. Almost
like switching on a light, the spirits that had been impatiently hovering
nearby surrounded the child. Some were respectful and maintained a distance,
others were not so much, as icy air from their translucent figures caressed
pale flesh in awe.
"Death Lord."
"What Nick said really was true."
"I can feel your skin milord." One murmured with wonderment, while the others
who were also taking the chance at touching the entity muttered in agreement.
"So soft."
"Our Lord."
"So warm."
"Thank you for allowing us this great pleasure."
"Death Lord."
"Milord did you really sever our host's head?"
With all the exposure to beings so close to his element, Death felt the whites
of his eyes begin bleeding black and something in his small human frame settle
down in a way that he hadn't realised needed settling down before. Glancing
back to make sure Hermione was still otherwise preoccupied, the raven haired
entity began making chit chat with his subjects, allowing them to soak in the
sensation of touch on his twelve year old body.
Wow that sounded way worse than he thought.
As Harry conversed and listened to the undead practically showering him with
either compliments or exaggerated exploits of themselves, Now Headless Nick
drifted toward him. His head was purposely situated under his arm to show off
the fact that, yes, it was completely disconnected from his body, thank you
very much.
"Enjoying yourselves?"
"Oh, yes," Harry drawled as he basked in the cold but no less appreciative
gazes of the ghosts. Said ghosts were making loud enthusiastic noises of
agreement.
"This is truly the best turnout in years," mused Headless Nick with no small
amount of pride. "The Wailing Widow, the Cruel Chieftain, the Groaning Guard,
even Drowned Diane from the end of south America! I don't even think I invited
her!"
"Well it has been a pleasure talking to so many of your friends." The boy
smiled and all the intangible beings around him practically swooned. Headless
Nick beamed.
"Well then, I think it's a good time for my speech!" He said excitedly, "Let me
just go warn the orchestra and-"
The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone
else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting
horn sounded. Harry raised a brow. The ghostly host of the party looked both
irritated at him being interrupted and cautiously, gleefully vindictive. For
reasons Harry didn't know, but felt like he was going to find out soon enough,
the man put his head back on his neck, adjusting it so it looked like it was
still just as attached as it was before.
Through the walls of the dungeon where this party was being held, a dozen
translucent horses burst out like a wave, on each horse was a headless man
riding them. Dramatically, they galloped to the middle of the dance floor,
whinnying and rearing back as applause at the entrances greeted them. Leading
the pack, on the most magnificent undead steed, was a large muscular ghost
whose head was held under his arm. Hoisting himself down, the headless man made
a beeline toward the Gryffindor ghost, throwing his head up in the air and
catching it with his neck much to the crowd's delight.
"Nick!" He greeted loud and boisterous as he slapped his palm onto the other's
shoulder. "How have you been hanging? Head still on your shoulders?"
"Welcome Patrick," For a moment the ghost looked annoyed but quickly the
expression smoothed into a 'I know something you don't,' smirk of triumph. "And
for your information, I've found very recently that there are times when I've
just.. lost my head."
Then, with an equal amount of dramatic flair, Newly Headless Nick tilted his
neck so his head rolled down his arm, into his waiting hand. The ghosts
watching went wild. Harry wondered how long it took the spirit to perfect that
trick. From the smugness radiating off him, whatever hours long put into it had
been certainly worth those fifteen seconds of fame apparently.
The Headless Sir Patrick and his fellow horsemen were quite speechless.
"Now if you excuse me," Headless Nick grinned in his own hands, "I have a
speech to say."
And with that, the ghost that represents the house of Gryffindor did just that.
No one interrupted him. And everyone applauded and cheered afterwards. Headless
Nick even got invited to Sir Patrick's little club, especially after Harry
introduced himself, and got a rather fine steed that had apparently perished in
civil war times. Harry thinks that this whole thing was probably the highlight
of the man's death so far.
It certainly was the happiest Deathday Harry had ever gone to.
===============================================================================
 
"I didn't know Nick finally lost his head!" Hermione exclaimed excitedly as
they walked out of the party. Harry would have stayed longer in the
celebrations but he had an eleven, possibly twelve, year old girl to take care
of and a curfew to adhere to. Unfortunately. Sir Patrick and his fellows were
very entertaining once they'd gotten off their high horses, pun intended. It
had been very amusing to listen to all the pick up lines they had involving
heads or lack there of.
"Nick seems pretty sane to me." Harry shot back with a crooked grin because he
can.
The girl rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean Harry. But aren't you even
curious how the man even managed to fully disconnect his his head and his neck?
I thought ghosts were completely intangible!"
"Yes, well," Harry cleared his throat, "We do live in a magical sentient castle
Hermione, I'm sure there's exceptions to every rule if you look hard enough or
find the right artefact."
Hermione didn't look much convinced, "So you think it's some sort of magic
knife?" She asked doubtfully.
"Because having the actual Philosopher's Stone here is plausible but god forbid
we have a ghost knife." The boy sarcastically retorted.
The girl gave a pause before making a tilting neck movement in acquiescence.
"Okay, fair point."
"And no I refuse to help you look for said ghost knife."
She flushed in a manner that told the boy that was exactly what she was
thinking about doing. Really, this girl was far more adventurous than he
thought she would be considering her rule abiding manner. As she opened her
mouth to protest, Harry beat her to it.
"Yes, yes you totally were."
"Stop reading my mind." Hermione sulked, Harry winked.
"I don't even need to read your mind when your face might as well be an open
bo- did you hear that?"
"Hear what."
The green eyed child frowned as he focused on the faint voice in the walls.
"… soo hungry… so long… kill…"
As the voice moved upwards Harry knew instinctively that it came from no ghost
or poltergeist. Whoever it was, is alive, is traveling somehow through the
walls of Hogwarts, and was murderously hungry. Those are usually not a good
combination.
"There's something in the walls," He informed Hermione quickly, much to her
bewilderment, "I can hear it, follow me."
With quick footsteps, Harry earnestly went after the voice behind the walls.
He's not the biggest fan of the castle but the boy was fairly certain that
Hogwarts hasn't suddenly developed any homicidal tendencies, meaning that the
ominous voice was probably going to lead up to something very important that
will happen in the future. And while he's only been a student for one year
here, Harry's fairly sure important is synonymous with Not Good.
The voice was getting increasingly frenzied and yet Hermione still couldn't
hear anything. "Seriously? Nothing?"
The bushy haired girl glared as she tried to keep up with Harry's hurried pace.
"For the last time Harry I have no clue what you're talking about!" She panted.
Clearly the brunette had been hitting the books more than hitting a gym. At
least she hadn't been hitting a person. That was a strange tangent to go to.
"If I'm wrong then I'll make it up to you." Harry promised as he practically
hurtled around another corner. A part of him is wondering why Hogwarts hasn't
tripped him up or pushed him down the stairs yet. The boy guesses the castle
doesn't appreciate whoever or whatever is roaming around either. Though he
doesn't think that this mysterious individual has been hindered by the building
walls either so it probably means that the dumb overrated giant hut of rock
rated them both on the same level.
Seriously, fuck Hogwarts.
They finally arrived at a deserted passageway, from the faint sounds of
merriment Harry realised they were quite nearby the Great Hall. On the wall at
the end, foot high words shining due to being freshly written were ominously
visible under the dim torchlight.
 THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
"There's something hanging underneath." Hermione whispered horrified. "What is
it?"
"Stay back Hermione," Harry demanded firmly as he walked cautiously closer to
get a better view, "When I tell you to, run to the Great Hall and get someone.
Anyone."
Pale faced, the girl silently nodded her head. Satisfied with her compliance,
Harry went up to the graffitied wall and then promptly took a step back as he
realised what, or who exactly was hanging on the wall. "Hermione go get
someone!" He shouted, genuinely distressed. "Someone strung up Mrs Norris."
The poor feline was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket, stiff as a
board and her eyes were wide and glazed as she stared blankly at Harry.
Tentatively, the boy brushed her fur and sighed in relief as he felt the pulse
of the cat's soul. Still alive. It was a testament to how shocked he was that
he couldn't even immediately recognise whether Mrs Norris was among the living
or not.
What sort of sick individual just does that to such a lovely cat?
In the background he can hear Hermione screaming for help in the halls and the
loud commotion that followed. Harry is going to have to teach her to better
conduct herself because hysteria is never a good move when trying to get help
whilst not bringing about possible mass panic. The boy closed his eyes and
prayed silently to Order for strength as the clamor of hundreds of students
rushed out into the halls. Whatever noise the crowd made was quickly shushed as
the first of the students caught sight of exactly what was the cause of the
Gryffindor second year's loud dismay.
Then, when Harry thought that maybe, maybe, a professor would swoop in just in
time to prevent the bubbling tension in the passageway from exploding-
Zacharias freaking Smith sauntered out of the crowd. "Enemies of the heir,
beware?" He read, then with an even louder voice than usual, the boy scoffed,
"Well it's a good thing I'm not a mudblood, or I would be pissin myself right
about now!"
Goddammit Smith.
What's going on here!?" Mr Filch screamed as he shouldered his way through the
mass of students. Harry shut his eyes harder. There a whole staff of broom
riding wizards that had been in the same Great Hall as everyone else and yet
the one magic-less caretaker managed to get here before them. How.
"Mr Filch I don't think you should look." Harry whispered.
But it was too late. "My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" Filch
shrieked in horror as he laid sight on the rather grisly scene. The green-eyed
boy quickly went to the older man's side and steadfastly held onto his shaking
arms, stopping the caretaker from throwing himself at his beloved pet.
"Mr Filch, Argus, she's not dead! Mrs Norris' isn't dead!" He shouted, his thin
scrawny limbs following the thrashing movement of the man. Whoa, the aging
caretaker was surprisingly strong. Mr Filch paused as Harry's words finally
settled through his frantic mind.
"What?"
Zacharias, being of sound mind and annoying body, decided now was a good time
to open his mouth again. "How do you know Potter didn't kill Mrs Norris?" The
boy asked with a smirk.
Harry almost fell down when Filch turned to the blonde Hufflepuff with furious
intensity, Smith at least looked cowed. "How dare you! You little brat-" he
screeched, "Don't you dare accuse Harry, how dare you-"
"Argus!" Everyone looked as Dumbledore arrived on the scene, flanked by a
number of other teachers. Because of course now they finally come. He likes the
professors here in Hogwarts, he does really, but these people are actually so
incompetent at child-caring Harry wonders why more people aren't dead.
Carefully unhooking Mrs Norris from the torch bracket, the Headmaster turned to
Harry and Mr Filch.
"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr Potter. Gilderoy has so
kindly volunteered his office as it's closest."
Gilderoy Lockhart beamed from behind him. "I'll lead the way Headmaster." He
said in a manner far too cheerful for the situation. The students parted to
make way for the small group, Lockhart looking excited and dramatically
important, followed by Dumbledore, Filch and Harry. Professor Snape and
Professor McGonagall followed up from behind as the rest of the staff tried to
push the crowd calmly back to their dorms.
===============================================================================
 
Lockhart's office was covered in magical paintings of himself. Which was
fortunate because it pretty much guaranteed that Harry would not see a single
splotch of those painted clones, ever. It seems having sentient artwork fear
you at first sight does have some perks.
Dumbledore laid Mrs Norris on the surface of the polished desk, suspiciously
bereft of paperwork, and began to examine her thoroughly with Professor
McGonagall surveyed the poor creature just as close. Harry directed the forlorn
squib caretaker to one of the cushy seats in front of the desk and sat beside
him. Professor Snape stood behind them, looming and looking like he belonged in
the half shadows of the candles. Lockhart was simply buzzing and hovering
around like a irritating fly spouting random and increasingly violent
suggestions to what might have happened to Mrs Norris. Harry shot the blond a
glare and patted his magic-less friend consolingly.
"It was definitely a curse that killed her, probably the Transmogrifian Torture
one, seen it used many times, unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very counter-
curse that would have saved her…"
Filch gave a shuddering, dry sob. The green-eyed Gryffindor glared. "Mrs Norris
isn't dead Professor Lockhart." Harry sneered. "And even if she was, which she
isn't" he hastily reassured to the caretaker looking hopeful at him, "have some
tact. Mrs Norris is very important to some of us."
Lockhart gave the boy an 'aw how cute,' expression, "Please, if Mrs Norris
wasn't dead then I think I would kn-"
"Actually, Mr Potter is right." Dumbledore finally piped up as he straightened
his back and adjusted his half moon glasses. "Mrs Norris isn't dead."
"I knew it!" Cried out the defense professor who was very much ignored.
"Not dead?" choked Filch, "Harry was right?"
"Yes." Dumbledore agreed amiably, "Harry was right, Mrs Norris isn't dead, but
however, she is very much petrified. How I can not say,"
"If I might speak, why don't we ask Mr Potter?" Professor Snape volunteered
coolly, "After all he was the first one present."
"Harry didn't do it," Filch immediately defended. "He loves Mrs Norris almost
as much as I do, there is no way-"
"Patience Argus." The Headmaster said. "We are not accusing anyone of anything
yet. Though it is a bit suspicious Mr Potter was there in the first place and
apparently not at the Feast," The old wizard raised his brow enquiringly.
Harry didn't flinch, green eyes looked levelly at twinkling blue. The
Headmaster was two parts amused, three parts knowing and five parts genuinely
curious. "I was at Nick's Deathday party," He explained. "You can ask any
ghost, they will vouch for me. Hermione was also there."
"So how did you end up down that corridor?" McGonagall asked, "To get there you
have to pass the Great Hall anyway, so why didn't you just rejoin instead of
ending up where you ended up?"
Oh shit. Harry opened and closed his mouth. "Oh, uh, oh,"
"Can't you see the poor boy is in shock!?" Mr Filch snapped angrily, "Harry
Potter is innocent and it's my cat that's been petrified, so when I say he's
innocent, Harry is innocent unless there is some damning evidence!"
McGonagall looked taken aback and both Snape's brows were raised in thinly
veiled surprise. Dumbledore just smiled. It's so hard to read that man's
intentions. "I don't think that's how it works Argus, but nonetheless we will
respect your choice to drop Mr Potter's interrogation. On a much happier note,
Professor Sprout had just potted some Mandrakes for classes. As soon as they
have fully grown, we will have a potion made to revive Mrs Norris."
"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have brewed a Mandrake Restorative
Draught a hundred times at the very least. I'm sure I could whip up in my sle-"
"Excuse me," Snape interrupted disdainfully. "But I believe I am the Potions
master at this school."
Awkward.
===============================================================================
 
To the shock of no one, the attack on Mrs Norris was one of the only things
that anyone talked about for days. Mr Filch didn't help as he practically
stalked the area where she was hung. Harry even tried helping the poor man
scrub the words off the wall with some Magical Mess Remover that did not work.
He even offered to try use some serious raw magic mojo but the squib quietly
refused. Harry thinks its because the caretaker needed something to do to take
his mind off it all. The boy quietly promises to himself to visit the older man
a lot more until Mrs Norris recovers.
Ron's little sister seemed especially distraught about Mrs Norris. Which was
strange since as a new first year, she probably barely interacted with the
feline. Ron says it was because Ginny was a huge cat lover but Harry still
thinks it's a bit strange. Then again, so far Ginny has been pretty much
nothing but strange.
===============================================================================
 
"Good evening professor." Harry greeted mildly. Professor Snape looked up from
his marking on his desk.
"Potter, what are you doing here?"
Shyly, Harry took a chance to flicker his eyes up to meet beetle black ones. "I
uh, I wanted to thank you for your gift. I know it's a little late but I just
wanted to say, it was.. Very thoughtful, and I, I want to apologize for
overreacting for before. Um."
The boy mentally groaned at his attempt at awkward apologies- because itwasn't
his fault, it was all Snape's and if the man had just apologized like a normal,
socially adjusted person instead of giving him that frankly precious gift that
Harry was still wearing under his clothing, the boy wouldn't have to do this.
Now he was socially obligated to be the one to bring closure to their squabble.
Damn Snape that cunning bastard.
However before he can further embarrass himself by stumbling through the maze
of human societal constructs, a large hand brushed through his hair, ruffling
it gently. Harry looked back to confirm, yes, it was indeed Professor Snape who
was committing the affectionate gesture. The man definitely did it when he gave
Harry his Christmas present but the child just sort of assumed it was a one off
scenario. He didn't actually think this was going to be some sort of thing.
Though, as he felt his cheeks inadvertently flush under the caresses, Harry
couldn't say without lying that he was completely opposed.
"There is no need to say sorry Potter." Snape said soft, "Your reaction was..
understandable."
"Well I thought so." Harry replied with exaggerated haughtiness earning himself
a stifled inelegant snort from the older man. "Now that we've gotten that out
of the way I would like to say that I enjoy our," the boy hesitated for a
moment as he racked his brain for a word to describe whatever relationship they
had between them currently. Finally he settled on, "comradery. And I understand
why you'd chosen to not say the things you weren't supposed to say. I guess in
that case maybe I was a bit hasty in my aggressions.." Harry dithered a bit as
he realized he was reaching apology territory again but Snape just kept waiting
patiently for the boy to figure out his thoughts. Honestly Harry's pretty sure
his thoughts wouldn't be so scrambled in the first place if the professor would
stop carding his hands through his hair. He's not going to point that out loud
though in case the man stopped.
"However, uh, however I don't appreciate being treated like someone to be made
a fool of."
"Not many people do." Snape replied dryly.
"Oh you know what I mean." The younger of the two huffed and tried to ignore
the bemused expression on the professor. It was subtle and almost nonexistent
but the condescension was all there. "Do give me some credit, after all, I
obviously came out of the whole mess relatively unscathed."
Snape made a pinched expression that generally conveyed some form of
unhappiness. "You killed a man. I wouldn't call it unscathed in any sort of
relative manner."
"You heard about that?" Harry was surprised; he'd thought Dumbledore would've
kept that sort of information to himself. Snape and the headmaster must be
closer than he originally thought. Because if Professor McGonagall knew he was
pretty much forced to kill someone as a result of some elaborate plan of the
old wizard, he's fairly sure he would know. "To be completely fair though- he
tried to kill me first."
His hair was pulled slightly as Snape's fingers clenched at Harry's callous
manner. Harry couldn't help but let his eyes flutter shut at the
sensation.Shit. Every feeling was more intense in mortal flesh and he'd always
liked a little hair pulling in his, uh, escapades. Adding the fact that he's
looked admiringly at the man's slender, long fingers more than a few times and
that his young body is on the cusp of puberty.. well he's just glad that he
managed to not make any inappropriate sounds. "That's hardly an excuse."
"I'm fine." Harry says, and if his voice is a little high and strangled it's
because those goddamn fingers are still tangled in his hair and sending
absolutely amazing tingles shivering down his neck. Fuck, Harry cannot wait to
be old enough to actually have human sex. He's embarrassingly shaky in the
knees right now and he's no longer aware of where the conversation has gone, he
is that distracted by the sheer intensity of this sort of contact. How on earth
do humans manage to do anything once aware of such pleasures is honestly beyond
Harry.
Snape frowned unconvinced by the obviously not-fine way Harry had said he was
fine. His fingers tightening as he did so and Jesus Christ, faint sparks were
dancing down his skin as his head was pulled back slightly at the motion,
exposing his pale neck to the light and his professor's gaze. This time Harry
couldn't hold back a quiet breathy 'oh,' sound.
The potions master made his own 'oh' noise as he'd finally realized what was
happening. Yet looking down at the flushed face of pleasure on the usual
unruffled, composed young Potter, Snape found himself staring unabashedly.
Almost on their own, his fingers tightened and pulled the younger raven-haired
boy's head ever so slightly backwards to show off more of that pale expanse of
skin. Harry looked practically wrecked and the older man drank the sight of it
fervently, like a man who hadn't seen water in years. Snape gently leaned
closer and-
"P-professor?" Harry gasped softly, but it was like a sharp slap in the face
for the sallow skinned man. Immediately the potions master let go of Harry like
he was burning and took three quick steps back as horror and self disgust
slowly welled up inside him. What did he just try to do? When did these sort of
sordid feelings towards, towards a bloody child, even grow inside him?
"I have to go."
And go he went.
===============================================================================
 
"All the copies of  Hogwarts, A History  have been taken out," Hermione
grumbled.
"Professor Snape won't talk to me. Like at all." Harry complained as he
listlessly scribbled on a spare parchment. "Also Justin Finch-Fletchley
literally took one look at me, turned around and walked back to where he came
from."
"Oh boo you." Ron mocked, scowling as he furiously copied something from a
History of Magic textbook. "Some of us here have some real problems- like being
a whole foot short in their essay on the Russian Wizard war of 1832."
"Shut up Ron, I told you to start when I did, so that is all on you. My
problems however are really lowering my self-esteem right now. Seriously, you
guys should've seen Justin's face. Is there something on my face or?"
"No Harry your skin is as flawless as freshly fallen snow." Draco drawled
sarcastically as he pulled up a seat next to Hermione's. "Hello Granger,
Weasley. You two are positively glowing with happiness." The two Gryffindors
mumbled darkly in acknowledgement.
"I know you're being sarcastic but that really helped. Thanks." Harry said with
a smile. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Oh and Granger, I happen to have a  Hogwarts, A History  that I took out
yesterday if you want to borrow it for twenty minutes." The Malfoy scion said
as he pulled out the stated book and waved it teasingly in front of the bushy
haired bookworm. Hermione snatched it greedily, "Twenty minutes is all I need."
She said gleefully.
"Why do you even need it anyway?" Ron asked.
Draco scoffed, and since Hermione was too busy frantically flipping through the
pages, he decided to answer instead. "Obviously, because like everyone else in
school, she wanted to read up on the Chamber of Secrets."
Harry choked. Luckily no one noticed, too engrossed in the new discussion about
the history of Slytherin's secret chamber. The green-eyed boy didn't listen. He
didn't have to. He knew exactly what the Chamber of Secrets was.
===============================================================================
 
Harry said goodbye to his Gryffindor friends and Malfoy, and strode down into
the dungeons. He walked determinedly and resolutely. In fact, until about the
last six feet between himself and Professor Snape's personal quarters, Harry
was as firm and confident as a sunflower facing the sun in summertime. Now
though, as he wavered in front of the door, his metaphorical sunflower of
resolve was wilting in the cold temperatures of the dungeon.
Things between them, somehow, were three times worse than before. Mainly
because this time Harry is fairly sure that his inappropriate and absolutely
mortifying reaction beforehand was the reason for the fact the potions
professor is no longer looking at him in the eye. And once again, the green
eyed second year was at a loss at what to do.
Taking a deep breath, Harry knocked on the door. For now he will pretend that
he didn't get more than a little aroused under his professor's hand from some
literal petting. Because some idiot was trying to open the Chamber of Secrets
and that usually doesn't ever end well.
Snape opened his door but once he realised who exactly was the person who
knocked, it was painfully obvious that the man was regretting doing so. Harry
gave a childish little wave because that was the cute thing to do. "Good
evening Professor Snape."
"Evening." The older of the two answered stiffly. "What are you doing here?"
Harry faltered a little at the detached tone of the potions master. It seemed
they just move one step forward and three steps back each time. "I wanted to
talk about the Chamber?"
"Are you telling me or asking me?"
"Asking you?" Harry coughed, "I mean, asking you. Yes, I am asking you. Can I
come in?"
The professor clearly wanted to say no, actually from the look of his sour
expression, the professor would probably invite a bloodthirsty vampire in
before Harry. It was insulting and confusing and super rude. Harry made sure
none of those feelings showed on his face.
Finally the older man acquiesced and open the door further for the boy to walk
in. "Make this point quick." He demanded. Harry rolled his eyes when Snape
closed the door behind them.
Taking a seat on the couch from before, the wizarding saviour started with,
"Just so you know, I'm clearly not the heir of Slytherin. However, I may know
where the Chamber is, how to get in and what beast resides in there."
"That's.." Snape trailed off, choosing to look blankly at the younger male.
"Incredibly suspicious and incriminating?"
"Very."
"That's what I was afraid of." Harry murmured.
The potions master gave him a look. "I'm fairly sure you would have realised
what a compromising position you're in if you already managed to figure out the
mystery before the story even starts. Do only thing worse was if you had the
ability to talk to snakes, something which is consider a trait only Slytherin
and his descendants can do."
The raven-haired boy's eyes were gazing anywhere but at the professor. Snape
felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. "Potter," He ground out. "Please
for the love of Merlin, tell me you cannot speak parseltongue."
"I could say that," the second year said as he watched entranced at a
particularly empty space of wall, "but then I would be lying."
"Now I'm the one that's horrified."
Harry shot the older man a small, crooked grin, "Now you know how I felt last
time," The professor felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards before his
face smoothed back down to a faint sneer.
"What's the beast of Slytherin?"
"Basilisk. Obviously." The boy didn't hide the roll of his eyes this time.
"Slytherin is the house of the snakes and we're looking for a beast that can
possibly paralyse a cat. Therefore, basilisk."
"Basilisk kill with their gaze, not petrify." Snape pointed out but his pallor
was paler than before and his black eyes were calculating.
"Ah, but Mrs Norris was surrounded by water, if she saw the basilisk indirectly
that can explain her petrified state."
"Merlin."
Harry nodded in agreement. It's understandable the wizard would be unnerved.
The idea of having lived over a giant, hungry basilisk this whole time would
make anyone feel a little unsafe. "Also, I'm not exactly sure how it's been
getting around but I can hear her through the walls. That's how I found Mrs
Norris in the first place."
"And you couldn't say that you were lead around the castle by voices only you
could hear, for fear of sounding insane, makes sense."
"Thanks." The boy said dryly, "Anyway, the chamber is in a girls bathroom- I..
don't remember which one."
Hey, it's not like knowing exactly where this chamber was, was the most
important thing to Harry when he was an unstoppable primordial force of
darkness and soul taking. How was he supposed to know that this one scrap of
information would be so important to this extent?
Snape however, was not understanding and less than impressed. "You expect the
staff to guard every female bathroom in the castle? With little to no evidence
at that?"
Harry gave a pathetic little shrug. "Yes? I'm sorry but all I remember is that
one of the taps has a snake on it. That's the entrance to the Chamber. You need
a parseltongue to enter."
"How do you even know this?" The potions master asked suspiciously. Once again
Harry chose to use the technique of looking anywhere but at the older man. It
really was a reversal of situations from the last time they were in the
professor's quarters.
After a relentlessly uncomfortable silence, Snape sighed and closed his eyes.
"Fine, I suppose I deserve that. Let me go get the door." The man stood up from
his seat and turned to leave. Harry knew he needed to say something, there was
no way he was going to let this sort of tension just hang there again.
"I'm sorry about before." Harry burst out as Snape made his way to open the
door for him. The professor paused and turned around.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry." The boy gritted out, his face heating up as he fiddled with the
hem of his robe sleeves. "I, I don't know what came over me but I realized I
responded.. poorly, and I really don't want you to be disgusted with m-"
Harry stopped mid-sentence as he realized that Snape was now in front of him
with an unreadable expression on his face. "I don't," he began before halting
starting over, "Youdon't disgust me." Snape finally settled on. Then, guardedly
the potions master reached out to give a quick stroke of the younger male's
hair before letting the limb recoil back.
It wasn't much, but it was something and Harry would take it. Coyly the green-
eyed wizard savior smiled, Snape gave an uncertain but no less honest smile in
return.
"Well you don't disgust me either." The boy quipped in cautious teasing,
"Goodbye professor."
Snape once again had pulled on another one of his annoyingly unreadable faces.
But somehow Harry knew that it was a softer, more positive, unreadable face.
"Goodbye Potter."
***** Death's potion plan *****
Chapter Notes
     Okay, just to confirm, there is going to be some underage content in
     here. Sorry guys. Turns out. I have no patience when it comes to
     slash and lemons. None. Because I found that writing it- or at least
     the foreplay part- is super fun. You guys should try it sometime.
     Also I strongly believe in four key ingredients in a good slash
     romance- 1. Pining, omg the pining, 2. Jealousy, hot, delicious,
     burning jealousy, 3. Blatant, frustrating obliviousness to each
     other's feelings- whether because of actual oblivious or
     insecurities, and 4. A lot of teasing. A cross dressing scene or
     something, I dunno. But I want to write it dang it.
 The one where Death gets roped into making a potion in the girl's bathroom and
finds himself in Professor Lockhart's arms.
So apparently when Harry was talking to Professor Snape last night, Ron and
Hermione were once again off doing their mini Sherlock Holmes adventures. It
involved spiders and girls bathrooms, and Harry doesn't even. All he knows for
a fact was Percy caught them, and now the two brothers refuse even to look at
each other. Oh, and for some reason, they think Malfoy might be the heir of
Slytherin.
The reason is probably that Draco is doing nothing but actively encouraging
such rumors but still. The two Gryffindors really need to stop being so lazy in
their sleuthing. Everyone in this school should probably pick up some common
sense and a half-decent detective novel. And a sub-par education. Heh.
"Seriously guys." Harry sighed exasperated at the two children's expectant
gazes. "I cannot emphasize the importance of evidence. I also cannot emphasize
how the spider idea sounds quite terrible, but if you insist on that route I'll
come with as back up."
"I told you the spider idea bloody sucks," Ron whined in agreement. The redhead
making no doubts in confirming his deep-seated phobia for all of arachnid-kind.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying follow the spiders." She huffed, "It
was just something I thought was of interest."
"Oh. Okay."
"What I'm saying is we make a Polyjuice potion, pretend to be Crabbe and Goyle
and some other Slytherin, then get Malfoy to confess."
Harry stared. "Somehow this is probably worse than following a bunch of
insects." He finally settled on.
"It's a good idea, and we get solid evidence if Malfoy is the real heir of
Slytherin." The bushy haired girl insisted. "Also spiders aren't insects,
they're from the subphylum Chelicera while insects are from the subphylum
Hexapoda."
"Polyjuice potion does seem a bit dodgy to me." Ron admitted, completely
ignoring the last part of what his intelligent friend said, "I mean, what if we
stay like that permanently- as Crabbe or Goyle? I wouldn't want that sorta fate
on anyone."
"Also, you know I'm actually friends with Draco right? He's just being a
peacock about the whole thing; he's not the heir of Slytherin." Harry added.
"Trust me, if he were the heir we would've heard about it before this year."
"Harry's right," Ron agreed, "Malfoy's mouth is looser than the Fat Lady with a
secret."
Hermione looked torn between her hypothesis and the logic handed to her. "But
people believe that you are the heir of Slytherin Harry!" She complained, "It's
not fair."
Harry softened at his friend's distress. Misguided as it was, the fact that her
attempts to diminish any wild rumors towards his person was very kind
nonetheless. "Well, it's certainly not fair to try and pin it on Malfoy without
any solid proof either."
"There's no solid proof he isn't either." She challenged. Which, point. A
stupid point since one could argue that there's no substantial evidence of
anyone being the heir, and in that strain of logic then everyone should be
considered the heir. But then again, it seems this world just loves to run on
stupid points.
The green eyed boy sighed resigned. At the very least, agreeing to this over
dramatical farce would throw his friends' way off the scent of whoever the true
heir is. After all, whoever wields the basilisk like a weapon is a weapon in
itself after all. "Fine. Let's make a Polyjuice Potion. How bad could it be?"
===============================================================================
"Wow." Harry deadpanned as he stared at the entrance of a girl's bathroom that
his Gryffindor friends were walking into. "This, this is pretty bad."
"Oh come on Harry." Hermione savior, she was grinning like his hesitation and
disdain was the funniest thing ever. Ron was this close to laughing outright at
his friend's expression as well for that matter.
"No." The green eyed boy denied venomously. "I am not going to some girl's
lavatory. Don't mean to point out the obvious, but I'm pretty damn sure only
girls should go there."
"Mate," Ron said meaningfully. "Don't be that guy."
"I'm not sexist Ron," Harry responded annoyed. "Just because I refuse to sit on
a litter box, doesn't make me against cats."
"Harry no one even comes here! It'll be perfect for brewing."
"If you discount the bacteria, the unhygienic environment and the fact that
while no one may come in, people will pass by, and bathrooms echo Hermione.
They. Echo."
"Harry, bathrooms are hygienic, after all, we do our business in- actually
Harry's right, 'mione." The redhead scrunched up his face as he realized the
actual connotations behind brewing in a bathroom. "I ain't wanting to drink no
toilet potion."
Hermione sighed and looked up at the ceiling for guidance. Which, good luck
with that. "We aren't going to brew our potion in a toilet." She said slowly,
her brown eyes judging them at the very idea. "We'll just be doing it in one of
the stalls."
"Oh, so we're doing it by a toilet, I see, sorry for the miscommunication." The
raven haired boy replied sarcastically. The bushy haired girl made a little
strangling gesture at his neck and Harry faked choking under it. Ron for his
part looked partly alarmed but mostly highly amused. The freckled boy wondered
when exactly did the two develop such a unique friendship of fake murder and
fighting over ideas. At least he wasn't like that with anyone.
After finishing their little dramatics, the pair went back to discussing (and
turning down) their plans, Ron at the sidelines helpfully adding things in when
he could. "Do we even have the recipe for Polyjuice?"
Hermione frowned, "Well, no." She admitted, "I know it's in Moste Potente
Potions, but we'll need a teacher to get it."
"Restricted section?" Harry asked with a sigh. This was just getting better and
better.
"Restricted section." She confirmed. Even Ron was beginning to doubt the plan.
"Hard to explain why we want the book without saying we're planning on making
one of the potions looked," The redhead argued. "I mean how'd that work?"
"We could say we just were interested in the theory." Harry suggested, "And
when I say 'we,' I mean Hermione and me, no offense Ron."
Ron rolled his eyes, "None taken till just then mate. And anyway, you would
have to be pretty damn dumb to believe that sort of lie." He paused and then
added, with an oddly sly look in his eyes, "Or unless Harry asks Sna-"
"Oh my god for the last time I do not have a weird Snape thing." Harry blurted
out. It was practically instinct at that point to say those words anytime his
friend uttered the words 'Harry' and 'Snape' in a single sentence. His pale
face did burn a bit warmer though at the name of the potions master,
embarrassment and the faint but undeniable feeling of desire and giddiness
fuelling his blush as he recalled his last encounter with the older man.
Puberty for his meat suit was right around the corner, waiting to tackle his
mental faculties to the ground and exploit the hell out of that one scene
possibly for the rest of Harry's human life and then some. Harry didn't know if
he feared the experience of being controlled by some hormones or was
apprehensively excited at the prospect of fully exploring the pleasures only
those with actual flesh and blood could have.
And maybe if those pleasures are experienced with a certain dour faced
professor with the most amazing goddamn hands, then all the better. Or a
handsome centaur. Or maybe a cute and an appropriately aged fellow student.
Harry is honestly not that picky. What can he say, death gets around.
Still, doesn't mean he has a Snape thing dammit. "And Snape wouldn't just give
me a restricted book for no reason; I doubt he'll even do it for Draco."
"Professor Flitwick might do it." Ron mused. Hermione gave a look that was a
mix of agreement and horror at the favoritism apparently running rampant in
this school. To be fair, though, Harry's last defense professor did try to
murder him, so he thinks it all evens out.
"Actually.." The youngest Weasley boy continued, "There is one Professor thick
enough..."
Hermione looked curious while Harry soured his expression as he caught on to
the suggestion. "This plan is just getting better and better." He groans.
===============================================================================
Gilderoy Lockhart is going to pay for every single transgression... Starting
with his atrocious humiliations on Harry's person. He'd had enough of a brain
cell to stop bringing in live creatures after the whole Cornish Pixie thing,
but to Harry's dismay, the blonde instead decided to make defense classes Story
Time. Which, would not have been so terrible if the idiot man hadn't been so
taken with the idea of reenacting scenes from his books and insisting Harry
help play a part in them.
"And who shall I have play the part of the poor, helpless maiden in distress?"
Lockhart mused loudly before pointedly looking at Harry. Harry's right eye
twitched. Malfoy and the other Slytherin were giving him pitying but still
incredible entertained looks. Actually, most people in the class were giving
him similar expression, some more sympathetic than others. "Harry! You'll do
just fine!"
"Sir I think maybe you should pick one of the girls for the female role." The
green eyed boy suggested through gritted teeth.
"Now, now Harry," Lockhart tutted, "We are all above gender discrimination, and
let's be honest here, you would probably be the prettiest person in this
classroom to wear the dress."
"It's not gender discrimin- I'm not- there's a dress?!" Harry spluttered, angry
and frankly horrified.
"What do you mean Potter is the prettiest, I'll have you kno-"
"Draco is this really the time for that?" Blaise hissed as he pushed the
indignant Malfoy heir back down into his seat. "And Pansy don't you even
start."
"But what does Potter have that I don't?!" The Slytherin girl whined, a few of
the more avid fans of Lockhart nodded. "Just because he's a little thinner, and
paler, and has really bright green eyes and inky black hair.." Pansy trailed
off, looking between Harry and their defense professor with an odd gleam in her
eyes and a flush on her face. "Actually.. I think I'll be okay."
Strangely enough, Harry didn't think he'll be okay.
Before he can open his mouth to protest, Hermione gave him a pleading look, and
Ron mouthed, 'Pretty please,' when the raven-haired child had the unfortunate
luck to meet their eyes. Clicking his jaw shut, the wizarding hero silently
seethed and gave a jerky resigned nod to his fate. "But no dress." He
compromised, in a voice that promised murder if said , wasn't accepted.
The blonde professor just gave a brightly lit grin before bustling an extremely
unhappy Boy-Who-Lived to the front of the class. Being forced into the position
where Harry had to keep the man in good enough spirits for the very soon to be
asked a favor, the boy had no choice but to try act as well as his pride would
let him. Which was incredibly difficult since pride was something he had in
abundance and every single striding of it was urging him to punch this prime
example of human idiocy in the face.
"Oh, Mr. Lockhart!" Harry swooned in a sarcastically fake falsetto as he batted
his eyelashes and gave a twirl of his hair. The class laughed at his impression
while the fraud of a defense teacher just nodded approvingly. "Thank Merlin you
came, the muggle villagers are terrified, and I can't exactly tell them that-"
"That those animal attacks are actually from a werewolf?" Lockhart finished.
Harry nodded meekly like in the book. His eyes glancing down to quickly read
ahead as the blonde began what was a five paragraph monologue on how he has
narrowed down his suspects to four villagers with just a few clever clues and a
brilliant mind for deduction. The boy rolled his eyes at that, truth be told he
actually liked this particular book, very Sherlock Holmes and all, but he would
eat the damn thing before believing Lockhart figured out the Mystery of the
Mourning Moon like he wrote. Either the professor really is just an excellent
writer for fiction like Harry first assumed or the man's stealing adventure
stories from other people. What with Lockhart's abysmal use of magic, Harry's
going with his first thought.
His musings are cut off by a pointed cough by the man himself. Bringing himself
back to reality, Harry batted his eyes exaggeratedly again and gave a wide-eyed
innocent look. "I'm so sorry; I was just so enraptured by how you managed to
figure it out." He easily improvised.
Gilderoy tutted again, this time waggling his finger to do so. Harry kind of
wanted to snaps it off. "While I do appreciate the fact you appreciate me,
let's focus more on the acting than the story shall we?"
'I thought the whole point of this stupid endeavor was the story.' Harry wanted
to say, but instead he bit his lip, internally cursed his Gryffindor friends
and their apparent need for complicated embarrassing plans plus his inability
to walk away from them, and then smiled weakly.
"Yes, sir."
"Now I do believe you have your line?" Lockhart raised his eyebrow. The raven
haired boy tried to stifle his grimace.
"You are.. absolutely incredible Mr. Lockhart, what with your amazing intellect
and even better hair, and even better sense of fash-"
===============================================================================
The bell rang, and Harry could've wept at the beautiful sound. "Professor I
think you can put me down now." He says, his pale face feels like it had been
permanently set at a consistent rosy pink this whole class and his current
position certainly wasn't helping his embarrassment.
He shoots a glare to a sympathetic, pitying Ron and a less sensitive, almost
envious looking Hermione, as he is practically cuddled up against the blonde
defense teacher. They were in the middle of some tense scene where Lockhart and
the heroine Genevieve were hiding from the rogue, feral werewolf. In the story,
they ran into a small boathouse that began slowly filling up with water due to
high tide. It was a great scene, now ruined in the boy's mind as he was forced
to cling to his professor's body and smell the overpowering odor of a million
roses.
Professor Snape better be doing something about the Heir of Slytherin because
if Harry had to agree to play along with another convoluted childish scheme
that made no sense in the face of logic, Harry was going to kill another
defense professor.
"Lockhart, I was here to discuss the-" The deep voice trailed off and the
green-eyed young wizard closed his eyes shut and wondered if he just ignored
the situation, maybe it would just go away. "What is going on here?" Nope. He
was still there. And Snape didn't sound happy.
"Ah, Severus!" The blonde man holding the wizarding saviour like a princess
beamed. Harry would unhook his arms around the other's neck but the floor was
hard, and he did not trust Lockhart not to drop him. Then again, the floor did
look mighty tempting right about now. "It's a shame you missed the performance.
Harry here made a mighty fine Genevieve Allsmart to my me."
Snape sneered at the defense professor, "Well, I'll just wait outside until you
finish your.. lesson." He said stiffly before walking quickly back out of the
classroom, sparing a quick, unreadable glance at Harry as he did so.
Once the black-clad man had left, it was then that the students began trailing
out of the room, talking with each other about this particularly interesting
class. By then the blonde had thankfully let the boy in his arms back down onto
the ground, Harry immediately made a beeline toward Ron and Hermione. Passing
by Draco and the other Slytherins he whispered a, 'I'll explain to you later,'
before reaching his Gryffindor friends.
"Harry you have to go distract Snape." Was what he was greeted with.
"I hate you both." Was what he replied with. "If you guys sucked any harder you
two would be vacuum cleaners."
"Mate, no idea what you are saying, but I am so sorry." Ron said.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Don't give me that, I saw you two laugh."
The redheaded boy coughed awkwardly, it did not hide the large grin on his
face, "Ya gotta admit tho' that was pretty funny."
"Harry please," Hermione pleaded with wide soulful brown eyes. "If Snape
overhears us, all our efforts would be for nothing!"
"You mean all my efforts," Harry said unimpressed. But he knew that he was
going to crumble faster than a dry sand tower on a windy day. Not just because
he is a pushover, but because the idea that he would have literally acted like
some floozy hooker in front of his classmates for nothing fills him with a
black, burning fire of despair that would only be sated by the blood of the
source of his embarrassment. "You guys owe me a huge favor for this. Like, no
questions ask, do what I say, favor. Am I clear?"
"Crystal." The girl agreed.
"Clear as mud," Ron said at the same time.
Harry nodded, satisfied. With as much of his tattered dignity that he could
muster, he picked up his books and quills and strolled out of the room while
Hermione and Ron headed toward the preening teacher.
Sticking his head out of the door to check where his target was, the boy's
green eyes gravitated straight to inky black ones as Snape, who had been
leaning on the wall, waiting, watched Harry with vague interest. Like a lion
lazily watching a fluffy cub trip over its tail. "And what.." the older man
drawled, "exactly were you trying to look out for?"
"You," Harry said honestly, with a bashful smile. The younger wizard might be
imagining it, but he thought he saw the potions master seem almost pleased at
his answer. "I wanted to see if you were alright, you backtracked pretty
quickly out of there you know?"
"Forgive me for being surprised at your unexpected display." Snape defended
wryly; the boy felt his cheeks heat back up again at the far too recent for his
liking, memory. Why is being human so embarrassing? "Though you would hardly
expect me to believe that this is the sort of behavior meant for classes
educating others on defending themselves from the dark arts."
"That man has no value educating anyone, defense or naught." Harry seethed. "I
don't see why he was hired in the first place. Talentless hack he is."
Snape's mouth was twitching upwards, making a valiant attempt to fight against
his stoic mask to crack a smile at the boy's disgruntlement. "You're not
wrong." He agreed smoothly. "But as a fellow member of staff, I shouldn't drive
another professor's name to the mud in front of another student, no matter how
incompetent said professor is."
"Please Professor," Harry snorted, "I hardly think you care about such
trivialities, or you would be far more accommodating to the less able students
in your classroom."
"Believe me, Potter, if Lockhart steps one foot into my classroom.." The
potions master lingers off warningly, looking stern and unforgiving. Harry just
grins, seeing the humor in the older man's eyes.
"Well you've left me no choice, I guess I simply must leave a trail of mirrors
leading to you just to satisfy my curiosity now." The younger of the two
teased, "I think after today, I would die happy as a clam if I could watch
Lockhart's arse get handed to him good."
"Language." The man chided half-heartedly, Harry just huffed a small laugh.
"I don't see you denying it."
Snape just hums wordlessly at the playful accusation, which just made the boy
smile even more. They didn't say much after that, the whole conversation
between them comfortably descending into shy glances and quiet half smiles in
the empty corridor. Harry almost forgot what he was out there for. Well almost
did until,
"Oh my! It seems I am more popular than I thought!" Gilderoy exclaimed loudly
as he stepped out of his classroom with the two Gryffindors lagging behind. "If
I had known that you two were waiting to hear my glorious insights, I wouldn't
have been so impolite to keep you wizards waiting."
"Actually, I was just waiting for Ron and Hermione. It's good to see you though
Professor, ta." Harry said with a wave before making a quick escape from the
shiny blond man, grabbing his friends as he fled. Not fled. A retreat. Tactical
retreat.
Okay so Harry, Boy Who Lived and physical representation of unstoppable
primordial forces, fled. But really. Could you blame him? He almost wants to
give Gilderoy Lockhart eternal life just so that he wouldn't have to have the
off chance of meeting the man when he dies.
The potions professor seemed incredibly disgruntled at being left to fend off
the blonde by himself, though. Harry mentally sent out his condolences.
"So did you two get it?" He asked once they were a safe distance away from the
two teachers. Ron nodded, and Hermione pulled out the signed permission sheet.
"Sweet."
"It's a good thing Lockhart's daft enough to believe us." Ron laughed. "Not
even a shred of suspicion that man had."
"That's because he has great trust in his students, he's not daft!" Hermione
defended affronted on her idol's behalf.
"No, pretty sure he's dafter than a troll." The young Weasley said, much to the
girl's rising ire. Harry's gotten better at social cues these days, better than
Ron at least, and decides to say absolutely nothing that will bring attention
to himself. Instead, he lets his mind wander to a specific hook nosed professor
the they walked toward the library.
He should've asked the older man about how goes finding that damned Chamber of
Secrets, but instead the conversation had taken a turn for the silent. What
even was that? Harry's always had a propensity for quiet moments. He does
literally live in the realm equivalent of a graveyard after all, but even he
knows that the polite thing to do in a conversation is to, well, converse. Not
to stare coquettishly up at the potions master like some old century Victorian
noblewoman.
Harry knows in the mess and tangles and mush of feelings for one Severus Snape,
there's a low knot of arousal he feels around the man. Sexual attraction. That
he understands. Friendship. Vaguer, but he's been around long enough to
understand the general idea, what is usually expected and reciprocated from the
interaction. Though of course most of that sort of knowledge came from watching
the worlds go by and reading rather than any practical experience on his part.
It's a tad pathetic to admit, even to himself, that it's been millennia over
millennium since he's properly applied the concept of friendship to things that
aren't technically alive. Even so, friendship doesn't seem like such a hard
thing to contemplate compared to whatever Harry feels toward the dour faced
man.
Emotion is complicated enough as it was when Harry was Death and feelings were
pale pastels and dull tones of paint with only the rare vibrancy of color
between them. As a human, emotions were so bright and intense, they
almost hurt. And the meshwork of sweeping strokes and splattered hues
decorating the insides of his human husk was unexplainable, incomprehensible to
the being. It's the way his mind flits across in a constant buzz and hum that
makes it harder for him to listen to his own thoughts while he talks to Snape,
how his basic motor functions seem to stall and backtrack, the way the insides
of his mouth feel dry, and his tongue is so heavy and slippery it's like it's
slowly melting.
It's the phenomenon known as hormones. Had to be. Harry was twelve, going onto
thirteen. That's well in the average for human puberty to commence and mess him
up good for the next few years or so. Or maybe this is just what all humans
feel when faced with attractive potions professors. Just a human thing. A
mortal thing. Harry hoped so. Because if not these were some very distressing
symptoms that strongly indicates an immense boo-boo on Harry's part in his meat
suit maintenance. He knew he shouldn't have stayed as long as he did under
Uncle Vernon's terrible parenting.
"He is not a brainless git!" Shrieked Hermione suddenly, Harry flinched so hard
he missed the corridor turning and made unpleasant contact with the wall.
"Sorry Harry." The girl apologized sheepishly under the other's green-eyed
glare.
Ron, the wanker, just laughed. "You alright mate?" He asked between giggles.
"Dandy." Harry sarcastically replied. "Are you guys still on about Lockhart?"
"He's not a brainless git," Hermione muttered sulkily. Ron and Harry caught
each other's eyes and simultaneously rolled them, the redhead even managing to
make a gagging motion before Hermione turned around to stare narrow eyed at the
freckled boy. "He is not!"
Harry decided that tomorrow, he was definitely going to hang out the whole day
with the Slytherins. He's sure they won't talk incessantly about Lockhart.
===============================================================================
"Potterhart is just so cute!" Pansy squealed, Daphne Greengrass looked up at
the girl, confused.
"Potterhart? What is that?"
Eager to spread her new obsession, the girl sprang up from her seat to sit
uncomfortably close to the Greengrass heiress. "It's a code name I decided on,
stands for Potter and Lockhart!"
Greengrass' face was somewhere between amusement and curiosity, with a mild
coating of disgust. "You mean, like a couple?"
Pansy nodded.
"But, uh, I thought you liked Lockhart?"
Pansy shrugged, like that one important fact made absolutely no difference to
her, "I mean, yeah, Professor Lockhart is my future husband, but if I had to
give him up it'd be to Potter."
"O..Kay." Daphne says, in a totally judging tone.
"Aw Daphne, don't be like that!" The other whined, her face flushing, "You're
making me embarrassed."
"As you should be," she mutters with a faint smile on her face. "Besides,
Lockhart's like thirty, Potter, as annoyingly pretty as he is, is twelve."
"Potter is annoyingly pretty isn't he." Pansy agreed with a sigh, "He's like
that muggle fairy tale my uncle used to tell me about, Snow White. Except his
lips are about as pale as his skin and his eyes are greener than mother's best
emeralds."
"More like the Ice Queen- but with messier black hair. And way shorter."
The two girls paused and contemplated the unfairness of Potter's looks for a
bit before the young brunette Slytherin moved back to topic. "Anyway, I'm the
same age as Potter, and you don't see anyone else protesting about the torrid
love affair forming between me and Professor Lockhart."
"That's because it's only happening in your dreams."
"Exactly," Pansy winked. The other Slytherin girl rolled her eyes. "Besides,
it's not like there are wizards and witches out there with bigger age gaps."
"I guess I can see your logic." Daphne admitted, then with a shy smile she
confessed, "And maybe the whole professor-student relationship is kind of,
interesting."
"Kind of- Daphne, the Whomping Willow is interesting, that monopoly game Potter
introduced was interesting, a professor-student relationship is hot." Pansy
moaned, "The taboo, the secrecy, the drama!"
"You've read your mother's 'Affair at Amour Alchemist Academy,' novel didn't
you?"
"..Yes."
Daphne stared Pansy down silently before breaking her aristocratic features
into a grin. "Me too."
The two girls squealed softly as their friendship took a turn for the crazy.
"Professor Lockhart is so a Professor Geodern." Pansy gushed.
"No way, if Lockhart is going to be any character, he's got to be Mr.
Dandylion."
"That would make Potter, Daisy Duke, though!"
"True, Potter's more of a Gwendolyn Inkscorch."
"Oh my god, Inkscorch and Geodern would totally be cute together."
"Like Potter and Lockhart?" Daphne asked.
"Like Potter and Lockhart." Pansy confirmed. "Ooh, could you imagine their
children?"
"What." Draco said.
"No. Just-" Harry sighed. "I'm leaving."
===============================================================================
"Professor Snape," Harry breathed soft and breathy, his pale skin flushed and
his green eyes, always so bright and vivid, was wide and slightly glazed as
they looked up at the man. The boy's neck was exposed to his gaze like an
offering that he wanted to do nothing but eagerly accept.
"Call me Severus," He murmured roughly, the hand not currently entangled in
messy raven locks, was tenderly outlining youthful features. The curve of the
cheekbones, the softness of skin warmed with desire, the sweet pinkening of
lips partly opened so beautifully. His thumb answered the unspoken invitation,
finding its way past the pretty pale opening, into that sinfully innocent
mouth.
Harry's eyes flared and glowed at the unexpected intrusion but just as easily
dimmed, dark with anticipation and confused lust. Snape felt the younger male
lick the pad of his finger, giving a soft suck as he did so and the potions
master felt heat pool straight to his cock at that.
"Fuck." He hissed and Harry, the sly, sarcastic little shit, smirked triumphant
and gleeful at Severus' slip of obscenity.
"Language, Severus." The savior of Wizarding Britain teased, his voice only
slightly hindered by the thumb of the older man in his mouth. Snape can hear
the laughter and content in the other's voice; it was odd how intimate and
comfortable this all felt, nothing like his past and admittedly few exploits in
the area. "Five points from Slytherin."
Severus couldn't stop the curl of a smile on his face and the crinkle of his
eyes as he huffed amused, "You are shameless."
Harry smiles back; he looks so sweet and beautiful as he looks at Severus,
affectionate and tender. He doesn't need to look at his own face to know that
he was matching the expression, letting himself be bare in all his
vulnerabilities.
Harry then suckles the thumb still in his mouth, and suddenly, things were back
to the sweltering temperatures from before. The professor feels his throat go a
little dry at the suction and decides instead to replace his hand with his
tongue, sliding their mouths together, fierce and frenzied at the desperation
to taste. His hand still curled into the younger male's hair tightened and
pulled, earning a breathy drawn out moan that Severus swallowed down greedily.
"S-Severus," the young boy stuttered, his debauched, unsure appearance so
different to the usual composed, unruffled, dignified person he was. The fact
it was the older man who was the cause of such unraveling gave him a swell of
pride. It felt almost too good to be true for someone like this to want someone
like him.
So beautiful, so precious, so-
Young.
Snape woke up, silent and sweaty. The hard, incessant throbbing between his
legs all the incriminating evidence he needs to confirm what he's dreamt, who
he's dreamt of. He looks up at the ceiling of his bedroom, unmoving, refusing
even to acknowledge his traitorous body that urges him for release.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Snape didn't know exactly what it was
supposed to be but certainly not this. Harry was a child, was a boy for god's
sakes. No matter how mature and intelligent he seemed, no matter how genuine
his affections, it didn't stop his feelings being illegal and perverted at the
very best.
He liked Harry. Harry was talented and modest, with words from his lips that
had more weight than gold yet fell in an adorably clumsy manner that made
people underestimate the true worth of his mind. He easily said yes and was
easier to say yes to. Snape enjoyed the quiet company he brings, the tremulous
trust he gives like a gift that the older man truly doesn't deserve, the banter
between them easy and friendly.
Harry was far and beyond his age group. He was probably far and beyond a lot of
age groups to be brutally candid in the professor's opinion. The boy indeed
proved the saying, 'Age is just a number.' Unfortunately, if you take Harry's
age with Snape's, that number is still older and more legal than the boy.
The point is, Snape liked Harry. He didn't know exactly when 'like' began being
seasoned by the foul taint of lust, but he knew that at the very least, the
attraction of the more carnal nature was not the driving force behind his
gravitation toward the young Potter. That, at the very least, he wasn't so
shallow or distasteful as to be only in it for the appearances and youth of the
boy. It was a hollow reassurance to his nature.
Overcompensation maybe. He's not opened up and found someone for a platonic
companionship since.. since he rather not think about. It's a subconscious
projection of wanting a warm body, clinging onto the tentative bonds of
friendship. Coupled with what's probably a mid-life crisis, it's probably,
hopefully, a normal reaction in a less than normal situation.
He can do this. He can let this pass. He can get over it.
Snape is a man of control. He's lied and done terrible things for love and
revenge; he can lie and not succumb to terrible things for.. whatever this was.
He is a man of cool, calm control.
And if he runs into the bathroom and loses control of his stomach contents
because this was Harry, James Potter's son, Lilly's son- well, no one but him
will know.
===============================================================================
"Hermione there is a crying ghost in the bathroom." The Boy Who Lived pointed
out rather needlessly. "Why is there a crying ghost in the bathroom?"
Seriously the intangible female was so invested by her sobbing and wailing, she
barely even noticed the entity of death the next stall over. Harry would almost
be insulted if he wasn't quite relieved not to be interacting with the crying
girl.
"Oh, that's Moaning Myrtle," Hermione answered, "Just try to ignore her." As
she said that, the sobbing got much louder. The bathroom walls letting the
noise bounce and echo, filling the room with blubbering howls of unhappiness.
"Tad hard ain't it?" Ron groused
"Wow, some of these potions look positively wicked." Harry commentated as he
flipped through the Moste Potente Potions textbook. "This has literally no
place in a school environment."
"Well it is in the Restricted Section for a reason," Hermione supplied.
Harry just gave her an unimpressed look. "There's a potion on how to turn one's
genitals inside out. And one on earning the drinker a couple of extra limbs-
out of his or her mouth."
"That mouth arm picture is makin me sick, change the page already." Ron moaned.
"Merlin, that's right rank that is."
"Did you see the drawing of the man being consumed by a horde of spiders?"
"Don't even joke about that mate."
"Here it is," said Hermione excitedly as she found the page headed The
Polyjuice Potion. It was decorated with sketches of people midway through
transforming into other people. Harry hoped the faces drawn on there were ones
of pleasant surprise instead of the open-mouthed agony he suspected they were
in.
"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," Hermione murmured as she
scanned the recipe. "Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass.."
"Well, those seem easy enough to get," Harry said. "They're in the student
store cupboard so we can help ourselves."
"But there's also powdered horn of a bicorn." Ron added, unsure. "I may not
know what's in our potions cupboards but I highly doubt something like that is
in there. Also, shredded skin of a boomslang, where in Merlin's name are we
going to get that?"
"Not to mention you guys need something from whoever you want to turn into,"
Harry said.
"Oh nu-uh, I'm drinking nothing with Crabbe in it. Or Goyle. Or anyone really,
ew."
Hermione was doing a frankly brilliant job of ignoring the two boys'
complaints. To be fair, she's had quite a bit of experience in that department
since knowing them."Don't worry about that yet, and we add those bits last."
"Stealing, invasion of privacy, misuse of a professor's trust.." Harry mused,
"You know, for a girl who supposedly enjoys following the rules a lot, you sure
break a lot of them."
What he had said must have hit some sort of nerve because Hermione shut the
textbook with a loud, sharp snap of the pages.
"Well, if you two are going to chicken out, fine," she said hotly. Her face was
patchy pink, and she looked ready to cry or scream or both. "I don't want to
break the rules, you know, but unlike some people, I think threatening
Muggleborns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't
want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand
the book ba-"
Wide green eyes immediately turned to blue, pleadingly. Harry was not equipped
to deal with defusing this. He may not have recalled this correctly but he was
fairly sure the last time Hermione was something like this, they had been
fending off a troll, and Harry had shouted at her to get it together. He
somehow doesn't think that such an option would be particularly helpful right
now.
"We're sorry 'mione," said Ron apologetically. "We were just taking the piss a
bit. We totally want to make sure Malfoy isn't the heir just like you. But not
toenails, okay?"
The girl gave a little sniffle before smiling bashfully. "Okay."
"How long will it take to make, anyway?" Harry asked, changing the subject back
to the task at hand.
"I'd say it'd be ready in about a month if we can get all the stuff ready."
Hermione informed, already looking much happier. "There's certain ingredients
that need extra care or need to be picked at specific times like under the full
moon or, pickled for eleven days exactly."
"Sounds great." Harry placated. "But I guess the problem now is getting our
stuff then."
===============================================================================
It was a Quidditch day today. Harry sat in the Slytherin section and cheered
supportively with the others every time Draco swooped and swerved or did
anything particularly noteworthy. He clapped a bit every time Fred and George
did some fantastic flight-work as well but that was a little less well received
in the House of green and silver for some reason. Honestly, it was so awkward
sometimes not being in one set House.
After the match, with Gryffindor just managing to sneak in with a win, everyone
emptied out of the stands and began making their way back to the insides of the
castle walls. However before Harry could follow Blaise and his other friends to
celebrate Draco's first game, the stern face of Professor Snape came into view
as the crowd of students separated like the Red Sea in his presence. "Potter,
come with me."
"Sorry guys, tell Draco I think he did smashing for me yeah?" Harry said, Nott
grinned, and Zabini coolly nodded in agreement. Harry hopes that Draco will
never know he ever thought this, but in his opinion, Blaise Zabini seems to be
much more suited to be the one holding the title of Slytherin's Ice Prince out
of all of them. He has a similar pureblood pedigree to the Malfoy's from what
Harry could gather. However, Zabini's personality just seems a little bit
more.. Refined.
Harry followed Snape wordlessly until they reached an emptier part of the
castle, only then did the boy start walking beside the older man, more like a
friend than a student. "So where are we going, Professor?" He asked.
"The medical bay," Snape answered shortly. Harry mentally tried going over who
he knew that wasn't there at the Quidditch match. The raven haired boy couldn't
think of anyone at the moment.
The answer came in a small, petrified boy, laying on one of the medical beds.
"Colin, oh no." Harry was genuinely sad about the poor first year's
predicament. Colin was like the cutest human pet that he never got to have as
an entity. They always died way too quickly in his realms. Weeks at best, which
was like nothing to him. And while he loves his souls and ghouls and all things
in-between, nothing beats living companions with amazingly warm bodies and
weird mortal habits that never cease to amuse him. Colin, with his avid hero
worship and adoring passion, would definitely have made an ideal pet. "He was
so cute."
"Excuse me?" Snape said sharply.
"Is he going to be alright?" Harry asked at the same time, his vivid green eyes
glowed faintly as he looked pleading up at the other. Snape seemed to avert his
gaze from his own, which was odd because Snape hadn't seemed like a man who
would back down and be the first to break away from eye contact. Never been
before at least.
"Yes, regrettably the Mandrakes we have currently are still too young to be
used for the potion to reanimate Mr. Creevey."
"So he'll be like this for the rest of the year?" Said Harry incredulously.
"But couldn't you all order some? Isn't there a Magical Asian community or
anywhere that would be able to provide us with freshly matured Mandrakes? Do
you people not have some way of magically preserving Mandrakes?!" He didn't
realize he was shouting by the end of it until he felt the now familiar weight
of the potions master's hand rest on his shoulder. Like an anchor in the
turmoil of heated red waves, splashing in his thoracic cavity and thrumming in
his arteries.
Harry's angry. He recognizes it. It's the same sort of indignant anger he felt
for the child in him being abused like an unwanted doll forced upon a spoilt
child. But this time there's something solid and real and emotionally
connecting to him in a way nonexistent, hypothetical childhoods and the real
Harry Potters couldn't be. Colin Creevey was a good, enthusiastic, slightly
stalkerish, child who came to this school bright eyed and bushy tailed. He had
a younger brother, a camera his father had given him with his hard earned money
and the innocent wonder of magic and heroes like the Boy Who Lived.
It's not fair that this child's first ever real experience with the magical
world would be tainted with fear and result in catatonia. It's even more so
when the supposed teachers, magical wizarding teachers at that, who should be
prioritizing this sort of shit, have done apparently fuck all to help him.
Wait for the Mandrakes to mature. Yeah, and while they wait, bodies of their
precious students will pile up in the medical like corpses in a morgue. Bunch
of uncreative fucking idiots these people.
"I can see you're clearly upset," Snape began.
"Really?!" Harry spat, his eyes now glued onto the still form of the younger
boy. His expression frozen in terror and his hands still gripping his beloved
camera.
"But I highly advise you not to take that tone with me." The potions professor
finished, voice steely and hard. His voice cold enough to clear the warm,
violent haze in Harry's head just enough to calm back down to a more reasonable
state of mind.
Taking a deep breath, the boy shut his eyes for a moment, blocking out the
image of Colin petrified on a hospital bed. He hadn't even realized that the
whites of his eyes were threatening to go completely black in his rage until he
felt the darkness inside him seep reluctantly back inside his mortal casing.
"You're right," He said, before repeating in a much softer, more ashamed voice,
"You're right. I apologize."
Harry knows he's not good at control, he's pretty shite actually. He's
struggled with his lack of control since around the beginning of his existence.
It's already hard as it is trying to maintain his identity as Harry Potter,
little wizard human, what with his overly eager newfound magic bursting from
his fingertips and his inherent powers bubbling restlessly inside him just as
eager to be used. But it's these emotions and feelings and his awareness of
them that's really screwing him over now more than ever. He's seen billions of
Colin Creevey's in far worse, far tragic, far more painful conditions with
heartbreaking backstories that would make sociopaths weep, and all he would
feel would be a vague pitying, sympathy before taking away the lights from
their eyes and breath from their lungs.
Now he looks at Colin and feels queasy. And sad. And strangely guilty.
Snape's hand squeezed his shoulder tightly for a moment before releasing his
grasp, and Harry felt his body inexplicably relax alongside the professor's
grip. It was odd. But at the same time, it was nice enough to not question.
"You were upset," Snape said simply like that's all it was. And Harry guessed
it was. "I wasn't aware of the extent of your friendship with the boy, so in
hindsight, I should be the one to apologize. You reacted.. Far from well, but I
should have expected as such."
"Why did you show me this?" Harry asked softly. "I don't understand professor."
The potions master was silent for a bit before finally answering, "I am in a
predicament." He confesses, and he pauses again. Harry waits patiently for the
man to continue. He's aware that Snape, much like, yet so different to
Dumbledore, holds his secrets to his chest like a dragon and his hoard. It
lightens Harry to know that he's one of the select few who's earned the
privilege to manage to wrangle out something from the taciturn wizard.
"I think I have located the Chamber of Secrets."
Harry's brows shot up, surprised and impressed. "Well, that sounds like the
complete opposite of a predicament to be perfectly honest. Tell me though, how
do you know?"
"One of the female bathrooms on the second floor has a sink whose tap is
decorated with an ornate snake design," Snape explained. "Wizards are many
things, embarrassingly subtle doesn't seem to be one of them."
"And yet no one managed to catch on," Harry noted with no end of audibly dry
amusement. "I guess perceptiveness isn't a particularly strong trait either."
"Unfortunately, wizards also tend to lack in basic common sense, which does
bring me back to my predicament." With a deep breath, the man pinned his gaze
on the smaller figure. "You."
"Me?" Harry was genuinely surprised, and maybe a little offended. "How am I the
problem professor? I told you as much as I knew about the Chamber."
"And you will not understand how much I appreciate it, Potter," Snape soothed,
his thumb firmly drawing small circles against Harry's shoulder blade in a way
that made the boy just want to sigh contentedly and revel in the feeling.
Though this was indeed a very inappropriate time to do so. "However it's
because you've helped so much in this endeavor that it's a problem."
"I hardly think that's the case, sir." Harry protested.
"You're already a strong suspect among the student body as the Slytherin Heir
Harry." The older man tried to explain, "Your technically in the Slytherin
house, friends with many students with pure blood heritage and a conservative
upbringing, your magic is intimidating to those that don't really know you, you
know where the Chamber lies, and to top it all, you can apparently speak
Parseltongue."
"Well, when you say it like that.." The boy muttered. "Then just don't tell
anyone I told you."
"Yes, because my reputation is so very clean and pure." Snape drawled. Harry
shrugged in acquiescence, made sense. Snape was definitely one of the top four
individuals the general student body believe to be a viable heir of Slytherin
alongside himself, Draco and some Slytherin fifth year with the unfortunate
last name of Serpentes. And to be perfectly honest, no one really cared about
Serpentes. "No, the fact is, it's suspicious enough if either of us told
everyone where the Chamber was, as well as counterproductive because the true
heir would be on much higher alert if we go public about our discovery."
"So finding out who's releasing the basilisk out to play is probably the best
option for us." The younger of the two concluded. "The problem is we have no
idea who it is, what they want, and when they'll strike next."
"Did you really just think finding the Chamber of Secrets would solve all our
problems did you?" Asked Snape wryly.
"Maybe just a little," Harry admitted. Because this is apparently what he gets
for putting faith in the magical education system. Accusations and
complications. The boy sighed tiredly. "So what do you suggest then?"
"We need to find the heir." Snape deadpanned.
The younger of the two rolled his eyes as he covered his mouth to try hide his
smile. "Obviously. I mean what's the strategy professor?"
"There's not much that can be done other than keeping our eyes out Potter."
"Is that all?" Harry sighed, how disappointing at the very least. "What about
Colin sir? It's not right what's happened to him, he deserves better."
The professor's hands stopped their calming motions at the sound of Colin's
name but other than that Snape showed no change as he calmly replied, "Your
previous outbursts had some merit, I have connections that could possibly
secure myself some properly matured mandrakes. The problem is ; however,
there's almost no funding available that could possible afford such expenses."
"Problems, there's always problems." Harry hissed under his breath. It was
ridiculous how inefficient this community was. There is only so many gaps that
could be filled with magic alone. With a louder, more determined voice he said,
"I'll pay for it all then. As the sole heir of the Potter fortune, I'll assist
financially in your endeavors to secure a cure."
Snape was staring at Harry like he'd just declared to strip down, paint himself
in purple body glitter and rule the world with the help of his rubber duck life
companion Fredrick Jameson, instead of volunteering his financials to help a
person in need like what a decent human being would do. Which, rude. Harry is a
very nice individual. Harry also requires the killing of living creatures to
survive, but Harry is still a very nice individual nonetheless.
"Are you sure Potter?" The potions master asked. "That's an.. incredibly
generous thing you're offering."
"It's what any decent person would do."
Snape was still staring at him strangely. "Yes," He said slowly, "But there
isn't much in the way of 'decent people' around here nowadays."
"Really?" Harry asked, "Well I hardly think that's true since I'm looking at
one right now."
To the boy's surprise, and immense delight, he saw the pallor of the older
man's cheeks flush a light dusting of pink at the compliment, the grip on his
shoulder tightening and inching closer to the nape of his slim neck. Harry
wanted to lean into the man's palm, warm and calloused from years of
experience, and nuzzle against it, but he didn't dare for fear of disgracing
himself again in front of the professor. While Snape had reassured him that he
hadn't disgusted him, Harry couldn't help but want to avoid such an awkward
predicament between each other again so soon.
"Flattery will get you nowhere Potter," Snape says, and Harry feels strongly
inclined to disagree. Flattery apparently gets him his favored potions master
stroking his neck lightly while presenting the pleasingly rare sight of said
potions master blushing faintly.
"I hardly think its flattery if I think it's true professor." His face feels as
warm as the hand touching his neck, his heart is pounding like a marathon, and
it felt like most of the air in his lungs have gone straight into his head.
Harry doesn't understand. His body is thrumming like when he is angry, yet he
feels anything but, the shortness of breath like strangulation in the gentlest
way, the low buzz of desire isn't sharp in his mind but softer, less defined
and ever more confusing.
The green eyed wizard wondered if hallucinations were another one of these
newfound human hormonal changes as well, because he could have sworn that
Snape's eyes were dilated as he gazed down at Harry. The idea of the
possibility that Snape was even remotely interested in him certainly was an
effective way for his train of thought to be cut off in favor of disembodied
screaming inside his head which, was definitely not normal. Not for him at
least. The disembodied screaming voices usually come from somewhere outside his
head.
"Call me Severus." The man murmured, his voice lower than his usual deep tenor.
"Severus?" Harry repeated cautiously, once again not completely sure he knows
where this was going. His doubts must have been translated into his voice
though because Snape immediately seemed to recoil back like he'd been burnt,
his face twisting into anger and revulsion. "Severus?" Harry repeated again,
now thoroughly confused at the reaction.
"I have to go." The man gritted out, before turning sharply to the door and
striding quickly out, leaving Harry and a petrified Colin Creevey behind.
There was a befuddled silence in the medical bay, before Harry asked out loud,
to no one in particular, "Why does this always keep happening?"
***** Death's dating *****
Chapter Notes
     Warning- Start of actual underage stuff happening now. Be prepared
     for future stuff as well I guess.
 The one where Death starts dating.
News of Colin's condition had spread throughout the school. News that Harry had
pocketed up a sizeable chunk of his family fortune to save the boy was, in
comparison, nonexistent. Colin, in the eyes of most of the students, was a dead
man walking. Or lying. Whatever. The point was, humans have a huge affection in
seeing the most negative side of everything, wizards or not. And everyone was
on edge by the morning after. First years would huddle in tiny packs as they
traversed the halls, jumping at every shadow in fear of being the next one in
the hospital wing. It was kind of adorable. Like little penguins. Terrified
little penguins fearing for their life.
Ron's sister seemed to be especially distraught as well. Even more so then when
Mrs Norris was petrified. Apparently she sat next to Creevey during potions or
something. Harry thinks Ginny is an extremely emotional person. Having just
been sucker punched with brand spanking new and annoyingly improved emotions
himself, he does not feel any sort of jealousy for when she reaches her teenage
years.
Christmas was fast approaching on top of everything as well, so the atmosphere
of Hogwarts was quite a mess of petrified fear and excited holiday cheer.
Unsurprisingly they were not much of a combination together.
Because of the stupid Polyjuice potion plan, it was decided that the trio was
to stay back in school for the holidays to finish it off. Also Malfoy was
staying back as well, which to Ron and Hermione, was incredibly suspicious, and
to Harry, was completely understandable since Mr Malfoy and Mrs Malfoy had to
go overseas as political representatives of the British Ministry of Magic for
an important meeting. Harry was not pleased with his Gryffindor friends.
Neither was Ron for that matter since he was the one who wanted Harry over at
his place for the hols.
Actually, most of the Weasley's was pretty darn upset when they heard the news.
Which was amazingly flattering. Even Hermione's iron strong resolve had to melt
under five sad Weasley gazes and one Potter one.
"Fine," She sighs defeated and immediately twin whoops of joy and the sound of
multiple high fives were heard. The bushy haired girl glared at her fellow
second-year friends, "But only if we finish over half of our 'project' by
then."
"Deal!" Ron agreed with a wide grin.
"We could even buy some of the more uncommon things we need as well," Harry
added which calmed Hermione immensely.
"Even the-" She glanced at the oblivious other Weasley's present in the common
room, lingering particularly on the curious prefect watching them, "Really hard
to find stuff?" The girl asked vaguely.
The green eyed boy looked apologetic at that, "I asked Professor Snape about
that, and unless you can afford your own castle and know the right people,
that's a negatory." Okay, so Harry could afford powdered bicorn horn. And maybe
he could utilise his overpowered magic to track down the right people. But the
amount of gold for such a rare ingredient was staggering enough without the
guilt of using some dead unrelated people's money in the process. Also he was
not putting that much effort in a plan that he doesn't even remotely support.
Harry's kind of forgotten why he's going along with it in the first place.
"Ugh, I guess we'll have to get it ourselves then." Hermione sighed. Oh right,
Harry agreed to this because his friends actively search for trouble and pain,
and it was up to Harry to minimise it as best he can. Turns out 'best he can'
involves breaking into a professor's private storage rooms and stealing some
endangered animal bits. This will most certainly not end well.
===============================================================================
The Burrow was very... homey. Like an old quilt stitched up and patched and
worn. It was snug and warm and full of the energy only family and domesticity
could bring.
Needless to say, Harry wasn't much of a fan.
His nose wrinkled the moment he stepped in, and he had to stifle the urge to
sneeze. The place, while obviously poor, reeked of life and fertility and
family. Death, and what he stood for had no place in this household. It made
him quite uncomfortable to be there honestly. Like a hunter being invited into
a den of rabbits for tea. The tea would be nice, and the rabbits would be
adorably friendly, but it would feel wrong and so very awkward on so many
levels to someone who's intimately familiar with what their organs looked like
twisted inside out of their bodies.
"It's very nice." Is what he says instead. Ron beams like sunlight at that and
Harry both wants to coo and shy away from it like a vampire. Normally he
wouldn't be so affected, but it's this household that's screwing with him. God,
has anyone even died in this place? Ugh. There's not even some sort of skinned
animal decorating the walls or anything. At least he knows for a fact the
Weasley's weren't vegetarians or he's pretty sure he would legitimately perish.
The equivalence of his soul wasting away. Thank the lord for small mercies.
Just then, a plump kind-faced woman that Harry assumed was Mrs Weasley, came
into the room, her hands mid-wipe on a flowery dish towel, before she paused
and stared at the one dark haired child in a mini sea of redheads. The twins,
Percy, Ginny and Ron all stilled as one, like a herd of gazelles noticing they
were under contemplative watch of a lion.
"Children." She said in a very calm and frankly quite alarming way. "Is anyone
going to introduce me to this lovely young guest of ours and then tell me why
is he here?"
"Did no one tell mum about Harry coming over?" Percy asked in a loud whisper,
his eyes, much like the rest of them, had not strayed from their mother's form.
"I thought you were going to do that." Ron whispered back furiously.
"He's your best friend." Ginny hissed.
"Wait." Harry said slowly, "Did no one tell your parents you invited me over
for the hols?"
"Ah, well." Fred coughed awkwardly as George finished with an, "Apparently not.
Sorry?"
Harry gaped at them before looking back at the equally incredulous (but far
more unhappy) Mrs Weasley. Colouring with embarrassment at the awkward
situation he's managed to entangle himself in, the boy stepped out to give out
his hand to the Weasley matriarch anyway. He may not have been invited, but
that shouldn't excuse him for being ruder than he already was.
"I'm Harry Potter, Mrs Weasley. It's a pleasure to meet you, and, um, awfully
sorry about the inconvenience." He greeted sheepishly, "I wasn't aware you
weren't expecting me, if it's too much of a burden I can always go somewher-"
"Oh nonsense my dear!" Mrs Weasley burst out, her demeanour much sweeter than
before. "Harry Potter you say? Well my boys have gone on, and on about you!
Come in, let me show you around the Burrow." She suggested, her arm wrapping
around his skinnier one as she practically pulled the thin child further into
the house. The woman frowned slightly at the boy's thin figure before pushing
it down in favour of some indirect punishments towards her children.
Completely ignoring her offspring, the woman smiled wide and unrepentant as
she, so innocently added, "I must insist you see our family albums, oh I have
the cutest pictures of their toddler years, you should see when Fred and George
during their tea party phase."
All five redheads somehow managed to pale and flush at the same time, each with
varying expression of horror and embarrassment. They all just kind of stood
there as their mother lead (dragged) Harry into another room, chatting
delightedly about how Harry was such a dear, how she cried when she heard about
those horrible muggles ruining his childhood and how fantastic Percy had looked
in her best pearls when he was five. Only when the two were out of sight then
did Harry hear a resounding jumble of frantic noises and shouting protests to
come back.
"Just ignore them dear, that'll teach them not to write to their parents and
warn them about houseguests." She dismissed after Harry couldn't help but look
back when a particularly spectacular crash was heard.
"I really am sorry about the inconvenience." He said again, part out of genuine
guilt and part fear of the woman. What was it about this world which produced
so many terrifyingly intimidating older women?
"Oh hush now, no need for such talk," Mrs Weasley admonished kindly, "You are a
dear friend of my sons and I will eat my own wand before I send a cute tiny
thing like you out by yourself on Christmas break. Now, let me give you some
nice embarrassing photo albums to busy yourself with while I fetch some hot
cocoa and arrange some last minute sleeping arrangements."
"That does sound quite lovely Mrs Weasley." Harry admitted with a cheeky smile.
Green eyes twinkled as the boy found himself sitting down on a comfy worn
couch. Cocoa and blackmail?
Harry sipped his delicious hot chocolate, flipped to another amusing page
filled with embarrassingly adorable memories and pointedly ignored any shouting
in the other room. Maybe the Burrow wasn't too bad after all.
When the Weasley children finally slunk into the cosy living space Harry was
currently residing in, his drink had been magically refilled twice and the
child felt quite content as he watched the children and teens sulk. "I don't
know about you all but your mum is just the sweetest isn't she?"
The boy got some grumbling that said otherwise.
"By the way," Harry continued airily, casually flipping the large, slightly
tattered book in his hands. "I do love that year all of you dressed as
reindeer. Love the tights. Very fetching."
"Give me that." Ron groused, snatching the album from pale fingers and hugging
it protectively to his chest. And not all of us were reindeer."
"You're right." Harry agreed with a grin. "Because the muggle elf suits were
just so manly."
At the confused looks of the pureblooded wizards Harry sighed. "They're not by
the way. Manly I mean. Whoever convinced you to wear this was vastly
misinformed if you thought that."
"Dammit dad I knew it." Fred muttered under his breath.
"Don't damn your father!" Molly Weasley snapped as she passed the room, thick
duvet in her arms. Everyone jerked in surprise at her sudden appearance, and
Harry heard George whisper, "How does she do that?" Before repeating in a much
louder, cheekier voice, "Course we won't mum! Wouldn't dream of it."
The older woman narrowed her eyes suspiciously but let it go to instead, look
at Harry. "Harry dear, this is quite awkward but is there any particular
preference to who you would rather sleep in?" All the young wizards and witch
blinked uncomprehendingly.
"Excuse me?" The green eyed boy gaped.
"Well you're such good friends with all my boys, so I thought it would be nice
for you to choose. Ron and Ginny share a room together though, and so does Fred
and George."
"Not that we don't mind sharing." George piped up, his face pink and eyes dark.
"Certainly not," Fred agreed smoothly and of similar appearance, "We would love
the, uh, company."
"How come Harry can come into your room and yet I'm not allowed?" Ron
protested, Ginny nodding beside him. They went ignored as Percy then insisted
that it would be more convenient for Harry to stay with him.
"I have more space." The prefect said. "And my room isn't littered with
anything that could drench you in toothpaste."
"Meaning your room is boring and ours has character." Fred retorted.
Percy snorted. "Is that what they're calling 'death trap' nowadays?"
"Please, do you even know Harry? He loves our pranks and so-called 'death
traps'."
"Well I know that Harry loves a good night sleep, something he wouldn't have
with you two fumbling around doing god knows what."
"Oh." The Weasley matriarch said, her eyes wide as she looked at her three
arguing sons. "OH." She repeated. And then she grinned. Wide and excited and a
little shark-like. Harry, Ron and Ginny shivered. Seriously, the women in this
world.
===============================================================================
"It was nice of Mrs Weasley to let me sleep here." Harry remarked happily.
Misgivings about being not informed about their holiday houseguest aside, Molly
Weasley had been the epitome of a good host. Dinner especially was absolutely
exceptional. "It's unfortunate that there wasn't a spare mattress around."
"Well mum isn't the type to not bring in a stray dog when she sees one." Percy
says as he busies himself by straightening out the duvet on his bed and trying
to hide his excitement.
"You calling me a dog?" The younger boy asks wryly. Percy laughs.
"I'm certainly not calling you a cat." He jokes back, Harry smiles at the
prefect and Percy suddenly felt his throat run dry because Harry looked so
sweet and precious and open. It made the older boy want to kiss that soft smile
and soak it all into his skin.
Percy knows he hasn't been particularly grateful to his parents recently, but
he's never been so aware of it until now. The prefect isn't a moron. He knows
very well that even if they hadn't had the spare mattress for Lee Jordan,
conjuring or transfiguring one would be simple as a swish of the wand, and he's
never been more appreciative of his mum for not doing so.
It makes him feel incredibly guilty though. Sure Percy may have said in his
mind a few times how he would sell off one non-vital body part just for such a
situation like this to happen between him and Harry, but now that it's actually
come up Percy finds himself not wanting it. Not like this anyway.
Damn his penchant for the rules. Even the unwritten ones. Perfect prefect Percy
indeed.
"Percy? Is something wrong?" Harry asked, and woah, when did the petite younger
boy get so close to his person? "You're kind of just staring at nothing."
The older redhead could feel himself and his voice of reason short-circuit as
they instead chose to focus on trying to count every single dark eyelash on
those bright unworldly green eyes and committing the faint scent of tea and
rain to his memory.
Chess games and night patrolling weren't exactly the most tactile of activities
he could get with the subject of his childish affections, the prefect liked to
take what he could get.
"If you are, uh, uncomfortable with sleeping with me-" Percy floundered, his
face warming to a nice shade of pink, "-I can always transfigure another
mattress for you if you'd like?"
Harry blinked. "Are you uncomfortable with it?" The younger of the pair asks
curiously. It made sense, Percy was a teenager after all, not exactly
unexpected if he wanted space.
The teen flushed harder, his red face taking on an expression of surprise and
vehement disagreement, "Wha- no!" He denied loudly.
"Then what's the problem?" Harry questioned patiently, and Percy doesn't even
know how to begin. 'The problem is that I want you to sleep on the same bed as
me, because you want to and not because of my good-intentioned mother.' He
wants to say. 'The problem is that I think you are stupidly cute and nice and
smart and seem to appreciate who I am, even when my family doesn't always.',
'The problem is that I'm just a tad in love with you and you sleeping in the
same bed with me is going to incur some highly mortifying problems.'
Instead though, like the smooth, suave playboy Percy Weasley was, he garbles
out a strangled, "Problem? There's no problem." Then laughs awkward and nervous
and suspicious as hell.
Harry frowns, because as socially inept as the boy can be sometimes (and Percy
loathes how utterly endearing he finds Harry's stumbling through societal cues)
this seemed not to be one of those. "Percy, I personally am fine with the idea,
but if you need your space or don't want me so close physically I could just-"
"It's not that!" Percy blurts, because Merlin no, it is certainly not that.
Harry waits patiently for an answer and the prefect suddenly can't think of a
single reason why he shouldn't tell the truth right now. Well, he could
probably think of a few reasons why he shouldn't confess his feelings right
this very second, the night they are supposed to share a room for what could be
most of the Christmas holidays, but they seem to fade in the face of bright,
expectant green eyes. To be honest, most things seem to dull and fade under
them. "It's- it's not that." He repeats lamely.
He's not sure how the younger wizard does it, but Harry manages to get even
closer to his face without touching each other's. Percy does his best not to
look down at Harry's lips. "Percy," Harry sighs, and the prefect had to look at
those pale lips, parted open and invitingly. He couldn't help it. It would've
been rude not to. Also he was weak and hormonal. Mainly the second bit to be
honest. "Please just tell me, you know I think unnecessary teenage angst is
much too complicated and counterproductive in the long run."
"It's embarrassing." He confesses, because it was true and maybe Harry would be
satisfied with that. He wasn't. Of course he wasn't.
"I won't judge." And the worst part is, Harry probably won't. Not much anyways.
It's not like he's confessing that he's Death incarnate or something equally as
crazy. Percy knows rationally he needs to get over this crush, Harry
complicates his plans of the future. He's going to be Head boy, he's going to
work in the Ministry like his father but unlike him, he's going to be rich and
successful if it kills him. He wants kids of his own that he can afford not to
give thrice old hand-me-downs to. He wants the white picket fence and the
magical garden, he wants the well-paid Ministry position and he wants the
respect him and his family deserve.
And while he does hopelessly pine and fantasize about sharing something like
that with the Boy-Who-Lived, it always felt off. Harry just doesn't seem to fit
in the jigsaw of his perfectly planned life. The boy looked like he belonged in
a painting of gothic, haunting, beautifully dark things. The delicate
complement to the darkness curling in every corner. Percy was always mesmerized
at the way the moon would hit the younger wizard's face and how the shadows
would always seem to frame angelic features into something innocently deadly.
Percy knew he was aiming high, hoping to soar in the sky and maybe even become
Minister in the process- but Harry, with his overwhelming power and seemingly
endless potential and subtly captivating personality, he was already halfway to
space.
"I, uh, I," Percy stammers but he has already near made up his mind. He needs
this. Even if Harry was interested in the less fairer sex, something no one has
even confirmed by the way, there was still no way he would be interested in
Percy. And even if Merlin revived from the dead just to grant such a miracle, a
relationship between them would unfortunately not last. It's not even all
because of Percy's future plans. Harry was the sort of person who would do the
best to accommodate even the stupidest things, case in point, Ron. Percy just
couldn't though, no matter how much he wanted something with the other, he
wanted a long lasting relationship and his carefully planned future a bit
better.
His family may run on the power of their emotions and love and whatever other
nonsense, but Percy was far more rational. The prefect would not be led on by
his heart alone. Harry may be kind and pretty and held a dry sense of humor
that Percy loved. But at the same time, Harry was a crush, a fixation and a
distraction that Percy craved but certainly didn't need. He could see himself
sacrificing everything for this charismatic young wizard, his dreams, his
future, his ambition, and that terrified him in its temptation. It was best
just to give a swift end to his feelings before he got to such a point. Percy
needed closure.
"I like you Harry." He confesses in a rush and flurry of words because Percy
also needs a new brain to mouth filter since apparently he's either stumbling
over his words or he's shooting off embarrassing confessions with no in-
between.
Harry blinked uncomprehendingly for a moment before staring at the fidgeting
red-faced teen like he'd never seen the prefect before. "You like me." The
younger of the two stated.
"I like you." Percy confirmed. "Non-platonically." He added just in case.
"Huh."
There's a silence as both wizards look awkwardly at their shared bed, the tense
awkwardness was almost tangible between them. Harry took the opportunity to
sneak evaluative looks at the physically older teen as he tried to set his mind
in order. To be honest he'd never even contemplated the prefect as any sort of
viable sexual conquest, Harry's always just assumed the other was comfortably
satisfied as good friends. Sure Percy was kind of blushy, and initiated a lot
of physical contact and proximity, but to be brutally honest, all the Weasley's
were. How on earth was Harry meant to know any different?
Percy was cute though. And intelligent. A little too bland unfortunately, but
Harry could see himself having something with the teen. Nothing long term.
Percy was too.. domestic. Harry's heard about Percy's 'future plan' and it's
given him hives just listening to it. The prefect was surprisingly a romantic
at heart. In a weird OCD way. If it was Order or Love, they would have gotten
all up in that in a heartbeat.
Then again, if the teen is offering, Harry can't think of any sort of reason to
reject a little Christmas indulgence. Knowing Percy, it's going to be
incredibly vanilla but at least it'll be sweet.
And let's face it, its been a while, and he's admittedly kind of, a little bit
of, a slag. On mortal levels to clarify, if we're comparing him to other gods
and entities in their need for sexual gratification, he's practically a saint.
With a calculated shy smile, green eyes looked through dark lashes demurely as
the younger of the pair moved closer, casually resting his hand on a larger one
in the process. "Yeah, okay. I'd like that."
The prefect just kind of gapes at that. Like Harry had just slapped his face
with a Boggart instead of answering like a normal human mortal. Which was very
confusing. Most organisms would feel honored that he would accept their offers.
The entity has once had a brave Vulcan warrior practically weep when he had
accepted the invitation to be bedded during the Vulcan's Pon Farr. "What."
"I said," Harry patiently replies, "I wouldn't be adverse in starting
something. With you. Non-platonically."
Percy just stares at him like he's questioning Harry's standards. Or if he has
any in the first place.
Which, rude. Harry does have standards, they are just incredibly low. As Death,
you don't really discriminate in attraction. He doesn't even require a pulse to
have intercourse with it- vampires for example. As Death, he's pretty sure that
his sexuality is a singularity even among his more godly companions. Life is
pretty darn heterosexual, Knowledge is asexual but indulged in carnal acts for
more scientific purposes than anything, Order, Time and all the others are
generally pansexual with certain.. preferences. Death would definitely fall in
with the last category. Love is- well Love is as versatile as it gets, no holds
barred. And Chaos, who once fucked a cooked thanksgiving turkey bare ass naked
on a bench in Santa's workshop, was on a whole other league entirely.
It's hard to define really. Genderwise, he's found himself more attracted to
the same sex of whatever form he's in. As a male he finds men more arousing, in
the form of a female (which is quite rare to be honest) other women tend to be
his first choice. It took a while, but he's realized that it's the infertility
that attracts him. The inability to create life. Men and women that can't have
children are just as appealing to him in any gender then.
"O-okay then." Percy suddenly says, snapping the younger boy from his musings.
"Okay what?" Harry asks.
The prefect looks nervous, unsure, his hands are wringing themselves and
honestly, it kind of feels like when Harry was in the forest with He Who Must
Not Be Named as he contemplated eating the boar who had volunteered itself as a
meat sacrifice. As reassuring as he can, the green eyed boy tightened the hand
still on the redhead's own. It seems to work because Percy looks Harry in the
eye, suddenly more resolved and decided, before grabbing the younger boy's hand
and pulling him close to himself for a kiss.
Taken by surprise at the uncharacteristically bold move of the prefect, Harry
practically fell into said kiss. It was expectedly awkward, with lips mashing
against lips, and their noses were dangerously in the 'squished' category.
Percy obviously hadn't had much experience and it showed. It wasn't off putting
at least, the teen was certainly trying to make up with it in eagerness.
Amused, Harry decided to take pity on the prefect and grabbed the older boy's
collar and dragged them both onto the bed with Percy lying on top of him. Then,
taking advantage of the sudden change of position, smoothly moved his head to a
much more comfortable position before proceeding to practically devour the
redhead.
Percy made a startled noise at the sudden aggressiveness of the situation
before melting under the heat, moaning loudly into the kiss and tentatively
outlining the planes of Harry's lithe form with his hands. The green eyed
wizard could feel Percy's erection, hard and gently rutting up on his thigh,
and he could feel his own dick already responding to the stimulation at a
frankly alarming rate. Harry panted at the sheer sensation of it all, it's
clumsy, his partner is probably the most inexperienced he's ever been with, and
they've barely done anything but make out like children but every touch seems
to burn hotter than he's ever felt when he was Death. His skin has never felt
more sensitive and aware of everything happening, the shift of clothes, every
move of delightful friction, the weight pressed against him.
Somehow it's never really occurred to him that pleasure could be even more..
pleasurable.
Human bodies may be fragile and annoyingly confining and stiff sometimes, but
they certainly had their impressive perks.
Percy had apparently decided to move on from kissing to try better things,
because he was laving at the crook of Harry's neck, licking at the skin as he
watched curiously as the younger wizard whined breathily at the sensation. His
neck stretched out to give the prefect better access and Harry could feel his
body almost involuntarily push up further against Percy's own as his mind tried
to fully savor his own heightened pleasure. His arms found themselves curling
possessively around Percy's head, bringing the other closer to his neck. Taking
the invitation for what it was, the redheaded teen then enthusiastically tried
to bite and suck the messiest hickey ever onto the side of his neck where Harry
makes his appreciation for the prefect's attempts very much known. The skin
under Percy's mouth throbs in time with his heartbeat and suddenly Harry
understands why having a beating heart is so appealing.
The orgasm he has shocks Harry, he's tilting his head further, arching his
back, with a moan bordering on a sob on his lips as all he can see is burning
white spots. His hands had migrated over to his head, pulling his hair as if to
steady himself but it was like trying to stop a volcano from erupting by
dropping ice cubes in it. It's the first time in his human body that he's done
that, well, awake anyway, and it was absolutely mind-numbingly overwhelming to
say the least.
"Harry," Percy groans out next to his ear, and Harry can distantly feel the
older teen thrust up his leg, one, two, three times before shuddering and
seizing to a halt like an electrocution victim. The green eyed boy gasps softly
as the prefect bites him again on the skin he had been working on, harder than
before as Percy cums. "Harry." Percy growls again, in a low, rough voice that
Harry has legitimately never even imagined could belong to the straight laced
prefect. And oh, hello teenage refractory period.
"Oh god, Percy, fuck." Harry sighs happily as Percy seems to quickly catch a
second wind too and has decided to use it wisely by taking off Harry's top and
pressing kisses and soft bites down the younger wizard's chest.
The redheaded teen pauses his ministrations suddenly and looks up, a more
familiar unsure expression on his face. "Is, is this alright?" He asks
tentatively and Harry just wants to coo at how cute Percy is.
Breathlessly Harry smiles, still high from his release and showing it off
proudly. "More than alright I should hope."
Percy looks a little awestruck for a moment, his blue eyes darkening as Harry
absentmindedly pressed his fingers against the pinking skin on his neck. It's
definitely going to bruise wonderfully, the younger wizard was exceptionally
pleased at that, he's always quite liked the idea of his amorous exploits being
decorated on his skin. However, actually finding a partner that could keep its
marks on an entity was always such a rare find. "I just, maybe we are going a
little fast." The prefect says reluctantly.
Harry wants to protest at that. Harry's young teenage body really wants to
protest at that. But he sees concern and nervousness and confusion in Percy's
eyes, and Harry may be craving to explore the more sinful parts that come with
humanity, but he certainly doesn't like it to the point of making someone feel
uncomfortable like he's doing right now.
"Uh okay?" He's baffled to be honest. And disappointed. Did Percy not enjoy it
like Harry had? The thought was mortifying at the very least. Maybe the prefect
realized that he preferred the fairer sex instead?
"You want us to stop? Was it not.. good?" Harry asks softly. No one has ever
told him that they were going 'too fast' much less ask him to 'slow down,' and
frankly, Harry was feeling a little rejected at this whole thing now.
The rejection must show because Percy was awkwardly reaching out to cuddle his
smaller body closer, heedless of the sticky messes of their pajama bottoms, and
kissed him chastely on the cheek. "No, no, it's not that you weren't good,"
Percy soothed, then embarrassed he continued, "You were, uh, very good.
Fantastic really. Better than I ever ima-" He coughed, his face one of someone
who was just about to say something they would've completely regretted, despite
the whole mess of the situation Harry giggled at the prefect's expression. "The
point is, I just think, maybe we try do this bit by bit?"
The prefect was visibly struggling to find the right words, and Harry was
struggling to understand them. Is Percy unsure how men have sex with one
another? Was he uncomfortable with doing more than making out because of
Harry's age? Or was it a case of not wanting to disappoint with his lack of
experience in this area? He can't see why Percy seemed so adamant to stop, why
the teenager seemed to think it so important.
"Is kissing fine then?" Harry asked tentatively, his fingers curling against
Percy's freckled chest as he tried to navigate through a whole new set of
strange, unfamiliar social constructs. He understood the mechanics of sex, sex
was safe and easy and simple. It was an expression of non-platonic mutual
attraction and Harry wasn't completely sure what other expressions there could
be.
Percy looked surprised, like Harry didn't even need to ask, and the entity
didn't like how stupid he felt at such a simple question. Kissing was, is, just
as intimate as sex to Harry, so much so he barely finds it much of a
distinction between them they're so interconnected. It's odd to think
otherwise.
"Of course Harry," The Gryffindor says emphatically, kissing Harry lightly on
the lips for good measure. In contrast to Harry's wavering certainty, Percy has
gotten more sure of himself during this exchange, "I just don't want to rush
into anything too fast too soon." He explains, "If we're going to be dating, I
want to do this right."
Percy sounds so sure and resolved that Harry feels bad that the first coherent
thought he has to that was, 'What the absolute fuck?' And then he feels even
worse when that is followed up with a, 'I didn't know we would be dating.' He
didn't. Honest. It's not exactly like he's known for his dating repertoire.
Mostly because he doesn't have one. Even when he was eons younger and flitted
around other worlds more than in his own realms he's never took up the dating
experience. Any sort of relationship formed usually was during some form of
massacre, plague or warzone, and despite what some historical dramas may say,
it was far from dating ideal.
But this wasn't a warzone. Not a battleground. Hell, Harry's pretty sure no one
has died in this house since ever. Which is both incredibly annoying and
impressive.
Harry looked up into the prefect's eyes, he could see genuine adoration
coloring Percy's soul- a simple little orb, light red with crisscrossing
straight lines lacing it through- and suddenly the idea of dating, actually
dating, didn't sound as daunting as he thought. What the hell, he was on
vacation anyway, might as well try it out. When in Rome and all that jazz.
"I've never dated before." He heard himself confessing quietly, because Percy
deserves to know that Harry is going to be absolutely shite at this. He won't
know exactly how shite Harry truly is at it but at least he'll be vaguely aware
of it.
The prefect chuckles nervously under his breath, "I'm not much of an expert
myself. I'm sure we'll figure it out."
Harry isn't surprised at that, he'd figured that Percy had limited experience
with romance. What he is surprised at is how self deprecating he sounded when
he said that. The prefect was a very appealing specimen of a wizard. It wasn't
his fault the general student body of Hogwarts has failed to see that.
"Well I'm glad that it's you." Harry declared, "Wouldn't have had it any other
way." and Percy just looked so surprised and touched and grateful, Harry almost
didn't feel too bad for lying about the last part.
"Oh," Was all Percy said, could say, and instead of words he pulled Harry in
closer so that he could kiss him properly. With tongues together and arms
wrapping around each other's bodies. The younger wizard was quite content with
the response and happily returned the favor.
Together they nestled properly into their shared bed where they indulged
themselves with several amazing minutes of kissing in a way that Harry hasn't
really done with anyone. Kissing had always been just a pleasant prelude
leading to sex, foreplay, not something really indulged in for its own sake.
Though Percy's mouth was valiantly making some very good argument to just how
wrong that idea was. Taking it slow doesn't seem so bad at that moment.
Of course Harry's body didn't really seem to get the message and embarrassingly
climaxed twice throughout the make out session. The younger teen bit his now
swollen pinked lips, humiliated at his lack of control. "Shit I'm sorry." He
apologizes, Percy looks at him equally as flushed but with eyes darkening with
hormonal want.
"I hardly think you should apologize." The prefect says hoarsely, his mind
replaying the scene just moments before unable to move past it. The feeling of
soft lips, cool skin warming under his touch, the way all Percy had to do was
press ever so slightly harder before Harry jerked away with a gasp, glassy eyed
as he writhed and mewled helplessly through his orgasm, mindlessly shaking
against him. It seemed Harry, cool, composed, once helped fight off a troll
Harry, was extremely sensitive to pleasure. "Merlin you're amazing."
And there was the confident, bold Harry from the beginning, smirking through
blushing cheeks and slightly teary green eyes. "Aren't I always?"
"Always." Percy agreed. And then kissed him again.
===============================================================================
As Harry slept on, his body exhausted by the numerous climaxes that the prefect
giddily drew out of the younger wizard. By the end of it all, Harry had been a
weeping, trembling, beautiful mess of a person as he finally succumbed to
exhaustion. Percy laid down and watched the younger sleeping figure with soft
eyes. He still feels disbelief that this has all happened. The prefect is
honestly just waiting for himself to wake up in a tangled mess of bed sheets
any minute now, alone, with an embarrassing mess in his pants.
The idea of wanting closure to his stupidly gigantic crush on the Boy Who Lived
seems so far away right now. Percy's gaze lingers on the darkening patch of
skin highlighted on Harry's neck, the faint indentation of a bite mark still
there and the older teen felt a fizzle of possessive satisfaction at that. Had
he really believed that it would be the best to not pursue something with
Harry? It seemed the very pinnacle of blindness now.
Percy wasn't like his family. More rational, ambitious. He doesn't like
following his heart or making decisions based on a feeling or being led by
whatever gooey emotion in his heart.
But, as he nestles into the blankets and allows himself to cuddle close to
Harry, who in turn sleepily snuffles toward Percy, the prefect couldn't help
but think maybe following that gooey emotion in his heart wasn't too bad after
all.
===============================================================================
Of course their new relationship status was found out almost immediately. It
wasn't like they've charmed bright flashy hearts and the words 'I KISSED THIS
GUY AND I LIKED IT' in bright Gryffindor colors hanging above their heads, but
they may as well have from the stupid smile on Percy's face, the hand-holding
as they walked down to breakfast, and most damning of all, the smattering of
red hickies and a large almost painful dark love bite decorating pale white
skin exposed by the too large 'P' woolen jumper a very sleepy looking Harry had
put on.
Needless to say, the chattering when they arrived, immediately ceased in favor
of outright staring and gaping. There was soft choking noises that filled the
short silence before Ron, naive innocent Ron burst out an indignant, "Merlin
Harry, Percy bashed you up good!"
Now it was Percy's turn to gape while Harry in turn burst out laughing. That
boy will never fail to make him smile. "Ron, Percy didn't hit me." He says
patiently. Ron still didn't seem to understand.
"He kicked you?"
"Please, please say he kicked you." George muttered darkly. Fred next to his
twin, was still staring blankly at the pair.
The raven haired wizard shook his head and gave the present Weasley family a
bashful smile as he tightened his hold on Percy's hand. That, seemed to get
Ron's attention because he opened his mouth and the oddest squeaky sound came
out of it. It was then Mrs Weasley seemed to come out absolutely nowhere and
tackled the two with a crushing hug, she too was emitting a squeaky high sound
but in a distinctly happier pitch than Ron's more horrified one.
"Oh my! Don't you two look just the sweetest?" She exclaimed, and in an
embarrassingly loud whisper she added to her son, "I do hope you weren't doing
anything too... scandalous. Harry is still very young, dear."
Percy blushed a frightful red color and Harry could feel his own face heat up
too. Good lord, did this woman have no sense of place? Mr Weasley seemed to
share his sentiment as he had a suffering expression on his face as he tried to
swallow down his coffee. "Molly really, don't embarrass the poor boys."
Crumpling up his newspaper, the patriarch of the Weasley family stood up,
coughed like he was about to impart something terribly wise- which Harry
honestly thought would be quite the feat considering this was the man at dinner
last night interrogating Harry about the role of rubber ducks in muggle society
as if rubber ducks were the key to all wizard-kind's future- before asking,
"Percy did you try those muggle contraceptives I got you? I mean, I never
really expected you to go for wizards but I'm sure those rubbers work either
way."
Harry... well Harry was speechless. Like utterly, completely, incomprehensibly
speechless at the sheer disregard and blatant implications this man was
spouting. Worse off, it seemed Arthur Weasley was just genuinely interested in
the use of condoms more than anything. Harry could speak every single dialect
of every single language of every single species in every different variation
of the universe, but there were no words in any of them to reply to this.
Percy was looking at the ground mournfully, like he was physically disappointed
that his family's flooring has failed in aiding him a quick escape from this
whole mess via giant hole. Ron, thankfully just seemed confused about where
this awful turn of conversation had gone. The twins however, Fred looked ready
to puke and George's juice was, oh, so Harry didn't imagine the sound of
shattering glass. Well it wasn't exactly surprising their reactions, the green
eyed boy reasoned. It was perfectly understandable for one to feel a little
disturbed when faced with their older brother- especially a brother not
especially liked- is dating a friend of theirs.
It's completely rational for family members to feel awkward in such a
situation, Harry had pretty much come to terms with that about five seconds
before actually seeing the Weasley's for breakfast. Except it seems only Ron
was going to be doing the normal thing around here and everyone was just
running across the spectrum like there wasn't one in the first place. Mr and
Mrs Weasley were taking this in an amazingly cheerful stride while the twins in
contrast looked almost heartbroken and angry at this new relationship status.
Ginny hadn't come down from her bed and apparently the other two older brothers
have yet to come back home, but since they aren't even friends with Harry and
therefore will not feel as awkward as they should, they didn't really count.
But seriously, the twins. Fred looks like his heart is on the table, smashed
and leaking blood all over the place, and George is the avenging fire, seething
and ready to lash out.
When Ginny came down to eat, and she finally caught on to what's going on with
Mrs Weasley's so very subtle, "So have you boys planned a place for your first
date? I do hope it's awfully nice considering you two well- Oh don't get
embarrassed Percy, you know I taught you all to treat your beloveds right, and
by the look of dear Harry's neck, you definitely better be getting the sweet
child a good meal in him." The girl took one look at the newly tentative
couples humiliated faces, their hands holding each other, and promptly ran back
up to her room with a sob.
This family. Really. So odd.
===============================================================================
"I am so. Sorry."
Harry pats Percy's shoulder sympathetically, the older boy flashed a small
crooked smile before realizing he's meant to be hopelessly embarrassed and
buries his face in his hands again. "Well I had fun." He tries. "It was a very
nice first date, and I've never been to the theatre before."
Blue eyes peeked through fingers tentatively hopeful, "Yeah?"
The raven haired boy grinned, Harry nudged the other's shoulder with his own,
playfully gentle, "Of course. It was interesting." Then with a short pause, he
added, "Though I think you should've let me choose the film."
"How was I to know that muggles would use such confusing titles?" Percy
bemoaned, slumping in his seat in shame. "Or that they could be so
bloodthirsty."
"I thought Candyman was quite fun." Harry says honestly.
"That's because you're quite morbid aren't you, Harry." The redhead sighed
defeated, Harry giggled and pressed a closed mouth kiss just on the corner of
Percy's mouth. He's getting much better at the whole chaste thing. Hell, maybe
this dating thing won't be so bad. Three dates and then sex is commonplace
right?
"Well I had a rather lovely time." Mr Weasley says cheerfully as he drives the
flying car back to the Burrow. Percy buries his hands in his face again while
Harry pats him consolingly.
===============================================================================
To Death,
I must say, I have never thought you would do such a thing. It's very unlike
you. Not that I am implying you are a coward who never tries new things. I am
just saying that the probability of you doing something adventurous or
particularly bold to this extent is like if Order decided that wearing socks
and sandals is somehow fashionably efficient. Which is to say, it's technically
possible, but virtually nonexistent in the realm of everywhere.
Fascinating really.
I am most curious to see how your human body is effected by this. It seems
growth is occurring normally, if a little stunted but that could be conferred
to your own desire to experiment with the experience of pain. And if recent
developments should be noted, which they have been, you're hormonal growth
seems fine though your sex drive has spiked unusually high and early
considering your age. Considering you are physically a prepubescent child, I
suggest you curb your depravities and vices until a more appropriate age for
mortals. Or whenever your secondary sexual organs fully mature.
Merry Christmas by the way.
Regards,
Knowledge
P.S. Love is pissed you are trying to ruin your cute little relationship with
sex. I, personally share your views with connecting with an attractive organism
via fornication in that adding sex in a relationship is like putting books on
mobile devices- it's improved, quick and easy. However I also live in fear of
my counterpart's wrath so I shall stay verbally silent on the matter.
***** Death's brought to bed *****
Chapter Notes
     Umm.. warning for possible triggers for burning and pain and injury?
     It's not that explicit but just in case.
The one where Death finally gets someone to bring him to bed. In the unsexiest
way possible.
Word gets out that Percy Weasley has somehow managed to get Harry Potter to
date him. It was inevitable really. They were holding hands together when the
entered Platform 9 and 3/4s, they somehow managed to stand together in a way
that maximized as much body contact as possible without looking like idiots,
and Katie Bell caught them making out just outside the prefect compartment.
While Percy was a little shy about it, Harry seemed to have no problem
admitting their relationship to the public. It's not like he particularly minds
if it's a secret or not, but he thinks that Percy deserved the ego boost that
came with the publicity of having someone famous unashamedly admitting their
affections for him.
Ron, as usual, complained loudly about how disgusting they were being and
demanded food to heal the mental scars he was incurring just looking at them.
Though obvious unhappiness about his best mate being stolen by his stuck up big
brother aside, the redhead had been taking the whole thing rather admirably.
Supportive, but not supportive enough to want to hear anything or watch them
kiss, or touch, or say anything remotely romantic.. Harry could live with that.
Hermione thought they were absolutely adorable, and applauded them for being so
proud about their sexuality. Then she pulled a Mr Weasley and interrogated them
about safe sex practices her dentist parents stressed to her about.
Draco was deeply unhappy about this new status who, mainly he seemed more upset
his friend was dating a Weasley more than anything, especially one who was, 'so
old'. And more than a few older Gryffindor students had passed by him, patted
him on the back, winked, and then walked off without saying a word. That was
certainly weird.
The Weasley twins, Fred especially so, were still showing signs of deep
unhappiness. Even revulsion. Harry thinks maybe they got dumped, or maybe it's
teenage moping because Percy managed to get a relationship before them. He's
fairly sure Percy is one of the reasons for it, the poor prefect was certainly
fraying at the edges a tad what with the barrage of increasingly mean-hearted
pranks he's fell victim too during the holidays.
It was only when Percy burst into his room, angry, face blotchy with unshed
tears and terrible, rude insults inked on his skin did Harry had to force his
hand and put his feet down.
"Okay what the hell guys?" He had slammed the door open to the twins' room
angrily, Fred and George's heads snapped up in identical expressions of
surprise, guilt and a terrible attempt at innocence. "I know you like picking
on Percy, and yeah I admit I find your pranks hilarious, but this is getting
downright cruel now."
"We don't know what you're talking bout." George says mulishly.
Harry sighed angrily, "The insults, the constant rain cloud that followed him
for a whole day, that goddamn creepy doll that keeps following him around."
"Oi," Fred protested weakly, "that doll ain't creepy."
The younger boy shuddered. "That thing frightens me far more than it does
Percy." He confesses, because it's a fucking nightmare on porcelain legs and he
needs it gone like, three days ago. "You know it's mental right? I tried to
burn it up and it comes crawling back, barely a curl out of place."
"Yeah... We didn't have multiple copies of the doll or anything." Harry looks
absolutely aghast at the idea.
He doesn't like dolls much, with their unblinking painted faces and frozen
pretty features crudely trying to mimic a life never there. He doesn't like how
they are almost always children. And he doesn't like that all the creepy
fucking vengeful things in the world for some reason prefer to posses those
things over legitimately anything else in the entire world they reside in.
Like, what was up with that? It's either dolls or actual children. No one wants
to posses a rich billionaire or a Ms Universe or their favourite actor, no,
because that apparently would be a complete and utterly stupid waste of their
ability.
"That is horrid." He says vehemently. "Absolutely horrid. Why would you even-
" Harry stops short and just gives the two an odd look. "Um, by any chance are
you two homophobic?"
Now its Fred and George who looked appalled. "What?" "No!"
"Because that's okay," Harry barrels on. It's the 20th century, albeit the
later side of it, but there's not many earth worlds that have accepted the
notion of homosexuality in this point of time. Harry gets it. The union of two
individuals of the same sex doesn't produce offspring which is technically
against the whole 'ensuring the species' thing they all have to do. For
organisms that actually need to reproduce to preserve their genetic
information, it's not exactly hard to see why all of that sort of
discrimination popped up in the first place, still, humans especially take
quite the long time to get over those things. "I mean if us showing affection
makes you two uncomfortable then-"
"It's not that!" Fred protests while George mutters under his breath, "Well,
it's a little that." And the other twin promptly jabs his counterpart in the
ribs. Harry just raises an unamused eyebrow.
"We are not homophobic." Fred insists. "I'm gay." And wow, Harry didn't know
that. This is a pretty terrible coming out all things considered. "And George
is bisexual. Probably." And somehow, George's coming out was that much worse.
"Okay." The raven haired wizard said slowly. "That still doesn't explain the
colour changing shampoo, or the doll-" "Annabelle." "Of course it is. Anyways,
look, good for you two for not hating on same gendered relationships, still
doesn't tell me why you are both being complete pricks."
The twins both pointedly did not look at Harry. Harry narrowed his eyes into
threatening slits of green.
"I am completely okay with you guys not answering me. But only if you are
completely okay with me hurling abuse at you two and me thinking that you guys
suck for the remainder of whenever this pettiness stops and you apologise to
Percy."
The Weasley teens lasted valiantly right until Harry inhaled dramatically and
opened his mouth to begin the first scathing insult. Which was barely any time
at all. Really, wet toilet paper could have lasted longer.
"It's nothing against you." George says.
"Or Percy." Fred continues, though George mutters something unseemly under his
breath which Harry can't hear. "And we don't have a problem with gay
relationships."
"You just have a problem with ours." Harry concludes for them flatly.
It's as if finalising their thoughts and speaking them aloud really seemed to
solidify the thing that had been dancing around their conversation since the
very beginning. Harry is faintly surprised at how it hurts him to say it,
knowing how true it is already. The twins in turn look ashamed at it.
"We, we're just not.. used to it." George grits out. It's flimsy and weak and
obviously not the whole truth but Harry thinks that if the two are trying this
hard not to say it, it probably wouldn't be a truth that would benefit anyone
by coming out.
"But we will.. eventually." Fred amends. He's sad, the boy can tell, sad in the
way his counterpart is angry and Harry honestly doesn't know what to do with
that. It's somehow his fault he feels. Wait. No. It's probably, definitely, his
fault.
"I, uh, good." Harry cough awkwardly, righteous anger dying out. Now he's
just.. There. Unsure how to proceed.
There's a silence after that. It's awkward, because of course it is. And Harry
fumbles out an excuse to leave and a demand to destroy the devil child dolls,
something which earns him two amused noises and two freckly smiles, before
quickly making his exit.
It's odd after that, with the twins. They've stopped the pranks since then at
least but somehow, Harry doesn't feel at all pleased. He hopes it'll get better
with them in time.
===============================================================================
The situation between Harry and the Weasley twins did get better in time. Well
it helped quite a bit that a few weeks after school started, Percy and Harry
had broken up. Officially, it was a mutual understanding based on various
factors that arose as the school term started. Unofficially, it was pretty much
the same thing except it wasn't that mutual and Harry may or may not have been
high on potions at the time.
But that's for later.
===============================================================================
Surprisingly enough, Zacharias Smith and Gilderoy Lockhart do not get along at
all. Harry only realised this as he was forcibly roped along by Lockhart one
day to listen to the man lecture about PR tactics of the famous and rich. Smith
and his cronies passed by at the time, and the look of mutual disdain that
plastered on both their features was almost worth the twenty mind-numbing
minutes leading up to it.
This revelation was particularly hilarious to the entity-on-hiatus considering
that the two individuals seemed so obviously to come from the same strain of
narcissistic idiocy. The only difference was that Smith enjoyed being a rich,
talentless bully while Lockhart was a rich, talentless hack. Apparently, there
was a limit to the number of egomaniacs in a castle.
"That boy," Lockhart huffed as Smith and his gang walked out of hearing
distance, "is a loudmouthed attention seeking menace."
Harry choked. "What."
Tutting, the professor patted his back assuringly, "I know it's wrong to say
such things to a student, but I know you would understand dear Harry. Us sort
of intellectuals cannot help but feel irritated in those who seek to garner
fame through exaggerations and obvious lacking of skill to back up themselves."
There was just so much wrong with that one statement. Harry didn't even know
such sheer hypocrisy was possible. Say what you will about the moron, he is on
a whole other level to anyone Harry's ever had any displeasure of meeting.
"What."
Lockhart smiled, completely misreading the raven haired wizard's reaction, "Of
course that's not to say I don't understand. Children like that do tend to show
their feelings with boasts and insults, especially to the cute ones right Mr
Potter?" The teacher winked.
Harry suddenly felt quite queasy at the implication. "What."
"Then again, excuses aside, Smith's snotty attitude definitely needs some work.
Luckily he's got such a great and esteemed teacher like myself to try guide him
out of his self-absorption."The defence professor gave a small, regretful sigh,
"Well, I am sorry for cutting our simply scintillating conversation short, but
I do have work to do. We simply must do this again soon, ta." And with a jaunty
wave, and a little skip in his step, Lockhart bided his leave, leaving Harry in
the hall, befuddled, confused and with a loss for words save one.
"What."
===============================================================================
The first staff meeting of the term was less a meeting of staff and more a
meeting for gossipmongers over the age of twenty. Each professor rushing in to
discuss with great emotion about one very specific subject. And no, it
certainly was not about the fact their school was being terrorized by
Slytherin's beast and their students were dropping left and right. God, no, why
in Merlin's name would they do that?
"I guess it's never occurred to me this would happen." Professor McGonagall
admitted to Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sinatra. "I mean, to be perfectly
honest, I thought if one of the Weasley boys were going to ask the boy out it
would be the twins."
"Which one?"
Mcgonagall shrugged, "Fred? George? Both? I've always thought they came as a
package really."
"Academically the pair make sense," Sinatra pointed out, "A hardworking, honour
student and a young prodigy passionate about new things- they would share
similar interests."
"Both are very responsible and respectful young boys." Pomfrey agreed readily,
"I'm not sure about Mr. Potter's young age for this sort of thing, but I'm
fairly confident Mr. Weasley would know what he's doing."
The three woman paused contemplatively at that, however, the lull in
conversation was quickly interrupted by more professors coming into the room.
"I'm just saying," Professor Flitwick said exasperatedly to an aggrieved
looking potions master, "Potter may be twelve but he's hardly much of a child.
I hardly think Percy Weasley of all people has violated the boy in the dubious
and nefarious manner you've implied. Mr Weasley's once almost cried the one
time he forgot to hand in a simple assignment for Merlin's sake!"
Professor Snape looked thunderous, "Mr Weasley, should have waited till Mr
Potter was a more appropriate age before making his less than platonic
intentions known." He insisted venomously, "Potter may act older than he is,
but I hardly think, what with his abusive past and all, that he properly
understands what a proper relationship implies."
"Percy Weasley is a fine and upstanding young man," McGonagall butted in
indignantly protective of one of her own. Snape sneered.
"Not upstanding enough to refrain from snogging a second year against the
prefect's compartment."
"Oh my god that was true!?" Madam Hooch squealed like a teenage girl as she
caught the tail end of the growing conversation. Following behind her was a
beaming Lockhart chattering at a rather pained looking headmaster, and equally
unenthusiastic looking Professor Grubbly-Plank, Professor Vector, Ms Pince and
Mr Filch who all had the misfortune to bump into the defence teacher on their
way here. "Is it also true that Potter was shirtless at the time? Because I
can't exactly figure out if the rumours are either truth or just another fifth
year's fanciful imagination."
The squib caretaker pulled a face at that. "Those brats have the dirtiest
minds. I've confiscated six notes on the subject of Potter's love life, and I
had to burn five of them, they were absolutely disgusting."
"What about the last one?" McGonagall inquired more than a little interestedly.
Some of the other professors too were trying not to look too curious at the now
uncomfortable looking caretaker.
"Well, it seemed not all the students are completely subpar in their literacy
skills." The man coughed awkwardly in a pathetic attempt to explain himself.
Truth be told, against his own wishes, Filch may have cried a little bit at the
extremely touching story of Prince Harry and his royal advisor Percy's
forbidden romance that had been scribbled hastily onto a magically expanded
napkin. There was drama and wit and a surprisingly good grasp on the characters
considering that whoever had wrote this was probably not personally acquainted
with the pair. Glancing up to see the inquisitive fascination in more than a
few witches and wizards, he mumbled in a much quieter voice, "… I'll send you
all a copy afterward."
"I," Gilderoy Lockhart interrupted loudly and self-importantly, "personally do
not find Mr Weasley and Harry well suited to each other at all!"
Snape's face, if anybody had bothered to look his way at that declaration, was
quite comical. A mix between relief at someone sharing his sentiment on the new
'it' power couple, and deep revulsion of having to be forced to share it with
someone who probably doesn't even understand what 'sentiment' even meant.
"What do you mean?" Professor Vector asked, "I may not know them too
personally, but from what I understand, they are quite cute together." To
everyone's immense irritation the blonde man shook his head and made a
disappointed clucking sound.
"Can you not see?" He says rhetorically, before sighing dramatically, "Well, I
guess it's understandable. Not many people are as experienced in empathizing
with the students likeI am. You have to learn to notice the little things, talk
to the little bright-eyed boys and girls, be personable."
"Oooh, why I ought'a-" The Hufflepuff head of house huffed angrily, rolling up
her robe sleeves as she began running up to the self-absorbed man, only to be
stopped by fellow Heads of both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw houses.
Lockhart failed to notice the rising ire of the rest of the room as he
continued his tirade, "My dear little friend Harry over here is far out of Mr
Weasley's league."
"Well, that's a little harsh." Dumbledore tried to defend.
"Pardon my straightforwardness Headmaster, but Harry is a hard-working,
charismatic, magical prodigy that rivals even my own amazing traits!" Lockhart
exclaims, he's blatantly complimenting Harry but in such a way that somehow he
looks good doing so. It's almost admirable how he manages it, if it weren't so
annoying. "He's friends with centaurs and ghosts and professors alike, all
Houses seem to be fond of him, and despite his young age, is aesthetically
pleasing enough to apparently both male and female students of varying ages to
be seen as viable in some form." The blonde defence professor takes a deep
breath, "Percy, while a prefect and notable in studies, I have noticed is far
too serious and has limited friends. In my experience, there is going to be a
lot of strain in this new 'relationship' what with the lack of privacy, the
obvious imbalance between the two, and most importantly- the consequent
judgments and jealousy from their fellow peers."
The professors stared as Gilderoy Lockhart fanned his face.
Professor Vector was the one to speak next, "That was.. surprisingly astute of
you Mr Lockhart." She admitted.
Lockhart beamed and straightened up even further.
"I'm so glad you think so! After all, I didn't become an internationally famous
wizard with a five-time award winning smile and title of one of the most
bestselling authors, without knowing my way around some basic social tangles.
Why, just the other day I had to-"
"Oh Merlin, now he's never going to go away," Snape muttered in the background.
===============================================================================
Truth was, Lockhart was right. After the initial shock and awe in light of
Percy and Harry's relationship, unrest began to settle in. There's the muggles
who grew up in a more heteronormative environment who struggle with the whole
concept entirely. The conservative purebloods who just don't like how open they
are on such a, while not taboo but still looked down upon, affair. The ones who
had hoped to earn Harry Potter's affections themselves. The ones who wanted
Harry Potter's affections to be subjected with someone else's. And the really
weird ones who fell into both of the last two categories.
Percy found himself conflicted. On one hand, he's never felt happier by Harry's
side. They are good together. His twin brothers aside, those last few weeks of
the holidays was easily the best of his life so far. But now between prefect
duties, and schoolwork and the absolute hostility he was garnering from his
fellow wizards and witches, Percy found himself running absolutely ragged with
stress.
Harry tries to make him feel better, and he does, with soft kisses and cuddles
and quiet reassurances. Yet even the prefect can tell the younger boy was
feeling a little frustrated at everything as well. It didn't help there was
absolutely no privacy in the school, well there was, but as a prefect he had to
refrain from going to those places despite how tempting Harry pleaded
otherwise.
So many people are judging him for apparently 'defiling' Harry's young body
when really, Percy thinks he should earn some sort of award for resisting his
boyfriend's immeasurable charms. Percy has been a fucking saint and sometimes
he can't help but want to scream that at the Great Hall.
What's worse, Professor Snape, whose never been any Gryffindor's biggest fan,
has for some reason made it his personal vendetta to try and murder the prefect
with nothing but the hatred in his eyes and the venom in his words. It's all
incredibly petty in his opinion, calling him out with questions clearly not in
the given readings, loudly criticising his work in front of the class, even
pointing out tiny mistakes in his potions as he exaggerates the flaws to the
point it sounds like Percy was purposely trying to plot mass murder on the
class. At this rate the prefect's fairly sure he's not too far off on that.
It all came ahead three weeks after the term started.
"Ah, well if it isn't Mr Weasley," The potions professor intoned coldly as
Percy jumped at the sudden presence of the dour faced man. His name on Snape's
lips somehow sounded like the crudest of insults.
"Professor." He replied back politely.
Professor Snape sneered at him, "And what are you doing here in the halls so
late at night?"
Percy blinked dumbly. "Um. I was patrolling the halls. Because I'm a prefect.
That is one of my duties."
If anything, the logical explanation made the older man's face sour further.
The potions master scowled furiously, "Don't take that disrespectful tone with
me, Mr Weasley." He barked, "Ten points from Gryffindor."
"But, that's not-"
"Three points for failing to address me properly, and a further five for
talking back." Snape snapped before Percy could finish his protestations. "Now
anything else you would like to add, Mr Weasley?" The professor asked
mockingly.
"No sir." Percy says defeatedly.
Snape looked disgustingly pleased at the redhead's obvious misery in his
opinion. As the man strode off into the shadows of the night where he probably
belonged, Percy just felt.. tired. Worn.
He likes Harry. Harry is sweet and funny and beautiful. Harry despite every
evidence to the contrary genuinely enjoy's Percy's presence. He makes Percy
feel warm and giddy and actually attractive. He's happy with Harry.
But now Percy wonders if he's happy enough.
===============================================================================
Severus slammed the door to his private quarter closed, rage and disgust in
himself welling up. It doesn't help that a part of him, a large part of him,
preens at his petty vindictive victory over the studious Weasley.
He wants to make the boy suffer for taking someone who was never his, to make
him hurt how he hurts every single time he imagines them together. Imagines
Harry actually returning the Weasley's feelings, smiling and blushing and so
very much enamoured like all first loves do. Severus takes out his wand and
bites out a hex which results in one of his more favoured decorative vases to
shatter, and shatter, and shatter.
There's the very fleeting satisfaction of destruction, before the ache of
jealousy, unrequited want fills him again. He can't help but lash out, to jab
and barb, to humiliate, to hurt, anything to try alleviate his own selfish
self-inflicted pain.
It's awful how familiar it is. The feeling. Chasing something that will never
be caught. But it's different too. Worse.
It's darker and uglier. Seeping through his chest and making it hurt
unbearably, his ribs are closing in, suffocating his lungs, his heart, his
everything.
He wants to scream and pull them apart. It hurts so bad he can't sleep for
days.
===============================================================================
"So I think I should be the one to do the actual stealing." Hermione said as
they walked toward their double potions class. "That means you two will have to
make a diversion to keep Professor Snape busy."
Harry and Ron exchanged uncomfortable looks. "You couldn't have told us this a
bit earlier Hermione?" The redhead asked, "Because I would have liked to have
written my will first."
"Oh don't be overdramatic," Hermione dismissed, "Snape won't kill you guys.
Just don't get caught."
"Easy for you to say." Harry groused, deeply unhappy at the idea of causing any
sort of havoc in Snape's classroom. He doesn't like the thought of making the
older man upset with him. He doesn't like the thought of most people getting
upset with him to be perfectly honest. Except for Zacharias Smith. That boy can
go suck a lemon while kissing a dementor for all he cares.
"Also, if we do get caught," Ron pipes up, "We all know that it's gonna be me
that greasy git takes it out on. Snape favours Harry just as much as Malfoy."
"That's not- Professor Snape doesn't- does he really?" Harry asks shyly. If Ron
could roll his eyes any harder, Harry was sure even the earth's rotation would
be affected. The boy had no idea why his freckled friend would even roll his
eyes in the first place, it was just a question.
"The point is," Ron sighed, "I am not exactly going to come out this well if
Snape finds out who's behind setting his classroom on fire."
"Well, you have Harry to help back you up." Hermione assured. "Even if it's
Harry."
"And who says we have to set anything on fire?" Harry asked dubiously,
"Seriously. Who told you two, diversion immediately equated to arson?" Because
this seemed to be the start of a disturbingly recurring theme with the pair.
Then, after a seconds pause, the boy did a double take at Hermione. "And what
do you mean 'even Harry'?"
"Well Ron is right, you do have a-"
"I do not have a-"
"Are you three quite done gossiping outside my classroom, or do you still need
another twenty minutes?" Snape drawled disapprovingly. Ron and Hermione gulped
and shook their heads before quickly making their way to their seats. Harry
lingered back a little longer so no one but Snape could see the shy smile and
small wave he gave the older man before he made his way to sit in his usual
seat next to Draco. Sitting otherwise would only draw unneeded suspicion.
Twisting to see Ron and Hermione whispering behind him, the green eyed child
raised a questioning brow at the two Gryffindors. "Anything you might want to
tell me?" He whispered. Draco was busy talking to Crabbe and Goyle about
something so they had a good solid few minutes before the Malfoy heir would
notice their conversation. The only thing that would divert the platinum
blonde's attention even further would be if there was a mirror at hand. Heh.
"We're going to spill potion on you," Hermione whispered back.
"Sounds great." Harry smile froze. "Wait. What?"
Ron looked sheepish. "Yeah sorry about that."
"If it helps, when we mess up the potion, I'll make sure to neutralise any
severely harmful effects." The bushy haired girl added oh, so helpfully. "That
way, no one gets in too much trouble and there would be enough commotion to
distract the whole class. Plus, Professor Snape is usually obligated to help
any students harmed from a potion spill so that would get him out of the room
for a while as well."
Harry narrowed his eyes, his green eyes bright and toxic. "What exactly do you
mean by 'severely harmful'?" He hisses like a snake, stocked filled with venom
and everything in his words. But before the two could say something back,
before Harry could point out every single tiny thing wrong with this new plan,
Snape just had to take that moment to stride into the middle of the room,
demanding everyone's attention in setting up with the utmost care in
preparation for making a Swelling Solution.
===============================================================================
"Ugh, I like potions but this is so gross." Draco complained as he plucked out
another pufferfish eye and holding it up to the light, inspecting it for any
scratches. "Harry?"
"Huh, oh yeah." The boy hummed in absentminded agreement. Draco gave him a
funny look.
"Uh, Harry are you alright? You seem kind of off."
"It's nothing." Just waiting for a messed up potion to hit him on the back and
potentially give him some non-severe harm. Damn those two. He liked them, liked
them very fondly actually, but damn, those two are such troublemakers. "Just a
bit tired."
"Okay." Draco said uncertainly, and Harry felt quite touched that he saw
genuine worry for him in the other boy's grey eyes. "W-well, don't fret Potter.
I will take charge of today's potion. After all, no illness is going to ruin
our perfect grades- and I refuse to rank lower than Granger in Potions."
Harry smiled and gave a friendly shoulder nudge to his friend, "Awww, you are
just the absolutely best." Draco spluttered, his pale face aflame with a mix of
embarrassment and pride at the praise.
"I will have you know," the grey eyed boy huffed, visibly flustered, "I already
knew I was the best thank you very much."
The young wizard saviour giggled at his friend's dramatics, "Come on Draco,
let's melt those eyes shall we?"
Which was of course when Hermione and Ron decided it was time to ruin a potion.
He just didn't realise that it was going to be his own potion they were going
to explode.
===============================================================================
Harry didn't even need to fake his scream. Hermione may have the forethought to
neutralise the potion's major side effects with whatever she'd thrown into
their bubbling cauldron, but she clearly did not think about what temperature
can do to someone's body. It's a new and very unpleasant experience being
doused by boiling potion in the face. Very unpleasant.
They areso lucky he is a very forgiving and passive aggressive entity, because
he knows if his twin counterpart were in the same situation she would
absolutely ruin them. Ruin them to the ground. Life is a bitch after all.
Distantly he can feel Draco scrabbling at his clothes and babbling his name
frantically and Harry resolves to make the young pureblood his new bestest
friend ever. It's only after a particularly sharp tug to his robe that his body
finally gets the memo. Jerking out of its shocked stupor, Harry wasted no time
in shirking off his outer robe and groaning as cool, blessed air made itself
known to his body. Unfortunately said body was still covered by a soaked shirt
and pants that was saturated in botched potion. The boy was beginning to feel
the aftermath of the burning sensation, coupled with an unusual electric tingle
he was fairly sure wasn't normal. He was more than fairly sure it wasn't normal
when that tingle quickly evolved into full on spasm inducing shocks throughout
his body.
He could feel everyone's eyes on him as his body involuntarily jerked at each
jolt of electricity running through his veins like five year olds on a sugar
high. Hermione better be taking good advantage of this moment because Harry was
certainly not going to do this again. Visually, the boy was not seeing much but
his ears was picking up a cacophony of chaos and noise. Ron was blubbering
unhelpful reassurances and defending himself from Draco's snide remarks and
Professor Snape was barking for everyone to calm down, sit down and shut up.
"Weasley, do not touch Potter if you value those sticky little fingers of
yours." The deep voice of the potions master snaps, "We have no idea exactly
how a simple Soothing Solution has caused such a mess and I have no intention
of helping idiots who fail to use basic common sense in the face of much more
serious cases."
In a softer but no less firm voice, Harry could hear Snape ask him. "Potter,
can you hear me?" The boy flickered his eyes toward the crouched professor in
what was hopefully some form of agreement. His mouth was too busy trying to
hoarsely grasp for oxygen to form words at that moment. "I'm going to take that
as a yes."
Harry dearly hoped his look of absolute derision was clear in his eyes, despite
the whole burnt skin and spasming body distraction he had going on.
"Everyone, continue what you were working on before." Snape barked, "Draco, go
get another professor to supervise- anyone but Lockhart obviously. Weasley,
help clean up this mess. Granger- where's Granger?"
"She's uh, she saw what happened to Harry and had to go to the bathroom." Ron
supplied quickly, the professor narrowed his eyes and curled his lips
distastefully.
"Fine. Tell her when she comes back to help supervise whilst Draco gets a
professor. I'll bring Potter to the infirmary."
The redhead nodded vigorously, his eyes glancing guiltily at his fallen friend.
Luckily for him, everyone was far too busy also staring at the Boy-in-Pain to
notice. It did not make Ron feel better though. As someone with more siblings
than fingers on his hand, he knows he screwed up royally bad and there is going
to be some serious sucking up in his near future. Like having to be Ginny's
servant for a week sucking up. Except way more. After all, he may have broken
his sister's leg, but he did just burn his mate's face off.
Snape whipped out his wand and cast a simple floating charm, something which
Harry would've objected to considering how unflattering people tend to look
prone and not lying on anything, but was far too immersed in experiencing the
excruciating pain of being burned so thoroughly for the first time ever. Not
that he intended to do that again anytime soon. He's interested in pain but
he's far from being such an extreme masochist ta very much.
The injured boy wasn't completely sure what happened next. It was kind of like
a slow, buzzing blur like the moments between a meaty punch and the fall to the
floor, except much longer. He remembers being lifted out of the room, the wide
eyes of students watching him and the deep tenor of Professor Snape as he
switched between reassuring murmurs or muttered death threats. Or what he hoped
were reassurances or death threats, Harry did blank out a few times so the man
could just be reassuring death threats to his prone form for all he knew.
Soon enough though, Harry felt himself slip back into enough of a state of
awareness to realise he'd finally made it to the medical wing.
"What happened?!" Madam Pomfrey gasped.
"Potions accident." Snape answered briskly, then in a lower murmur that Harry
barely even heard, "Though I suspect some foul play at hand."
"Burns." Harry rasps from under the older man's hold, "And tingles."
The woman wasted no time in taking Harry's vague self-analysis, and turning it
into a full out diagnosis with the help of some fancy spellwork. Snape now and
again putting his two cents in what he thinks must have happened to the
destroyed potion while at the same time gently leading the injured child toward
a medical bed to rest. Harry just softly moaned every time he shifted on the
mattress.
This was not how he envisioned his first time getting a grown man to bring him
to bed as a mortal human. Not. even. close.
Warily he forces himself to lift one of his arms up to asses the damage of his
skin. He winces at the rosy red colour where once was bone pale, and how his
skin blistered and peeled. Harry doesn't really want to see what his face might
look like right now. He feels weaker than he's ever felt before, let himself
feel before and it's both humbling as it is terrifying.
"Professor?" Harry murmurs, and as if summoned, large, mercifully cool hands
lightly touch his raised hand.
"Potter." Snape says as he smoothly places Harry's hand back onto the bed, "You
have severe burning and your body is experiencing something akin to shock. And
maybe slight nerve damage. Madam Pomfrey here will be watching you overnight to
see if there's any magical side effects to your injury, if you don't show any
alarming new symptoms in the thirty-six hours of strict supervision then.."
"Out?" He asks hopefully, because the green eyed boy could only really muster
the energy to things one word at a time at best right now. The older man, as if
sensing this, gave a tight smile.
"Yes Potter. But you'll have to stay with me for a while, it was the only way I
could get Madam Pomfrey to agree- if you want, that is."
Harry did give that some thought. Like, a second of it, before agreeing with a
sharp but pointed nod. The boy understood the logic of it of course, Snape was
the resident potions master and therefore would have all the pain numbing
potions and burn salves Harry could possibly need, not to mention have a better
eye at detecting any symptoms and causes. But truth be told, logic had nothing
to do with Harry's decision. Harry had no idea exactly what was the fuel that
drove him to agree in staying with Snape in his personal quarters, but it was
certainly not logic.
Though Harry did think it was a little odd that Snape of all people even
volunteered to take care of him in the first place, was it a comment on their
growing friendship, or was it that Harry was actually more injured than he'd
thought? The boy didn't get to ponder this any further before he blacked out.
But really, what had Snape been thinking?
===============================================================================
What had he been thinking?
Snape slammed the door to his bedroom behind him and groaned loud and
frustratedly at himself. Man of control indeed. The wretched boy of his twisted
affections gets hurt and his mouth immediately suggests the child stay by his
side for the major duration of his suffering. It took a lot of Slytherin
cunning and a healthy dose of bullshit just to get Poppy to stop looking at him
funny, and even then he knows the woman threw some deeply suspicious looks his
way while he was comforting the injured boy.
But it wasn't like he couldn't do anything. Not when he can see Harry's
twitching burnt body and hear the boy's shocked howl of pain, rewinding and
replaying like a muggle video in his mind. It's far from the worst accident
that's happened in his classroom, but it's definitely up there in terms of
agony alone. It would be monstrous not to want to take care of Potter in such a
situation. He may be a monster to lust over a child, but he's at least not that
sort of monster.
Doesn't stop the fact what he did was clearly a terrible idea. Doesn't stop the
fact that Harry's apparently been shacking up with a Weasley and is completely,
in all forms, undeniably unavailable. Doesn't stop the fact that some part of
him, that treacherous, lecherous part, was whispering dirty, disgusting, less
than decent things at the possible implications that could come forth with
Harry sleeping with him. Staying with him. Doesn't stop the implications with
Harry staying with him.
Harry hasn't even stayed one night with him and already Snape is losing his
mind. Wonderful.
===============================================================================
"We are so extremely positively sorry, Harry!" Hermione wailed as she threw
herself across the room in her haste to hug the bedridden boy. Ron, being the
observant one shot his arms out to stop the girl from her good intentioned
path.
"Hermione you'll only hurt him more if you go and tackle him like that!"
The bushy haired Gryffindor looked ready to protest at that before she took
another good look at the bandages and faint burn marks on Harry's face and just
clamped her mouth shut, eyes stricken and ready to cry. "It's worse than it
looks." Harry lied, it felt just as shite as he seemed.
The two second years didn't seem to believe it much either as they both adopted
the same equally tragic, guilt ridden expressions. To be fair, Harry thought
they kind of deserved it. Hot potion fucking hurt. And healing was never one of
his strengths, quite the opposite all things considering. So not only does he
know that despite his newfound powers he'll be recovering at a pretty slow
rate, he's also been informed that there's a chance his perfect white skin is
going to be marred from the incident. Not permanently though, thank god for
magic potions and salves, but he'll have twisted raised gnarls of skin all over
his face, neck and hands for a while. He's even had to shave the sides of his
hair off so it'll be easier to apply lotions there.
Harry does admit he looks good with his new hairstyle. Might even keep it after
he stops looking like a burn victim. Hell, maybe he'll keep some of the more
attractive looking scars, if anyone could rock a near death experience, it
would be him. Until then though, Harry's going to wear creepy plain white face
masks to mourn the loss of his unblemished snow white skin.
"Oh Harry this is all my fault." Hermione cried, "I didn't even think about
cooling the potion!"
"It's my fault too." Ron volunteered glumly, "I should have suggested a
different idea, we should've done something else like flooding the floor."
"And boil everyone's feet in the process?" Harry croaked wryly.
Ron winced at the jarring, hoarse voice coming from the usually cool, almost
silvery voiced friend. "Uh, yeah, guess that wasn't a great idea either huh?"
"How long will it take for you to-" Hermione trailed off, as she gestured
helplessly at the mess of bandages and red skin and shaved hair.
"I'll be stuck here for a short while before hopefully the pain will just
become manageable enough to continue schoolwork." Harry explained softly, not
wanting to strain himself. "Honestly Madam Pomfrey wants me to stay for a good
two weeks but Professor Snape was kind enough to allow me to stay with him
instead."
"Oh that's so good of him!" Hermione gushed, eager to latch onto something that
won't potentially make her bawl for the second time today. "Really, I know we
didn't think the best of him before, but I guess we were wrong about how
generous Professor Snape is. He's probably got better experience dealing with
potion accidents and you'll get much more attention there than here, what with
all the petrified students in the infirmary. Isn't Professor Snape great Ron?"
"Yeah Ron." Harry smirked. Or tried to anyway, the bandages and puffy burn
marks probably made him look like he was grimacing. "Isn't Professor Snape so
nice?"
The redhead opened his mouth before closing it after a moment's thought.
Scrunching up his nose and looking like he was going to be slightly nauseous,
the boy tried a, "That's.. He's... Well, Professor Snape does have his, uh,
moments." Ron, for his troubles, gets a back handed slap on his chest from
Hermione. "I mean, totally, yeah, Snape's bloke of the year. That man makes
flowers fart glitter every time he- ow! OW! Hermione!"
Harry laughed, his throat felt like it swallowed shredded sandpaper and the boy
was pretty sure he could taste blood in his mouth, but Harry was still fairly
sure he wanted to keep these little humans as his friends despite it all. Even
if they could be annoying and tend to cause excessive injury if handled
wrongly. He liked them well enough.
Won't stop him from milking this whole thing out till the cows come home
though. After all, they did burn his face.
"Oh that reminds me! We're not going to do the Polyjuice potion anymore, Draco
seemed far too worried about you to be the heir of Slytherin, and we realised
you were right Harry- what we were doing was stupid and dangerous."
"..."
Harry was wrong. Harry was going to wring their skinny little necks the moment
he could lift his arms without whimpering. And Harry was going to enjoy every
second of it.
***** Death's break up with a Weasley *****
Chapter Notes
     WARNING UNDERAGE SMUT IN THERE SOMEWHERE YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED DO NOT
     HATE. Honestly its been hinted at for a while now, I would have hoped
     you got the memo by now but there is some very strong underage shit
     happening.
     There's also like a bit of angst but I'm sure you guys can get over
     that.
     Pretty sure the smut is near the end, like its the last quarter of
     the chapter.
The one where Death breaks up with a prefect and convinces a professor into his
bed (and yes, it is much sexier than the last time)
The thing is, dating Percy was an experience. Not a bad one mind you, but Harry
doesn't think it could be categorized as particularly great either. Percy seems
more awkward than before, all stumbling questions and concerns every time he so
much as sneezes. There's a lot of elements of a courting that applies in
dating; apparently. Gifts and compliments and no sex, except the gifts and
compliments part is supposed to be a very mutual endeavor to Harry's intrigue.
Luckily Percy seems to be easily satisfied, so the boy didn't have to do much
in the way of that, which was good because he was sure that he did not do a
good job at it anyhow.
That's not to say there weren't nice parts to all of it. Teaching the prefect
how to kiss was fun, and Percy, like in Hogwarts, was a pretty enthusiastic
student. Harry liked his stupid attempts at jokes. Harry liked the way he could
be such an earnest romantic. And most of all, Harry liked how at the end of the
day, whether it was during the holidays at the Burrow or in the dorm rooms,
Percy would always kiss him sweetly on the cheek and insist in his own shy
roundabout way for them to snuggle under a shared blanket. The redheaded teen
was trying at times, yes, but it was obvious he was also trying. And Harry
appreciated that with a fierce fondness. He did.
It's just. It's just the whole thing is so goddamnjuvenile that Harry was
actually worried he was going to lose his mind. The sweaty hand-holding, the
hesitance, the chaste everything. Sure it was cute at first. Adorable really.
Like watching a puppy roll around in the sunshine. But soon enough it gets old,
and the puppy will eventually roll around a vegetable patch or something, and
then it just becomes a little less cute and a little more.. grating.
And the fact that all they ever seem to do is neck and grope and rut, and, if
Harry was really lucky, suck, is also another, completely different but equally
great, source of frustration for the young teen. Harry's had to resort to..
self-gratification. He's never had to do that before in his undead life. That
is what adoring worshippers were for.
Admittedly, exploring his amazingly sensitive, self-heating, nubile young body
with hands filled with centuries of experience in the arts of pleasure was
hardly a hardship in itself. Being forced on this journey of self-discovery in
the bathroom of his friends' and also boyfriend's family home was a little more
so. It was the principal of the thing that annoys him more than the act. Not to
mention, weirdly shameful in how pathetic he feels after. Debasing himself
because his boyfriend wouldn't do it for him is more than a small blow to his
ego.
Even then, Harry thinks he can handle it, the cloying sweetness, the sexual
frustration, the insistence on holding hands.
But then Percy walks into the infirmary with a bunch of flowers. Flowers.
And okay, Harry likes the idea of being able to grow plants in this new life,
it's a rush to realize he can be part of the creation of life. You know,
instead of being life's equivalent of the garbage man. It's a novelty that
still hasn't fully waned in him yet.
But he kind of, maybe, a tiny bit… absolutely fucking despises flowers,
especially as a gift. It's an innate thing that no perspective of life can
change in him. Like his affinity to darkness, his appreciation of quiet, his
morbid little interests that involve far too much blood for the general
standards of most organisms. He is Death and therefore does not care for life.
He can appreciate it and has learned to like it after eternities watching life
grow and fester and still be continually surprised and fascinated by it. But
symbols of life, pregnancy, and fertility were, well, to be frank, they sicken
him. And flowers are all three. Fuck flowers. It's his emotional hay fever.
Giving flowers to him is like the equivalent of giving a bunch of dead
carcasses to Life or just any sane human being.
He doesn't know how to end it, though. He barely understood how it even
started. And the green-eyed wizard knows he still likes Percy, just not like
like him. It's gone to a point where, when they do engage in anything remotely
steamy, Harry can't help but let his mind wander, imagining an older more
mature lover. With long fingers, confident movements that belay experience and
an eagerness to use it. A deep voice that murmurs depraved things unashamedly
in Harry's ear that makes him go hot and bothered without relying on the
physical friction of their actions to get himself aroused. Someone he can
banter and tease. Percy is friendly but far too serious for that sort of thing.
The redheaded teenager yearns to be mature and doesn't realize that maturity
and a solid sense of humor don't have to be unrelated to one another.
Harry knew that in the long term they wouldn't be compatible, knew it right
from the start he fucking did. But he was far too curious and impatient, and
Percy was so willing.
It makes Harry feel like a horrible person, it makes him feel less like Harry
and more like Death. Because he tries very hard to berate himself, to make
himself feel guilty for essentially using the prefect, playing with another's
feelings to try to satisfy his lust, and yet at the same time he can't find it
in himself to care. Not really. Just a faint buzz of irritation at not getting
carnally satisfied and a growing anxious trepidation for the inevitable break
off.
Because the confrontation will be hard. Harry's seen the telly shows. And he's
seen the crap Love likes to watch when they look over the different worlds.
Break ups are almost never friendly. There's inevitable awkwardness and
jealousy, and no one knows where they'll fit in the others' life anymore
because it's never just 'being friends' afterward. And God forbid if someone
cries. Harry can't stand that. He caves when Hermione looks close to tearing
up. He's not even that close to Hermione.
Harry likes to think that if he had less potion in his system and weren't in
immeasurable pain right then, the moment Percy walked in with an obnoxiously
sunny looking bouquet in his hands, he would have handled what happened next
differently.
"We should break up." He mumbles quietly, half awkward, half genuinely unable
to muster the energy to speak up.
Percy looks confused, "Pardon?"
Harry mumbles it again. The prefect still fails to hear.
"I'm really sorry Harry, but you're really going to have to-"
"BREAK UP. I WANT OUT." The injured boy hoarsely shouts annoyed.
There's a heavy silence that envelops the air. Madam Pomphrey, who had been
innocently minding her own business and totally not eavesdropping, gave a very
fake coughing noise. "Well," She starts, as she edges slowly out of her own
ward, "I'll leave you two some privacy for a bit okay?" Waiting for no answer,
the witch slides out of the room, unnoticed by the two, too busy wrapped up in
their own drama. She's usually very watchful over her patients, especially ones
in critical need of it like Harry Potter, but she's also been present for two
break-ups in her infirmary before. The last two were enough for her to decide
confidently that she didn't want to be part of another.
"Pardon?" Percy repeats, but his voice is softer, shakier. "I don't
understand."
Harry looks helpless at the teenager, his green eyes wide and shocked by his
own outburst. The younger boy looks immediately regretful for what he says, but
the damage has already been done. Percy isn't sure what to do. He feels like a
fool standing there with a bunch of flowers in hand.
"It's.. I like you, Percy. I do." He croaks. The boy pauses a bit to get his
words in order and to wet his lips. "But.. I don't think I'm good at this
dating thing." He finally decides on. "I- I don't know what to do, and I don't
get the point of it, and recently, I don't think you really want this as much
either."
The prefect's face twisted, blotchy and pink as he finally seemed to realize
where exactly this could only go. Harry wished Percy was less expressive than
he was because he had no choice but to watch the feelings sort themselves out
on the other's face in painful explicitness. He feels bad, for Percy and maybe
a bit at himself because what he said was true.
Harry just doesn't think he was wired for dating. He's not patient enough to
wait for a pleasure he can have. He doesn't like flowers or poetry or
constantly holding hands everywhere. He doesn't like how it's made such an easy
relationship so weird and awkward and different. Percy is sweet and caring and
lovely and absolutely tiring to be around now.
"Harry," Percy says softly, and Harry's face must be either worse than he
thought, or his face is, in response to Percy's sad emotions is mirroring his
own sad feelings because the prefect sounds like he's talking to a skittering
animal. "You're not, I mean, yeah okay maybe I've been having doubts about..
this." He gestures to the space between himself and Harry.
"I'm sorry." Harry apologizes sadly. Because he knows he's certainly held a lot
of cynicism to this relationship, but he's tried his best not to show it, not
to make Percy feel this way. Percy is a great human being, and he needs to know
that because not enough people do, that Harry was the problem, not him.
It's not Percy's fault that the closest Harry has been to dating was during a
three-month escapade with a very handsome young werewolf. Where, between
vigorous bouts of sex, Death would whisper bloody tactics into the other's ear,
helping the man slaughter a whole tribe of other weres and claiming an alpha
status like no other. Dripping with blood and pride and glory, the werewolf had
turned to Death and smiled, teeth sharp and fangs bared as he held the dripping
intestines of the previous alpha. And Death, so much older and younger than he
was then and now, had felt his chest constrict in butterfly beats. Dark
infatuation lined with corpses and wrapped in violence and lust. It was the
closest thing to a relationship. It was the closest thing he had at that moment
to what he thought must be love.
But right now he wasn't Death. Not really. He was Harry James Potter. There's a
distance, a dissonance to it that allows certain aspects of his personality to
change. Harry smiles more, he blushes, his emotions are so much more
temperamental, and his ability to emphasize with others has peaked
astronomically compared to before. Death is constantly stoic, incapable of
blushing or turning any other color unless he wills himself to. He is muted and
feels things under a thick layer of ice cold numbness, and he'd once watched
Chaos convince a woman to eat her children alive while all he felt was a mild
irritation at the loud shrill cries of the young victims to be.
Harry likes mild flavors in his meal and cold tea in the summertime. Death
indulges in eating heart-stopping, disgustingly unhealthy garbage and always
has a bottle of dark red wine the color of blood in his hand for his image.
Though in private he swallows down any sweetened beverage served in the
hottest, most scathing temperatures it can be made, because he secretly craves
the scant few moments of burning warmth it could bring to him before it's
replaced with the cold consuming darkness that is his very essence.
Harry is a human with magic and friends, and now he has a tentative romance
forming, growing in his hands. Death is.. he'snot. He's got minions and people
that he likes, but he's far too powerful to consider any of them friends, and
the ones who are just as powerful as he are like his brothers and sisters,
which is not the same. And the rare bouts of romance he gets was always a
short, brief and sometimes bloody experience, despite Love's best attempts
otherwise.
Harry was an ideal that he could finally live as. The fantasy that can be
brought temporarily to reality. It's the bitter black coffee of Death sweetened
with sugar and milk. But no matter how much has been changed, altered, tweaked,
it's still coffee in the end. Harry is still Death.
And Death is so tired from this saccharine relationship with Percy. He feels
exhausted with the idea of any relationship like this again.
"But it's not because of you, not really. I'm the one that's-"
"No way." Harry protests, a little louder than he expected. His throat rakes
against his nerves painfully as punishment for his raised voice, and he winces
at the unpleasant sensation. Still, he presses on because Percy does not
deserve this. Percy doesn't need another person to put him down just because of
how he's a bit more noticeably different than everyone else. "Percy it is
because of me."
"Is not." The prefect shoots back almost angrily. Harry feels like he's
starting to get unexplainably angry too.
"Is too." Harry insists back, like a child. "I'm not wired for this Percy." He
tries to explain, his eyes wide and begging for Percy to understand, that it's
not the redhead's fault. It's his. It's all his fault. For jumping in too fast.
For not wanting enough. For being so, well, he wouldn't say damaged, but maybe
just so emotionally unavailable to feel anything more than friendship between
them.
"It's not about being wired or not!" Percy snaps, and Harry goes abruptly
quiet. "You're being ridiculous and self-deprecating and frankly Harry, if this
is how you want to be, maybe itis you." The prefect continues heatedly, "Or
maybe it's me. Because I like you, Harry, I do, I like that you laugh at my
obviously terrible jokes even if you don't really think it's funny, I like our
quiet walks at night, I like that crooked smile you get when you think I've
said something particularly amazing, I like the fact I've managed to get one of
the smartest, most powerful, most well-liked wizards in the history of ever to
even look at me like I'm made for something more… So yeah, I like you Harry,
but lately, I've realized for a while now I've always valued our companionship
more than our relationship."
The Weasley prefect paused, breathing heavily as if a weight he's been carrying
for a while now had suddenly been lifted off his chest and now he's relishing
the freedom of it. Harry's sure what Percy said was something profound and
conclusive, yet he could only feel frustration and confusion well inside him,
like that heavy weight Percy lost had been passed onto him. "What does that
even mean?" He asks angrily. He doesn't understand, and it feels sorely like a
riddle that he cannot decipher.
Percy looks at the younger wizard with a sad little smile, and Harry doesn't
know what to do with that. So he waits as patiently as he can and listens to
what the redhead says next. "I.. don't think I was ever that interested in
you," Percy coughs awkwardly as Harry makes a highly offended noise, "sexually,
I mean." Harry did not feel any less incredibly offended.
"Then why even pursue something with me?" He bites out because there would be
no reason to even start this whole thing unless there was some attraction
right? Sex is the whole point of dating right? Then, a cold, ugly thought
slivered up into his mind and Harry looked at the older teen in dawning horror.
"Unless- did I, did I force you into this?" It made sense because apparently,
Percy wasn't even bloody that hot for him and Harry had been practically
begging him like a whore for-
"What? Merlin, no!" Percy replied, equally aghast. "Harry for wizarding's sake,
you are incredibly gorgeous,"
"Not gorgeous enough for you to want me," Harry muttered bitterly because he's
a petty, petty person who is fucking ravishingly gorgeous, thanks very much.
Percy ignored him pointedly.
"but you're just so young, and that awful muggle family has clearly taught you
some really messed up definition of what dating is because it's not as much as
your clueless to dating as in you've gotten yourself some awfully wrong ideas
about it and have cheerfully embraced it. And I'm not at all comfortable with
taking advantage of you like that Harry. I never was, but I don't know, when
you looked at me like I was the best thing in the room and asked for a kiss so
prettily, I couldn't help but not refuse." Percy moved closer to his injured
and soon to be ex-boyfriend, letting himself give the lightest brush of his
knuckles against the bandages covering the side of Harry's cheek. It stung a
bit, but Harry made no move away from the gesture, too off kilter from the
speech, too lost. And maybe a little too enraptured. "Harry, you are one of the
most beautiful blokes I've ever seen in my life, but you have issues I can't
fix even if I tried and I have a long term plan that I know you've never wanted
to be part of."
"You knew it wasn't going to last," Harry whispered, and he knows how accusing
he sounds, far more than he has any right to be considering he was the one who
wanted to call in quits first.
Percy's smile widened, it was still a very sad smile, sad and tired but far
stronger than Harry had thought Percy to be, "I think we both know, you knew
too."
Harry didn't want to insult Percy anymore with his lies, so instead, he asks
him, "Do you think there's something wrong with me?" Green eyes look at Percy
as he lay one of his insecurities bare for the other to see. "Do you think I'll
ever find someone I love enough to want to do all those things I couldn't do
with you?"
"Oh Harry," Percy sighs as he brushes his knuckles gently against the other's
cheek again. "I think if you find the right person, it's going to be the
scariest thing because you'll find that despite everything, you would want to
give the whole, wide world to them just to make them happy, except they
wouldn't even want the world because they already have you for that."
"That's very profound." The younger wizard says, "And beautiful." 'And stupid.
And impossible. And that's never going to happen to me.' He doesn't say.
"Mum likes telling us things like that." Percy admitted, "I used to think it
was a load of sentimental rubbish but when we were together I thought.. I mean,
I found out maybe it held some merit."
"I wish I was that person for you." Harry murmured, his eyes fluttering shut
slowly as a wave of drowsiness hit him. "I hope you'll find that someday."
Because it's okay if Harry never does, as long as there are Percys out there
who do, he thinks he'll be fine.
"And I, you," Percy said, pressing one last chaste kiss onto the top of Harry's
forehead, it tasted of salt from sweat and tears that the prefect realized were
running down his own face. "Get better soon." He muttered before fleeing the
infirmary.
The Weasley ran down the end of the hall before stopping to press the palms of
his hands into his eyes as he failed to suppress a sob. He knew it wasn't going
to last. He knew it, and yet.
"You were that person for me." He choked out to himself. He needed to say it to
someone. He needed to say it out loud. "I loved you, Harry. I-I, fuck, I would
have given the world for you."
===============================================================================
"Hey, Harry likes chocolates yeah?"
George glanced at his twin who seemed to be staring at the packet of chocolate
frogs in his hand like they might suddenly combust. "You've asked this thrice
already, of course, he does. It flowers he doesn't like."
"That's so bloody weird." Fred sighs, but it's less a resigned sigh and more of
an 'isn't he absolutely lovely and unique,' sigh than anything else.
"Oh shut up and get moving lover boy," George laughed, even though in his mind
he too was thinking fondly about Harry and his numerous odd quirks. "If we
don't get there soon, Potter's going to fall asleep on us, and then we'll have
to wade through the icky firsties when they finish classes."
Fred blustered unconvincingly against the lover boy comment while George teased
him heartily as they rounded a corner and right into-
"I see you two have been let out of your cages and are running amok in the
halls again." Professor Snape sniped, Fred instinctively hid the chocolate
frogs behind his back. Every good Gryffindor knows that if the potions master
spotted anything nice and good in their hands, they would just be confiscated
and left to die a terrible lonely death in the dark dungeon basements. Prank
items, unauthorized animals, even alcohol, honestly, that man is so
unreasonable. The fact he's one of Harry's favorite professors is a genuine
character flaw on the young Potter's part.
"Good afternoon, Professor Snape." The twins chanted in unison, knowing full
well how much it peeved off the older wizard.
Snape's eye twitched but other than that, he was disappointingly stoic. "Since
I see you two have, for once, not left a trail of chaos and paint in your wake,
I will gladly bid you two goodbye."
And with that curt reply, the professor walked away. Well, he tried to anyway.
"Why are you following me?" Snape snapped irritably as soon as it dawned on him
that he had two mischievous redheads trailing in his wake.
"It's not like we want to," George said, rolling his eyes safely away from the
professor's line of vision.
"We're here to see Harry," Fred added, but not before making a vaguely obscene
hand gesture they had learned from those suits of armor from that one time they
got charmed to do amusingly vulgar things at Harry's person. Hah, that was
classic. They still haven't managed to track down who did it but they will. Oh,
they will.
Snape turned back to look at the two Weasleys just to narrow his eyes
suspiciously at them before continuing his stride. Fred gave his brother a
pointed, 'can you believe this guy look?' which George shot back with a
satisfyingly disbelieving noise of agreement.
They spent the rest of their time behind the professor communicating in silent,
meaningful eye-centric conversations, mainly about the greasy state of a
certain someone's hair. Sniggering quietly to themselves, the two almost missed
the sounds of stifled crying coming as they got closer toward the medical bay.
Almost, it was hard to miss the gut wrenching sobs in empty halls.
It was not until they were just a hallway before the medical bay that all three
of them saw the source of the emanating sadness.
"Percy?" Fred and George blurted out. Percy snapped his head to look at the
three, his eyes were red-rimmed, streaked with tears, and face blotchy with his
freckles standing out in a very unattractive manner. Hastily their older
brother wiped his face with his sleeve in an attempt to maintain some decorum.
"Excuse me." The prefect dismissed with shaky nonchalance, "I, uh, have to go
do something."
"Perce?" Fred tentatively questioned as his older brother pushed by to get past
them.
"Are you alright?" George asked, equally as unsure. They've never seen Percy
cry before, certainly not in public, and they weren't a hundred percent
comfortable with suddenly being faced with the fact their least favorite
sibling has feelings other than condescension.
Percy just waved their concern of with a mumbled "I'm fine," that was so
clearly not fine even Snape, who had been awkwardly present during the whole
thing, winced.
"Well, I'm glad that you are fine." The potions master said, it sounded
incredibly insincere and robotically forced, "It would've been quite an
annoyance if you skipped your prefect duties because you were overreacting from
feeling just a bit under the weather."
Percy halted mid-step. The twins felt themselves stop breathing.
The prefect, Percy Weasley, Perfect Prefect Percy, turned around to face the
Head of Slytherin, his face was still blotchy, but his eyes were brightly laced
with his family's well-known fiery tempers.
"Oh, do go fuck yourself, Professor." He snarled before striding away, leaving
three shell-shocked wizards in his midst.
===============================================================================
The Hogwarts rumor mill was on fire right now. If the whole Heir of Slytherin
wasn't enough, Harry Potter was currently hospitalized from a very suspicious
potions accident AND had broken up with Percy Weasley. It was all very
exciting.
Some said Percy was the one to set the accident up as revenge for breaking his
heart. Some said Harry wasn't the one who wanted to break up with the prefect
but the opposite way round. Others say Percy found out Harry was the heir and
broke it off. A few say the accident was rigged by a jealous suitor and Percy
broke Harry's heart to keep him safe. One particular prickish Hufflepuff
proclaimed that Harry spilled the potion on himself on purpose for the
attention.
That particular prickish Hufflepuff may have also gotten hexed, a lot of points
deducted, his robe set on fire, three detentions and punched in the face in the
few days after his very vocal accusations.
Harry, stuck in the medical wing still due to his incredibly slow healing and
tenuous health status, had found great sadistic delight in those stories. He
had found greater delight, though, when a week after the whole painful
incident, Madam Pomfrey finally deemed him stable enough to live in Professor
Snape's quarters. It was more than the 24 hours of confinement they promised
him, but at least he's out.
He's fairly sure he would've gotten out on the third day if he hadn't been so
bored he tried to spiritually walk out of his body. How was he supposed to know
that those thirty minutes floating around the castle left his body clinically
dead and a visiting Cedric Diggory to get a minor panic attack? No one came out
of that stressful situation at all pleased.
Not much changes between getting stuck in the infirmary and getting stuck in
Snape's quarters. The only real difference is, now Harry's able to hobble
around in much more pleasant circumstances, mainly being able to have the
choice between the bed and a nice couch. It's not much but the food is better,
and it is a very nice couch.
Unfortunately, he's still got to be practically pumped potions into his stomach
daily, and still he's got to go through recovery the muggle way. Apparently,
his magic wasn't even trying to speed up the healing process of an injury of
this extent. Madam Pomfrey, Headmaster Dumbledore, and every other professor
plus the mediwitches and wizards consulted, were absolutely baffled by it.
Harry has a strong theory it's his affinity with all things nonliving that's
really screwing up his human body's ability to recuperate and regrow the
necessary cells.
Dumbledore looked especially worried with the news considering he had very
minimal emotional connection to Harry. That old man was all sorts of very
suspicious, but, since Harry gets a nice little purple bottle of magic morphine
for his pain on the same day the old wizard visits, Tuesday usually, he waves
the nagging feeling off easily.
Draco tells him later that he makes up the absolutely best, most fantastical
stories he's ever heard on those Tuesdays. Ron and every other person who's
visited agrees with the sort of reverent awe that a normal child would give in
the face of magic. It seemed Tuesday afternoons were the equivalent of Dungeon
Story Time to the students (plus a few teachers). He's pretty sure Lockhart had
been lurking around a few times with a quill in hand. Harry is just so fucking
glad people are taking good advantage of his drugged up state. Truly.
…Those fuckers.
===============================================================================
Harry decides that he has to redefine his personal view on the word 'injury.'
Originally it was based off on his past meetings with Mr. Dursley's fat fists,
sharp bruising pain that echoed for days. It was based on the hunger he had
endured, the hollow ache in his torso that buzzed incessantly for attention. It
was based on the way his lips would dry and chafe and bleed as his mouth
desperately screamed for moisture.
Now pain was foul smelling salves with equally as terrible potions. It was the
way his nerves would screech in protest every time he moved. It was the ugly
scars and dirty bandages and liquid food. But most of all, it was the
humiliation of being unable to do more than lay down on a bed like the invalid
he was.
"Prof." He croaks because Harry finds recovery has good days where he can
string one or two god damned pearls of wisdom in the form of sentences without
needing a break and bad days where just the idea of opening his mouth makes him
want to cry a little on the inside. Or outside. He wasn't that good at
distinguishing the two at this point in recovery. Or any points so far. But
today, in particular, was not a good day.
Snape turns around from where he sat, coffee in hand and numerous papers in
front of him. The man had been kind enough to let him out of his confined,
empty, boring excuse of a bedroom for the first time in eight days and Harry
felt kind of terrible for being such an awful inconvenience as he watched Snape
mark assignments on a makeshift desk formally known as the dining table. He
surprisingly feels worse about this than actually breaking up with Percy. At
least he can console Percy and stay on friendly terms with the teenager. Being
considerably injured helped a lot in that aspect actually.
Pity is the best weapon you can ask for after all, if humans had less pride
they would see that too.
"Something the matter Harry?" He asks, and despite everything, Harry cracks a
wane smile at the professor's use of his first name. It's strange how his chest
flutters every time the potions master says it. Like light tapping fingers on
his rib cage. This new level of informality between the two is one of the few
perks about this whole situation Harry can find, and he's determined to milk as
much of it as he can.
"Drink, please?" Harry rasps so quietly even he had a hard time hearing what he
had said, but Snape just nodded and made his way to the kitchen. It's
absolutely uncanny how good the man's hearing is, there is a legitimate reason
why people kept calling him a bat after all. Harry's been rather neutral on
bats, weirdly nowadays he's found himself kind of fond of them.
The professor hands a glass of water to the boy who takes it with shaky,
bandaged fingers. "Ta."
The injured wizard had expected Snape to go back to his work after that, so he
was quite surprised when the man chose to sit next to his prone figure on the
couch, dark eyes watching him sip the water like a hawk. Harry rolled his eyes
irritatedly, "I think I can handle drinking a cup of- oh shite."
Snape smirked smugly as he snatched some tissues up and passed it to a much
more sodden Harry who sulkily accepted. "You were saying?"
"Nothin," Harry muttered petulantly, half heatedly dabbing himself. He kind of
likes the cool, water on his frazzled skin, but then again, wet bandages are
not welcome for anyone with a working sense of smell.
Somehow sensing Harry's foreboding grumpiness, the potions master stopped
smirking and softened his face into something more sympathetic. "Why don't I
help you to your room, Harry?" He asks. The green eyed entity wanted to be
angry at the implications that he couldn't walk to his room by himself, he
wanted to be indignant and to show the professor that he didn't need his help.
But at the same time he wants to be the absolutely pathetic mess he feels and
curl up in the older man's arms and let himself be carried off.
Snape seemed to understand his conflicting feelings- and how is it that Snape
seems to see through him like this so easily?- And adds in a more professional
tone, "We do have to try the new salve I made using aloe vera anyway. It'll
take far less of my precious time if you just let me help you."
Harry ducked his head down to hide the stupid blush on his cheeks and the smile
on his mouth. "Oh, well if you insist." He mutters embarrassed and lets the
potions master sling his arm over his shoulder so to support the younger boy's
injured body. Harry tries very hard not to lean too heavily on Snape as they
shuffle together across the room. And when he says tries very hard, he means
not at all.
They reach Harry's room and Snape gently deposits him onto the soft bedding,
"Stay there for a bit, I'll go get the salve." He commands lightly before
quickly leaving the room. Harry sighs when his door snicks shut and makes a
start on undressing from his clothing.
It's not that hard. Because of his skin, he's had to wear loose fitting pajama
clothes anyway, so he shucks off his shirt and shimmies out of his wet pants,
leaving his only slightly damp briefs on. He'll be putting on some herb goop
onto his skin anyway, and it would take too much effort to put on some new
pajamas just to take them off again.
Harry sighs again, loudly, just because he can, and no one can bloody judge him
because he's been burned in an incredibly unpleasant way and then found out
he's a completely shit healer. Naturally and magically. It's… scary to be
honest. Space's words from before echo in his ears and when he focuses inwards
on himself he can feel his very being straining against his mortal body, magic
the only thing trying to keep Harry together. He feels like a poorly made doll
with far too much stuffing inside him and not enough fabric to protect him,
from his own self.
But there's not much Harry can really do at this point. He's put himself in a
stalemate with himself. He can't afford to spare much magic because what little
of it left from trying to keep his own innate essence inside, is too busy
trying to fix the damage on the outside. And he certainly can't use any of his
own powers. The entity wasn't sure his mortal body could handle it in this
state.
So he does what he can, and he waits for Professor Snape. On his bed. In his
underwear.
He's inappropriately far more disappointed than he should be that there was
nothing remotely sexual in this context at all.
===============================================================================
Snape falters on his way back to Harry's bedroom as he passes by the couch with
the recovered glass of water sitting innocently on top of it. There was still
water in it, and the potions master rather not have the drink spill any further
onto the couch.
Slipping the salve bottle into his robes, the man picked up the cup delicately
between his fingers. If he put it up to the light, he could see the faint
smudges where Harry held the drink, where Harry's lips were when he sipped the
water. The professor's mouth feels dry at the thought, and he wonders idly on
how low he has sunk, how depraved he was acting.
"What am I doing?" He mutters to himself, "Harry is in the next room."
Harry who is practically living with him. Harry who is injured and scarred and
weak. Harry who still looks so gorgeous in spite of it. Harry who is killing
Snape inside, slowly, strangling the very breath out of his lungs in both the
worst and best way possible.
It wasn't like he couldn't explain it away if he were caught. Snape reasoned to
himself; he could say he just wanted some water and Harry's cup was the
closest.
Still, Snape hesitates as his fingers curl possessively over Harry's abandoned
glass of water. He couldn't. He bloody well shouldn't. It's the line between
pining voyeurism to outright stalking and sexual harassment. His throat closes,
and his mouth has never felt drier. 'It's just a sip of water,' he weakly
defends to himself again, 'Just a sip. No need to make it seem any worse than
it is.'
The older man brings the glass closer to his mouth, lips almost numb in nerve-
wracking anticipation at the deed he's about to commit. He hesitates again, and
looks around his empty living space like someone is just going to suddenly roll
out under the coffee table to point accusingly at him and scream, 'Ah-HAH!' No
one does of course. The only one judging him fiercely here was himself.
Unfortunately, his morals were never all the best, and soon his guilty want won
him over.
He tilts the glass, his mouth where the faint markings of Harry's had been as
he takes a drawn out swallow of water. Snape's lips over Harry's.
There's a brief fission of something hot and electric at doing something like
this. Something secret. Something wrong. His heart is beating so fast for such
a simple little act, the flicker of fear getting caught out on his perverse
needs gripping on him from the inside. It doesn't stop him from taking another
swallow of water. And another. Until the glass was empty and Snape self-
loathing has inversely, filled him to the brim.
"Prof?" Harry called from the bedroom, causing the potions master to curse
under his breath as he fumbled with the cup he almost dropped in his surprise.
"You okay?"
"Yes, yes I'm fine," Snape replied back a little harshly, slamming the accursed
glass onto the nearest tabletop. "I just.. knocked my shin." He concluded
lamely.
There's muffled laughter from the room, and Snape would feel sour at the
amusement at his expense but it's been a while since Harry's laughed, and the
professor can't help but savor the sound. Seeing Harry the last few days had
been difficult, as much as Snape secretly enjoyed taking care of the boy,
seeing him so tired and constantly unhappy was not exactly a picnic in the
park.
He must be getting better though if he can laugh without the aid of potions,
Snape hates those pain alleviating potions, they weren't supposed to be used
long term, and it was starting to take it's toll on the poor young wizard. It's
not the worst case of aftereffects he's seen happen to a wizard, but the
subsequent crash after the high of the potions always made Harry quite.. weepy.
A moderate state of depression that Snape suspects isn't helped by the constant
confinement the other is forced into. The potions master is trying to determine
whether he can tweak the recipe for Harry's sake but considering his poor
affinity for the medications in the first place, Snape isn't confident there's
an alternative at the moment.
Fiddling with his new vial of salve, Snape knocked on the door to his guest
bedroom, Harry's room, "Harry? I'm coming in."
There's a faint shuffling of sheets which the older man took as an affirmation,
and opened the door.
Snape was glad he left the salve in his pocket, or he would have most
definitely dropped it right then and there, along with his cracking sanity and
self-control.
Harry's body, was stretched out against the bedsheets, pale skin decorated with
pink scars that curled around every corner in a violently possessive embrace.
The young wizard looked relaxed and pliant waiting for him, waiting for Snape.
And merlin's balls, did Harry not realize how tempting he was right now? Lying
in nothing but a scant bit of dark fabric covering his privates? Snape wondered
if this was some sick, deliciously twisted karma for what he had just done not
a few minutes beforehand. Because if it were, he would like to protest how very
unfair and poorly thought out this punishment was.
Green eyes stared at him, bright despite the dim lighting of the room. "How
would you like me, sir?" He asks, and Snape thinks he managed to gurgle
something out of his mouth but isn't entirely sure. What he is sure of, is that
this is going to be the memory at the forefront of his dreams tonight and he is
going to wizard hell.
===============================================================================
"Fine where you are." Professor Snape answers shortly, his voice sounds a
little croaky and Harry wonders if the older man is getting sick. If so, he
feels bad about laughing at the image of him hitting the corner of the coffee
table and swearing bloody murder like a normal human being.
"Kay," Harry says and lays his head back down to look up at the ceiling,
feeling a little self-conscious. Sure the dour faced Slytherin had wrapped up
his bandages and covered his burned skin with healing ointments before, but
this is the first time Harry feels completely coherent and aware of this, not
to mention so undressed. Usually, he's either half asleep, dizzy from pain or
exhaustion, or just feeling too down even to notice.
The feeling must be mutual because Snape took his sweet time lingering
awkwardly by the bed. Harry could feel his skin prickle under the other's gaze.
Finally, the professor seemed to decide on an action to take and sat down on
the bedside nearest to Harry. It was a queen sized bed mainly because Harry
tended to shift in his sleep in his quest to try to find the coolest spot on
the bed and Snape was secretly a marshmallow who switched the beds after
listening to Harry complain about it.
"Give me your arm." The man ordered stiffly, Harry lazily complied.
"Cold." Harry hissed as Snape dropped a generous dollop of the semi-translucent
paste onto his arms without warning, like a horrible human being. The entity
could almost feel gravity shifting against the intense eye roll above him.
"Oh, do get over it, Potter." The potions master says dryly, the effect
weakened over how carefully his hands were smoothing the jelly textured salve
onto Harry's arm.
They spent a few minutes like that. Snape, making sure every angry red mark,
bump or scar was coated in the slick gel, Harry, closing his eyes and taking in
the feeling of it cooling his skin in a pleasant fashion.
"Other arm, please."
"Mphmmn." Harry whines incoherently in protest, feeling far too comfortable to
move.
"Harry." Snape tries warningly, but to both their ears they can clearly hear
the distinct tenor of someone about to agree. "Fine." The potions master sighs,
before getting up to sit on the other side of the bed.
"Thank yew," Harry mewls cutely, because he may be scarred on almost every part
of his body, but he can still be friggin adorable when he wants to be.
"Shut up Potter." The older wizard snaps in mock annoyance, though Harry
doesn't know who he's kidding, they can both easily hear the smile in his
voice.
"Five points." The green eyed boy jokes quietly, lifting his other arm for the
Slytherin Head to hold. Snape snorted, amused.
They don't talk much, they were never the type for inane chatter, and Harry
can't help but think the silence between the two of them were far more
comfortable than any with Percy. Sometimes Harry would say a short sentence and
Snape would reply in turn, but there wasn't any urge to fill the empty spaces
in between. The entity sighed happily as he let Snape manoeuvre his body as he
saw fit, covering every sore, singed bit of flesh with the cooling salve.
Gently, firmly following the traces of scars up to his neck, his face,
gradually moving back down to his chest, tracing his ribs as he does so.
It feels good, dangerously so. Harry slowly opens his eyes from where they'd
been sleepily shut as it comes to his realization he was slowly but surely
getting sexually excited from his professor's ministrations. Like a frog stuck
in a slowly boiling pot, he didn't realize he was getting cooked before it was
too late.
"I'm going to do your legs now okay Harry," Snape murmured soothingly as he
moved toward to the foot of the bed. And before Harry could say, 'No, it was
certainly not okay, this is possibly the most opposite of okay,' the potions
master kneeled onto the bed and took the younger wizard's ankles in his hand.
As in, hand, singular. Harry is a little ashamed to say what came out of his
mouth instead was a very squeaky, "meep."
The Head of Slytherin quirked his eyebrow at the odd noise but said nothing,
focusing his attention back on Harry's legs. It wasn't too bad at first.
Snape's hands slowly worked on his ankles and feet, taking his time to massage
in the salve into the tender skin. His legs and feet took the worst of the
boiling potion, what goes up must go down and all that. Harry even found
himself giggling uncontrollably at a particularly sensitive spot underneath his
toes.
It was only once Snape moved his ministrations upwards did the real problem
start.
"Professor," Harry whispers hoarsely, his eyes dropping down to Snape as he
flushed in mortification. The salve being rubbed up his legs was doing.. things
to Harry. Terrible, terrible, pleasurable things. Harry can feel his dick throb
interestedly at his professor's massage, and all Harry can think, was how he
wants. Oh, how he fucking wants.
This must be his penance for coldly hurting an innocent heart like Percy's, he
just knew it. For being given what was probably the fluffiest, most functional,
sweetest little relationship and throwing it onto the ground dismissively.
Lust was just another part of the broad spectrum of love and Love knew just how
to use it to screw people over. Death always found Love's punishments funny. He
doesn't think he finds it so amusing now.
In his defense, though, Snape's fingers were absolutely sinful. Slim, long
things that kind of knobbed a bit at the joints giving them an elegant spider
feel to them. Beautiful calloused and experienced fingers he was sure would
feel positively delightful shoved wetly inside of him. Harry wants to put them
in his mouth and gnaw on them; they are just so perfect.
Snape presses on a particularly sensitive bit of healing flesh, uncomfortably
high on his inner thigh, and Harry has to bite his lip with tears threatening
to flood his eyes at the overwhelmingly confusing mix of icy pain and sizzling
pleasure. Tears have seemed to be a constant thing for him now, and Harry isn't
completely sure how he feels discovering that in this mortal form he's a crier.
Not exactly ecstatic that's for sure.
He manages to barely stifle the moan, just a whimper that could be passed off
as a noise of pain slips from his mouth. But his body betrays his true belying
excitement at his predicament as his traitorous legs shift ever so slightly
open, a silent invitation for more. It's undignified, what he is doing, what he
wants, what he aches for. Neither the time, nor the place, nor the person, nor
the context, is right. Long, spidery hands still on Harry's aching skin, he
closes his eyes completely mortified. Snape had no doubt noticed what has
happened, how could he not?
Feeling the professor's gaze on him, the younger wizard tried to hide his face
in shame at his depraved and lustfully sensitive body, completely missing
surprise darkening to burning arousal in beetle black eyes.
"Harry…" Snape breathed in hushed tones somewhere between an almost childish
wonder and a much less childish lust.
"Severus," Harry whispered, his voice shaky with his disgrace and his trying
restraint that threatened to completely break whatever dignity he still had in
front of the man he's found to be most fond of. He's never been so thoroughly
humiliated like this, shamed by his own body in a way he's never felt a lick of
before, yet at the same time, he's never experienced such unabashed,
unadulterated excitement as he's felt at this very moment. He's fire burning,
desire at its pure rawest, feelings and sensations fogging up his mind, boiling
it until it can no longer function anymore. "Please.. don't look at me." He
pleads desperately, because that's all he can do, bring himself to do.
Of course, he doesn't. If anything the potions master seemed to stare harder.
Harry would too if the positions were reversed. And oh, wow, that was a very
delicious image he had just came up with.
The pressure on his thighs tightened, large hands dragging themselves down his
legs eliciting a desperate longing for more in the green-eyed wizard. He gives
a long drawn out whine at the feeling, his back arching off the bed despite the
sting of his healing skin stretching against his flesh and if Snape's hands
weren't holding his legs down so beautifully tight, Harry knows his legs would
have spread wantonly as they begged for more.
But soon enough the pressure lessened, hands slick with medicinal lotions slid
off Harry's ankles, thumbs reluctantly tracing the curves of his heels before
fully parting from Harry's body. Snape stood up from where he sat by the
bedside, his eyes never leaving the younger wizard as he did so, lingering
longer than they should on Harry's exposed legs and his evident arousal barely
hidden under the thin black stretch of fabric that covered him. Just imagining
what the professor was thinking, maybe it was disgust, or maybe second-hand
embarrassment for a favored student, or, or, maybe, possibly, hopefully, there
is a mutual desire in the man. Brimming as warm and electric as Harry feels.
It makes him blush, and it makes him pant, it makes him ashamed and vaguely
suspicious about what the fuck is in the bloody pain potions he's been drinking
like water.
"I think.." Snape says haltingly, his voice low and rough and sounds as shaky
as Harry is feeling right now, "I think I should go now."
There's disappointment and relief that washes over Harry's heated body in tepid
waves which does nothing to lower his body temperature, "Oh," is all he can
articulate, and it does sound more disappointed than relieved. Fortunately, it
seemed the professor hadn't noticed. Too busy trying to not eye up Harry's
leaking erection, pre-cum leaving an obvious stain on his underwear. The entity
on hiatus bitterly regrets asking for such light fabrics for sleeping.
"You should probably.." And the older man's face would probably be considered
rather funny if not for the context, all twisted and pink and filled with
disbelief at the words he was going to say, "..take care of yourself." Snape
coughs like the phrase had had to have been dragged by their tiny sharp nails
out of his throat. Then he makes a vague hand motion gesturing to the entirety
of Harry's flushed body like it wasn't obvious enough already. Harry wants to
actually die. Vacations like this are the stuff that only comes out of stupid
rom-com movies, or really bad porn foreplay.
Oh, shit now he was thinking about porn. Well, more like his very pornographic
memories of previous exploits. Still. Not a great thing to think right now.
"Oh," he repeats weakly. His hands seem to move in accordance to Snape's words,
moving down to trace the waistband of his briefs, their trembling, Harry
realizes. His hands are actually trembling with the need to find release; he's
so aroused. Firmly he presses a hand onto his hard length, still covered by his
underwear, and moans softly at the pressure. Fuck, how he wishes there was a
different hand other than his own, he's pretty sure even bloody Smith with his
arrogant smugness couldn't stop him now.
He begins tugging down his underwear when he hears the sound of his door
banging closed, and that's when it horrifyingly dawns on him that Snape hadn't
even left the room until then. That Harry had been so distracted in his fevered
daze that he hadn't even.. "Shit." Harry groaned to himself, "Why does this
always happen?"
===============================================================================
"Fuck."
Snape slammed the door to his own room closed, and barely had time to breathe
before he was hurriedly unbuttoning his pants, fishing out his hard cock and
tugging at it in frenzied, desperate motions. He runs the memory of Harry lying
in front of him, panting and aroused under his hands, legs opening ever so
invitingly for him. For him. He remembers telling Harry to take care of
himself, and Harry, the precious boy, so lost in his haze of pleasure had
complied so easily.
"Fuck, Harry." The potions master pants, his hand moving fast and sloppy, still
sticky from the salve he had put on Harry. Merlin, it took all he had to leave
that room, the most exquisite hell. He wonders if Harry even knew he had seen,
if he had even noticed when he had left. He wonders what Harry was doing right
now. Snape imagines the young wizard, his whole body covered in that fetching
shade of blush as he's unable to control himself, small hands pushed into his
underwear as he tries to fuck into his own grip. How far has that damned
Weasley gotten to him? How much does Harry know about sex?
The man bites the jealousy that threatens to ruin his self-gratification and
brings back up the scenes from before in his mind. Snape can feel the soft,
warm flesh of Harry's thighs, the curve of his neck and shoulder, the
smoothness of his chest. He can hear the restrained breathy pants, the meek,
desperate plea of his name. He can see Harry, looking at him, excited by him-
Snape throws his head back as he climaxes, his cum spilling onto his hand and
onto the floor. He grunts something that sounds like 'Harry.' as he slows down
his hand, riding out his high and milking his dick carelessly until it feels
like there's nothing left. He looks down at himself, his crumpled clothes, his
hand holding his now flaccid genitalia out of his pants, and the mess he's
subsequently made, and repeats so very eloquently, "Fuck."
***** Death's *uckload of potions *****
Chapter Summary
     The one where Death drinks a *uckload of potions. And then does
     things.
     That word above by the way was duck load. As in, a duck load of
     potions. Like, a fuck ton of ducks. A fucking fuck ton of ducks
     worth.
     Alternate title: The one where Death gets a little, itty bitty bit
     high on pain numbing drugs, I mean, potions.
Chapter Notes
     Ever want to check out inkitt?? Well, do it on this link cuz I get
     like 10 cents each time you read a new work over there if you use it
     :D
     https://inkitt.app.link/ff_hwei
The_one_where_Death_drinks_a_*uckload_of_potions._And_then_does_things.
That_word_above_by_the_way_was_duck_load._As_in,_a_duck_load_of_potions._Like,
a_fuck_ton_of_ducks._A_fucking_fuck_ton_of_ducks_worth.
Alternate_title:_The_one_where_Death_gets_a_little,_itty_bitty_bit_high_on_pain
numbing_drugs,_I_mean,_potions.
Harry is biting his lip, green eyes teary and imploring as he gazes up at
Snape. "Professor," He whispers, and it aches and excites the man how such a
confident, gorgeous boy like Harry allows himself to be so wrecked, so
vulnerable to someone like himself. "Professor, please," Harry's crying as he
begs softly, fat streaks quietly rolling down flushed cheeks, and Snape knows
he shouldn't think of how beautiful he looks right now. How he wants to hold
the boy tight and never let go. How he wants to kiss the pleas from his lips
and lick the tears from his eyes.
Harry's moving closer now, desperate keening sobs shuddering through his
petite, painfully breakable body as he shifts toward the Slytherin, until his
bare chest was brushing, flush against his own clothed torso. It's almost
unfair how pretty the young wizard looks despite the marks of ugly raised burns
clawing at his skin. The slowly, but at least now visibly, healing injuries
look almost decorative now. Irregular stars that stretch into curling red veins
of destruction that clings possessively on thin arms, curving up to small
shoulders like cruel outspread wings made of thorns that trickled down the
sides of his smooth chest, the remnants of fire embracing the beautiful boy as
best it could.
Maybe Snape was just getting too used to it, but secretly he thinks he hopes
some of them stay imbedded on Harry, filling the perfectly white expanse of of
soft skin with brilliant imperfections that highlight the beauty of the young
wizard even more. Of course it's not like all the burn marks are particularly
appealing to look at, Snape may be stupidly, inappropriately besotted but he
isn't completely blinded by his romanticism and attraction.
Harry's neck for one was, well to be honest Harry's neck looked a little like
his flesh had been blended viciously with glue and then haphazardly pasted back
on. And that's being polite about it.
Draco actually had to leave the room the first time he saw his friend without
bandages on his neck. More than one Weasley had to dry heave in the nearest
toilet after accidentally walking in to see a shirtless Harry getting his
dressings done. The Diggory boy had stayed the same pallor of spoiled milk for
three days when he came that one excruciatingly painful week Harry's neck got
infected. It's not a pleasant sight, even when matched with a face as pretty as
Harry's own, and Madam Pomphrey had concluded that it was most likely there
where the potion had first made contacted when it exploded before splattering
onto his face and slopping down his body onto his lap.
Snape, who knows what its like to be at the wrong end of a hex or seven, cannot
even imagine the agonizing pain Harry must be going through. Merlin, even he
had to admit Black or Potter the elder had never gone to such lengths, and
those two were the banes of his existence. If they ever find out who did this,
the culprit will suffer a punishment so severe they would wish they were the
ones whose neck had been mangled, Snape would personally make sure of it.
Too busy in his internal monologue, the professor only realised how much closer
the teary raven haired wizard had managed to get. Harry was practically
straddling him at this point, trembling thighs spread wide to sit on the older
man's lap, his arms slowly creeping around Snape's neck as if taking a longer
time to do so would make the potions master unable to notice the act.
"Professor, Professor, Professor." He chanted in a slurred desperation that
Snape wished was in a context far more sexual than it currently was.
"Yes Harry?" Snape asks in his most neutral voice he can muster in this
situation. He's lied to the Dark Lord's face without blinking an eye but
apparently all it takes is a half naked crying Harry Potter to get his voice
cracking to embarrassing levels. He wants to hold the other closer, to grip him
so tight that those scars aren't the only thing that clings to his skin. It's
tempting. Terrifyingly so. He wants to push Harry off and apparate to the
nearest monastery to try reclaim as much karma as he possibly can even though
he's pretty sure that the best deal he would get is being reincarnated as a
worm or some other unfavorable life form. Merlin, Snape so badly wants to shove
Harry off his lap, distance the temptation before he does something he
probably, to be honest, would not even regret. But he can't. This wasn't the
first time this has happened after all.
The first time the boy clung to him, weeping so prettily, shakily, barely
clothed and fuckable, Snape may have thrown the slim figure down onto the floor
in pure shock. That was a mistake if the absolute hysteria that consequently
followed was any indication. There was a lot of ugly full-bodied sobbing with
nails scrabbling at the hems of the professor's robe or Harry curling into a
ball and rocking himself into a state of further distress, his mouth babbling
self-deprecation, strange cryptic nonsense about things like time and space and
love, and wretchedly tragic pleas that hinted at soul carven insecurities that
Snape was not at all comfortable with hearing, and frankly, not emotionally
equipped to handle at all. That was not a fun day for either of them, though
only Snape came out of that day with the memory of it in full clarity.
So when Harry snuggles closer, with every shift of his body purposely grinding
into the older wizard's own in an innocent need to be comforted and touched,
and not for any obscene lust for more like Snape's mind keeps unhelpfully
supplying, Snape just takes it. He sits there like a loser and suffers through
this strange level of hell that is currently his life because it turns out he's
also a fucking masochist.
"Nmm.. Professor." Harry hums contentedly as he finally finds a satisfactory
position on his professor. Even pleased, tears are still falling from dark
eyelashes. "Severus.." He whispers into his ear softly, and Snape clenches the
fists by his side and grits his teeth as the man ignores his burgeoning
erection underneath Harry's pert bottom. Somewhere out there James Potter is
stabbing his eyes out and cursing Snape to hell and back and hell again, it is
literally the one comforting thought he has to this ridiculous scene. "Hey,
Severus?"
"Yes Harry?" Snape asks quietly, inwardly feeling a sense of possessive
satisfaction at being allowed to call Harry so familiarly and while it's been a
few weeks, the professor doesn't think the novelty would ever fade at such a
privilege. Harry buries his face into the crook of his neck, Snape would savour
it if he wasn't too busy trying not to react to the fresh bout of tears soaking
his shoulder. "Harry, what is it?"
"Professor," Harry sobbed helplessly, "I, I just," The boy hiccuped, and really
that noise shouldn't be as cute as it is. Also his dick is still semi-hard.
Snape may have a serious, serious problem. "If clouds are made of water,
doesn't that make rain abandoned cloud pieces because they're not good enough
to be clouds?"
Harry broke into wails at this point, he was always a quiet child so this
hysterical blubbering was quite unnerving. The potions master sighed and
awkwardly patted Harry's trembling back. "Maybe it is merely old clouds that
turn into rain?" He tries weakly.
"That's even worse!" Harry sobbed harder.
Snape sighed again and continued comforting a crying Harry. Tuesdays. He's
really got to see if there's any way to reduce the potion dosages.
===============================================================================
It's another day being spent like a lazy slug. Harry has done his school work,
he's read three large tomes on potion related things, which unsurprisingly
enough, were not incredibly riveting tales he had hoped them to be, and he's
done the stupid nerve-muscle exercise bullshit they insist on making him do.
It's not like he doesn't have a sort of schedule to follow anymore either. He
knows Tuesday is his Drugged up day. It's usually passed in a mad flurry of
potions and emotional highs and lows, what with Harry practically drugged up to
the gills in an attempt to speed up his recovery. Harry's not generally fond of
Tuesdays. He can never fully recall those days but he's suspiciously sure that
he cries a lot for some reason. And cuddles things. Humanity seems to be 40%
embarrassing yourself and 60% trying to get over it.
Saturday is when he gets the most visitors, mainly his friends from the upper
years that are usually too busy with their schoolwork to visit during the rest
of the week. Percy always managed to be the first one on those days, mother
henning about and generally being as fussily sweet as he always was, something
that made Harry inside relax in relief and fondness at the casualness of it
all.
Ron and Draco have some sort of weird unspoken rule to never visit Harry at the
same time. Well, to Harry it was an unspoken rule. But from what he heard, the
rest of the school apparently had heard the very loud, very spoken rules being
made by the two rivals. He's still not a hundred percent sure what had happened
to cause the increased animosity between the two but it had something to do
with Draco being a prick and Ron eating a bunch of slugs for some reason. Harry
doesn't really want to know. The point was, Ron and Hermione as well as most of
the other Gryffindors in their year usually stopped by after lunch or before
dinner, while Draco and the Slytherins preferred to visit around breakfast time
or after dinner.
But today was a Wednesday, and not much happens on Wednesday. Professor Snape
had feed him his liquidated potion nutrients, patted his head and left for
breakfast hours ago. He hasn't come back to his quarters for lunch like usual
though. If Harry wasn't confident the man was a relatively powerful wizard with
a good grasp of sense and self-preservation skills, he would be worried. But
since he did, the boy spent the better part of his meal trying to swallow cold
soup and sulking. And maybe he was a little worried, but sometimes the drugs
got him paranoid so he dismissed it.
It's odd how easy a sort of dependence can be forged despite how reluctant
Harry had been on it. Professor Snape has been patient and stern and kind in
turn, generally an all round marvellous example of a concerned caretaker slash
friend. Harry's never had to be taken care of before, but he thinks the so-
called 'Bat of the Dungeons' was doing a pretty good job in doing so. Not that
anyone would believe him.
Despite the.. 'Incident that Shall Not Be Named Ever But Will Apparently Star
In Harry Potter's Fantasies For A Lifetime And A Little More', Snape has been
surprisingly cool about the whole thing. Like, frigid cool. Ice cube. As in,
stiff and almost unresponsive for a day before melting back to normal and
acting like the whole thing had never happened. Which was totally fine for
Harry. Denial was a beautiful concept he wholeheartedly accepts into his
beating heart.
And if Harry's eyes linger on Snape's goddamned fucking hands when he's not
looking, well, he's high on drugs or whatever, he can look. Sue him.
He doesn't want to admit it, but he thinks he actually misses the professor.
Which is absolutely stupidly ridiculous since Harry saw him off just this
morning. Not even a quarter of the day has passed. It makes no sense.
Still, Harry could actually feel the lack of Snape's presence across from him
on the dining table, sitting where the man usually sits. It's in the absence of
his deep voice complaining about the day's events so far, the sounds of cutlery
scraping against porcelain, the weight of dark eyes watching over him
carefully. There's a vacuum of space in front of Harry that only he can feel.
It's unnerving. It's probably the drugs. Harry is blaming his excessive
medicinal drug use on a lot of things lately.
So Harry sips his sad bowl of soup and manfully tries to ignore the part of him
that wants company in the shape of a dour-faced sarcastic potions master. He
also tries to ignore the part of him that wants said potions master in other
more erotic forms of company. He knows his body is far weaker against light,
affectionate touches than any cruel physical blow but lately, after the latest
humiliation that is the'Incident that Shall Not Be Named Ever But Will
Apparently Star In Harry Potter's Fantasies For A Lifetime And A Little More,'
Harry's been noticing a very obvious increase in his surface nerve sensitivity
that correlates in his brain to sensual stimulus.
Basically, he's perpetually horny. Like, oh my god, kill me now, why is this
happening to me, horny.
The young wizard shifts his legs awkwardly as his dick starts to stand up in
attention despite the fact attention was not needed, wanted nor particularly
sought after at this point of time dammit. "This is ridiculous." Harry sighs
into his soup, before looking pointedly down at his crotch and saying
accusatorially, "You're ridiculous. Seriously, what is wrong with you?"
Predictably he gets no response. Harry glares at it either way. Someone needs
to tell off his body, because clearly it is out of control. This is further
proven by his dick not softening at all, semi-hard in its defiance.
Harry really hopes this is all because of the drugs because he is not a hundred
percent sure what he makes of the person he is slowly becoming otherwise.
He tries drinking a few more sips of the soup before he finally gives up and
submits to his carnal desires. "This is the drugs fault, this is all the drugs
fault." He mutters in an attempt to try reason with the frankly alarming number
of times he's self-pleasured himself the past few weeks, while he unbuttons his
pants and fishes out his cock.
"This is the drugs fault, this the- oh who am I kidding?" Harry groans as he
grabs his length that is now fully interested in the proceedings. "If anything
this is Snape's fault. Or Love's." Actually it might be Love's fault. That
woman fucking lives for this sort of bullshit. Love and lust were always
entwined anyway, but nowadays they seemed to be inseparable. Love merely
adapted to the change with mortifying results. It's a wonder her form isn't
some scantily clad sadist of a man-child. He's not shallow enough to think that
the cover should always fit the book, but if the shoe fits, you might as well
wear it.
Anyway, now was not the time to contemplate the other entity's role in Harry's
quickly diminishing dignity that seems to occur whenever a certain professor is
near. Harry was a little more occupied in other things.
With slow lazy strokes, Harry decides to take his time with this. Its honestly
not like he has anything better to do. His left hand plays teasingly at the tip
of dick, lightly stroking his slit and pushing his leaking pre-cum down his
shaft, making it easier for his other hand to tug himself a bit harder like how
he likes it. "Shite.." He curses enthusiastically as he lets his nails lightly
rake over his length, the sharp sensations shooting through his nerves and up
his spine, causing him to shiver in pleasure.
The young wizard continued this for at least twenty minutes, twisting and
tugging and fondling himself, until he was practically shaking with the need to
cum. Moaning softly to himself, he began to stroke himself harder, faster than
his previous light teasing touches, biting his lip and closing his eyes as he
savoured the frenzy of movement. For a brief moment he played with the idea of
going into Snape's bedroom, to have his first time ever visiting his favourite
professor's room only to sully it with his filthy mind and actions, to lay on
his bed, on silk sheets, because Snape seems like the sort of posh bloke that
insists on silk, and rub himself off to completion there. The idea felt so
insanely naughty, Harry has to gasp like a fish out of water just imagining it,
God, he's so close, just a little more and-
"Harry, apologies for being late." Snape called out from the doorway and Harry
abruptly froze, weeping cock still in hand.
Fucking buggering shit, Harry hates this life.
The only saving grace here was that he was faced sitting away from the doorway,
so the professor was unable to see his shameful self. "Uh, it's okay." Harry
replied a little too high-pitched and breathily to be on the safe side of
normal. Licking his dry lips and hoping the older man couldn't hear his
deafening heartbeat beating down his chest, the mortified wizard slowly, and as
casually as he can, tucked his erection back into his pants despite it's angry
protests. "What took you so long?" He asked in faked nonchalance, even though a
part of him wanted to scream why the hell the man didn't take just a little bit
longer, and a larger part of him just wanted him to go, like this instant.
Soft, swooping steps are heard behind him, Snape must be heading to the kitchen
area. "Lockhart, that inept buffoon, is forming a defence club as I'm sure
you've heard."
Harry perked up at the news, his humiliation temporarily forgotten. "Ah yes,
Draco, Ron and the others told me about it bout a week ago. Awfully excited
despite who's teaching. Was today the first class?"
The older raven haired Slytherin gave the other a funny look. "Harry, they told
you two days ago. The news came out on Monday."
There's a pause as both contemplated the amount drugs Harry's had to consume to
lose his track of time so easily. Snape looked very concerned but pushed the
subject back on track to Lockhart instead. "No, it turns out I'm the
volunteer," Snape said 'volunteer' in the same horrified disgust someone else
might say 'human sacrifice', which didn't fail to crack a smile on Harry.
"that's overseeing this new fanciful club of his."
Harry couldn't help but bark out a laugh at that, even if it did lead to a
massive coughing fit afterwards. The potions master summoned a glass of warm
honey water for him. "Thanks." Harry said gratefully between coughs and
chuckles.
"Not thankful enough to stop laughing." Snape deadpanned, earning another burst
of giggles coming out from the boy.
"I'm sorry," The boy wheezed, sounding anything but, "it's just, imagining you
teach-"
The professor, walking with his own mug of tea to sit opposite Harry, raised
his brow unimpressed, "I hope you do realise I am a teacher Harry, if not, I
clearly have overestimated your intellectual abilities."
Harry flushed sheepishly, "I mean, you're always so grumpy teaching normal
potions lessons. Just imagining you being forced to do extra, as a teacher's
aide, for Lockhart of all people-" Harry couldn't continue his train of thought
because he started laughing and coughing uncontrollably again.
"Yes, well, I'm glad someone finds this awfully amusing." Snape huffed, but the
sternness that was usually in his tone was absent. The younger of the two
looked at him with one of his usual crooked smiles, something that had been
much less present the past few weeks.
"And I'm glad that someone is me." He replies cheekily. Snape smiles in that
not smiling way of his, with amusement in his eyes and the ever so slight
twitch upwards at the ends of his mouth. "Do you think I can go to the first
day of Dueling club?" Harry questions curiously, he's not disillusioned himself
to think he could participate or anything but he's desperate enough to walk
somewhere further than the bathroom he's willing to kiss Dumbledore at this
point.
Nothing intense, just a quick peck. He's notthat desperate.
Snape eyed his injured form warily. "I don't think you're fit enough.." He
hesitates as Harry starts begging him silently with his eyes. "Harry you
couldn't even get to the kitchen without complaining how every thing hurt and
that you would rather scalp all the skin from your body and cocoon yourself in
blankets until you emerge a beautiful butterfly."
The boy stared incredulously at the Head of Slytherin. The Head of Slytherin
stared back unwaveringly before amending, "You may have been a tad intoxicated
with the new batch of pain numbing potions."
"If they didn't work so decently I would have stopped relying on those forsaken
things since the start."
"Unfortunate as the side effects are, your wounds have been healing faster."
Snape helpfully supplied. The wizard savior wrinkled his nose irritatedly but
grudgingly agreed. His sores and scars were starting to smooth out, and while
his skin still felt like seated knives have dug into it whenever he so much as
stretches wrong, it no longer feels like those knives have been pumped with
electricity and dipped in a boiling vat of salted limes.
"Healing enough to let me go to Duelling Club?"
"No." The professor put down firmly. "It is not."
Harry did not pout. He is an entity who is so old that age has no meaning to
him. He did however, start tearing up and sniffling like a scolded toddler
which is arguably much worse. It's the potions. It's probably the potions.
God Harry hopes it was the potions.
The potions master looked nervous and twitchy as he saw Harry's unhappy, wide
green eyes. His hands actually lifted up for a second, outstretched toward the
second year as if he wanted to grab onto his shoulders and shake the sadness
out of him. Well, to be fair, Harry was sure the professor wouldn't do that, no
matter how uncomfortable he was at Harry's tears. But it was a little hard to
imagine the stoic, sullen teacher actually offering a hug or some sort of
affectionate gesture like that. "Maybe.. If you are feeling better you can join
your friends for lunch afterwards."
Harry mulled this over for a minute before rebutting, "I get to walk myself
there by myself, no need for any accompaniment."
Snape scowled at the condition, the green eyed wizard didn't see why he seemed
so displeased. If anything it was awfully beneficial for the elder wizard,
sparing him from rushing back to his quarters after the club and the consequent
embarrassment he would get from Harry having to cling onto his arm like a
newborn faun as they traversed to the Great Hall. "You would fall." He
complains. "You will inevitably fall and hurt yourself."
"That's what walls and other large stable objects are made for." Harry points
out very logically.
"They were not made solely for you to lean on."
Harry tutted as if he was the teacher and Snape was a particularly disobedient
student. "They were made exactly for me to lean on." He announced imperiously.
"In fact they have waited ever since theircreation to be touched by me in such
a way."
Snape muttered something inaudible that the boy couldn't make out but it
sounded childish. "What was that prof?"
The professor stiffened like he didn't expect his comment spoken under his
breath to be heard. Harry watched in slight fascination as the tips of the
older man's ears dusted pink. Was he blushing? Was that a blush? "..Nothing."
What on this earth did he say?!
"Clearly it was not nothin-"
"You know what, Potter?" Snape interrupted, clearly flustered and hiding it
under a very convincing veneer of angry annoyance, "I'll let you drop yourself
off to the Great Hall for dinner but if you so much as you bruise your pinky I
will send you back to our quarters faster than you can say golden snitch." He
warns in a manner that would make Longbottom cry, but Harry is grinning ear to
ear as he visibly delights in this bluster of embarrassment. Snape, not being
blind and seeing how unaffected the boy was to his snarls, picks up his dignity
and dramatically leaves for his bedroom.
Harry manages to stop his widespread, deeply amused smile to ask, "Seriously
though, what did you say?!" His answer was a slam of the door, much like a
sullen teenager. Harry answered back with a laugh.
===============================================================================
He's not going to lie, but Harry is pathetically excited with the prospect of
walking out into the school by himself again.
"Hogwarts, I have never been so glad to see your halls." He declares as he
shuffles slowly through the dungeons with a giddy smile. The sentiment must be
shared because the green eyed entity could feel a distinct shift in the air to
a warmer, more comforting temperature around him rather than the usual chill.
He and Hogwarts share a very complicated love-hate relationship that Harry
feels like he should be more worried about if Hogwarts was an actual being that
was capable of things like sex or getting drunk or, god forbid, marriage.
That would be a terrible romantic sitcom. Love would love it. They could call
it, Build-a-Pair. It would be set in an alternate universe where buildings grew
sentience and a soul over time, but only a few of the best could hold a human
form. Lady Liberty would literally be a lady of liberty. The Louvre would be
some suave artistic french snob. Architects would be one of the most popular
jobs ever except only a few ever make it to any level of fame, so much like any
other reality really. Harry, of course, would be cast as one of the
protagonists, or at least a main supporting character who was a talented
architecture student whose only criticism was that he lacked 'heart' in his
works and is forced to visit various buildings to cultivate an understanding of
what it takes to make something with a soul. Draco, who comes from a wealthy
lineage of renowned architecturally affiliated family and is subsequently torn
between living up to his pureblood expectations or trying to find who he really
is, and Ron, the idiotically friendly redhead that wishes to make a name for
himself, get the cute bookworm's number, get the cuter cupcake delivery's
number and enjoy life in relative ease, would be his mates that support him and
simultaneously get into all sort of shenanigans. Chaos would totally write
himself as that crazy fun brother that secretly has an interest in the Chrysler
building.. or something.
Harry's kind of regretting taking that afternoon numbing potion now.
He's also kind of regretting the whole 'walking himself to the Great Hall'
thing as well. "Were stairs always this exhausting?" The young wizard pants as
he practically crawls up the stairs. If Snape wouldn't be so smug, and Harry
knows the man would be, the boy might've contemplated giving up, turning
around, and sliding himself back to his room for a nice long nap. As it is, he
continues on, feeling as determined as a patriotic soldier trekking through a
desert and as bone deep exhausted as one too.
The halls where he is are empty, nothing but him and a bunch of terrified
magical paintings that were peeking out of their frames in curiosity despite
their fear of the entity. Well, it was hard to fear something that looked like
a tiny, whimpering, vulnerably hurt child. The overwhelming aura of death
however was still as off-putting as ever though, possibly even worse since his
human body has weakened and his magic is doing its all just to keep his very
being inside. Still, he must've looked pathetically helpless because one of the
braver paintings, a knight in shining armour, had moved back into the frame and
asked, "Dark Princess, are you alright?"
And oh, Harry dearly hoped he misheard that 'ess' sound at the end of his new
nickname. Prince of Darkness he could live with despite how middle school
fantasy-esque it was. Princess of Darkness though? That rings disturbingly with
the image of a lot of black lace and jewel studded skull tiaras, and Harry has
grown out of that phase ages ago.
He admits he may still use some lace garments from that time but… those aren't
important right now.
Harry wonders what Professor Snape would think of his lace garments?
"Knight." He acknowledges as he tries not to sound like he's about to keel over
from exertion. "I am.. fine.. Thank you."
Surprisingly the knight seemed unconvinced. "Fair maiden of the shadows," He
starts and Harry knows he didn't mishear that. "You are clearly unwell. I will
do all that I can to aid in your plight."
"No that's not really.." But it was too late. The strange knight in the
painting was growing more confident in his newfound goal, nodding to himself as
he talked.
"Even if you are from hell's kingdom, you are royal and of immeasurable beauty
and in distress. " The knight assured.
Well, the painting wasn't wrong.
Plus, Harry had to say it was very flattering being told he has immeasurable
beauty, even with the scarring. Especially his neck scarring, Harry was sore
about that in both a physical and aesthetic manner. Ron had so helpfully
informed him that it looked a lot like the mince his mother used to make,
before it was cooked and slathered in ketchup. Cedric stopped visiting for a
week when he saw it. Draco and Blaise the first time had taken one look at his
exposed neck and had to stand outside in the dungeon halls for ten minutes for
mental recovery. So hearing that he was still pretty, while a little out of
context and demeaning all things considered,didn't know how much he got his
bruised ego boosted nicely nonetheless.
"Can you please just point me to where the Great Hall is? Preferably to the
route with the least amount of possible stairs." He finally relented.
"I, Sir Cadogan, shall do better than that my damsel of the dark!" The knight,
Sir Cadogan apparently, exclaimed in eager joy. His painted metal amor
vibrating with his emotion. Harry had a terrible feeling that this was the sort
of individual that the saying 'give an inch and they'll take a mile' was made
specifically for. He can already feel the oncomings of a headache that no
amount of numbing drugs or healing salves could subside. "I will personally
make it my honourable duty to escort you there myself!"
Harry looked balefully at the painted knight, all puffed up with pride and
self-righteousness. There were snickers and giggles and whispers coming off the
walls and the entity in a wizard's body knew very damn well that whatever
abject fear they held for him was ruined at this point onwards. Harry closed
his eyes and exhaled slowly before opening them back up again. "I appreciate
the offer Sir Cadogan. Thank you." He finally ended up saying with awkward
politeness.
It would be a win-win situation anyway, the knight would be appeased and Harry
would have a look-out in case Hogwarts changes her mind and decides it would be
funny to do something that would no doubt put Harry in some sort of disastrous
scenario. Nothing too physically damaging, even Harry wouldn't believe Hogwarts
to go that far in his condition. But definitely something highly humiliating.
Like making one of the suits of armour hold him bridal style or like in a
firemen's hold or something.
Of course, maybe he should've just let a suit of armour sweep him off his sore
feet. At least they were incapable of speech.
"-and I told thee, 'Be vanquished foul beast!' as I swung my mighty sword like
this-" Harry glanced up at the current painting on the wall by his side to
catch Sir Cadogan showing off his swordsmanship skills at the empty space in
front of him. Or was it paint? But then, since everything is composed entirely
of paint would it be considered empty space like how air is dismissed as empty
space? How did the painters manage to even create actual space on a flat
canvas? Why isn't there any art classes for this sort of thing? Harry would
totally sign himself up.
Harry wants more and less potion in his system right now.
They continue walking for a while, the injured entity slowly but surely making
progress into the castle and Sir Cadogan very nobly keeping his pace like the
gentleman he claimed to be. He had found himself starting to warm up to the
loud knight in shining armor, after all, Harry's always like good manners. Now
if only Cadogan could stop the name-calling.
:So hungry.:
Harry paused mid step. The knight stopped the moment he noticed and cocked his
head to the side. "Shadow maiden, is something the matter?"
"I don't know," Harry looked up at the corner of the ceiling. "did you hear
that?"
:Must.. Kill.. Want.. Blood..:
"Come on." The boy mutters urgently, "I sense a beast that needs slaying."
Sir Cadogan's face inappropriately beamed like the sun.
===============================================================================
"I fear we were too late Damsel of Death." Sir Cadogan announced sadly.
"Yeah no shit." Harry says as he stares down at the frozen face of one of the
Hufflepuffs in his year. Justin Finch-Fletchley, one of Smith's pals and
weirdly, firmly convinced that Harry had been the heir of Slytherin. So, he
wasn't that worked up over that, and he wouldn't have been if there had not
been a second victim to the basilisk.
Poor Headless Nick. Harry didn't even know ghosts could even be affected by a
basilisk gaze. Jesus, how were they even going to feed him the antidote?
"Sir Cadogan, if you will, run and find help." He orders quietly. The
boisterous knight, sensing the mood, gave one quick nod of acceptance before
running off into the scenery.
Unfortunately before the painted knight could come back with help, Harry was
confronted with a small flock of Ravenclaws. A study group from the looks of
their books wrapped in their arms. They had been chattering along happily until
they caught sight of Harry, standing stock still in surprise next to two
petrified individuals. Harry stared at the Ravenclaws who in turn stared back.
"Um. This isn't what it looks like." He says lamely.
One of the girls screamed.
"Shite."
===============================================================================
There was a lot of commotion after that. And some very hysterical mean hearted
words. Seriously, that 'snake-fucker' comment was truly uncalled for.
At the very least, Sir Cadogan managed to come back relatively quickly with a
harried McGonagall by his side. "Good heavens," She says as she takes in the
screaming, terrified Ravenclaws, the petrified Hufflepuff and ghost, and
finally a huddled, injured Harry Potter trying to uselessly become one with the
wall. It takes her barely any time to snap back into efficiency though. The
transfiguration professor asked Sir Cadogan to get another professor, and
talked the Ravenclaws through their panic enough to move them along to the
Great Hall before turning her attention to Harry who tensed up instinctively
under the stern gaze.
McGonagall shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips and most of the tension in
her body with it. "First Lockhart's odd interest in you, then the potions
accident and now this?" When she looked at the young wizard again he could see
that the woman was wryly amused. "I must say Mr. Potter, I do not envy your
luck this year."
Harry couldn't choke back a surprised laugh. "I hardly think anyone would wish
to be me at the moment Professor. Boy-Who-Lived be damned."
"I'm surprised Professor Snape let you out looking like that though Mr Potter."
She continued idly, her eyes looking up and down judgmentally at the petite,
scarred figure. "You don't look.. well."
"I'm well enough Professor McGonagall." He assured unconvincingly. Harry winced
as he realized that once Snape hears about this, the boy was probably not going
to be able to walk out alone for a long time now. Shoving a hand down one of
his loose robe pockets, he fished out a small vial of cloudy, ominously gray
liquid to show the older woman. "See? I'll just take some more medication, it's
about time anyway.."
The boy unscrewed the vial and swallowed the potion like it was a shot glass
filled with a particularly nasty dose of alcohol. God, he would kill for a
proper bottle of something strong right now. Whisky. Tequila. The blood of a
hundred year old virgin drained through a silver strainer by the hands of
someone with a broken heart. Rum would be nice too.
"If you're sure." McGonagall says uncertainly before changing the subject. "How
have you been by the way. Is Sev- I mean, Professor Snape treating you well?"
Harry beamed despite himself. "Sev- Professor Snape has been brilliant. He's
been very accommodating and nice and he's really.." He trailed off as he
noticed the amusement just radiating off the professor, and blushed heavily.
Maybe that potion wasn't a great idea. "I, uh, yes. He has." The boy concluded
quickly.
The transfiguration teacher raised a knowing brow, and even though Harry had no
idea what she seemed to think she knew, he blushed harder anyway. "I see." She
says in a manner that feels far too similar to the sound a cat makes when its
got the canary and a bowl full of fresh cream. Harry respects and maybe fears
Professor McGonagall a little bit, but he kind of wants to slap the smirk off
her face.
Luckily Sir Cadogan arrived with the calvary before Harry's slightly drugged
and lowered inhibitions started contemplatingthat with any amount of
seriousness. Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra, huffing slightly from
their run, did the obligatory stare-and-shock thing before a more professional
McGonagall filled them in on what has happened.
"Mr Potter, I'm going to accompany the others to the medical wing to inform
Madam Pomphrey and the others. Will you be okay going to the Great Hall by
yourself?" McGonagall asked concerned.
Harry waved it off casually, like he wasn't dying just a little inside at the
idea of walking more after all this chaos, "I'm fine professor." He lies.
He doesn't think he was completely believed in going by the three worried looks
of the witches and wizard but they let him go anyway. Before leaving, Professor
McGonagall patted his head and said, "If you want to talk about anything,
anything," She stressed, while giving him a 'look', "don't be too shy to try
talk to me okay Potter? I won't judge and everything you say will be in
confidence you hear me?"
"Uuh." Came the oh so eloquent reply. "O-kay?"
With a last firm pat on the head, the older woman gave a reassuring smile. "I
know it must be a very confusing time but I just want to help you out the best
I can okay?"
And oh, this must be about some lingering guilt about his childhood or
something. Maybe the professor wants to try making up for what parental
guidance was lost on Harry. Well, that was incredibly nice of her, especially
since she's already done her best already by visiting him and informing him
personally on what he's missed on classes. To be fair, most of the teachers
seem to make an effort to do that, but McGonagall always did seem like the type
to secretly dote. It was also not much of a secret that, despite what she tries
to act otherwise, the transfiguration teacher did favour Harry out of the
majority of her students.
Harry smiled kind and gentle and appreciative, "Thank you professor." He
murmurs a little abashedly. "I, um, appreciate that greatly."
Her face seemed to soften even further, and what seemed almost reluctantly, the
woman moved her hand off Harry's head and walked back toward her fellow
professors waiting patiently for her. The boy watched her for a minute before
making his own, much slower way, to the Great Hall.
===============================================================================
"What was that about Minerva?" Sinistra asked curiously as they levitated the
petrified bodies toward the infirmary.
Minerva hummed, despite the new bodies, she couldn't help but find it hard to
stifle the urge to smile. She can't feel too guilty about that though, Severus
was in the process of finishing the antidote and just needed another few days
to complete it before they can pass it on to the poor students. And speaking of
Severus.. "Oh, nothing."
She did hope Harry took her up on her offer to talk. The boy was at a very
confusing time of his life indeed. He needed someone older and more objective
to his plight, a parental figure that he'd never had to talk about things with.
It's not hardly surprising that Harry's imprinted onto Severus, they had been
on friendly enough terms before the accident but now that the potions master
has so uncharacteristically generously volunteered to act as essentially a live
in nurse maid for the young wizard, it wasn't exactly hard to disbelieve that
respect has turned into something a little more.
The transfiguration professor chuckled under her breath. While Harry had seemed
cheerful enough 'dating' Percy, it was nothing to what his face had revealed as
he essentially gushed on about Severus. To think, Severus has earned himself an
admirer! And for it to be Harry Potter of all students to have developed that
crush, even if the young teen might not even know of it himself yet. It was all
very adorable.
She would have to tease Severus about Potter's frankly sweet infatuation of the
man, nothing too obvious as to betray Harry's trust but enough for her to get
some pleasure out of it. More than she was already getting anyway.
It's not like anything would actually come off on it right?
"Absolutely nothing at all." Minerva murmured to herself.
===============================================================================
"Harry, you're here!" Ron exclaimed happily as he made his way toward the
Gryffindor table, never failing to be one of the first people down for a meal.
"You would notbelieve what happened during Duelling Club."
"Bet you my story's worse." Harry challenged dryly. The Weasley laughed and
shoved his friend playfully, taking particular care to be more gentle than
usual.
"You are on mate." He says, "So get this, Lockhart as usual was being a huge
walking moron, and Snape, the git, was his assistant! And boy did he not look
happy- looked like he swallowed one of his own gross potions or something, no
offence." Harry rolled his eyes but made a 'continue' gesture with his hand.
"Anyway, so Lockhart was all 'I'm gonna duel Snape but don't worry yeah? I
won't kill 'im.'"
"No, he didn't." The raven haired boy breathed out like an excited schoolgirl
coming across the juiciest piece of gossip, his interest in this story was
rising exponentially. "What happened next?"
Ron grinned, "Whaddaya think? Obviously Snape wiped the floor with the guy in a
second! They barely started and all that snake had to do was shout an
expelliarmus and Lockhart was sent flying into the wall!" The freckled boy
laughed at the clearly fond memory, "I gotta admit, I don't like Snape but that
was pretty amazing."
"That's awesome," Harry agreed, "I wish I was there to see it." He added none
too jealously. God, he would pay good gold to see that. Was it weird that he
felt a little hot under the robe, if you know what I mean, imagining Snape
wiping the floor with this year's defence professor?
Ron patted him consolingly, "My story ain't over yet bruv."
"Go on then, I'm listening."
"Well, then Lockhart tried to brush the whole thing off as his own idea- no one
but Hermione and Lavender Brown and the other dumb girls bought that whole lot
of crap-"
"Ron!" Hermione said affronted as she stood behind the two boys.
The Weasley cringed. Harry just waved pleasantly at her.
Hermione shot one last glower at the redheaded wizard before physically melting
at the sight of Harry. Her hands visibly spasmed in her need to throw her arms
around the pale boy and cuddle, something she had been taken to doing now.
Really, it's all nice and good for Harry and Ron to be her friends, but she
really does need at least one female friend, just one, for talking about
feelings or gush about Lockhart or complain about boys. Because Ron is terrible
at all of those things and Harry, being slightly less terrible at them, has by
reluctant default, taken that role instead.
"Oh Harry, are you feeling better? Did Madam Pomphrey and Professor Snape
finally said you're okay to continue on with classes? We have missed you
terribly, even Smith was pestering us constantly about when you would be back."
Harry raised an eyebrow, "I'm sure that wasn't exactly how he said it."
The girl looked sheepish, "Well.. no.. But the sentiment was there… I'm fairly
sure."
Both boys looked at each other and snorted at the same time, Ron may not know
Smith's annoying traits as personally as Harry did, but being the good mate he
was, was willing to hate the Hufflepuff just as fierce as Harry did. In return
Harry admits to Ron that yes, Draco is a little bit of a poncey wanker
sometimes, and yes, Ron, you are my favourite Weasley, despite me having
'swapped spit' with Percy.
"Your story Ron?" The green eyed boy prodded pointedly.
"Why ta Harry, thought you weren't ever gonna ask." Ron grinned. Hermione
huffed but made her way to sit next to Harry and listen anyway. "Anyway, we had
to be paired up to practice disarming each other right? And I ended up paired
with Seamus which was okay but Hermione-"
"I got paired up with Bulstrode." She shuddered. Harry winced in sympathy,
Millicent Bulstrode seemed okay enough to him, but she was large and seemed
like the sort of witch who could survive on a desert island without her wand,
and was very against Gryffindors as a general rule of thumb. Some sort of
family grudge or something if Harry could recall, these people did so love
holding their grudges after all.
"Yeah, it was a right mess." Ron agreed, "Bulstrode actually got 'mione into
this headlock by the end of it. My blasted wand did.. something to Seamus, I
don't know what, but his face was pretty grey. Smith made Boot bleed like his
arm was a bloody waterfall- which in fairness, was probably an accident because
Smith ended up fainting right after at the sight of all that red. I think
Finch-Fletchley and Neville looked like they got dragged by a short leash up a
rocky hill by a three headed dog with a vengeance. And Malfoy was screeching
about… I don't know, his hair? I feel like it was his hair. Either way it was
loud and angry."
"I think he got magically punched in the eye." Hermione chimed in.
"No," Ron shook his head adamantly. "Pretty sure it was something to do with
his hair."
"Oh do get on with it," Harry says impatiently, he's eyeing the number of
students pouring into the Great Hall, and clearly they have heard what has
happened about the new victims from the Ravenclaws because everyone was staring
and whispering at him.
"So, Lockhart was all, 'Maybe we should have thought you all how to block
first.' In which we were all 'no duh,' so he gets Malfoy and Smith up in front
of the whole class and Smith's like, this absolute prick about getting chosen,
and Malfoy's being a prick too but at least he wasn't so loud about it which is
saying something. Then Smith started saying stuff about how the Malfoy's must
be really brought down to new lows because he's friends with you and obviously
we were all pissed on your behalf, Malfoy especially though."
"You should've seen the way Malfoy fumed Harry!" Hermione interrupted, looking
fit to burst with her own input, Ron scowled, obviously unhappy the best part
of this story was about to be snatched away. "He was absolutely livid he was."
"So he whips out his wand," Ron quickly pushed back in, much to Harry's
amusement, "and he shouts 'Suck on this, Serpensortia!' at Smith and this giant
friggin black snake burst out of his wand! Smith screamed liked a little girl
and ran off the stage."
Harry giggles, pleased by the turn of those events, "I can imagine that."
"But then, Lockhart tries to help out by banishing the snake or something, and
I think he did the equivalent of a magic bitch slap because that snake was
pissed, Harry. That thing looked so pissed." Ron breathed gleefully, "It ended
up chasing Finch-Fletchley out of the room!"
Well that did explain why the Hufflepuff had been separated from his herd.
Chased by a snake only to get petrified by a bigger, more dangerous one.
There's a beautiful irony there.
"Where is the guy anyway?" Hermione asked looking around, "I would've thought
he would be here right now."
"Um, I may know the answer to that." Harry coughed awkwardly.
"Potter!" Blaise, wild eyed and uncharacteristically frazzled, as he grabbed
the green eyed second year's shoulder to see the boy face to face, "Are you
hearing what everyone's been saying about you? They think you're the heir of
Slytherin!"
Draco in that moment ran up to the four, panting, "Potter! Did you hear-" Grey
eyes zoned onto his fellow Slytherin and he visibly deflated. "Dammit, I wanted
to be the one to tell him."
"Enough with your theatrics, honestly you Slytherins," Harry huffed, "And I was
the one who wanted to tell these two over here." He gestured at the two
confused Gryffindors.
"Harry," Hermione says slowly, "What is going on?"
"I.. may now be suspect numero uno for the whole Slytherin heir thing again."
Harry says sheepishly, "Apparently showing up first to the scene of the crime
twice is highly suspicious."
"Mate." Ron stresses as he shakes his head like he was some resigned parent and
Harry's a troublesome five year old, which, Harry would like to point out was
highly offending. After all, which out of the two of them had burnt someone's
face off?
Technically the answer is both of them but Harry likes to think the tally only
applies in the context of this particular lifetime.
"I didn't do it!" The Boy Who Lived defended. "I had to leave early to get here
on time, and I have a witness." That witness may be a slightly insane, very
egotistical painting of a knight but- oh dear god, how has Harry come to this
point in his existence?
"We all know you didn't." Hermione soothes. The other boys all made various
noises of agreement. "But everyone else.."
All of them look around the now nearly filled up Great Hall to see all eyes
staring back at them. There's whispering and pointing. Mainly in the Hufflepuff
and Ravenclaw tables where Harry's presence in their Houses was weakest, and
while there were a few people that looked like they were protesting against the
rumours there- Cedric Diggory, Padma Patil and Terry Boot- the majority were
obviously not as inclined to believe in Harry's innocence.
"If it helps, at least half of the Slytherins don't think you're the Heir."
Blaise comforted.
"Yeah, and even if they do, it's not like the Slytherins would hate you for
being the friggin heir of their House Potter." Draco drawled in an odd way that
was probably meant to be a comforting manner. He was getting better at it at
least. "Seriously, the upper years practically swoon when they talk about you.
Marcus Flint, our seventh year Slytherin Quidditch Captain, and Dahlia
Quiverknacker, one of the richest third years, were in an actual physical fight
on who would try asking you out to Hogsmeade first."
"Thanks guys." Harry replied politely, feeling a little flattered at hearing
that his popularity hadn't taken too bad a hit. It was for extremely
superficial reasons but it was still nice to know. "Though I would prefer Flint
over Quiverknacker any day." Flint wasn't too bad, not the prettiest bloke, a
little obsessed with Quidditch, but he had a rough sort of humour and Harry
likes to think looks weren't everything. Quiverknacker though was a complete
gossipy bitch, he's hung around with her once or twice and while he didn't mind
her too badly, he would not be jealous for anyone dating her.
Ron and the other two boys did not share the same opinion. "What?! Are you
bonkers Harry?" The Weasley protested. "Why would you chose Flint over
Quiverknacker?"
"Ron." Harry said very calmly. "I dated your brother over the holidays," Ron
screwed his face up at the reminder, "I think you figured out I'm just a little
gay."
"Yeah but its Flint." He muttered petulantly.
"Weasley's right." Draco added, "I don't care how gay you are, who chooses
Flint over anyone?"
"Well that's not very nice." The green eyed boy protested half heartedly.
"Harry, Flint is mean and dumb and his face kind of looks like its been through
a wall or three." Hermione piped up. "Iwould choose Quiverknacker over Flint."
"The only one worse than Flint would be, like, Filch." Blaise murmured good
humoredly. Harry shifted uneasily. "Oh come on Potter?! Filch?!"
"I just think he's a very nice man," He defended. "I mean I wouldn't want to
date him but he's not the worst human being ever!"
Draco threw his arms up in the air, "Merlin, you, you just have the worst taste
in guys!"
Harry blushed indignantly, "Wha- that's not true!" He tries very hard not to
think of his previous paramours and the amount of people they have killed. To
be fair though, it wasn't like he actively looked for individuals who had
murdered a bunch a people and may or may not derive some sort of satisfaction
or pleasure from the act.
So maybe he doesn't exactly passively looks for guys like that either. Just
because they've killed doesn't make them any less pleasant okay? Harry totally
has fantastic taste in men ta very much.
"You dated Percy." Blaise pointed out, "Percy is kind of known for being a bit
of a huge prick."
"Also Harry," Hermione said in a manner similar to someone about to start an
intervention for their alcoholic friend, "You do have a bit of a weird Sna-"
"I do not have a weird Snape thing." Harry hissed, "And Percy is not a huge
prick, he does however have a pretty sizable-"
"NANANANANANA" Ron yelled with a finger in his ear and another one forcibly
covering his best friend's mouth. "NANANA I DIDN'T HEAR ANYTHING YOU DIDN'T SAY
ANYTHING NANANA."
The green eyed boy shrugged, he wasn't exactly sure he meant to say that
anyway, must've been that potion starting to kick in a bit more. "Just saying,"
he says, though it was muffled under the redhead's hand.
"Well, fun as this all was," Blaise began, "It seems me and Draco have to go.
We'll see you after dinner as usual."
"Just ignore the others." The Malfoy heir practically ordered, "They're idiots
who don't know what they're talking about."
Harry gave them a thumbs up sign before waving them away. Once the two left,
green eyes stared pointedly at Ron until the freckled boy realised his mistake
and finally dropped his hand off the other's mouth. "You better have washed
that hand before you came here."
"Uhm.. Yes?"
"I'm going to pretend, for the sake of our friendship, you did not hesitate
just then to say yes."
===============================================================================
"Hey, did you hear?"
"About Potter?"
"Heard he killed that Hufflepuff Finch-Fletchley."
"Fuck, I always knew there was something not right about him."
"I knew he was the Heir, who willingly hangs around Slytherins so much?"
"Do you think it's true about him threatening the Sorting Hat? Remember how it
screamed?"
"How could he?"
"Why has none of the professors done something about him?"
"Bastard."
"Wonder what goes on in that sick mind of his?"
Harry could feel the worried looks of Hermione and Ron by his side as he tried
to casually swallow down some awful cold porridge. "Don't listen to them
Harry." Hermione assured quietly as Ron tried very hard to glare one of the
older Gryffindor gossipmongers into submission. He didn't manage to do it of
course, the young Weasley looked far too similar to an angry squirrel than
anything. But the twins and Percy were doing a fine job in his place.
"Hey Potter!" Someone called behind him, Harry turned around warily just in
time to see a Hufflepuff throw some water in his face. "That's for Justin you
arse!"
"A hundred points from Hufflepuff!" Percy yelled, with McGonagall and Snape
only echoing the sentiment just a second after while Professor Sprout began
scolding the student in question.
"Harry, are you okay?" Neville asked worriedly as he passed his clean napkin
toward the raven haired boy who took it gratefully.
One of the nearby Gryffindors muttered just loud enough for the table to hear,
"Bloody deserved it." And Harry could actually hearthe moment when he snapped.
"No." Harry says because he is tired. He is tired and in pain and hungry and he
will persevere through this absolute bullshit. "No, I will not let you bloody
stupid pricks accuse me of something I clearly didn't do." Harry says, his
voice is raspy and soft, faint as crackling autumn leaves. But the steel and
angry undertones of something not quite human was enough to stun the whole
cohort into silence. With a pained grimace, Harry stepped up onto the
Gryffindor table and declared, "I have been stuck between the infirmary and my
bedroom for six fucking weeks. I've only just got to the point where I can go
to the bloody loo unassisted, let alone go around wandering the halls and
ordering some fat beast to petrify people. Also, I like Mrs Norris. And Colin.
And Headless Nick. Though the Hufflepuff was Zachariah Smith's crony so I
hardly care to be honest." Quiet murmurs shook the hall at that. Harry silenced
them again with a glare.
"You know what? If I was the Heir, Mr Smith over there would have certainly
been in the infirmary ages ago that's for goddamn sure. Seriously Smith. I hope
you get violently eaten and then slowly digested." Smith's eyes bulged and his
hands made a 'what did I do now' gesture.
"POTTER!" Came the angry scandalised shout of Professor McGonagall. Usually he
would bow down by now, but something about being treated in long term care has
just caused him to completely lose it. Dumbledore in the background looks both
vaguely amused and having flashbacks of his own firsthand experience with the
boy's temper.
"NO!" He shouts, "You do not understand! I haven't had solid food since ever."
He bemoans furiously. "Potions are so bloody disgusting and Iloathe porridge.
Do you wankers understand the hell I am put through?! Nothing but mushy crap
and potions for weeks, months?" The students were looking much more sheepish
about themselves but still they watched the usually cool headed Potter pretty
boy completely lose it on top of a dining table covered in numerous painful
looking scars. "I mean, I would happily give you Slytherin's beast on a platter
if I was the heir at this point just to get a fucking steak. A cookie. Hell,
even an undercooked steamed bit of broccoli would do. I just want something
hotand hard in my mouth dammit!"
Vaguely he notes that a lot of the older students and all the teacher's faces
were turning quite red. A couple of people are choking and coughing in the
background. There is repeated banging on the table. Harry didn't care. He was
on a fucking roll here. "I don't even care if it chokes me, just shoveit in my
mouth and let me savour the feeling of something big and heavy in it. If it's
too much I won't swallow, just let me suck it for a bit before I spit it out."
Harry breathes out heavily, feeling the strain on standing up for too long, but
not finding it in himself to mind too much. It's like a small weight had been
lifted off. Who knew yelling and venting at a whole school worth of people was
so cathartic? He'll have to do it again sometime. Satisfied, the young wizard
saviour nodded to himself before carefully stepping back down to the ground,
settling himself between Ron and Hermione's gawping persons and gracefully
began eating some more cold oats.
Harry had to admit to himself, as he stumbled on his feet while being led away
from the Great Hall by Professor Snape's firm hand, he may have been a little
high on potions right now. But he doesn't think there was one word out there he
spouted that he didn't regret one bit. Especially the Smith thing. Seriously,
he hates that guy worse than the porridge.
"I shall endeavour to get the house elves to whip up something better then."
The potions master drawled as he gently pushed Harry toward his bed, and when
had they managed to get to his room so quickly?
"Merlin, Harry, clearly I'm not adding extra boiled quail yolk into the immune
booster."
Harry just cackled uncontrollably like a mad person hearing the funniest thing
in the world before falling onto his bed, already asleep before he even hit the
mattress.
***** Death's diary *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 The one where Death gets off on a book. That was an unimportant and completely
unplanned thing that happened, but it has happened nonetheless.
 Alternative title: The one where Death, as well as this story, hits a whole
new low.
Harry ended up confined in Snape's quarters for two full weeks before he was
deemed okay to go out into the castle again. And only for short walks
accompanied by a fifth year or higher. He could've probably managed to get out
in ten days if he begged or pleaded nicely enough, but Harry was far too
embarrassed about his little 'speech' in the Great Hall even to try.
He doesn't fully remember the whole thing, but he does recall shouting on top
of a table and telling everyone he wanted something hot and hard in his mouth.
The boy buries his face in his hands.
"Come now Harry," Argus Filch soothes, passing the boy a cup of tea, "I'm sure
it wasn't that bad."
"Oooh, Mr. Filch I am indefinitely sure it was much worse." He bemoaned, "Percy
told me he keeps getting pats on the back, and people congratulating him and
calling him a 'lucky bastard.' Cedric laughed the whole time he visited me. And
Fred won't stop blushing and staring at my mouth when I see him!"
The caretaker took a nice long sip of his tea so to not betray the highly
entertained grin on his face. It would be terrible of him to find such
amusement from Harry's embarrassment, especially since the first place Harry
had requested to visit in the castle was his office. Filch was incredibly
touched by that. He truly was. It does not stop this from being any less funny
however.
"I'm sure they'll forget about it soon." Filch dismisses, "Those sniveling
spoiled brats have attention spans smaller than a flobberworm."
Harry smiled as he drank his tea. "Aw, Argus, you do say some of the nicest
things."
===============================================================================
Colin Creevley visited him a few days after the Great Hall tantrum incident.
Well, Colin Creevey, Mr Filch with Mrs Norris, Justin Finch-Fletchley and any
other victims of the Basilisk that Harry does neither care nor remember.
Hey, its not his fault they came on a Tuesday. Luckily they came in the morning
when he wasn't feeling the effects too badly, but a bit of memory loss at this
point was a given.
Anyway, everyone but poor Headless Nick, who was a ghost and therefore could
not swallow shit let alone an antidote, was cured of their petrification.
Apparently, Madam Pomfrey is thinking about using a spray bottle for Nick, see
if that works, but that requires a bit more mandrake then they currently have
and to be perfectly honest, they were kind of saving the extra ingredients for
when an actual student gets petrified again.
Priorities.
On the bright side, with even Finch-Fletchley supporting his innocence on the
whole Heir front, his name has been pretty much cleared. Though those pictures
of him coming out of the shower being spread around were not appreciated. Ta
for that Creevley.
That boy was lucky he was cuter than a hamster because Harry is starting to
have a sneaking suspicion that kid had a thing for voyeurism. Pervert in the
making that kid was. Orworse. Paparazzi.
===============================================================================
"Harry, Harry!" Hermione rushed into his room panting breathlessly with Ron not
too far behind her. Harry looked up surprised considering the time of day.
Snape had gone to a staff meeting, and most of the students by now were snug in
their dorm rooms. "Oh good, you're up."
"Sleeping away most of the day does do that for you." The green eyed boy
replies. Then his eyes were immediately dragged toward the sight of a little
black book in Hermione's hand. "What is that?"
The bushy haired second year grinned excitedly, "We found it by Moaning
Myrtle."
"Well I mean, we didn't find it as much as Moaning Myrtle was wailing about it
being thrown at her to anyone that would listen." Ron corrected.
"But we were the first to search for it." Hermione argued, "And therefore
locating the notebook counts as us finding it." She turns to Harry expectantly
waiting for the only other intelligent human to speak up for her.
Harry shrugged, "Sounds like Moaning Myrtle technically found it."
"Ooh, what good are you?" She scowls half-heartedly as the two boys laugh.
"Hey, don't you have classes to get to?" The green eyed boy asks curiously, it
is the middle of the day and barely anyone but Filch or Snape visits him during
this time. Hagrid sometimes comes too but he's too big to come into his room
which is awkward for everyone involved. "Not that I'm not pleased but,
seriously, you should probably leave."
"Yeah, yeah, eager already to shoo us off mate?" Ron grinned easily, earning a
pout from the other boy.
"You know I didn't mean that."
"Suuuuure."
Harry stuck his tongue out childishly. Hermione giggled as Ron mirrored Harry's
display. In defiance, Harry tried to push his tongue out farther, the Weasley
boy did the same, and the bushy haired girl tried to hide her growing
entertainment by feigning indignity at 'dumb boys.'
"Am I interrupting something?" A deep and familiar voice questioned dryly. The
redhead spun around so fast at the voice he tripped over his own feet and oh so
gracefully falling on his behind on the floor. Hermione had to actually slap
her mouth to confine her hysterically high-pitched giggle.
Harry didn't even bother trying to. "Hello, Professor Snape." He greeted
between fits of laughter and coughing.
Professor Snape watched the trio with wry, amusement, dark eyes staring almost
unblinkingly as he looked down at them and his lips pursed ever so slightly in
an upwards direction. Harry thought the man looked quite dashing, all relaxed
and carefree like that, especially with the way his long body stretched as he
leaned against the doorway. "Potter, tell your… friends they need to head to
their classes now, I'll give you a few minutes."
The green eyed child smiled and waved the older man off, "Of course Se-
Professor Snape."
Snape nodded acknowledging the temporary farewell and strode out of the room.
Once he had left, immediately Ron scrambled up from his, frankly embarrassing,
position on the ground to look at Harry with a manic look in his eye.
"Cripes! I thought that man was gonna deduct so many points off Gryffindor that
the red would leave my hair!"
"Or you know, something much less dramatic like insult you." Hermione
deadpanned.
Harry blinked. "What are you talking about? Professor Snape wasn't mad."
"Mad? He looked like he was thinking about slicing me into one of his potions
ingredients Harry!" The other boy exaggerated, "He lookedlivid."
"Professor Snape did look pretty unhappy Harry." The girl supported as Ron
grumbled about that being an understatement.
"I think it's you two that are mad," Harry laughed, "Snape was smiling." He
explained.
The two Gryffindors goggled at him.
"Mate." Ron whined, "Why are you so bloody weird with your taste in men? Why
Percy? Why Snape? If you tell me Draco has pretty eyes I'll shoot the killing
curse at myself I will."
Hermione looked torn between laughing and following her redheaded friend's
example. Upon looking at Harry's pleading expression to get Ron to stop
bemoaning Harry's apparent tastes in people she shrugs in a very un-Hermione
like manner. "Ron's not wrong, you do have a weird Snape thing."
"I do NOT have a-"
"No, yes, you totally do." Ron interrupted. "Do not deny it mate, 'mione told
me denial ain't just a river in Egypt."
"Hermione you suck."
"Come on Harry, just man up," Hermione said very sternly and not at all
amusedly.
Harry sighed exasperatedly, ignoring the slight buzzing heat on the tips of his
ears he admits, "Maybe I have a little, tiny thing."
Hermione made a sound that could only be described to share the same pitch as a
dying pig, but far happier. Ron made a puking sound with all the necessary hand
gestures to emphasize this. Harry is not particularly impressed with either
reaction.
"Ron, you suck too."
Ron put his hands up in the air in surrender, "Woah, hey, I'm happy that you
could admit I'm right don't get me wrong mate. Am I happy that it is now
official you have a weird Snape thing? No, ick, Merlin no."
"Gee. Thanks." Harry replied drolly. Ron still continued.
"But am I happy this isn't a weird Percy thing? Extremely," He smiled
reassuringly at his best friend who gave a tentative smile in return, "because
no offense, you two were absolutely disgusting and I did not need to know Percy
had interests other than being a prefect and working in the Ministry."
"Aaaand, now you have stopped being cute."
"Aw shucks you say the nicest things."
They all pause for a bit, their playful banter lulled into a temporary silence
as they just enjoy each others company. Harry's eyes eventually slid back to
the book in Hermione's hand, green eyes glowing faintly as they rested on the
innocent looking black cover. Hermione of course noticed and handed it over
easily.
"I know how unfair I was being, taking charge and making plans without you."
She apologizes genuinely, "I-I guess I was still kind of jealous of you, but
then you got seriously hurt! And there's nothing I can do to take that back..
So I swear, seriously swear, I'm never going to do that again Harry!" Hermione
starts tearing up again, but her face is set and determined.
Frankly, Harry was a little shocked at the outburst. Honestly, he expected such
character development and maturity from her sometime in at least their fourth
year. Shows what he knows on the mindset of the human child. "Thanks,
Hermione." He replies gratefully because he was surely not going to complain
about the girl being less brash. "I appreciate you being so forthright with
me."
"Friends?" Hermione asks tentatively because despite everything Harry guesses
she is still the insecure bookworm she had been before Hogwarts.
Harry smiled, "Friends." He reaffirmed.
The bushy haired girl gives the Potter heir a delicate but no less smooshing
hug, as Ron huffs annoyed as he stands in the background. "What am I? Chopped
liver?"
"Awww, Ron come join us in our friendship hug!" Hermione beckoned.
"Yes. Our.. hug of friendship would not be complete without you." Harry says
dryly, clearly not enjoying the embrace as much as the other. The visible
discomfort of his friend seemed to be the thing that finally won the grumbling
redhead over, and Ron too joined the group hug.
They hugged for a bit longer until Harry decided enough was enough. "You know,"
he says nonchalantly, "Draco's eyes do have a certain darling quality to them."
"Aaaand moment ruined," Ron says, dropping his arms faster than if he had been
holding Draco himself in his arms.
"Well we do have to go anyway," Hermione chuckled at the smug self-satisfaction
radiating off Harry. "So, fair warning, this notebook has some.. interesting
quirks Harry, and to be frank, Ron and I aren't particularly sure what to do
with it. Honestly, it seems harmless in itself, but I figured you would know
what's up."
The green eyed boy brushed the spine of the little book reverently with his
fingertips; he can feel the familiar hum of a soul-tickling his fingertips. It
feels rather... amazing. "And I am so glad you thought so." He breathed.
"Dude you sound like what you sound like when you swoon over Snape, or Percy
when you were dating Percy," Ron said, a little grossed out.
"Or how ruggedly muscled the centaurs are," Hermione added.
"Or that one horrible time you insisted to me how gorgeous Mr. Malfoy and his
hair was." Ron gave a full body shudder at that memory.
"You were very into his hair." Hermione supplied unhelpfully. "And let's not
forget the time when he started describing gourmet French food to the House
elves."
"It is an actual bloody wonder how there are people out there who were
surprised you were gay mate."
"I don't want to impose stereotypes Harry but, despite us being twelve, you are
extremely gay."
"Super gay."
"Your kind of a pervert actually."
"A-class one considering your... range of tastes."
"Haha, that is SO tru-"
"Okay, OKAY, I got it!" Harry snapped irritated. "Don't put a label on it or
anything, Jesus Christ guys."
The two Gryffindors just laughed, as Harry scowled. Friends, he had found, were
very complex relationships that basically boiled down to insulting and being
insulted. Harry is not exactly unhappy at this revelation, but he would
appreciate it if he wasn't on the end spectrum of the insulted quite so much.
Once Snape came to drag Ron and Hermione away, Harry turned his attentions back
to what had caught them in the first place.
"Now that they are finally gone it's just you and me, Mr. Riddle." Harry purrs
as he cracks open the worn book. On the first page, in smudged ink was T. M.
Riddle damningly written there, confirming his thoughts. The boy traced the
slanted handwriting, closing his eyes as he shuddered under the pure,
electrifyingly wonderful sensation of Mr. Riddle's soul that was practically
soaked in each page, masterfully held together with powerful magic.
"Fuck this is gorgeous." Harry practically moaned, he is actually salivating
thinking what the man's, no, the teenager's, soul must taste like. He can feel
how much stronger it is compared to the Dark Lord of the present, how much more
whole. God, if this Tom tastes half as good as he feels…
Young hands flip to the next page, and it seems young Tom Riddle has felt what
he is feeling right now because already words are forming onto the blank paper.
'Who is this? What are you doing to me?!'
Harry licks his lips in anticipation; he is strangely excited. It's an odd
state he is in, somewhere between curious fascination from an entirely
objective view and an outright mix of arousal and gluttony. The entity does not
even stop to think as he summons an inked quill and begins writing.
'Hello Mr. Tom Riddle, I go by many names, but you may call me Harry Potter.'
'What are you doing to me? How do you know my name?'
God, teenage Riddle was so cute. Harry could feel the panic emanating from the
page.
'Why I am merely touching your soul Mr. Riddle. Your beautifully bastardized
shard of your soul. Does it not feel good?'
Tom does not answer back for a while, and Harry waits patiently for him to
figure out what to say. Once in a while he will stroke the page, with a finger,
with his whole hand outspread, once nuzzling his cheek on the flat surface, the
sensation he gets is indescribably pleasurable and Harry finds it hard pressed
for him to stop.
If this is what it feels like when people tear their souls and shove them into
things, he thinks it is a pity he had not encouraged this sooner. This is
absolutely amazing. He wants one in pillow form.
Harry wonders if there is something inherently wrong with him that he finds the
idea so arousing.
He muses on his newfound kink for a bit until he finally notices black ink
writing itself out on the paper below him.
'It does not feel.. bad per say.'
'If it is half as good as it is for me Mr. Riddle, I should hope not.'
'You… feel it too?'
Slyly and fuelled with the confidence that no one could see him doing something
so insane, Harry took the notebook and brushed his lips against the cover,
sighing as pleasure buzzed against his sensitive skin. He feels it rush through
his veins and the whites of his eyes gray as the control he so fastidiously
holds, loosens in the luxurious comfort that washes over him. Faintly, Harry
could just taste a shadow of something cool and fresh, minty even, with just a
hint of something spicier, earthier, bitter.
Fuck, the green eyed being did not realize how much he desired such a flavor
until now. It's enough to get his meat suit practically bursting at the seams
with his excitement, his blunt human teeth sharpening and the ends of his hair
blurring into a more shadowy form.
'Harry... you feel so good, so intense... It has been so long, Merlin you
cannot even imagine..'The words trailed off into illegibly flustered scribbles.
And Harry could indeed imagine, could empathize with Mr. Riddle's young soul.
Harry moaned as he felt the Tom's cracked soul in the book almost burn under
his fingertips with ecstasy, a feedback loop had been formed as each other's
newfound sensitivity to each other grew in response to the other's ecstasy. The
green eyed wizard's forehead was crackling with a fervor, pulsating to the beat
of his human heart. He's vaguely aware of his already very receptive body
responding to the sensations, his lower region already hard and sensitive as he
instinctively pressed himself harder into the bed he now laid on.
Jesus, he really was kind of a freaking pervert.
The green eyed entity was glad the Real Harry Potter wasn't somewhere in Heaven
watching this because he feels like the Real Harry Potter would not appreciate
what weird shit he has been getting up to in his body. Well, it wasn't like it
was the entity's fault that he died- oh, wait. Shit. Now he actually did feel a
little bad.
With far more self-restraint than Harry thought he currently possessed, Harry
pushed the book off the bed and away from his tempted reach. Feeling the foggy
haze of desire lessen from his mind, the young wizard groaned and buried his
face into his pillow. Unable to help himself, he reached down and quickly
stroked himself to completion, practically screaming into the pillow as he
came.
As Harry felt the high leave him, and the self-loathing settle neatly under his
skin, a firm knock on the door was made. The green eyed boy almost fell off his
bed at the unexpected noise, but instead managed to scrabble at the mattress
just in time to prevent such a fate. "Uh, yes?" Harry called out in a slightly
hight pitched voice.
"Harry?" Snape's head poked through the door, his face was flushed faintly like
the older man had run somewhere, "Are you.. good?"
The younger of the two wiped the sheen of sweat on his forehead and gave a
shaky smile. Was he quivering? Because he feels like half melted custard right
now. "Ah, yeah I'm good. Totally, good. I was just reading."
"Reading." The potions master repeated doubtfully.
"I read," Harry replied defensively, guilt and the fear of being caught
sparking irritation inside of him. In a manner that he hoped was casual, Harry
slowly pulled up the blanket to further cover himself and the mess he had made
in his pants. "It's not like I have much else to do." And okay maybe that
sounded a little too sour.
"What book?"
"Something Hermione passed to me," Harry said easily, then just as casually as
before, which is to say probably not at all casually, he pushed a pillow off
the bed to hide Mr. Riddle's papery form from the professor. Of course, being
too busy trying to successfully cover the book, Harry missed the way the Head
of Slytherin tracked his movements.
"Granger gave you this.. book?" And now it was Snape sounding a little
strangled.
The young wizard stared down at the floor, contemplatively wondering if Snape
could see the book. No, it looks pretty well smothered by the pillow. "She said
that there was some.. interests that we may both share in there." He mumbled
absentmindedly.
"Merlin," Snape muttered. And no, Harry wasn't imagining that blush reddening
further on the the professor's face. "Well, lunch is ready, so, uh." The man
trailed off uncertainly.
"I'll get myself ready," Harry assured, "I'm just going to take a quick shower
if that's alright? I'm feeling a little sticky from," the wizard savior blushed
as he realized what exactly he was so sticky for, "reading." He finished
lamely.
"Reading." Professor Snape repeated again like he wanted to re-emphasize how
unbelievably dumb the excuse sounded. Harry wasn't sure what the professor
wanted from him, but the man would have to threaten him with actual painful
evisceration before he admitted the truth to what he had just been doing.
Besides, like trying to explain he had been getting his rocks off by feeling up
a magically possessed book that had half a soul of the current Dark Lord would
have gone so well.
Christ hislife. No wonder he is the entity of all things against it because he
is so very shit at it.
"Reading," Harry says again firmly, like he really, seriously means it. Even
though he does not. Harry isn't sure he can take himself seriously after this
particular new low he has now set himself.
The potions master stares at Harry like somehow that could help uncover the
truth. "I.. see." Clearly, he does not. "Well I'll tell the house elves to keep
it warm, I'll be waiting outside."
"Thanks, Severus," Harry demurred. There is something about the older man
taking such sweet care of him that makes him feel like there are tiny little
fingers tinkling the inside of his throat. It's embarrassing how much he enjoys
the attention like he is something precious and breakable. Usually, he's the
doting one.
Severus smiled, much more open and fond then the one in the presence of his
Gryffindor friends. The man really does look quite dashing like that, maybe not
objectively handsome.. but dashing. "No problem. Oh, and Harry?" The smile
turns into an almost fiendish smirk. Harry shifts his legs and presses his
hands onto his lap, because that smirk does things to him. Things. "Do be
careful to be more quiet during your, ah, reading time."
Immediately the young wizard finds his pale face once again set aflame in
mortification. Professor Snape, because at heart, that man is a bastard,
chuckles at his visible discomfort and leaves. Harry buries his face again into
the pillow, this time in hopes of suffocating himself.
===============================================================================
Dear Death,
I must say I've seen people getting off to books, but you certainly put that on
a whole new level.
Knowledge
===============================================================================
Harry now wears gloves when writing with Mr. Riddle.
===============================================================================
Dearest Death,
Sorry, we haven't written for so long, we've all been a bit.. booked up.
While we draw a blank about what to say about your latest publication, know
that it is not like we can judge what you do under the covers… or between them.
Though it was quite a surprise how your pamphlet turned so quickly into a
hardcover if you know what we mean. (You know what we mean.)
Hopefully, this will not escalate to the point you will be making the beast
with two paperbacks with the diary. Unless you were planning to overthrow
Chaos' running championship title of finding the weirdest thing to have sex
with.
Either way no matter what you do this shall always be a bestseller in our
fondest memories.
Anyway, we better book it.
Life, Fate, Love and Magic
===============================================================================
Harry occasionally does not wear the gloves though. He refuses to talk about
those times. Chaos fucked a blender- with the power on, compared to that he was
still the normal one.
He was.
Shut up.
===============================================================================
Dear brother,
When we hoped you would live this life to the fullest, this was not exactly
what we envisioned. To each and their own, we guess.
Space and Time.
===============================================================================
Death,
HAHAHAHAOHGODSHAHAHAHAHAHAI'MDYINGHAHAHAHAHA
Chaos
===============================================================================
'Harry, are you really a Hogwarts student?'
'Of course I am Mr Riddle.'
'How may times have I told you to call me Tom?'
'Six times give or take.'
'And yet you still don't.'
'You truly are a genius Tom; it is not a wonder you were one of the top
students in your time.'
'It is not a wonder that someone threw boiling potion in your face.'
'Hahaha for your information Mr. Riddle, if anyone were going to throw potion
in my face it would be because they were jealous of my devastatingly handsome
looks than any minor defect in personality.'
'You are lucky I have no eyes or concept of vision because if I did you would
be on the brunt of some truly scathing comments about your appearance.'
'More like you would be too speechless at my beauty.'
'You are incorrigible.'
'You have to admit; I must be better company than your last few owners.'
'…'
===============================================================================
Valentine's day is here.
'Oh, Mr. Riddle you should see Hogwarts now. It's absolutely tragic.'
'What, why?'
'She has been violated. With diapered dwarves wearing wings.'
'…I'm sorry, what?'
'DIAPERED DWARVES WITH WINGS AND ROSES HAVE TAINTED HOGWARTS' SACRED PASSAGES.'
'Harry I am sorry but what the absolut-.'
"Harry, are you still writing in that diary?" Draco drawled, rudely closing the
notebook while Harry was still reading. "You know it's super weird how you even
have special gloves to write in that thing?"
"Draco, are you still unable to make a proper observation?" Harry mimicked,
dropping Mr. Riddle into one of his expandable pockets in his robe and peeling
off his gloves. "Anyway, what's all this then? I stay away from all of you for
a week, and this happens." The green eyed wizard waved spastically at the pink
confetti, the gaudy heart-snapped decorations, the flower petals and the grumpy
winged dwarves. Oh my god the dwarves.
The Malfoy heir scowled. "Lockhart." Is his explanation, and it's all the
blonde really needs because Harry nods his head understandingly. "Apparently
it's his way of expressing joy for the recovered victims of Slytherin's beast."
"Not like he's acknowledged them once other than to get a photo with them,"
Blaise says as he moves to sit next to Harry, Crabbe, and Goyle following
behind to sit on the other side of Draco.
"We talking about Lockhart?" Theodore Nott spoke up opposite them, "Because I
have some words to say about him, I mean- oh, hey Harry, you're looking less
terrible."
"You know what, I'm going to take that as a compliment," Harry says prissily
making the other Slytherins laugh.
"Seriously though, we have missed you, Potter, Draco's been a right prick
without you."
Harry hummed thoughtfully as Draco spluttered indignantly, "Isn't he always?"
He asks cheekily.
"Harry!" The blonde protests, giving a half-hearted slap to the other boy's
head as punishment. Harry laughed loudly before his throat caught on air and he
started coughing again.
"You okay?" Goyle grunted out, and everyone was looking at him with worried
eyes. The green eyes savior flushed under the scrutiny.
"I'm all right." He croaks out. And it was true. Yeah, he still gets stiff from
pain and his throat isn't exactly the definition of 'healthy', but at least he
no longer looks like a walking mummy, rotting flesh and all. His scars are
faint and pastel pink, and he looks more like a shattered porcelain doll put
together than anything truly horrendous. "Seriously guys, I'm all right." He
insists.
"If you say so," Blaise says doubtfully, luckily, or unluckily, the
conversation ended as Lockhart wearing fluorescent pink robes, stood up from
his seat and waved for silence.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape were sitting next to the blonde
defense professor. On a not so unrelated note, Professor McGonagall and
Professor Snape also looked like they were very close to having an aneurysm or
at least valiantly trying to fight some deep-seated homicidal rage. Very deep-
seated stuff. Like the anger has been building, festering for the last yea-
huh.
"Happy Valentine's Day everyone!" Lockhart yelled with a beaming smile. "Let it
be known that the festivities was the result of my, Gilderoy Lockhart's, own
design. As a celebration of love, I would like to express my fondness for the
lovely Madam Pomphrey and Professor Snape for finally taking their time to make
an antidote for the petrifications- though it would have probably happened much
faster if I had a hand in it."
And wow, was that goblet in the potions master's hand actually cracking?
"Also may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards!"
"That idiot got forty-six valentine cards?" Harry gaped.
"Forty-six people really sent that idiot cards?" Draco said disgustedly.
"Let's not forget the friendly, card-carrying cupids!" Lockhart added,
gesturing to some very unfriendly looking dwarves that were wandering the hall.
None of them have even gotten close to Harry oddly enough, though it did make
sense. Harry could taste their shame from across the room. "They shall be
puttering around school today delivering your valentines! But don't stop the
fun there- why not get Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love
Potion? Professor Flitwick might be able to teach you some.. enhancing charms,
the sly old dog!"
The half goblin teacher looked down at his feet, face red and embarrassed.
Snape was just glaring furiously at everyone, just daring them to ask him for
his help to make a love potion.
"Harry, please tell me Granger was not one of those forty-six." Draco murmurs.
Harry groans.
"God, I didn't eventhink about that!"
===============================================================================
For the rest of the day, with the chagrin of the professors, winged dwarves
fluttered in and out of the classes, handing out valentines gifts and cards and
roses to blushing, flattered students as the secretly jealous ones watched. And
the not so secretly jealous ones.
"This is the worst first day of class." Harry groused as he watches Smith get
his third Valentine card today. The boy had almost forgotten that he was
technically supposed to be a Ravenclaw this term, and Ravenclaw teams up with
Hufflepuff, meaning constant Smith. Ugh. And he's not even that close to any of
the Ravenclaws either.
"I'm surprised you haven't got any yet Potter." Justin Finch-Fletchley
commented. Apparently saving the Hufflepuff from his petrified fate had
unlocked the boy's friendship with him, hence the sitting next to each other
thing. And the constant staring at his face. And the weird lack of personal
boundaries. Were all Hufflepuffs this friendly? Cedric is pretty touchy-feely
too now that Harry thinks about it, but he's more of an asshole about it. Not
that anyone believes him when he says that.
Why does no one think Cedric is an asshole?
"Yeah Potter," Michael Corner, a friendly enough Ravenclaw pretty boy teased,
his own little pile of valentines gifts stacked neatly beside him, "I mean,
despite you being horribly maimed and scarred, I know for a fact you were still
considered better looking than Smith of all people."
"Aw." Harry says, touched, "I think you're my new favourite Ravenclaw."
"Of course I am." Corner says confidently, he flips his hair pointedly, and to
be fair, it is very nice hair. Not Lucius Malfoy hair, but the lovely chestnut
curls on Michael Corner's head cut a pretty close second on 'Hair Harry would
like to grab on'. "I mean, look at me."
Harry laughed softly, "Okay, now you are definitely my favorite Ravenclaw."
"Oi, what about me?" Justin protested.
"You just switched sides from Smith to me." Harry explains like he was the
professor in this class. It's Charms anyway, Mr Flitwick adores him enough to
ignore when he's not paying attention this once. "Michael over here has not
previously had or been associated with someone who has openly antagonized me
while also sharing my sentiments that Smith is a tool."
"Massive tool." Corner agreed.
"You on the other hand, once looked me in the eyes in the hallway and literally
ran the other direction. Our friendship levels are not the highest Finch-
Fletchley. You could almost say they are basement level."
"Oh." The Hufflepuff says dejectedly. And fuck, that boy has brought out a
truly devastating facial expression onto his face.
"Woah, hey," Harry says because he is a pushover and that face. Jesus Christ,
Harry has a cute face, and he knows how to use it well but this, this was like
some secret natural ability like being a shapeshifter or that thrall thing
vampires can do. "I mean, you are nice enough now. Our friendship levels are
like second floor high now at least!"
"So we are friends now?"
"Not good ones." Harry says, "But yes. We are."
Justin beamed, "I'll take it."
Green eyes squinted at the Hufflepuff. "You, you are surprisingly resilient
huh."
"Hufflepuff." Corner and Finch-Fletchley say in unison like it explains
everything. It doesn't. Not really. But once Harry gets used to the two Houses
he hopes he will.
===============================================================================
It happens near the end of the day. They had Transfiguration. Pretty much every
student had abandoned doing any real schoolwork today, much to the
consternation of every actual professor teaching.
Professor McGonagall looked ready to scream when four dwarves with a staggering
amount of valentines gifts and cards waddled into the class. "Merlin and
Morgana, are you serious?" She asks to a passing dwarf who shrugs. "How many
could possibly be left?!"
The dwarves walk around listlessly at the edges, only handing a few roses and
small cards out, the majority of their gifts still in their grasp. As time
passes on and the dwarves dawdled further, the second year students become even
more intrigued in the recipient to the remaining gifts. Even McGonagall looks
like she has become reluctantly interested as the minutes passed on. It's not
like anyone was paying attention to her anyway.
Finally, finally, the dwarves were finishing circling like blind vultures and
started heading toward one specific direction with expressions similar to
soldiers heading into carnage. Harry watches them like a lion. Lazily and with
confident patience.
"Y-You are Mr Harry Potter?" The first and bravest one spoke up, not looking at
glowing green eyes and trying his hardest in hiding his diapered form from the
gaze.
"I am." He confirms, earning some excited mutterings and 'eeps' from the
creatures. Clearly, they were not comfortable with wearing such humiliating
attire in his presence. Like having to meet the English queen in just pantyhose
and a fireman's hat. Harry was sympathetic. The one time he had been forced
into diapers it had been absolutely humiliating. And he'd been a baby at that
time, which is a totally appropriate time for wearing diapers. Anyway. "Are
those for me?"
Almost shyly the dwarves nodded, holding up the large amounts of cards and
roses and even a nice little heart pillow. Harry liked the heart pillow a lot.
Mostly because it was bloody friggin soft as a marshmallow. His hand does not
leave the pillow, squeezing the fluffed up thing absentmindedly as he smiles
and thanks the dwarves while carefully not acknowledging their attire. The
dwarves looked partly relieved and partly awed once they left the classroom,
Harry barely noticed, too enraptured by the pillow.
He wants to forever have this hypersensitive sense of touch if it meant he
could experience more amazing shit like this.
"Good going Potter," Michael Corner praised with a raised brow, clearly
admiring the sheer size of the wizard saviour's stack of gifts. "Clearly you've
got a fanbase."
"Psh, not like that was up for debate," Finch-Fletchley rolls his eyes, "Even
Smith knows your popular, he complains about it all the time in his group." The
Hufflepuff coughs awkwardly, "I.. may have said some stuff about you back then
that insinuated stuff."
"Insinuated stuff." Harry repeats. "Whatstuff?"
Justin looked at the desk abashed, "Well, like, I dunno, things about your
personality and that you might be kind of stuck up or somethin- in my defence!"
He quickly amended once he caught sight of Harry's bemused if slightly offended
expression, "In my defence, I did not know you that well and I could not stand
listening to Smith make backhanded compliments about how pretty you looked and
how you were probably a girl."
"Smith thinks I'm pretty?"
Michael stared at Harry, "Really? Not the part about you looking like a girl?"
Harry shrugged, "Well I am unbothered by it because I know for a fact I do not
look like a girl." The raven haired boy paused as he took in his new friends'
uncomfortable expressions and shifting eyes. "I do not look like a girl, right?
Right?"
"You kind of look like one of my porcelain dolls when my sister mangled their
hair with her scissors." Su Lin says behind them.
"Okay, Su? Thank you for your input but let us all draw the line at not
criticising my hair." Harry insisted because that was uncalled for. His hair
was a result of a very unfortunate and excruciating potions accident and should
not be targeted against. Also, his hair still looks frigging good thanks.
Justin shrugged, "She's not wrong Potter," He supported, giving Su an
exaggerated wink. The Ravenclaw girl giggled at that. "You are quite.. petite."
"If you put on some lipstick I swear, I wouldn't be able to tell." Michael
admitted.
The green eyed, apparently feminine looking, wizard looked at all of them with
suitable outrage. "That is not true!" He hisses. The wizards and witch all look
back with incredibly irritating pity in their eyes.
"Harry, I guarantee that out of that frankly impressive bunch of valentines
shit, seventy-five percent of that is from dudes."
"You are fucking on." Harry declares heatedly because while he knows fully well
that looks are not everything… He does not look like a fucking girl okay? It's
a pride thing. And also a 'I am the Lord of Darkness and Death, fear me' thing.
"Also, just because they're from guys doesn't necessarily mean they like me
because I look like a girl. That is not how homosexuality works."
Michael, Justin and Su Lin look at each other in silent conversation. The raven
haired boy is instantly resentful at the fact this sudden close bond they share
is over his questionable masculinity. Finally the Chinese witch nods in
acquiescence. "Sounds fair, okay, then we only count wizards that we know are
not predominantly gay."
"And any we aren't sure of count as not gay." Justin supplied because he was a
sneaky snake of a Hufflepuff. Harry breathed out a few particular curses under
his breath but accepted the conditions.
In the end, he had gotten seventeen female admirers. Seventeen out of sixty-
three. One of the seventeen being from Ginny Weasley which he is going to
assume was platonic considering every other Weasley he knew had put in a
Valentines bar, Ron. Another was a fourth year Slytherin who is apparently
quite interested in feeding him sweets and cuddling him by the fire like a
teddy bear, hence the teddy bear gift set with a lovely pink bow around its
neck. But most of them ended up being not even proper valentines gifts. Mainly
just fanfiction of him paired with various wizards and two rather fantastic
artworks of him.
"You have to admit; these are pretty good," Justin says as he objectively
admires the way an older looking Harry has been artistically depicted, draped
across a griffon with only angles and lighting and the griffon itself
protecting his unclothed modesty. Michael whistles lowly, as he admires the
painting far less objectively, "Damn Harry, if that's how you end up in four
years I might send you a valentine too."
"You're into guys?" Justin questioned, to which the Ravenclaw answered with a
shrug, "I dunno. I'm like twelve, we can't all be secure in their identity like
Potter is.. Also, it helps painting Potter could still pass off as female."
"Your figure is quite curved for a supposed teenage boy in this." Su Lin
observed with a wicked grin, and really, for someone, Harry barely knows, the
young witch was being awfully familiar with him. Though that could be said the
same with the other two.
Harry groaned, "You know what?" He says exasperated, "This tentative bond of
friendship we have started growing together? Tis gone."
"Aw no."
"Don't be like that."
"It ain't our fault you're so darn pretty."
The boy blinked his green eyes. "Wait. This is just because I'm too pretty?"
Su Lin reaches out over her desk just to hit the wizard saviour's head.
"Ow! Hey! I need the ego boost right now."
"Potter we've all in some form overhead a few of your conversations. You,
Malfoy, Smith and Corner are the four most narcissistic wizards in our year,
though you are the most likable admittedly."
Michael Corner did not look impressed. "Wait. What?"
Justin looked at the other with a smirk, "Come on Corner, come on."
The Ravenclaw boy looks uncomprehending, "What."
"Your hair for starters." Harry points out gleefully, eager for the attention
to be moved away from himself. "And you're a flirter."
"Oh, am I?" Michael flirts, leaning into the other boy's space and batting his
eyelashes.
"I think you are," Harry purrs back as he challengingly moves even closer to
the handsome young Ravenclaw's face. Justin makes a disgusted noise in the
background which is immediately shushed by Su Lin and a bunch of other people.
Wait. How many people are watching this?
Green eyes flicker back to realize that the trio has effectively caught the
attention of the majority of the classroom, professor included. Smith in the
corner with his cronies looked bright red and ready to pitch an absolutely
spectacular fit. Probably because of all the insults being casually and
dismissively being hurled his way. "Um, don't we all have some Transfiguration
to learn?" He asks pointedly while his face slowly starts burning like the sun.
"Class ended two minutes ago," McGonagall replies across the room calmly. "And
frankly, we weren't learning anything that interesting today anyway."
Harry closes his eyes and bangs his head on his table. He gets a paper cut on
his cheek from a painfully glittery card. Maybe it'll get infected, and he'll
be forced to stay in Snape's quarters for the rest of his life. He can dream.
===============================================================================
"So Potter's got quite the amount of admirers if his Valentines gifts are any
indication."
Professor Snape slammed the ink pot he had been holding against the desk. Some
black ink sloshed over the edge of the container and soaked a corner of one of
his students' test papers. At a quick glance, Snape immediately dismisses the
resulting mess. It's only the young Weasley boy's work if anything the stains
might've actually improved the quality of his answers. "Yes." He grits out,
pretending to be annoyed at the ink staining anyway. "I have noticed the
obnoxiously pink assemblage desecrating the top of my dining table."
Professor McGonagall looked down at him, unimpressed by the scathingly dry
tone. "And I see you are clearly unaffected by that."
"Clearly."
The Gryffindor Head of House watched him blandly as the wizard rather sulkily
cleared away his spilled ink with a muttered cleaning charm. Sometimes
McGonagall wondered if the other man had ever progressed from the state of
'angst-ridden teenager' to 'adult.' It would certainly explain a lot. "You know
Severus, I was kind of expecting some conversation when I came all the way down
here."
"Sorry to disappoint then." The man grunted before busying himself with
inconsequential things in a pathetic attempt to show how busy he wasn't.
McGonagall let him have a few seconds of being a petulant child before
commenting airily, "Did you hear that someone actually got Potter some women's
underwear for him?"
"Lies, the most inappropriate thing I found was some blasted artworks." Snape
immediately said before cursing at his slip up. "That's not what-"
"Severus." The Transfigurations professor interrupted in a mix of
disappointment and exasperated fondness, "Please do not even try with me."
Snape closes his mouth, and his excuses, with a sharp click of the jaw.
Inwardly the witch hides a grin at the easy compliance. Yup, still got it.
"Now, tell me about what you got Potter for Valentines."
The potions master choked, his face shocked and wide eyed. "E-excuse me,
Minerva?"
McGonagall looked just as surprised as the other. "You mean you haven't got
Potter a present?"
"You have?!"
"Of course I have!" The witch snapped annoyed, "Flius has too by the way, and
Argus, and Albus, and-"
"How did I not know about this?" Severus demanded, there is a faint sheen of
panic in his eyes that made him almost look manic, "Seriously, when was this
decided and why am I the last to know?"
"We never planned an official thing, Severus." McGonagall replied patiently, "I
wanted to get the boy something nice considering all the… 'extra credit' I've
been assigning him, and when I told this to Aurora, she thought she should do
the same. Then Flius jumped on board. And then it turns out Argus was going to
invite Potter for brownies or something because he had some new exotic rose tea
which was valentines day themed. And it just became a 'thing.'"
"A thing," Snape repeated.
"A thing." She confirmed. "I just assumed you already had something sorted
considering…"
"Considering?" The Slytherin prompted challengingly, his tone just daring her
to finish that sentence upon threat of death.
McGonagall was honestly puzzled at the tone, she expected defensiveness on the
topic, but this reaction seemed a bit over the top. Snape seemed suddenly ready
to lash out and whip his wand out against her. "Well, considering Potter's
infatuation with you of course."
Snape stared at her.
She stared back.
"What."
"Oh, you cannot possibly be so blind." She sighed, "No of course you are."
"Minerva, I swear to Morgana, if you are pulling my wand I will-"
"Seriously Severus, Ron Weasley figured it out before you. To be fair, the boy
figured it out before me too which is something I will never willingly repeat
again, not that I'm saying the boy's an idiot but-"
"-hex you to kingdom come-"
"-he isn't exactly the fastest broom-"
"-because what you are saying is ridiculous and-"
"-on the Quidditch field, if you know what I mean."
"No, I do not know what you mean! You are speaking nonsense words woman!" Snape
snapped irritatedly, "Potter is not enamored with me, nor am I with him!"
McGonagall gave him a strange look. "I never said anything about you being
infatuated with the boy Severus."
The potions master flushed, "Ahem, yes, well, I thought you did." He said
defensively, pointedly looking at his desk and away from her far too suspicious
gaze. "My point still stands."
The older woman shook her head despairingly, "Wizards." She says like that
meant something, and then she left the room. Not that Snape noticed. He was far
too busy trying to figure out what sort of Valentine's gift he should get
Harry.
===============================================================================
'Harry, I wish I had eyes to behold what beauty you must have to garner so much
interest.'
Harry rolled his eyes at the sheer honey-coated fakery being written down. The
young Mr. Riddle had somehow got it into his nonexistent head that seduction
would be the best way to.. well Harry wasn't completely sure what the Horcrux
wanted to accomplish actually. He would like to think that they were already on
a somewhat friendly status, and he knows Tom has been dropping a lot of hints
about Slytherin's heir and his past at Hogwarts which means either Tom Riddle
is the only teenager in existence that enjoys sharing every little emotion and
memory of his school days or he is leading up to something.
Harry's going to say it's the latter. Sneaky little snake that Mr. Riddle is,
but then again, he's not going to lie and say he doesn'thate it. He's fucked
professional serial killers, and he once kept the soul of Hitler in his office,
it's not exactly like liars, and shitty attempts at conning him for something
was a deal-breaker. The half-soul diary thing was more of a concern than
anything else. And what a teenaged Riddle considers proper seduction.
'I'm sure those eyes sparkle like emeralds in the sunlight and that your smile
shines just as bright.'
Because seriously? He knows the young Dark Lord has no eyes, ears, mouth or
literally any other physical body part but Harry knows he has a personality.
Use it for god's sakes.
'Please stop Mr. Riddle. I'm begging you.' He writes.
'But yo-' The words do not finish because Harry blots them out with black ink
and hastily writes underneath it,'NO.'
There's a pause before Tom wrote again, and this time Harry could actually feel
the sulkiness from each letter being transcribed onto the page.
'Is there a reason you do not appreciate my advances?'
'You are a book for one.' The boy immediately responds, because that is an
important thing to point out, 'But for the most part, your attempt at advancing
is... not great? No offense.'
'Offence duly taken.'
'Aw, and there's the Mr. Riddle I would accept advances from.'
'I do not understand.'
'You don't have to.' Harry answers primly,'I just prefer my men with some
backbone. Sass. Flavor.'
'Flavor?'
'Did I say flavor? I, uh, mean taste. As in, good taste. Not what they tasted
like.'
There is another extended pause. It grew from seconds to minutes, and the
entity began to feel his human body sweating with anxiety. With a quick scrawl,
he added,
'I don't eat my suitors, I swear.' Sometimes he just swallowed them whole or
sucked them like the lolly part of the lollipop. Simply just eating could be so
dull after a while.
Nothing happens for a moment, a heartbeat, but then the diary... flutters. Just
a little. Enough for it's pages to jitter and for Harry to realize it's
laughter. Tom Riddle is laughing, and it brings a smile to his face
inadvertently as well.
'You are..'the words scribble out, far less neat than Riddle's usual
calligraphy, 'The most unique individual. I wish we could have met when I still
had a body.'
Harry cannot help but blush at the simple and awkwardly honest compliment. Mr.
Riddle wasn't like this before. Mr. Riddle was sharp and sarcastically witty
and with a twisted shard of a soul redder than blood and tinted in the ash of
some of the darkest magics. Mr. Riddle isn't so sweet and passionate and…
inexperienced.
It is, well, Harry isn't exactly sure why he finds himself so endeared by this
new side of the other.
He does not let his confusion about his sudden new feelings about this matter
show. He is far too busy with dealing with literally everything else right now
to contemplate what these newfound feelings are to what is essentially the most
messed up jigsaw puzzle in this universe. Instead, he smiles down at the diary,
and takes off one of his gloves and presses his bare hand against the page,
fluttering his eyes closed at the low thrumming sizzle of pure sensation
against his sensitive human flesh.
When he pulls himself away, he sees the fading ink of a hand much larger than
his own on the paper.
===============================================================================
For the next few days, Harry finds himself hard-pressed to remember a time he
didn't have the diary in his grasp. It's become something of a habit, to write
a message or two to Mr. Riddle between classes. More often than not he will
just open the book, and a message will already have been written there, waiting
for him. Not many people complain about this surprisingly enough, it wasn't
like Harry was completely obsessed to the point he was neglecting his friends,
and it wasn't like he actually needed to do much in the way of academics
considering he's already read most of his textbooks during his bedrest.
If anything Hermione seemed particularly annoyed at finding his new little
hobby did not stop him from slipping from perfect grades at all. So maybe the
character development wasn't that huge in that aspect, but, to be fair though
she was way more supportive about his newfound diary obsession than how Ron or
Draco was taking it. And maybe Professor Snape seemed a little too curious
about what he was writing in the diary, but, to be fair, a lot of his friends
were. It just happened that the potions master seemed to be taking this
curiosity of his to an almost personal level. If Harry knew better, he might
have even said the man was jealous.
He felt a little bad at that. With juggling assignments and multiple
friendships and Horcrux correspondences, Harry had to cut some sort of time out
from his day, and it just inadvertently had been time originally spent with his
favorite professor. And any time he's spent with the potions master recently,
Harry could not recall a time he had been fully focused on the man like he
usually was.
Which was, admittedly odd considering Harry's never dismissed Snape before.
Honestly, it's like his mind recently has been clogged with water, and Mr.
Riddle is the fresh air that he yearns for. He feels he should be worried about
that.
Maybe later.
===============================================================================
"I think there is something wrong with Potter." Snape says abruptly.
McGonagall blinked and lowered her fork from her lips. "You mean apart from his
usual problems associated with having his face burned off and the humiliation
of standing up in the middle of the Great Hall in a drugged up state loudly
implying he wished for oral sex?"
Dumbledore at the end of the table choked on a carrot. Snape's face went an
incredibly unflattering red color. The other professors that were present at
the time showed an interesting mix of both these reactions. Hiding a smile from
her fellow colleagues the Transfiguration professor continued with her meal as
she patiently waited for the Head of Slytherin re-compose his thoughts.
"Minerva," Flitwick said, putting every ounce of his scandalized horror and
disapproval in her name. For some reason, the half-goblin had put Potter up on
a shiny golden pedestal. Which, fair, a lot of the staff, herself included,
have found that there has been no limit to the young boy's capabilities, no
overestimating him or putting him down. However, Flitwick has made it extremely
obvious he is a much more hardcore admirer of Potter's skills. McGonagall
strongly suspects if the boy asked for sacrifice, Flitwick would have pulled
out a body prepared ages ago, ready to be defrosted for that very moment.
Snape clears his throat right before she finds herself tempted to see how far
she can go in teasing her short-statured friend which was a pity but nothing
that cannot be revisited again. The Slytherin professor talking about his
worries? Nowthat was something that doesn't come up often.
"It is not about.. that." The potions master sneered, red-faced. "It is about
Potter's new paperback accompaniment."
"That battered old diary?" McGonagall asks surprised. "What's wrong with it?"
"What's wrong- he is obsessed with the thing!" He hissed, "Alarmingly so."
Ah, so it was less actual feelings and more paranoid rantings on Snape's part.
Disappointing but unsurprising. The older woman sighed and continued eating her
dinner. The other professors must share the same idea as they all rolled their
eyes and followed suit.
"Severus," McGonagall says in a flat tone after a minute of letting Snape stew
in anger at being ignored. "The poor boy is an orphan that has been thrust with
the title of savior, has a history of some serious child abuse with his
guardianship still undecided despite the fact the end of school is coming up
soon, and more recently has been put on bedrest due to a very suspicious
accident which resulted in severe scarring, limited contact with the school and
a day of the week where he is literally up to the gills in potions. I'm sure
his newfound interest in writing down his feelings is something we should be
incredibly supportive of because Merlin knows he needssome sort of coping
mechanism."
Snape, in the face of this logic just scowled. "Minerva, I'm fully aware of all
this, I just think that this level of sudden attachment to a book of all things
is rather dubious."
The Gryffindor Head of House looked at the other curiously, "You suspect
someone cursed the book." She translated. "No offense Severus, but just why
would anyone do that?"
"I don't know." Snape said slowly, menacingly, "But I'm going to find out."
McGonagall just hummed noncommittally. Someone was clearly jealous, and she is
not completely sure how much she wishes to partake in this particular endeavor,
as amusing as it promises to be. "Please don't invade your student's privacy
even more than you already do."
The potions master stared at her. "I would never." He says vehemently like he's
never before been caught doing just that, even when he was a student himself.
She somehow does not believe him.
===============================================================================
'Do you want to meet me?' Tom writes suddenly. Harry blinks at the words before
writing back. It is nighttime, and the question came out rather suddenly
considering they had been mid-way through a rather fascinating conversation on
their opinions on human transfiguration and its illegality.
'Of course.' He answers honestly. The green eyed entity is rather interested to
see what Mr. Riddle looked like as a teenager, or as a human in general. So far
he has known him as a wraith, a deformed head on the back of a defense
professor, a wraith again, and now a glorified notebook. Souls can tell you a
lot of things about a person, but unless they became ghosts or you were attuned
with the fine arts of soul searching, a physical appearance was not one of
them. Really, he would have to blind, dead and dumb to not feel a little
curiosity about what he looks like. And he knows for a fact he is technically
only one of those things.
Technically. The other two can be debated for.
'Let me show you then.'The words formed in a rush. Mr. Riddle must be nervous
then. Or excited. Tone was such a hard thing to convey in text.
Harry barely hesitated, he pulled off his gloves and lightly brushed against
the book in consent as he wrote, 'Please do.'
The pages of the diary began to flip erratically as if caught in a high wind
until it finally stopped to the last page in the whole book. Harry cannot help
but marvel at how intelligent Mr. Riddle must be, to not only figure out how to
insert part of his soul into a book- something while not exactly recommended
should still be commended for how hard it is to pull off- but at such a young
age too. A certified genius really.
A Certified genius who thought it would be a good idea to put half his soul in
a diary and leave it for anyone in Hogwarts to grab.
With hands trembling slightly, he brought the book close to his face, and
before he realized, he was tilting forward, his body leaving his bed and
falling into a twirling wind of colors and shadow. Soon, but not soon enough in
Harry's nauseated opinion, he finally felt himself hit solid ground.
"Urk."
"Hello, Harry." A velveteen voice greeted. The raven haired boy shakily stood
up from where he fell. God, he's not sure if he actually fell into the diary or
Tom is projecting his soul or something, but whatever it is, it feels very
real, and Harry feels very dizzy.
"Um, yes, hello Mr. Ri-" Harry stared.
"Oh my god, you're gorgeous." He stated disbelievingly. "Oh my god you are
legitimately, objectively gorgeous." Like, the sort of dangerous gorgeous that
implies either future businessman-lawyer shark with father issues or hot serial
killer villains.. with father issues. Either way, the entity can't help but
feel a little blindsided. He had kind of assumed from past contact that Tom
would be a bit 'mangled' or at least someone like Snape or Firenze- handsome in
their own right but not what normal people generally considered, aesthetically
pleasing.
The gorgeous (and did he mention gorgeous?) face of Tom Marvolo Riddle snorted
at the bluntness of the compliment. "Should I have not been?"
"No, no," Harry hastily assures, his face is warming steadily, and he feels
like what a teenager in a romantic sitcom must be portrayed to feel. "It's
just," and he tries not to let his eyes wander down from Mr. Riddle's face to
his amazingly proportioned body, becausewoah, "I didn't expect it that's all."
Really, really didn't expect it.
He has to wonder why the fuck the current, present Mr. Riddle mangled himself
so thoroughly because if he kept these looks, Harry is fairly confident his
quest to rule over England would have succeeded by now. Hell, possibly half the
world if the man forwent his purist, bigoted ideals. The whole world is
probably stretching it, Riddle is hot like burning, but there are certainly
people out there who are much hotter. Still. Damn. Hotdamn.
Mr. Riddle chuckled, "This may be the most flattering first words anyone has
ever said to me. Especially," And it is his turn to appraise the other boy,
"someone as equally as surprisingly stunning."
"Mr. Riddle, you flatterer." Harry accuses but he is delighted at the
compliment nonetheless.
"I told you to call me Tom." The teenager chides, though he looks oddly
strained when he says the name, it makes Harry curious.
"Are you sure you want me to call you that?" He asks.
Riddle shrugs, "I am admittedly not fond of the mundaneness of my name.
However, it is certainly better than Mr. Riddle at the very least."
"You are essentially a living diary," the boy points out dryly, "I hardly doubt
anyone is going to accuse you of being too 'mundane.'"
The Horcrux laughs softly, "Touché." His eyes (blue eyes, it's funny, Harry
didn't think his eyes would be blue) looked at Harry with open-filled wonder.
"I honestly didn't think this would work so well," Tom admits reluctantly. "The
furthest I've ever managed was being able to show a set of my memories to
anyone. This is the first time.."
Harry raised a brow, "Tom, are you telling me I'm your first? I'm flattered."
He joked, Tom rolled his eyes, but the teenager smiled nonetheless. And Jesus,
was that a dashing smile. Life really did beat this guy to near death with the
pretty stick, and he throws it away to be a smooshed face on the back of a
below average defense professor. Honestly, beauty was just wasted on this guy.
Wasted.
"Yes Harry, you had the prettiest handwriting of them all. I just had to have
you." The young Dark Lord-to-be deadpans.
"I do have great syntax structure don't I?" Harry grins crookedly. It's times
like this where Harry could really see the teenage boy in the possessed diary,
where Riddle becomes Tom and where Harry could actually envision him as an
actual person. Mr. Riddle, when he had been a wraith wandering a forest, had
been like that too actually, putting up blusters and airs until he finally
lowers his defenses enough to allow the snark to shine through.
And Harry is very fond of the snark.
"I dare say you have the most legible scrawl in the world." Tom drawled,
walking closer toward the shorter boy, until they were just an arm's length
apart. "Though if you forgive me for saying, I personally am slightly more
interested in your more... physical assets."
The teenage soul looked pointedly up and down Harry's form, making exaggerated
admiring noises. Harry flushed at the rather uncharacteristically crude
compliment on his appearance. Tom usually wrote in flowers and prose when he
wished to indulge in his suave side. Maybe that's just what living in a diary
does to you. "Flatterer," Harry muttered bashfully.
"May I?" Riddle asked lowly, stepping even closer into Harry's proximity as he
raised his arm, hand splayed facing toward the other, eager and expectant.
And how could Harry refuse such temptation? They are both stripped bare from
their physical forms, another layer peeled away from them, Harry cannot even
imagine what their exquisite touch could feel like now. Tentatively he pressed
his hand against Tom's, his own anticipation and fear caught in his breath.
"Well if you ask so nicely, how could I- guh,"
He actually fell to his knees at the sheer immensity of feeling. Tom too has
fallen on the ground, panting unevenly and looking at the younger boy with
almost reverent lust. They look at each other as they try to summon up enough
strength in their limbs again. Once they finally do, it is like a magnetic pull
as they practically leap at each other for an embrace, desperately craving this
addicting stimuli of the others' touch.
Truly, this could only be described as a 'soul-touching moment.'
"Kiss me," Harry demands breathily.
"Bossier than I thought," Tom comments idly, sounding smug and way too composed
for someone who has just experienced literally the best feeling ever. "I rather
like it." His pale skin is flushed, and he wears his smile like he isn't used
to it, isn't used to this sort of affection that brims inside him. Well, it
figured that most individuals that actively tear up their souls to stuff into
books usually don't exactly have a history of sunshine and rainbows.
Harry does not have time, however, to delve into Riddle's sad life story,
however. He has neither the time nor the mental faculty to spare for that sort
of maudlin thoughts. He just needs to be kissed again, like, right now.
"Tom." He whispers urgently, because it was either whispering or screaming like
a madman, "Please."
Begging apparently is what does it for him, as Tom's pale blue eyes are hooded
with desire and the grip on his hips is so tight it borders on the sinfully
painful. Harry is going to have to remember this in the future. "Harry, you are
so perfect." The teen praises, and Harry, Harry just melts at that, at how
sweet and genuinely bewildered the words come out as.
Tom leans down and kisses him hungrily, eagerly if a little clumsily. Not like
Harry was slacking either, licking just as enthusiastically as he explored into
his mouth. Though that was slightly less due to the pleasure itself than the
actual taste. It didn't occur to him until the moment unexpected flavor burst
against his tongue, that the Tom Riddle here was still just a soul. A soul
Harry could taste and consume like any other soul. It brought a new layer of
pleasure to the entity, as well as possibly a new meaning to the phrase
'playing with your food.'
Tom Riddle's soul tasted like the heady bitter spice of cumin and slightly
burnt caramel, cut with the sharp flavor of minty intelligence and laced with
the remnants of childhood innocence and naivety that is honeyed milk. Cynical
and jaded, but not so much that he has lost the hope for things like love.
Delightful. Delicious.
Great. Now he's aroused and hungry.
Harry hopes he doesn't accidentally eat Tom mid-way through whatever this was.
He has done it before. He is not proud of it. Though to be fair, he still
thinks its slightly better than his sister's problem in accidentally
impregnating her partners just from something as simple as handholding. Dead,
soulless husks certainly at least don't cry as much as very confused,
distraught and very pregnant individuals- usually males of high standing or
farmers (his sister has a type).
Tom, ignorant of any of his growing cannibalistic desires, pushes their bodies
closer together so they can revel in the almost overwhelming sensations that
buzzed through them. The older looking boy seems entranced, trying to capture
as much skin contact as possible with their clothing still on as he fluctuates
from kissing to murmuring barely coherent praises against bone white skin to
kissing again. Harry moans and pulls the other down so instead of kneeling they
are laying entwined with each other, they hadn't landed in the most comfortable
of positions, but they powered on through any discomfort for better things. The
green eyed wizard's hands were making themselves busy trying to insistently tug
off Riddle's clothing as Riddle himself lazily lets his hands map Harry's
compact form like he's the fountain of all magical knowledge in Braille.
"Please tell me this isn't stuck on you like an actual ghost." He groans as he
tries fruitlessly to tug the clean, pressed shirt out from its tucked in state.
"Why did you choose to dress like a prefect when you split your soul? I mean,
just, why?"
Tom breaks away from leaving lovely little marks decorating the scarring on his
neck to stare at Harry with confusion and growing suspicion. "How did you know
I split my soul?"
"Um," Harry blinked his wide green eyes in calculated deer-like innocence. Tom
narrows his own eyes. "Would you believe me if I said you told me that?"
"No."
He tries fluttering his eyes seductively, he knows for a fact his long black
eyelashes highlights both his porcelain white skin and glowing green eyes.
"Would you punish me then?" He whispers with a demure smile, trailing his hands
slowly up Tom's neck until his fingers run against the short curls at the base
of his head. "If I refuse to speak will you pin me down, put me in your mercy
Tom, make me beg-" Harry emphasizes the last word by tugging at the teenage
Horcrux's hair lightly.
It's working if Tom's heavy panting and dilated eyes are anything to go by.
"Harry." He groans, "I think, I think I'm-"
"HARRY!"
Harry finds himself yanked out painfully from Tom's grip, shivering wet in his
actual body and being shaken by a very frantic potions master. "S-S-Severus?!"
Professor Snape's tensed body seemed to just slump in relief at his chattering
voice. His expression of panic schooled into something less fearful but still
concerned. "Harry," he murmurs lowly, "Are you okay? Do you feel strange or-"
Harry mutely shakes his head. He's a bit in shock from the sudden jarring
mental transition and the sudden soaked state he is in doesn't help matters. If
he wants to be honest, Harry feels somehow defenseless, oddly exposed,
vulnerable.
"Good, that's, that's good." Snape breathes before he hardens his face and oh,
Harry can see the anger now, and he wishes he hadn't shaken his head at all
now. Because right now he has the explicable need to be hugged right now. And
fucked. And then hugged again. While being fed sliced meats and grapes. Okay
so, Harry is still kind of hungry. "Now what were you thinking?!"
"I, uh, well,"
"Can you imagine what it was like, to find you sitting there on your bed,
glassy-eyed and comatose with that damned diary in front of you?!" Snape
shouted, "I knew that there was something wrong with that thing, but I
foolishly brushed it off and actually had the stupidity to put my trust in your
drugged up state of mind! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!"
Harry could not help but curl up in himself defensively in the face of the
professor's anger, he is shivering, and he feels the hot shameful trickle of
tears leaking from his eyes. He misses Tom, he wants Tom, and for some reason
it's like there is a physical gaping wound in his head that needs the soul
possessed diary, mourning the loss of his presence. Just thinking about it
makes Harry whimper a little. Snape, breathing hard after his outburst sees the
sad state Harry is making and just.. deflates.
The older man sighs and wipes some hair from his face as he looks down at the
sniffling child. "I shouldn't have yelled." He concedes softly, "I just, Harry,
you were non-responsive." Snape murmured, moving slowly toward Harry, like any
sudden movement may spook the other. It occurs briefly to Harry that the man
has had experience now with his less than flattering mental states these past
few weeks. He's not sure how he feels about that, how Snape feels about him now
that he's seen so much of him like this. "It took twenty minutes just to
separate that cursed object from your grasp, and that involved showering you
with an ice bath. Despite that, you still weren't responding. I called for you
and yelled, and I couldn't even spell you awake."
Dark eyes looked at green, distraught painted in them, begging him to
understand. And now, on top of everything, Harry feels absolutely awful for
putting that expression onto his most favorite professor's face. The guilt grew
worse when Snape whispered,
"For a moment I thought you wouldn't come back to me."
Aaand there goes Harry's one working heart. Those words, the guilt, the
emotion- absolutely devastating.
"I, I'm s-sorry." Harry choked out, and like a lost child he lifts his arms out
in a silent plea for a hug, "C-could you p-p-please?" It feels like he is so
distressed and clogged up inside that his limbs feel like rust as the effort it
takes to shakily bring his arms rivals the struggle of fresh burns laced across
his flesh. He is not sure anymore if this was because of the whole 'soul ping
pong' thing he had just inadvertently put himself through but if this is what
other mortals feel like when he rips out their souls and stuffs them into
various inanimate objects for fun he has a lot of apologies to make.
Ugh, why was character development or moral lessons always so painful to get
through?
"God, Harry," Snape said in a wrecked voice as he desperately hugged the young
boy tightly. Harry probably didn't even have needed to ask for that hug, what
with the way the potions master was clinging to him, not that he was that much
better. "You do that again, and I'll deduct so many points from Gryffindor that
the red will drain right out of the banners."
Harry choked out some watery laughter. "R-Ron said something similar actually."
"And I'm going to pretend you just said nothing of the sort." The older wizard
said fondly, as he squeezed the boy even harder while Harry clung onto him and
laughed wetly. The young savior isn't sure how long they stayed there, in each
other's arms like that. But as his eyes slowly close from exhaustion, Harry
wondered if maybe, this too could be considered a 'soul-touching moment.'
 
===============================================================================
===============================================================================
Prompt extra
===============================================================================
===============================================================================
 biggerbagofsin said to hweianime :
 i read Btdom, fabtastic btw, and i was really curious on the "conquests" death
has had with other entities. Lmao thanos? The 3 other horsemen? Im imagining
death horseman walking into his "dad" in an orgy with his friends. Sidestory
pls?
"Fuck, I've wanted to do this since forever." War groaned, he was a soldier
right now, with hands dirty, sweaty and filled with blood sullying the perfect
bone white skin of the entity as he pushed them up against a wall. Death
grunted at the impact, not yet used to the tangibility that comes from entering
a more physical plane. He recovers quickly though, and laughs at the
frustration of the violent horseman whose currently trying to tear of the
shadows that made up his clothes. Each rip of the darkness covering his body
revealed an expanse of skin so pale the moon would be envious, teasing the
other before tauntingly hiding itself again as the shadows restitched together.
"Here, let me." Death hummed amusedly, with a mere wave of his hand at his
clothing, his garbs slid off like sand of the darkest night, exposing his naked
body flush against the horseman's own.
"It's less fun this way," War grumbled peevishly, but the entity could clearly
see the lust in the other's eyes as he raked over his bare figure. A calloused,
wet hand dragged itself down Death's chest, nails digging deeply into the skin.
If he was a mere human, he was sure that he would be screaming in agony as the
nails punctured his skin, ripping it open like fabric. Instead Death just
looked down curiously and raised his eyebrow at the strokes of dark red blood
mixing with his own black essence that now decorated his torso.
"Delightful." He drawled.
War grinned, his teeth sharp like knives and eyes burning like the villages
that he'd been set upon just minutes ago. "I thought so."
"I would think the word for it is.. Delicious." Death and War turned towards
the newcomer in their room. A lighter voice than War's deep, rough tenor; it
showed in the almost waif-like model figure who was staring at the pair
hungrily.
"Famine." Death greeted, only the faintest note of bashfulness colouring his
tone, "I.. didn't expect you here."
"For fucks sakes go away." War growled, "No one likes a sore loser."
"Speaking of sore-" Another man walked into existence, tall and broad
shouldered and with a sunken pallor to his cheeks that looked borderline
sickly, "Why was not I invited to this charming party?"
Famine sneered irritatedly. War actually snarled at this point. "Pestilence."
They both said like he was the plague. And well, he petty much was.
The entity of Death stared at three of the four horseman incredulously. "For
the love of all things good, please tell me my son isn't coming or I swear to
god I will never look you three in the eyes for the next seventeen million
years." He finally said.
War groaned, "Come on, I worked hard to woo you! It is not my fault the others
are sex-fuelled scavengers, here to pick up the leftover remains."
"The leftover remains." Death echoed with a raised eyebrow, faint, translucent
shadows were beginning to wrap around his body, slowly threatening to cover his
nude form.
"And I hardly count amassing a large scale city apocalyptic war as good
'wooing'." Famine pointed out while very crudely tilting his head to hungrily
admire the entity's semi naked body.
"Yeah, I was planning on getting someone to literally cough out their heart for
you!" Pestilence insisted eagerly. Then he added with a mutter, "Now if only I
could find a way to make sure it comes out of the throat intact.."
War stared at his fellow horseman, then at the entity of death. Death shrugged.
"They're both pretty romantic to me."
"But I did it firsssst." War whined, his hands wandering to grip tightly at the
entity's hips. "Do you know how hard it was to get you to even go out with me?"
His eyes glow a bloody red, as determination and the willpower of soldiers
across battlefields burn inside him, "I've wanted you the first time you
slaughtered the Kzdilils way back then, so pretty in their blood as you
swallowed their souls whole."
"Well, I wanted him the moment he came to congratulate me on my first plague!"
Pestilence shouted angrily, moving closer toward the other horseman in an
embrace with Death, only to pulled back by an equally irate horseman of famine.
"Fuck you both, I've wanted him the moment he introduced himself to us." Famine
hisses, "I deserve to have him first."
And that's when the argument spiraled down to 'Nu-uh's and 'You're a fucktard's
and 'Why I oughta's. Just baseless name calling really. And Death has a sudden
spike of empathy for his Horseman counterpart slash almost son of his. He feels
like he should be worried that his potential paramours are all acting like
children but he has slept with Loki and Lucifer, who both not only are childish
and almost uncomfortably similar to Chaos but both had some serious daddy
issues. Seriousdaddy issues.
"Um." Death spoke up awkwardly. "I just wanted to have some fun before the next
galaxy explodes guys." Because lately the paperwork has been building up
exponentially since Space got the absolutely stupid idea of allowing certain
universes and people the potential ability to cross over into other alternate
universes. The entity has a feeling he won't get the opportunity to get out and
about as much in the next few millennium or three and this was so not how he
envisioned spending the last of his temporary freedom.
Also, seriously, dimension hopping? As if time travel wasn't enough. And who
does that doctor prick that lives inside a police box thing think he is?
Fucking confusing is what he is.
War, Famine and Pestilence stare at him like they had almost forgot he was
here, which, incredibly insulting especially since War was literally holding
him in his arms so tightly, a normal demigod would have succumbed to some
serious internal bleeding.
The annoyance must be showing because War frowned slightly at Death, worrying
his lip before deciding to take a swift coarse of action- ravaging his mouth
even more senseless than usual. It was brutal and messy and Death is pretty
sure he just swallowed something slimy that is definitely not a tongue in
there, but he melts into it all the same, attacking back with a frenzied
fervour as the fight inside him ignites.
War excites battles with his presence, and it seems a battle was about to be
brought as the two other horseman made some very infuriated and indignant
noises as they watched, effectively ignored.
"We'll show you fun," Pestilence says forebodingly as he is suddenly right next
to Death, his voice, hoarse and sickly rasps in his ear and suddenly Death
finds himself feeling dizzy and lightheaded. Some sort of fever, an incredibly
strong one to even remotely affect the physical form he's constructed. It goes
away quickly enough, though almost immediately another wave of it hits him as
Pestilence nibbles at his ear and making him shiver at the heightened
sensitivity in his slightly weakened state.
"You won't be able to stop craving us once we're done with you." Famine purrs
on the other side of him, apparently not willing to be excluded from this. He
bites playfully at the curve of the other, pale long neck stretching out to
best accommodate the horseman.
Death closes his eyes as he savors the feeling of all three Horsemen touching
him like this, each trying to outcompete the other and the winner clearly being
the entity in the middle. "Fuck," he says empathetically, "Are you all
serious?"
"Deadly," they all say, and grin at each other, current hostility forgotten in
favour of their inside joke.
Death stares up at the ceiling and wonders how he always manages to snag such
absolute children as his partners. Violent, homicidal, possessive children.
Then War slashes open his shirt in the same manner and ease someone rips off a
silk tie, revealing his body's scarred and muscled torso. Forget the ceiling,
Death suddenly has a new favorite thing to look at.
Of course, not to be outdone, the other two began stripping too, showing off
their bared human skin. Clearly when they found their hosts they had a certain
set goal in mind, because while one looks middle aged and sickly, and the other
is gangly and thin, they are both clearly well fit despite themselves, and with
faces that many would deem attractive.
Violent, homicidal, possessive and extremely good looking children, he amends
because praise is deserved where praise is due.
"I wish you two both chose to meet on Xycba." Pestilence complained, "There's a
disease there that would have made my reproductive organ-"
"Oh don't be disgusting," Death chuckled goodheartedly, still admiring the
human forms. "Besides, if you and Famine had asked beforehand like polite
little Horseman we could have arranged a different place to rendezvous."
"And miss out on your surprised expression?" Famine murmured, kneeling down and
nuzzling at Death's taloned hand affectionately. "Never," The Horseman hissed
vehemently before taking a long lick, from claw to wrist, his eyes leering up
at the powerful entity. "I want to see everything of you, devour everything you
will deem to give me."
"Besides," Pestilence adds, his mouth still terribly close to the other's ear,
breath hot and sending fevered shivers down Death's neck, "I'm Pestilence,
disgusting is just something I do baby."
"God that shouldn't sound so hot but it doesssss." Death groans, tilting his
head back and letting Pestilence grab at his shadowy tendrils of hair while he
continues murmuring dirty plague-filled whispers to him. Famine is practically
worshipping his hand, a hungry tongue demonstrating the potential it could have
in.. other aspects.
War claims another bruising kiss onto Death, rough hands running down his
previous bloodied marks on the other's chest, exploring Death's physical form
like a man on a mission. "Don't forget about me beautiful." He grunts out,
tweaking Death's nipples harshly and reveling in the breathy gasp he gets from
the action.
"Wouldn't.. mm.. fucking.. dare." Death pants with a faint smile, eyes
fluttering closed with pleasure under the three harbingers of the apocalypse's
attentions. Of course, it would be terrible awful of him not to offer some
reciprocation. He may be the reason all things die but he isn't a monster.
"Shit." Pestilence swears as Death blindly gropes for the Horseman's erection,
stroking it hard and rough, borderline painful, not that it sounded like it was
the way the pleasures groans kept spilling out of the other.
War is gripping hard on Death's hips, hoisting him up singlehandedly from the
ground as he furiously begins rutting against him, letting the friction of skin
against skin spark alight with electric sensation.
Famine, greedy for more, grabs the entity's shadowy hair and pulls him
downwards till Death is eye-level with his crotch. Death doesn't need any
verbal prompting, he knows exactly what the other wants as much as the horseman
knows exactly what he craves right now.
There's a lot of.. things that happen after that. Much of it involves inhuman
flexibility, swearing, some seriously depraved, filthy words and a not so
healthy dose of blood being spilled. Finally the high thrum of energy and heat
gradually simmers down between the four, and it dissolves from rough, violently
passionate fucking to something just barely softer, sweeter.
Death arches his back off the floor as three mouth lavish his body
worshipfully, he can feel the long fingers of Pestilence's human body lazily
stretching inside him as Famine and War are carefully exploring every ridge and
curve of his musculature. The entity feels as ravaged as any land with the
misfortune to come across one Horseman, much less all three. Ravaged and sated
and content.
"Famine, kiss me." He demands, voice rough with overuse.
Famine chuckles, his throat equally as wrecked, "Of course your highness." He
mocks but eagerly complies anyway, pushing himself up to press his chapped lips
to pale ones. Famine kisses like a starving man, licking every corner, making
sure to take every taste, every breath, every thing he could take.
"God you're so bloody hot." War openly leers while stroking his cock, "I cannot
believe we haven't done this sooner."
"Well believe it you fuckers." A new voice growls, his voice dark with promised
destruction, "Because you are never going to do this again if I have anything
to say about it."
Immediately everyone tensed in the room, almost as one they turn to look to the
empty back corner of the room to see another man, another incredibly
unimpressed man. Tall, suited and with a face that looks sharper than a blade,
Death the Horseman aka the Grimmest Reaper stares back. "So," He says slowly,
primly, almost gentlemanly if there wasn't such obvious visceral rage lurking
under the word.
Pestilence gulped as he realized where exactly his fingers are currently
violating under his fellow Horseman's gaze, slowly, like the action would have
gone unnoticed if he managed to move at the speed of a dehydrated snail, he
tried pulling out. Of course, because he was Pestilence and not something like
Luck, the Horseman was immediately caught the moment he tried to shift his
fingers back. The Grim Reaper's gaze flickered to the movement and the whites
of his current human eyes darkened to a foreboding storm cloud grey.
"I hope violating my father was worth it, because I'm going to kill you dead
now."
War will deny it to this very day but he did not 'meep' thank you very much.
The entity sighed as they three Horsemen backed away from him like he was a
cursed object, quickly he sloppily covered himself with shadows, enough to
cover the general form of his nudity. "Grim." He greets in exasperated
embarrassment.
"Father." The Reaper responds back, looking pointedly away from Death, choosing
to focus his glare on his comrades. His traitorous, perverse, father-fucking
comrades.
Oh they will pay. They will pay in blood and bone and whatever else he can pull
out of them.
"This was.. I did not expect you." Death says lamely, he is gratified his
humanoid form does not naturally allow emotions such as mortified humiliation
to color his face in pink blushes because he would be an unattractive scarlet
right now.
The Grim Reaper raised an unamused brow. The younger Death incarnate was always
like this, the moment he was created there was always an air of noble
condescension around him like he was the father of the two instead of the other
way round. It amused Death, he had always thought his most favoured Reaper,
Horseman, son, was rather endearing in his behaviour. Now, caught in a very
compromising position, he does wish that the other would stop making him feel
like a chastised teenaged mortal.
"That makes both of us." The Pale Horseman mutters.
Theres a suffocating silence that hangs in the air. Like a guillotine above
their heads and no one knows when it will drop. Even War looks ready to make a
strategic retreat the first chance he can get.
Death, because he knows he has the advantage, and that the Grim Reaper won't
incur anything too scathingly permanent to the other three Horseman, decides to
make the first move. With an awkward cough, the entity draws all the attention
to him. "Well." He starts, because he is fairly sure there is no social
protocol in any species, planet or universe that would save them now, "I am
going to, uh, go."
"No. Wait!" Someone calls out desperately, Death does not waver to see who it
is. They were big boys, they could handle it. Preferably without him.
With a little wave he lets the shadows consume him completely and flees to
somewhere less filled with tension. Like Hell. Nothing too bad happens there.
 
Chapter End Notes
     Okay, so after the next chapter or so I'm going to temporarily focus
     on something else but I will be accepting like, any prompts and shit
     you throw at me at the time and posting like a bunch to make a filler
     chapter instead. This prompt extra at the end is an example of what I
     kind of expect and stuff. I won't do all the prompts, just the ones
     that interest me. Wow that sounded really mean. Sorry.
     So uh, PROMPT AWAY.
     ...
     Is that how this works?
***** Death's spiders *****
Chapter Summary
     The one where Death angsts and gets molested by some spiders.
     (There really is no in between in this story)
The one where Death angsts and gets molested by some spiders.
(There really is no in between in this story)
Snape slowly loosened his hold around Harry, who had wept till fatigue finally
caught up to the poor boy. Carefully, gently, the professor moved the other, so
he was lying comfortably on his bed. Harry gives a soft, raspy huff once his
head hits the pillow before nuzzling his face against the thing, his eyes are
rimmed red and faint lines of dried tears were still visible. Despite that, the
young wizard still looks unfairly incandescent to the professor, just lying
there breaks all his resolve, and the man cannot help but gingerly press a
light kiss to the sleeping boy's forehead.
"Goodnight Harry," The Slytherin whispered, "Don't worry I'll make sure this
never happens again." He swears, and he means every word.
He's failed the boy once by not checking up on this mysterious diary, despite
his own suspicions, and now because of his inaction Harry had been almost
ensnared by whatever dark magic was peppered into those pages. Who knows what
could have happened if Snape hadn't checked up on him? The man is just glad he
will never find out. With grim determination, the potions master levitates the
accursed object and walks out of the room with it, fury in his eyes.
He has failed Harry once. He will not do so again.
===============================================================================
Harry wakes up, groggy and eyes bleary. He wants to immediately go back to
sleep, for like, another solid two hundred years. Maybe three.
But wakes up he does, pushing himself to a more upright position on his bed,
the wizard groans in despair as his muscles start to complain at the movement,
oddly stiff and unreliable. Harry feels like his whole body has been pummelled
by Mr. Dursley's fat fists what with how tender he feels. He looks down and is
actually surprised he wasn't covered in bruises. He does not even bother with
the theatrics of waving his hand to summon up his clock, and when he does
finally manage to read the blurry numbers and make sense of them, he groans.
It's only been about an hour or two since Harry fell asleep.
He needs to tell Tom, in no uncertain terms, that while amazing as their little
semi-tryst was, the consequences both emotionally and physically were far too
traumatizing to continue that sort of behavior on a regular basis. Even once a
week could be too much, maybe fortnightly. They'll discuss it.
With that thought decided, Harry strains himself to lean over the bed to find
the diary he must've dropped during the chaos, only to find it not there. The
boy mentally shrugs and checks out the other side of the bed, but there too had
no diary in sight and Harry could feel the creeping sensation of dread and
panic tiptoe up his chest.
He flings his blanket off him, ignoring the aches of his body, and frantically
begins searching for Mr. Riddle, for Tom. "Shit, shit, shit, where are you? God
fucking dammit where the fuck-" Green eyes glowed bright and enraged as the
whites of his eyes threaten to go black. His human heart is beating furiously,
and Harry is going to claw it out with his bare hands if he doesn't get that
soul-embedded diary back. He needs it. Needs Tom.
It takes fifteen agonizing minutes searching his room like a madman until Harry
finally admits it's not there. It takes an extra three to come to terms with
the realisation.
He has lost the diary.
He has lost Mr. Riddle.
Oh god, Harry feels like he's going to be sick.
Or murder someone.
Painfully.
===============================================================================
Snape heaves out an exhausted huff of frustration and stares at the damned
diary, looking innocent and untouched while surrounded by ash and debris and
various liquids. If he hadn't thought the blasted thing was suspicious before,
this more than confirms it. What objects are acid proof? Crazy, cursed, dark
objects that's what.
Annoyed, he opens up the book with a flick of his wand, determined not to even
touch the thing just in case he contracts whatever curse that Harry had been
inflicted with. Maybe if he wrote into the accursed book, he could have a
better idea of what transpired, or hopefully how to properly ground the thing
to dust.
What Snape saw made burst into cold sweat.
From the top to the bottom, the opened pages were filled with Harry's name.
Writing was moving, fading, rewriting itself. It was terrifying.
Harry?                                                     Harry!              
                            Harry what happened?
                      Harry?              Where are you Harry?                 
          Harry!      
                 
                                          Is this because of last night?       
  Harry!                 
Harry.
              HARRY!                     What is going on?!            Harry!  
                      Harry.                            Harry.           
                  Harry.                   Dammit Harry where are you.        
           
                                                        Harry don't leave me. 
          HaRRY.      Why aren't you answering Harry?!              y
 
        HaRry.                                               Answer me Harry,
talk to me!       H
Harry.
                                        HARRY,                                 
                        PLE                         arry    ASE
H                                                  HARrY.         I'm starting
to feel scared HaRry.
   ar                                                                   H     
                                                                  HaRrY.
      ry                        Harry.                                  
                   ry                                                  Har    
                    HArrY                    hARRY                    y
haRRy.               HarRy.
                                              WhEre Are yOU HarRy?             
                ry
                                  arr                                          
                    HARRY.
H
    HArRy.                                               Harry.               
  Har                                    HarrY.     ry
                                                                              
                    Harry.
DoN’T leAvE mE              HArRY.
                                                                              
  y                                    Har
          Harry.                       HarRy                                  
    HARRY.                                       Harry.
arr
                                                                 HArRy.        
                                harRy.                      r
      HarRY.                        h r y                                      
                  DoN’T leAvE mE
 
                     HaRry.             harry.                         ry      
    HARRy.                                        a
 
HA
     rr
        Y.
"Merlin." Snape breathed in horror. The book isn't just cursed. It's alive.
The moment that thought registered in the potions master's mind, all frantic
writing ceased. It was as if that thing had realised it's been opened.
Suddenly all the ink fades, disappears from the man's eyes, only to be replaced
by new letters, slowly forming into words, and then finally, a sentence is made
out.
'You're not Harry.'
The book lurches, in a blink of an eye, it is hitting the opposite wall with a
useless thump. Snape, panting from across the room, is gripping his wand so
tightly it's a wonder the wood has not cracked under his hands. "Merlin." He
repeats, because there are no words, no words to comprehend the hideous dark
magic that must have gone into that monstrous object.
How could he have been so blind? How could he have not noticed the foul smell
of tainted magic? How could he ever have let that, that thing near the boy?
The professor waits anxious for a moment, his heart pounding and skin sweating,
yet nothing happens. It seems despite the monstrous implications inside those
pages, a book was still a book. Thank bloody Merlin for that.
Snape warily, unsteadily approaches the diary. He doesn't want to touch it; he
doesn't want to be even near it now that he knows how dark it is. The black
mark tattooed on his forearm itches incessantly underneath his robes and it
only confirms to the professor that this thing must go.
With a quick swish and spin of his wand, Snape darkly muttered a curse.
Something stronger than an Incendio, more controllable than a Fiendfyre and
most importantly, something that would drag the parasitic life from that
disgusting book in a slow and excruciating manner. It was the least he could do
for how that thing has violated Harry.
Fire spouts out of his wand, hot and burning and the colour of, ironically,
blue ink as it aims itself toward the fallen book with the precision of a
homing missile. It covers the diary slowly, the movement more akin to a gel-
like slug than the quick burn of fire. The potions master watches the whole
thing with growing satisfaction, preferring to take his time in inflicting the
pain as the book begins to start fraying at the constant, torturously steady
burn. The whole thing is taking longer than expected, but Snape didn't feel too
worried, after all, there would bound to be a few protective enchantments
defending the wretched object but eventually it too would be forced to give way
to the painfully slow, continuous curse.
Then the wretched thing started to scream.
"TOM!" Harry cried out, the door to his room slamming open as if the book's
wailing had summoned the young wizard into existence. Though, to be fair, with
the noise the diary had begun making it would have been rather impressive if
the boy had managed to sleep through it unawares.
'Like a baby wailing for its mother.' Snape snidely thought, glaring bitterly
at the slowly burning book. 'Absolutely pathetic.' Of course, he does not say
it out loud. The potions master would be a fool if he failed to see how
distraught Harry looks, how far the boy has fallen into the diary's sinister
spell. "Stay back Harry." He commands.
"Like fuck, I will!" The green-eyed boy shouts, his voice is still hoarse from
his tear drizzled sleep, scratchy and croaky yet Snape quickly pushes that
useless thought away as he tries to move the flame ridden diary away from the
angry Potter boy. "Severus, what the bloody hell are you- stop it- you're
hurting him!"
"Him? Him?!" Snape's nostrils flared, and he spitefully lifted the flaming book
just above Harry's physical reach. "Potter, this thing is not a him, it is
an it! Do not be blinded you stupid, foolish boy, that thing can't feel pain,
it has no feelings, and certainly none for you."
"You don't understand," Harry pleads desperately, changing tactics quickly and
grabbing onto Snape's robes like his life depends on it, hands tightly clinging
on the black folds of the professor's robe as he looks up at him beseeching.
The older man takes a second to mentally curse his life, and how even in this
messed up situation he can't help but wish the boy was clinging to him in a
completely different context. "Tom isn't some evil artefact; he's a soul,
trapped in his own making. He has self-awareness and is capable of feeling. If
you destroy him, you'll be taking a life."
Snape looks down at him, angry and unmoved, "No," He rejects, it is obvious
from the tightness in his jaw and around his eyes that he is barely restraining
himself from lashing out, "It is you who doesn't understand Harry. I am trying
to protect you, living or undead, that thing is leeching off you."
"He is not-"
"He is!" Snape booms out, harshly grabbing the boy's petite shoulders and
shaking them none too gently, "Can't you see Harry? That thing doesn't have
feelings for you; it is using you, manipulating you for whatever gains it is
trying to earn."
"That's not true!" Harry shouts back, furious and defensive as he hears such
insults against Tom, worse, against himself. He is powerful and old, he would
not have been blinded so easy.
Of course, because what Harry lacks physically, he more than makes up for in
magic, so the boy extends his arm, and Snape can feel the harsh, insistent pull
of the book in his invisible grasp. Snape glares down at the younger male, but
he has nothing on the acidic fury that stares back up at him. "Let. Go." The
potions professor grits out, punctuating each word with a strong surge of magic
that pulls the diary further away from Harry.
Harry, still groggy and weak from before, grinds his teeth and clenches his
fist in the air as he viciously tries to summon the book closer toward him.
"You. Let. Go."
It's the most tensely ridiculous tug of war ever, and Snape hates the accursed
book all the more for making him part of it. The diary in question is shaking
violently in mid-air under the two wizard's intense battle for possession,
still smoldering slowly even if the flames have been subdued slightly by all
the concentrated magic. The older man can only hope he can just keep the
stalemate up until either Harry tires or the book finally burns to ash.
Of course it takes less than a minute for the Head of Slytherin to realize that
neither option was going to happen. While the older man had skill and finesse
and experience over the boy, he's aware that none of it really matters in this
context other than raw magical strength and youthful endurance, something which
unfortunately, Potter has in spades. Harry too seems to come to the same
conclusion as him, slowly relaxing his posture into something more cocky and
relaxed as he waits for the inevitable. Clever infuriating boy.
But of course, Snape wouldn't have managed to survive this long if all it takes
is a bit of clever to bring him down.
The potions master carefully schools his expression into something annoyed and
strained, looking all for sorts exhausted and drained as he carefully moves his
wand in small, calculated movements that could be easily be mistaken as
trembling. Harry doesn't catch on, the boy's not the best at picking up social
cues after all, and Snape isn't afraid to press that to his advantage. But with
smaller wand gestures, the spell he plans to cast becomes weak and
unpredictably unsteady, a measured if unfortunate risk.
"Exilium malum!"
Harry goes rigid at the unexpected shout, and it's enough time for the spell to
take effect, for the diary to vanish completely from their gaze. It's not
destroyed, even if the wand movements had been done perfectly Snape is sure the
spell wouldn't have been strong enough for such concentrated dark magic, but it
would buy some time away from Harry's person, and he'll gladly pay that price.
Though the older man does sort of wish, the price wasn't the infuriated
betrayal practically painted on Harry's face.
"Professor," Harry says, dark and angry and foreboding. "Where is the diary?"
"Hmmm? What diary?" The potions master asks perfectly innocently. Like the book
hadn't just disappeared by his own hand.
"Professor," Harry snarls, but Snape can hear the high pitched panic beginning
to bubble at the edges. The boy sounds desperate, like an addict needing his
fix. It's deplorable and pitying and enraging at the same time. "What did you
do?!"
Snape narrows his eyes, and hardens his features, "I did what I should have
done weeks ago. I did what any proper teacher, any responsible adult would do."
Harry grits his teeth, waiting, "It's destroyed." He lies, "Obliterated."
He had expected shouting, maybe a few crude, explicit responses that Snape
would let go because he understands what it feels like to be told the person
you love won't ever love you the same way. Granted, Lily was an actual human
being who hadn't actually led him on or tricked him with a curse, but the core
of it should be the same. Probably. He expected many things, but he hadn't been
prepared for the sheer and utter grief and miserable pain on Harry's
expression. Tears filled those big green eyes as the boy chokes back a sob. The
potions master looks worried at him, but he stays his distance, trying to look
unrepentant and unforgiving. It's harder than he thought.
===============================================================================
"You bastard." The boy choked out. There is an irrational fear that spikes up
in the younger wizard, like having an icicle shoved down his throat, except the
complete opposite. The fear comes hand in hand with the rage, and Harry does
his best to not resort to bodily harm.
"Harry, it was a cursed book. What you are feeling isn't real." The professor
chides, and this time Harry doesn't even stop himself from throwing the closest
thing, some textbook, at the other wizard. He misses of course. Though he's not
sure if that was on purpose or because his vision is too blurry to aim
properly.
"Fuck you!" He screams, "I love him!" And woah, even Harry has to pause at
that. Love? Is this what it is? It must be so; he has never felt anything as
good as what Tom makes him feel, has never felt so wretched as the idea of
never seeing him again. The more he thinks the word over in his head, the more
right the word feels. And, from the way the professor is staring at him like he
had just punched him in the gut, it's not like he can back out from the
admission now.
"I.. love him.." He repeats in a quieter voice. The words feel a little too
heavy on his tongue, a little off, a little too stilted, but it must be true.
It explains everything. "I love him."
Snape slaps him across the face.
It's not too hard, nothing like Vernon Dursley who prefers a closed fist to an
open palm, but it's sharp and stinging and what the actual hell?! "What the
hell?!" Harry says out loud because the sentiment needs verbalizing. Loudly.
"I never want you to say that again," Snape spits out, he's trembling and
looking visibly shaken, ill, nauseous, "Not like this, never like this."
"... Severus?" Harry finally questions tentatively, unneeded and unhappy as he
was about the slap, it did help clear his mind enough to notice the state his
professor has worked himself up to. "Severus, I, maybe you need to sit down, I
can get some water an-"
"The diary is riddled with compulsion charms." The potions master blurts out.
He's pointedly not looking Harry's way, eyes firmly to the ground and his body
hunched over like he is genuinely upset over the fact. It doesn't matter
though. Harry is far too busy reeling from his words.
Denial was the first thing on his lips. "You're wrong."
Snape laughs, but there's no humor in it, just resigned bitterness. "I'm not
Harry." And then, because the man is nothing but sharp edges and cutting
remarks, he has to add, "I'm not like you."
That stings. Badly. But Harry pushes it away to make room for answers. He juts
his chin out defiantly as if he isn't crumbling inside. "But,"
"It's barely been two months Harry. Don't you think it's a little strange? Two
months and you're admitting you're in love when I remember distinctly that you
once told me that very adamantly that you need to be six months into a
relationship before you could even consider that word."
Harry pauses at that, furrowing his brows in contemplation. He does remember
something like that, they somehow got onto the topic of Percy one day and Harry
may have gotten worked up about how uncomfortable people are just casually
throwing around the 'L' word and how he hates the pressure and why is gooey-
eyed even a term because that is completely disgusting and he just doesn't
understand.
Okay, so maybe he does completely remember that. With embarrassing clarity.
Still, he's fucking Death. Compulsions, even high levelled stuff, shouldn't
really work on him to such an extent unless he has some incredibly debilitating
handicap other than his mortal meat suit. Then it hits him.
The soul shard in his forehead. Tom Riddle's fucking soul shard. Inside. His.
Head.
MOTHERFUCKER.
"I'm sorry Harry." Professor Snape says softly like he genuinely is sorry, and
the kindness of the act stings more than if he had been callous about it.
Harry makes a hollow sound, far too quiet and bitter to be called a laugh but
it's the closest thing to describe it. He feels numb. "Why are you sorry
Professor?" He rasps, "It seems I'm the one at fault here."
"Harry..."
"Could you, could you leave me for the night? Please?"
The potions master hesitated, clearly unhappy at leaving the boy for the nth
time but reluctantly understanding his need for space. He of all people knew
there were some times where you just needed to be left alone. So the man nods
in acceptance, if a little regretfully. "Fine. Just, just know that my door is
always open for you." He moves toward the door, opening it before looking back
at the young wizard, still beautiful maybe even more so with the atmosphere of
tragedy surrounding him. It's almost unfair how magnificent he looks, like he
is constantly being painted by the most godlike artists with the finest brushes
and pastels. So alluringly unearthly, it was hard to imagine the boy growing
old. It was hard to imagine sometimes the boy was real, not some divine entity
sent down from the heavens. With a softer voice, Snape couldn't help but add,
"Always for you."
Harry doesn't hear him.
All he hears is the door clicking shut and the harsh, pounding echo of his own
mind.
A compulsion charm.
It was all a fucking compulsion charm.
Harry was aware that by taking over an actual human body, he too was more
vulnerable to... everything really. He's watched Order, as a human, get drunk
with only one pint, Life experiencing PTSD when she enlisted in the Tryadian
Intergalactic War, Knowledge had lived a whole life bedridden with illness,
Love had gotten Stockholm Syndrome thrice, and on one memorable occasion- Space
had accidentally given someone else Stockholm Syndrome.
That one was actually quite a humorous story. The two got married in the end.
Not the point though.
The point of it was, Harry had been charmed by Mr Riddle's words, and not in
the consensual way. And knowing that, knowing he had been so easily used for
the teenage soul's whims, how his mind was even capable of being pierced,
cracked open and played with… it's terrifying in a way no promise of physical
injury could hit him.
He feels so stupid and cheated and betrayed. This has never happened before,
not like this, never like this. No one tricks Death and gets away with it for
long, and yet he wasn't Death, not right now, not really. He was Harry Potter,
and he had been played the fool.
It is devastatingly humiliating.
And not in the manner where he wishes the ground to swallow him whole, or to
flee the scene, or to close his eyes and turn back time. No. His mind had been
tricked, his body had been cursed, and his heart had been swayed, all for a
sodding laugh, a passing amusement as the broken soul waits for his stupid,
insignificant plans to flower. This was the sort of humiliation
that burned. This was the sort of humiliation where he wants the other to beg
on his knees, apologies on his lips, tears in his eyes, and nothing but utter
regret and repentance in his mind. This was the sort of humiliation that
demands vengeance in blood and calls upon the dark fires of destruction.
This was the sort of humiliation that makes him want to rip out his stupid
human heart and cry.
Harry doesn't rip out his heart, but if he does cry into his pillow at night,
it isn't pathetic, it is simply fulfilling step one of his plan for vengeance.
Yeah, that's what it was. And if he continues doing so for a few nights, well,
that's just him being a perfectionist. Yeah, that's what it was.
===============================================================================
Snape closes his eyes firmly shut as he halfheartedly tries to block out the
muffled noises of heartbreak in the next room. The feelings he has on this
matter for Harry is.. complicated. For one thing, he is still so angry at
Harry, furious at him. It's an incredibly selfish emotion, but just remembering
Harry's words, defending so earnestly that, that thing... well it brings up an
unnervingly vague sense of deja vu.
Of course it's not just inexplicable anger that boils inside him, searing his
bones and burning his flesh till numb. There is the obvious ugly coloring of
jealous fueling him too. Equally as selfish an emotion, but Snape has never
really thought himself as a selfless man anyway. It just gnaws at him. Harry is
smart and gorgeous green-eyed, and there's something in him that is so
inherently charming that even the reclusive centaurs come out from their
forests to have a chance to exchange words with the young wizard. And yet the
boy in a span of mere weeks has apparently given his heart, in a way he's never
even hinted to the Weasley prefect, in a way he will never give to Snape, to
that accursed fucking book.
The potions master wants to blame it on the compulsion, he so badly wants to be
one of those naive and incompetent dunderheads and believe in Harry, believe he
would never have fallen for a dark object, not this quickly, not this hard. But
the thing is, Harry is strong. Maybe not physically, but magically certainly,
though maybe not necessarily in this context, and mentally definitely. He has
admittedly, a varied and slightly dubious taste for his choice in company but
Snape knew the boy had a good sense on who to pull closer into his circle and
politely, subtly pushing out those who have no place there. Or not so subtly if
we take Smith as an example.
The point is, a compulsion charm can do many things, but even the most
powerful, the darkest, the most taboo of charms cannot grow such genuine
feeling, cannot connect souls, cannot pour devotion into a heart, not unless
something was already there to let it.
And there was something there. Snape knows. That something had haunted him for
years before he finally laid it to rest. Whatever Harry might've felt
originally was genuine enough, it would have to be, the seed of curiosity,
intrigue and maybe even attraction to the odd little book that could write
back. Loneliness could be a factor. A need for attention when isolated. Or even
something more deep seated that came from his abusive upbringing. Harry had saw
this book and must've latched on eager and excited and pleased. The cursed
thing must've used that against him, encouraged him with silver dipped words
drugged in compulsions.
And that's where the selfishness of the jealousy comes in. Because that
twisted, desperate affection may have bloomed under less than consensual
circumstances, that the compulsion had matured Harry's feelings too fast,
evolved them too quickly in a whirlwind of sweet nothings until Harry could not
even notice a single thing wrong, that maybe it had all been entirely dark
magic that had shaped the boy's emotion into some faked facsimile of love that
never was.
But what if it wasn't?
And it's that simple question, with all its possible answers, every one worse
than the last, that makes Snape burn with envy.
And then, finally, in the darkest, cruelest recesses of his mind- the place
where he can feel nothing as he kills his fellow man and betray those he had
held dear, he wishes. Like bright butterfly wings, temptingly beautiful as it
is poisonous, his dark wishes would flicker through his mind. Wanting the boy.
Imagining it could have been him to have enraptured him so, how if he had the
balls, the willingness, the chance, maybe he could have been the one to...
No.
Snape growls at himself as he pushes such evil thoughts away from the forefront
of his mind. He cannot vanish them away completely, he is not strong enough,
but he is also not the same wretched man as before. So he pushes the vile
fantasies and the rage and the jealousy and the hurt and sympathy, he pushes it
all down until he chokes on them, and he heads toward his room, hoping to wash
the taste of his emotions down with a nice bottle of Firewhisky.
And he leaves his bedroom door ever so slightly ajar, just in case.
===============================================================================
In the middle of the night, Harry sits up suddenly, struck with revelation.
"Exilium malum." Harry repeats slowly. "Expel evil."
The diary wasn't destroyed. It just moved.
===============================================================================
Snape swore, his robes a mess, his hair frazzled from being tugged on in
frustration and panic.
"Accio cursed diary." He tries. Of course nothing happened. He's used more
advanced spells to naught but still. When he had exiled the wretched object out
of his room he knew the location might have been different to what he'd had in
his mind, but he also knew that the spell kept it restrained to at least the
empty classroom he had transported it to. Which means that either he had fucked
up the spell or someone had taken the damned thing.
Either way, the diary was gone.
===============================================================================
"Fifteen minutes, then I'm bringing you back to the dorms." Snape declares
before walking out of the bedroom, leaving Harry and Ron with their privacy.
They look at each other awkwardly, and its only until they could hear the faint
sound of another door in the quarters closing, then they felt secure enough to
talk. "So." Harry says, "I hear you almost strangled Malfoy again."
Ron laughed at that, "Yeah, well, that prat had it coming."
The green-eyed second year shot his friend a sympathetic look, "Talking smack
about Dumbledore again?"
"And 'mione."
"I'm surprised you didn't succeed in your strangulation attempt." Harry says
wryly. Ron chuckles again, but the humor in it is as weak as the mood
surrounding them. Not much has been going right since the diary had disappeared
from Harry's grasp. Another attack almost immediately after the fact only
cemented the betrayal Harry had felt, the fact the victims this time wasn't
just some Ravenclaw known as Penelope Clearwater but also a very unlucky
Hermione, was like the cement had been set viciously aflame and poured over
Harry's still healing wounds.
Because he wasn't daft okay? He knew who the true Heir of Slytherin was now. He
knew exactly who he had been played the fool by and he knew exactly what he was
going to do the next time he sees the prick.
Apparently, Hagrid was being blamed for all this mess due to some sort of
similar incident that had occurred back in the day, back when Tom frigging
Riddle and the half-giant had both been students of Hogwarts. The poor half man
had been taken into custody by the Minister of Magic who had the unfortunate
last name of 'Fudge.'
To make matters worse, Dumbledore had been stripped of his title as Headmaster
at the same time, thanks to Mr Malfoy. Well, to be completely fair, while the
timing could have been done better the reasoning for the man's dismissal was
rather understandable and not at all unexpected. The man had let like, eight
underage children under his supervision get petrified by a giant mythical and
unknown monster for the past year- Harry was honestly surprised it took this
long to call the guy out really.
However, while the ex-Headmaster didn't make much difference to Harry
personally, it certainly made an impact in the school. With the old wizard
gone, fear had spread throughout the castle as never before, the comfort of
twinkling blue eyes and oddly knowing smiles obvious in its absence. There was
barely a face that wasn't tensed in worry, and laughter, when there was any,
was hollow and strained.
They had been present at the time both Hagrid and Dumbledore were forcibly
removed from the premises, hidden under the invisibility cloak where they could
do nothing but watch the whole mess unfold in front of their eyes. Again, Harry
was not greatly affected but Ron, well, that poor boy was shaken to the core.
They had just lost Hermione to the basilisk barely a few days before, and the
young Weasley was forced to lose not only another friend but an idol he had
looked up to as well. It would have been hard not to feel some sort of
survivor's guilt from that.
Harry can't blame him. Not with his own guilts welling up inside him,
threatening to brim to the surface of his thoughts every moment.
With the freckled boy alternating from guilty hopelessness and burning
determination to figure out the clue in Hagrid's last words of 'following the
spiders,' Harry has ended up taking what little of his own time accompanying
the redhead. This resulted in a terribly jealous Draco who in turn, responds by
lashing out by very vocally supporting Slytherin's beast with a prejudice only
a pureblood could bring to the table. This, coupled with the fact that Mr
Malfoy, Draco's father, was a reason for Dumbledore's abrupt departure,
obviously caused whatever somewhat semi-friendly camaraderie they had begun to
share, to crumble like a badly made biscuit.
And like that wasn't bloody enough, it seemed that apparently, Ron and Draco's
relationship had more weight in the Gryffindor-Slytherin house dynamics than
Harry had anticipated because that also soured faster than milk in the
microwave.
This whole thing was all just one big shitshow of the highest order really.
"So.." Harry says, breaking the thoughtful silence between the two, "You find
any spiders yet?"
Ron frowned, "It's the weirdest thing mate," he complains, "I have been looking
all over for those disgusting things, and usually I'm pretty good at picking
out the ugly buggers but I haven't seen a single hairy leg of one."
"It doesn't help that everyone's being chaperoned everywhere either." The green
eyed wizard sighs in understanding. "I wanted to see if I could talk to Firenze
and the other centaurs about Hagrid's last words- they occasionally converse
you know, and maybe 'spiders' was some sort of star code or something-"
"Merlin's hairy balls I hope so."
"-but Professor Snape is pretty much my personal bodyguard." He finished
apologetically. It was true. The moment classes end, it didn't matter which
class, the potions professor would be waiting right outside with or without a
small group of students behind him to drop off first. If it had been another
time, another context, Harry would have been secretly thrilled at such personal
attentions from the man. Now of course, when their relationship was on some
rather rocky waters since their argument, Harry would have cut off a finger to
avoid spending any indeterminable amount of alone time with Snape. Just seeing
the potions master reminds the wizard savior about his mistakes, his
foolishness, and worst of all, his misplaced faith.
Super awkward.
Ron snorts, completely unaware of the complex tangle of thoughts that
parasitizes Harry's mind, just the way Harry prefers. The young redhead already
has his own share of grief right now, and while their problems overlap a lot,
there are quite a few obvious.. conflicts of interest that would arise if Harry
decided to pour out his feelings.
Like how he indirectly got Hermione petrified, and the Groundskeeper and
Headmaster removed by letting the Heir of Slytherin go free because he had
fallen for his stupid charm. Compulsion or otherwise. Also the Heir of
Slytherin was a magic diary. And he had climaxed numerous times to it.
Yeah... That would go so well.
"Snape's a damn git," Ron spits angrily, because apparently the man has been
egging on Malfoy and making his own crude remarks about the situation in the
classroom since the incidents. The wizard saviour didn't believe it the first
he heard the redhead complain about it, what with his rather unabashed bias
against the Slytherin Head. However, well, even Harry is aware that the potions
master tends to put up certain fronts and facades, each thornier than the last.
"I mean, yeah, don't get me wrong, I agree with how well he's watching over you
and all but.. I fucking bloody hate his guts."
"Understandable." Harry murmurs in agreement. Honestly, he's inclined to
believe that Snape has his reasons, especially considering their last blowout
was in concern over Harry's wellbeing. But fakery was what got him into this
mess in the first place so the green-eyed child can't help but feel wary at the
two-faced farce. "I am.. not fond of the way he is acting in the classroom
lately either. Professor Snape has always been harsh, I admit, but his behavior
in Potions has developed to incredibly unprofessional standards."
"You can just say he's been a right arsehole Harry." Ron says, more amused than
irritated now. Harry smiles in response to the genuine jibe at his choice in
language.
"He's been a right arsehole, then." This time Ron cannot help but giggle in
disbelieving delight.
"You said it! Oh Merlin, Harry, you have made my day you have. I shall have to
treasure the memory for the rest of my life."
"I do swear Ron." The green-eyed wizard sighs in mock annoyance. Though in
retrospect he does keep most of his more vulgar thoughts inside his mind more
than anything. He likes to think that he can keep it a little child-friendly
around here.
"Yeah but you're always so damn posh about it all the time ya ponce." His
freckled friend teased, "Bout time you start learning some proper slang round
here."
"Good gravy heavens," Harry replies back in an exaggeratedly scandalised
upperclass accent that sent Ron into a fit of laughter, "Why I never, heaven
forbid, my father will hear about this!"
"Stop, stop, you're killing me mate!" Ron gasped.
Harry grinned, glad that he has gotten his friend to finally loosen up to his
usual cheerful self. "You did start it."
"Did not."
"Did so."
"Did not."
This went on for a little longer until the loud rapping of the door halted
them. "Fifteen minutes are up." Professor Snape sternly declared from the other
side. "Hurry up Weasley; I have got better things to do than accompany you
back."
"Greasy git." Ron muttered darkly but he stood up and stretched from his
position anyway, "What I wouldn't give to punch him in his ugly mug."
"Hey," Harry defended half-heartedly. Ron grinned anyway.
"Yeah, yeah, you would rather I not."
"Well, I didn't say that." The green-eyed child smirked wryly, "I was just
going to say Professor Snape's face isn't as unappealing as you make it out to
be."
The young Weasley made a face, "I think I would have rather you told me not to
punch him."
Harry put his hands up in surrender, "Oh no, if what you say he says is true,
punch away my friend, punch away."
"And that's why you're the best, mate." Ron laughed.
"I know," Harry says smug, only feeling a pang of guilt at the insults he'd
given. "And Ron?"
"Hmm?"
Harry gave his friend a meaningful look, "I've healed. Completely."
Ron just shot him a quizzical look, "Uh, congrats?"
The wizard savior made an annoyed despairing sound before trying to force the
other to understand via even more intense eye contact. "Everything about me is
now in top condition. Every. Thing." He even went so far as to waggle his
fingers suggestively, tiny sparkles flickered at the action.
"Oh. OH."
"Yeah, oh," Harry repeats dryly.
"Weasley!" Snape shouts, banging on the door loudly.
"Coming sir!" Ron shouts back. Next to him, Harry whispers in a lower voice,
"I'll meet you outside your dorm at eleven."
Ron wisely doesn't say anything and just nods.
===============================================================================
"Gotta say mate, this invisibility cape of yours- super convenient."
"I know right?" Harry whispered as they shuffled awkwardly under the cloak
through the quiet halls. "Though I have to admit that this whole walking thing
would be way easier if you had your own."
"Oh yeah," The raven haired wizard could hear the eyes rolling, "Let me owl
up my mysterious rich friend and get them to order up a spanking new
invisibility cloak."
"I'm just saying, it would be nice not to feel your warm heavy breathing down
my neck" Harry complains quietly, then absentmindedly he added, "I guess it
runs in the family."
Ron halts mid-stride, causing Harry to almost trip and potentially wake like,
thirty magic portraits who would have gone into screaming fits. He and the
paintings were getting better with each other, but the paintings were like tiny
hamsters- you needed to avoid startling them at all costs lest they lose their
collective freaking minds. "Dude." He hisses disapprovingly.
"I'm sorry," Ron hisses back in a manner which suggests he wasn't really that
sorry, "I was too busy trying to obliviate myself from the
absolutely disgusting thing you just implied."
Harry blinked a few times before he finally got the memo, then he just coughed
embarrassedly, "I, uh, didn't mean for you to hear that?"
"I hate you."
"Well- hey look we're reaching the forest edge. Stay here. I'll go see if I can
get Firenze."
"I still hate you." The Weasley mutters as his horrible friend ducks out from
under the cloak. "So much."
"Oh, you'll get over it." Harry says dismissively like he hadn't just mentally
scarred his friend. Just for that Ron kicks him in the shin. Somehow it hurts
more because he's invisible. "Fucking hell!" Glowing green eyes glare at the
general area the kick had come from, "I will get you back for that." He
promises.
"Worth it." Was the smug reply.
Harry scowled again but decided not to waste any more of the night they had
left, with a slight limp, the boy set off into the woods. It takes him roughly
ten minutes before he locates the nearest centaur on patrol, and even then it
takes a few minutes longer to get close enough for the half man even to hear
him. The green-eyed boy may have better night vision than most humans in his
current body, but there was no getting out of the fact that he wasn't exactly
top physical condition to traverse an enchanted forest in the middle of the
night to catch up to a creature with literal horse legs.
"You there!" He calls out between heavy breaths. Thankfully the centaur heard
him and turned around to finally notice him. It's one of the younger ones the
green-eyed boy has seen in passing once or twice.
The young creature's eyes widen as he easily recognizes the smaller figure. "L-
Lord Pluto!" He stammers, clearly not used to patrolling alone what with the
way he's twitching at every little thing. "What, what brings you here on this
starless night?"
"I am here to request Firenze's help," Harry says firmly, "Please, bring him
here as quick as your hooves can be."
Now that he's been given a more specific task, the younger centaur straightens
his back and nods with a confidence that wasn't there before. "Of course Lord
Pluto." He bows slightly before dashing off into the forest, eager to complete
his task.
It doesn't take long before Harry can once again here the crunch of hooves over
leaves, and he mentally chides himself for not getting the young centaur's name
to thank later. "Lord Pluto!" Firenze greets enthusiastically, "The stars had
hinted of an unexpected meeting, to think it was you!"
"Firenze," Harry welcomes with a smile, "I am sorry for taking so long to visit
and under such... ill-fated circumstances."
The centaur's face turns somber at the reminder, "Ah yes, Hagrid had told us
about the situation right before he had been forced out. Is this about the
beast?"
The entity shrugs, "Sort of, it is more about bringing my friend a sense of
closure and accomplishment. But yes, it is related to the beast. Hagrid told us
something about following the spiders before he had left and I was wondering if
you had an idea of what he meant."
Somber darkens to something a bit less sympathetic and far less comforting.
"Spiders?" He asks, even though it is clear he has heard what Harry had said,
and even clearer he was unhappy about it.
"Spiders," Harry confirms for him, just in case.
Firenze nods his head thoughtfully, his expression still far from happy, more
resigned than anything. "I know what he meant," he admits, "there is an
acromantula that rules over the spiders known as Aragog. If you had followed
the spiders they would have led you to his hollow."
Oh. My. Fucking. God. Hagrid that fucking son of a bitch.
Who tells children to go meet a goddamn spider king? Isn't Ron his friend?
Seriously, what the fuck? Why was none of the staff here normal? Or at least,
not psychopathically wrapped with vague riddles and head games that would
possibly end with your demise? Was that too much to ask?
And it's not like they could turn back now. Ron's expecting green-eyed and
Harry has watched enough real life to know that guilt and feelings of
uselessness and inadequacy usually led to bad things to an individual's psyche.
So no, it's not like Harry could tell the other boy he's already solved
Hagrid's clue without him and they should shove off, but then again, it's not
like it's completely appropriate to knowingly lead his arachnophobic friend to
a giant spider nest either.
But then again, maybe it would help him get over the fear. Aversion therapy and
all that.
But the danger..
Nothing Harry's sure he can't handle actually. Honestly, now that he's thinking
about it, he's fucking Death. What was he even worried about? A sudden
awareness of what pain actually feels like tends to do that to you apparently.
"Lord Pluto?" Firenze prods tentatively, "I've had the forethought to bring a
hot beverage and a blanket, do you wish to use them? Not that I'm implying that
you are so weak to-"
Harry laughed, "Firenze, this is the one time you should judge me by my
appearance. Yes, a blanket and a hot cuppa sounds absolutely smashing."
The centaur preens at a job well done. "May I?" He asks, gesturing to the
items.
Harry nods.
Firenze steps into his personal space, taking the small but warm looking
blanket off his back with a little flourish before taking his time wrapping the
thing around Harry's shoulders. As he was fussing with it, the centaur
murmured, "Forgive me if I'm overstepping my bounds Lord Pluto, but you seem...
burdened?"
The boy gave him an amused smile, "Meeting a spider king in the middle of the
night does that to you." He jokes, but Firenze surprisingly does not laugh. If
anything he looks a little pained.
"I didn't mean, I meant," The half man gives a frustrated little huff, it was
very horse like. Sometimes it's hard to remember that, as elegant and noble
centaurs as a race are, they live in rather primitive housing in forests and
therefore are not exactly the epitome of poetry that they like to make
themselves out to be. "You deserve better than whoever had the gall to hurt
you."
Harry sharply inhales, the night air is freezing, and it feels like it scrapes
down his throat. "How did you-" He starts before he stops himself, choosing
instead to glare at the night sky with indignation. Fate was not going to hear
the end of this, he silently swore. "That is none of your business," He says
tightly, embarrassed and irritated at his mistake, his stupidity being brought
up once again. "And I would prefer if you would drop the subject now."
Firenze looks down, chastised. A hoof kicks the dirt almost petulantly. "I am
just saying, that person is a fool to hurt you."
The green eyed being closes his eyes and shakes his head self loathingly, "No,
I was the fool." He says, and before the other could protest, Harry gives him a
wane smile, "But it is very nice of you to say Firenze."
"Anyone would devote their whole lifetime just to have a fleeting moment of
your affection." The centaur declares confidently. Harry's smile turns devious
as his cheeks redden and his eyes glow appreciatively at the praise.
"And would you happen to be part of anyone?" He asks curious and suggestive,
taking a step closer to the bared chest of the handsome creature.
Firenze flushes, confidence evaporated under the heated question in the younger
wizard's gaze. "I.. wouldn't say I was nobody."
"Mmmnn…" Harry hummed appreciatively as they moved a little closer to each
other. "I certainly wouldn't say that either."
The centaur immediately gives in, leaning down to push his lips gently against
the other's own. It was very sweet, if a little timid, but Harry patiently
coaxes the half man to relax into it, wrapping his hands around his muscled
neck as best he could to tug him down encouragingly further. Firenze mirrors
the movement; hands are far bigger than Harry's own and the entity loves how
the creature's hand practically envelops his thin neck, enough so that his
thumbs could absentmindedly play with the lobes of his ear, making him shudder
against the feeling.
"You're so.. responsive." Firenze says wonderingly.
The wizard smiles, "Thanks." He responds, before moving his hands further
upwards from where they had rested previously. His palm gently molds against
the curves of the side of the centaur' face, feeling the curve of his
cheekbones, the heat of his skin, and the off feeling of an uneven shave that
tickles under Harry's hand.
Firenze doesn't move, doesn't dare to, his eyes blown wide in disbelief and
breath held back in tentative excitement. "You are gorgeous," Harry murmurs,
"So wild and majestic at the same time. I want to watch you run free for miles
for eternity and yet I want to cage you up for just as long."
"Do it, my lord." Firenze chokes out. He's breathing heavily now, whether it is
from fear or lust his heartbeat beats fast with the anticipation. "Whatever you
want, and I will give."
"So subservient," Harry croons, smattering kisses where he can reach, "So
loyal, even for me."
"Especially for you." The centaur swears breathlessly. "You are beautiful
milord, you are not the stars that watch on but you are an inescapable
nightmare of the sweetest torture."
"Such pretty praises from your lovely mouth." Harry's eyes darken until it's
nothing but black oil and radioactive green rings, the entity can hear the
other's pulse ratchet up faster at the sight. There's an exhilaration, a rush
that comes from tangling with death, of managing to foolhardily run headlong
into it and coming out unscathed, and Firenze can feel that high like a drug as
he literally looks at Death in the eyes. Not the lovely Harry Potter, not the
refined Lord Pluto, but pure unadulterated Death. It's a feeling you could die
for. "Come join me. Let go of your place in Fate's domain and join mine. Join
me." Harry hisses, and his voice sounds like it's been overlaid by an echo of
something much darker. It's the voice in your head that tells you to pull the
trigger, to end it all, to take that final step over the edge. It's faint and
full of cruel sympathy and so terribly, terrifyingly seductive with promise.
It would be so easy to bend and break and get down on his legs to worship the
being before him. The centaur almost does, wavering visibly as Harry surges up
to give him a demandingly beseeching kiss. Soft, cold lips are pushing against
his own insistently, as Harry licks and nibbles into the inside of the centaurs
mouth with an expertise that belies his physical age. Small hands are running
down his bared torso, expertly mapping out every contour and muscle, and the
centaur can feel his own much larger hands do the same.
There is a sense of eroticism there, almost poetic if it wasn't so perverse.
Roughened hands of a beast that grope such a delicate, moonlit body of a young
boy under the shadows of the night, looking so easily fragile, breakable were
it not for the knowledge of knowing what truly resides under the pale skin.
There are parallels in convoluted parallels in this picture, enough to make one
question which one is really the beast, and which is the innocent child being
led astray?
Firenze bends and bends, but he does not break, "Lord Pluto," He chokes out
rather undignified, as he pulls away from the searing kiss that threatens to
complete burn his lungs.
Death looks smug at the sight, "Your answer Firenze?" He asks lazily, lightly
tracing the major artery of the other's neck with his nails.
"I would give up anything for you," Firenze says, soft and subdued. "My life is
yours to take. My soul is yours to use."
The smile on the young boy's face was both angelic and predatory, "Just what I
wanted to hear." Death croons, he leans in to seal the deal with a classic kiss
but finds himself pushing at air. "Huh?"
Firenze has taken a step back, looking nervously at the ground. His hind legs
shift side to side, and his tail flickers anxiously. "But I just cannot give up
my faith. I am truly sorry milord, but to disregard everything I've been taught
as a young foal, to abandon my race, that is something I do not think I could
do."
There is nothing but the void of silence and darkness between them now. The
centaur's ears twitch warily as his keener senses go on full alert, as if only
just then truly aware of the immense power of the being before him now that he
is unsure of where he stood in the other's eyes. Said eyes had gone completely
black, save for the rings of green that were glowing so brightly they could be
easily mistaken for stars in the night. The darkness around them has gotten
even darker, what's once was a comforting presence now felt choking and ominous
to the centaur.
"You would tease me like this?" Death asks, the voice of Harry Potter barely
heard over the hissing echoes of his ghoulish voice. Firenze instinctively
takes a timid step back, hunches his shoulders, flattens his ears, anything to
look smaller, more submissive. "Feed me these half-truths, and pretty little
promises, only to step away at the very last second?"
"I'm so sorry Lord Pluto," the centaur apologizes profusely, "I didn't realize
what I was doing, and you were right there, and it was all so fast,"
The entity does not respond, instead choosing to stare Firenze down with his
eyes. His eyes which, had terrifyingly gone completely black save for the
smallest pinpricks of green that burns through the darkness. Firenze can hear
himself panic, his breath shortening, heart beating down his rib cage anxious
to escape, fear has won over excitement, and it consumes him as he realizes
that this is no longer a game to play with. This is his life, and it is
currently on very shaky ground. "M-milord, please..." He begged soft and shaky.
Death blinked, long and slow like one of those lazy cats in the summer sun, and
it occurs vaguely to the centaur that the boy hadn't blinked his eyes once
since they've changed color. "I think," He finally says, low and dark and
horrifyingly foreboding, "There's been a bit misunderstanding."
Now it was Firenze's turn to blink dumbly. "I don't, uh, um?"
Death squinted, "You thought I was going to kill you didn't you?" It sounded
accusing and the layers upon grating layers of voices overlapping made him
sound haunted and indignantly fierce.
"I-I'm sorry?" Firenze hastily replied, a little confused at the dissonance
between expression and tone. The child containing the being of all things dead
sighed.
"No, no," The younger looking one shook his head, his voice dripping with
cutting and icy disapproval. Firenze had the uncontrollable urge to bow his
head like a shamed student. "I'm the one who should apologize. I am not mad,
well not really, this is just what I sound like at a particular point."
The centaur snapped his head back to attention and just.. stared. "What?"
"My true voice is... difficult for mere mortals to hear, let alone try to
vocalize. Think of this as a more unfiltered, crude version of what I would
usually sound like." Death explains with a calm patient demeanor that
completely contrasts with his voice that sounds like it was the unholy product
of a mass genocide and an insane asylum. Though as he keeps talking, the
centaur can hear his voice slowly but surely reverting back to the more crisp,
clear English accent Harry Potter usually takes on. "I don't usually push
someone like this," He adds apologetically before embarrassedly admitting, "I
guess, maybe, you were right. About me not feeling so great about.. getting
hurt. And I am sorry I took that out on you like this."
"...No worries Lord Pluto." Truth be told, it stung a little bit to realize he
was essentially a rebound to the being, but Firenze was far too relieved not to
be struck dead right now. "If anything I should apologise for backing out like
that, or at least leading you on in such a manner while you were emotionally
uh, overcompensating."
Death waved the excuse off dismissively, "I think we can both agree that what
is done is done." Death closes his eyes and sighs, before opening them to
reveal a normal set of bright green eyes. It's not just the eye color, the
moment he reopened his eyes it was like something shifted back in the world,
something heavy and more had taken a step back, leaving the mysterious,
enigmatic Harry Potter behind. Harry smiled wryly, "It is just as well, since
I'm fairly sure with the mood I'm in it would have ended with us either failing
to attempt intercourse, which would have been physically impossible since I'm
restricted to this limited form, or me literally choking you with my tongue."
"I, um, don't understand how you could-"
"It's a thing I like to do." Harry vaguely answers. To be frank, it's one of
his preferred forms of taking a life, an intimate kiss of death that could
either be the most painfully orgasmic feeling for the victim or just downright
torturous, depending on the day. Of course, explaining the exact details of how
it would go down would probably scar the poor half-horse creature for life.
Hell, even explaining it to people who actually get off to being asphyxiated
might pull back. "Don't worry about it."
Firenze still looked incredibly concerned over his inadvertent near death,
which really, probably means that Harry just dodged a bullet there. It's not a
good move, politically, to create powerful spiritual beings who feel resentful
about dying so quickly just for a quick fling. It also meant the centaur had no
idea how serious the entity in him would take it when he said his life was in
Harry's hands.
Harry blamed this on the increasing divorce rate these days. It's like, no one
takes these sort of vows seriously anymore. He kind of gets it, sometimes there
are certain contexts and specific situations which warrant a need to break such
oaths. But people should realise that words have a meaning, and that promising
your life away can actually mean something to others.
He'll have to lecture Firenze about this later, when the wound is less fresh
obviously. Because while Harry doesn't want to be a victim blamer here- he
acknowledges that a lot of this mess was due to him putting unwanted pressure
on the poor centaur- but the creature was kind of asking for it. You don't plan
to dance with the devil without being prepared to be tripped up after all.
Tripped up.
Screwed over.
Oh my god.
"Shit!" Harry swore, "Ron's going to kill me for this!"
===============================================================================
Ron sneezed as he tried to maintain what little warmth he could get. Invisible
the cloak may be, but properly insulated it is not. "I am going to kill him."
He swears fervently under his breath to the freezing night air, "I'll kill him,
I bloody will,"
He has his head is poking out, floating and visibly shivering from the cold
night's air for the last however long it's been, just in case his wanker of a
friend forgot where he was. Though at this rate, unless Harry had gotten
horribly eaten by something, Ron was going to give up this whole thing and find
new friends.
"Ron!" Harry calls out.
"M-Merlin, are y-you s-s-serious?!" He complains as Harry is trotted up on top
of Firenze with a warm-looking blanket wrapped around him and a cup of
something steaming.
Harry grinned, "The soup's for you."
The Weasley still side eyed him irritatedly but seemed otherwise satisfied.
"Oh, well then- wait did you make out with Firenze?! MATE."
The green-eyed boy just kept smiling as he hopped down to pass his shivering
friend the cup. Honestly, Ron was getting really good at figuring out stuff
like that for some reason. The kid has a surprisingly impressive gaydar. Last
week he accidentally outed some seventh year Ravenclaw. Poor girl. All she
wanted was to get the last blueberry muffin. "I'm not even going to ask how you
knew that."
"Your shirt is ruffled, and your hair is a mess, but it's not like, dirty,
meaning stuff happened that didn't involve you face planting into a bush or
something. Your skin is pink, but that could be cuz of the cold- however, your
mouth definitely looks like it's been smashed onto something, very
enthusiastically actually. And your neck looks like what it looked like the
morning after you snuck into Percy's dumb private prefect bedroom." Ron
immediately listed.
"What are you? The Sherlock Holmes of second base?" Harry muttered sulkily as
he self-consciously tried to neaten up his appearance.
"The who?"
"Never mind, you'll get it when I give you your present next Christmas."
Ron sighed, "Harry.. I want to say I'm excited.. but I have the worst feeling
that I'm getting a book for Christmas."
"You are. Surprise."
"Shite."
Firenze coughed, breaking the flow of the banter and becoming the main focus of
the two young boys, "If you are quite finished my lor- Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley,
I will accompany you to Aragog's lair."
Harry looked up at the centaur and patted his flank, "Ah yes, thank you Firenze
for reminding us. Would you mind terribly if Ron and I-?"
The creature gave the entity a soppy, devoted look that had Ron wanting to gag.
Really, did Harry have to bloody seduce everything with a penis and at least a
three-year age difference?
"For you, I will gallop through fire." Firenze declared proudly, "Hop on! We
have a bit of distance to carry."
"How does he know my name?" Ron questions as he hefts himself up onto the
centaur behind Harry, "Are you actually dating this guy? Who the hell is
Aragog?" Then with a really soft and embarrassed whisper, "Is he, uh, still
horse.. down there?"
"I meet up and converse with the centaurs from time to time. Your name has come
up in passing." Harry replies as Firenze begins a quick trot across the forest
ground. "We are not dating due to different interests and lack of time and,"
Harry coughs awkwardly and multiple times which the young Weasley assumes means
whatever Harry says next is going to be the real reason why they weren't
dating, "different anatomical bodies."
"Ah." Ron bloody fucking knew it. Horse cock. Heh. He wonders if they actually
attempted- nope, obliviate, OBLIVIATE.
"Aragog is a giant spider!" Firenze blurts out suddenly, and Ron immediately
feels bad for talking literally behind the poor, mortified half-man's back. But
then the guilt is replaced swiftly once the centaur's words sink in.
"How giant is giant?!" He shouts alarmed. Because clearly, that should have
been the first question he asked. Bloody hell, if it is any bigger than his
foot…
"Well, his young minions are the size of small cart horses," Firenze continues
conversationally, apparently eager to move on from any conversation relating to
his genitalia, and completely oblivious to the wide-eyed terror emanating from
his red headed passenger, "But Aragog is much larger. Hagrid had once described
him as the size of a baby 'elephant,' whatever that is."
Harry glanced back at Ron with worry. As he should be. Because Ron was looking
at the fast-moving ground passing by like he was contemplating how injured he
would be if he just fell off right there and then. "Uh, you've met Aragog
personally yes?" He asks warily. Harry isn't fond of spiders as a whole
himself, but he certainly won't be too badly off by it. His friend however, may
be a bit of a problem.
The galloping centaur slowed down a bit as he pondered on his answer. It was
obvious he was picking his words carefully, this did not bode well. "Yes.. But,
we centaurs, as a community, do not, well, approve of the acromantula's
presence in this forest. This sentiment is very mutual."
The young wizarding savior closes his eyes and massages his forehead. "So what
you are saying," He translates, annoyed at this stupidly complicated story he
has inadvertently jumped into, "Is that you both are feuding for the land and
hate each other."
There's a pause before, "…Yes."
Ron groans like the admission has physically pained him.
"You probably won't be joining us then?" Harry questions, already knowing the
answer.
"…Apologies." Firenze says sheepish, but quickly adds, "But I shall be waiting
a short distance away and will swiftly arrive at your call should you require a
hasty escape from, um, being consumed."
Now Ron sounds like he is being stabbed in the stomach. Multiple times.
Harry pats him comfortingly on the knee.
It's not very effective.
===============================================================================
They're in some sort of cave, dug out thing. It's covered in webs and spiders.
Harry would not list it anywhere near best places he's been in this world so
far. Admittedly not the worst. Still. It's not the interior decorating that's
the problem, it's the inhabitants.
Turns out, Firenze wasn't exaggerating about the size of the spiders. Or
Aragog. Jesus Christ.
Aragog was huge. However, past the size, Harry noticed that there were hints of
gray hidden on the spider's hairy black body, and each of his eyes was glassy
and milky white. Aragon wasn't just huge. He was old. And blind.
"Who is this?" He clicks to the smaller (in comparison) spiders.
The spiders all click and chitter excitedly as they throw out various answers,
clearly they have recognized who Harry is. To his thinly veiled disdain, and to
Ron's relief, the spiders had all but ignored the Weasley in favor of crowding
around Harry. The raven haired boy had to shudder at all those hairy legs
brushing up against his body in a manner meant to be enticing.
'It could be worse,' He thinks to himself, as one very bold leg nuzzles up his
inner thigh. 'It could have been to follow the slugs.'
"DESIST." Aragog orders, much to the relief of Harry.
"Mate," Ron whispers at the side of his mouth, "You kay?"
"A little violated," Harry admits, "But I'll deal."
"I am so glad you are here," His freckled friend says fervently, "so glad."
"Because I'm spider-nip?" He asks dryly.
"No." Ron is not meeting his eyes. "Okay, yes."
"Ta for that," Harry mutters before turning to face the giant eight-legged
creature before them. "Aragog!" He calls out before Aragog calls him something
like 'Death Lord' or 'Prince of Darkness' or 'Hell King.' He's not sure how to
explain that away to Ron if he did. "I am known as Harry Potter here, me and my
companion are friends with Hagrid!"
Aragog does not answer for a bit. Harry dearly hopes Aragog is one of those
giant spider kings that are intelligent enough to read behind lines.
Surprisingly enough, there are not many giant spider kings out there for him
but the ones he has met, its a fifty-fifty chance that they can quote Oscar
Wilde or they're dumber than a chipped kettle. God, he hopes Aragog can quote
Oscar Wilde.
"Hagrid has never sent any… humans into our hollow before." Was what the
acromatula finally settled on. Harry internal breathes a sigh of relief.
"Hagrid's in trouble," He explains, "He's gone to some sort of prison?"
"Azkaban." Ron corrects in a squeaky voice. Apparently even in his biggest
nightmare, the boy had to be a smart arse.
The boy rolled his green eyes, "Yeah, that place. Anyway, they think he set
Slytherin's beast onto the school."
Aragog clicked his pincers fearfully; the sound multiplied a hundred fold by
the other spiders surrounding them. It was intimidating, especially with the
echo of the cavern making things even worse, but it was clear the noise was out
of concern than malice. Even Ron did not look as sick as Harry expected. Still
looked pretty ill though.
"But that was years ago," Aragog clicked fretfully. "They thought that I was
the monster that dwells in their secret-filled chamber. They thought that
Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free."
"You… didn't come from the Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asks warily, and Harry
wants to smack him. Aragog looks equally as incensed.
"Oh my fucking god Ron." Harry snaps before breathing out very slowly. Deep
breaths. Deep. Breathes. It is not Ron's fault all wizards are idiots. It is
not Ron's fault all wizards are idiots. It is not Ron's fault all wizards are
idiots. "Slytherin's beast… is a gigantic mutherfucking snake."
"Oh." The redhead says thoughtfully, "Huh." He says again. And finally, "That
makes way more sense."
"Also, a traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was just an egg and him, only a
boy," Aragog added. Harry feels like Ron told him something about the half-
giant getting a random dragon's egg last year. Ron clearly remembers it if the
face he pulled was any indication. Jesus, how many eggs does Hagrid get from
strangers?! "Hagrid cared for me, hid me in a cupboard in the castle, fed me
his scraps. When I was discovered, and blamed for the death of a girl, he
protected me. I have lived here in the forest since. Hagrid still visits me.
Even got me my wife, Mosag. He is good man. He is friend."
"That's.. nice?"
Harry is very proud of Ron for being so polite, despite literally facing his
worst fears. Go Ron.
Aragog clicks his pincers in agreement. "Yes. It is."
There's a lull in the conversation. It seems the spider has overused his
vocabulary for the day. The young Weasley nudges his friend and shoots him a
pleading look, Harry immediately understands. With a smile, Harry claps his
hands with the finality of a smarmy businessman sealing a shady deal with some
poor naive sap. "Well, this has been a very fun time for us all, but it's late,
and we should go… Why are you guys creeping closer?"
"Go?" Aragog says slowly. "I think not…"
"But, but, but," Ron stutters. Harry is frowning disapprovingly, not that the
old spider could see it.
"I will not allow my sons and daughters to harm Hagrid." The large spider
clicks, "But Hagrid told me a story once, about how some human managed to get a
beautiful creature as his mate by stealing her water skin. And what father
would not want their children to have the best mate possible?"
Harry wants to bury his face into his hands. It figures the spider probably
doesn't know Shakespeare, but he knows the lesser known stories of the Selkie
maiden. Fucking Hagrid. "And my friend?"
"Pleasedon'tmakemehavesexwithspiders, Pleasedon'tmakemehavesexwithspiders,
Pleasedon'tmakemehavesexwithspiders, Pleasedon'tmakemehavesexwithspiders,
Pleasedon'tmakemehavesexwithspiders." Ron is chanting relentlessly.
Aragog does a full-bodied jerk which could be construed as a shrug, "When fresh
meat wanders so willingly into our midst, how can I deny it?"
Ron stops his frantic chant, eyes wide. But then he shrugs as well, "Eh, better
than the alternative."
Harry doesn't answer. Instead, he grabs Ron's hand and bolts out of there, "RUN
YOU MORON, RUN!"
"FIRENZEEEEEEE!" Ron helpfully screams at the top of his lungs, the redhead has
always had a larger lung capacity and it proves incredibly useful now.
The centaur bursts through the bushes, with Bane right beside him. "Pluto!"
Bane shouts, his muscular arm reaching out to grab Harry, and, in an amazing
show of strength, hefts the small child onto his back mid-stride. Harry has to
mentally fan himself a little. Damn.
"Did he just call you-woAH!" Ron yelps as Firenze does the same. His question
is easily forgotten as the two centaurs galloped quickly through the forest,
escaping the hordes of spiders through a series of leaps and twists and other
incredible displays of physical prowess. It was frankly, incredibly hot. He
even caught Ron admiring Firenze and Bane's form once or twice, apparently
intrigued at the way their musculature allowed such flexibility and agility.
At least he's not that traumatized over this then.
It's about twelve minutes in that the trees finally started to thin out and the
group can at last see the flat lands outside the forest area. The centaurs dash
evened out into a light, fast-paced trot and soon enough they halted to a stop,
reaching the edge of the woods. Ron whooped loudly in relieved victory, Firenze
even indulged the young boy and reared up on his hind legs to make the scene
even more dramatic. The Weasley laughed at that.
"Firenze.." Bane says disapprovingly, clearly still with his hang-ups about
dealing with wizards and witches. The dark haired centaur though pauses as a
small hand runs through his thigh mane.
"Oh, let my friend be indulged," Harry murmurs, "He has just faced his own
worst fear, and that deserves some pampering don't you think?"
"Of course milord." Bane demurred. For stepping down so easily, Harry rewarded
the centaur with a chaste kiss under the crook of Bane's neck, relishing in the
shiver he has sent through the larger body.
"Harry!" Ron admonishes, apparently having the worst timing in the world.
Firenze is also watching the two, looking oddly both wistful and bemused.
Apparently almost dying from fraternization changes their relationship dynamics
to something a little less romantic in nature.
Wait. Is Harry getting friend zoned?
Shaking off these thoughts, he puts on a cheeky smile for his redheaded friend,
"We all have different ways to relieve stress." He says enigmatically.
"Yeah well," His friend mutters, "As long as you don't relieve stress with me…"
Harry made an exaggerated gagging noise as he dismounted Bane, patting his
flank in silent thanks before making his way to the redhead. "Please, with the
exception of your sister, you are the last Weasley in your generation I'd
consider relieving stress with."
Ron, very rudely, flipped him the bird in response as he got off Firenze's
back, "Cheers to that mate."
"Speaking of cheers," Harry turned to the two centaurs, "You have our utmost
gratitude Firenze, Bane. Thank you so much for helping us."
"Yeah!" Ron piped up, "You guys are the best!"
"It was our pleasure," Firenze replies gracefully.
"Farewell milord and human companion." Bane stupidly says as he bows. Ron
raises his brows at that, while Harry tries to glower the centaur out of
existence. Realising his mistake, Bane hastily backtracks back into the forest,
followed by a serene Firenze.
When Harry looks to the side, he can see Ron's eyebrows still firmly stuck
upward on his forehead. "Milord, really Harry?"
"It's, uh," The raven haired wizard wracks his head desperately trying to think
up an excuse but is saved by, of all people, Ron himself who just shakes his
head exasperatedly.
"Mate, no offence, but I don't want to hear about whatever weird shit you and
the centaurs wank off to when no one's watching."
Of course, with excuses like that, Harry isn't exactly sure if he should be
feeling glad about this alternative either. "Ron!" He splutters, scandalised.
Ron is what, twelve? Thirteen? How does he even know about stuff like that
without access to technology or films or whatever constitutes as the internet
in this time period?
Oh Jesus Christ, is this Harry's fault? It feels like it is very much his
fault. He has officially corrupted a child. He feels dirty.
Ron, the prick, just laughs at his friend's shocked embarrassment, "Harry, oh
Merlin, your face!" He wheezes. Despite wanting to protest more, and question
Ron about how sex education works in this community, Harry holds off, for now,
to ask something much more important first.
The green-eyed boy shifts awkwardly before starting to begin their slow walk to
the castle. Ron immediately follows suit. "You feeling okay I gather then?"
Harry asks in faked nonchalance.
In reply, Ron shrugs, "My biggest fear isn't being murdered by spiders anymore
at least," The young Weasley then pulls a sour face at him, "though I'm not
quite sure how to feel about that since now my new biggest fear is being
sexually assaulted by them."
"I feel like that should be my biggest fear." The green-eyed boy replied dryly.
"Either way, I'm gonna murder Hagrid." Ron vowed, "'Follow the spiders' my
arse."
"Well at least we know now he's not the Heir of Slytherin for sure."
Ron rolled his eyes and scowled, "Yeah, because growing a giant arse flesh
eating spider in a cupboard is such a great alibi."
"Hagrid is a pretty shit guy in that respect yes," Harry agrees. Because while
the half-giant is a pretty nice fellow all in all and certainly has an
admirable love for under-appreciated creatures, it does not change the fact
that his ability to rationalize and awareness that he lives in an environment
filled with tiny, vulnerable children is incredibly fucked up. Like, those
giant spiders just live there, twenty minutes away from where they all sleep.
Get your shit in order Hagrid, seriously. "But technically innocent in this
context."
"Yeah." Ron reluctantly agreed, "Ain't gonna stop me from giving him a piece of
my bloody mind later."
"Get in line buddy."
***** Death's basilisk *****
 The one where Death meets a Basilisk.
 Or alternatively, the one where Belynda (variant of the German word that
roughly translates to beautiful serpent) the Basilisk meets the Romeo to her
Juliet
 Alternatively to the alternative; the one where Tom Marvolo Riddle is pretty
much Paris from Romeo and Juliet, except Paris never did the do with Romeo. Or
got eaten.
 Or alternatively to the alternative alternatives; the one where Harry finds
himself a reluctant Romeo in the middle of a very messed up scene where Juliet
is a giant basilisk and Paris is a half-souled dick. He's fairly sure this
wasn't in the original writings but Lockhart cries like a lil bitch so it's
alright.
 OR the meta-alternative; the one where every Tom Riddle x Harry shipper hates
the author and threatens to burn me down
So, Hermione woke up.
Everyone was absolutely gobsmacked. Harry kind of hates how stupid every wizard
and witch here seems to be. After all there was still some of the antidote left
over that they didn't use on Headless Nick just for this very bloody reason.
And though that was used mainly for the older Ravenclaw that had also been
petrified at the same time, Hermione had ingested enough to recover, albeit at
a much slower rate.
It was all very anti-climatic in Harry's opinion. Not that he isn't grateful.
But still. It's almost like his decision in going out in the middle of the
night to make out with centaurs and get molested by spiders in the dark
forbidden forest suddenly meant absolutely shit nothing.
But yay for Hermione or whatever.
At least Ron was in a much better mood now. Well, he was. Right up until they
had their first Transfigurations class with Hermione again. Because the moment
the news spread, he and the general student body lost their collective shit.
"HOW DO WE STILL HAVE EXAMS!?" Ron howls at lunch time, his voice just one of
the many loud complaints and whines filling in the Great Hall.
Hermione sniffed, "It's like Professor McGonagall said, the whole point of
keeping Hogwarts open was to maintain our education. Plus it's not like any of
us really stayed petrified for long."
"Yeah, it would be a complete shit thing to do to just continue exams if a
bunch of people had been lying petrified for the past half year or so." Harry
agrees as he sips his apple juice. "At most they've lost like two months. And
those students were mainly like us second years or firsties so they don't
really have any serious crap they needed to do like OWLs and TROLLs."
Hermione sighed, long-sufferingly. Like being petrified was the least painful
thing she had to endure compared to listening to Harry. "Troll is a grade,
Harry. It's not an exam."
Harry smiled at his friend's pain, "Oh I've missed you."
"Guuuuuuys." Ron moans, slumping till his chin hits the table, "How are you not
feeling what I'm feeling?"
"Oh, well I've written down my notes a few weeks ahead so technically I'm not
really behind on anything." The bushy haired Gryffindor shrugged. Harry copied
the motion.
"And I've never gotten lower that perfect in most of the practical stuff, so I
only really need to study for Potions and Herbology. And I've lived with
Professor Snape for like a few months so.."
"I need dumber friends." Ron muttered darkly.
===============================================================================
"Professor… Can we.. uh…"
Severus looked up from where he was marking some particularly horrible fifth
year essays. He despairs at the future of wizard kind. Harry stands awkwardly
just outside the potion master's personal bedroom, he's wearing an oversized
shirt. Snape's oversized shirt. It's almost ridiculous how adorable and erotic
the younger wizard looks. He just wants to tug Harry onto his lap and-
"Yes?" The Slytherin asks coldly. Harry fidgets even more uncomfortably and
Snape tries hard not to look at the way the hem of his shirt would lift up
against the young wizard's shifting thighs. If it would just move a little
further up...
"Uh, Professor? Are you even listening?"
Snape jerked his head from where it had been slowly tilting to the side in his
body's traitorous way of trying to succumb deeper to his perversions. "Wha- I
apologise, I was thinking of.. ways to choke Glassing for this horrible essay."
The unexpected change in topic startles a surprised laugh from Harry and the
older man can't help but smile wryly in return. It had been a while since they
had felt enough at ease with each other to exchange lighthearted conversation,
and it had felt even longer since he had seen Harry's sweet smile directed at
him.
Apparently emboldened by the professor's smile, Harry shuffles into Snape's
bedroom with only a little hesitation, and walks up to where the man was
currently sitting. The boy curiously cranes his neck to peek at what the other
is writing. Snape does not stare at the pale skin Harry so obliviously exposes
at the action. But, if he just bends forward a little bit more, Snape swears he
could…
The professor inwardly panics that he's getting worse.
"You write with a lot of red ink." Harry comments, completely unaware of his
professor's wretched and conflicted thoughts. Snape on his part just raised an
eyebrow that somehow both conveyed irritation and very mild amusement.
"I can see that. I am the one who is writing with it after all."
"Yes but from what I've learnt, red ink usually heavily implies to a student
that the comment is negative and they're doing something wrong."
"That's correct."
"But you're writing nice things."
This time, the deadpanned look Snape gives is a hundred percent genuine.
"Potter I never write nice things."
Harry huffs and crosses his arms, "Well the fact you're not berating them and
their future offspring makes me say differently. Why don't you write in blue
ink or something? It's less intimidating."
"Ah but I am the Unholy Bat that lives in the dungeons." Snape states dryly,
causing the younger boy to chuckle at the rare show of dramatics, "I rule my
classrooms with fear, it is not in my nature to mark with blue ink."
"What about stickers?"
"...You cannot be serious."
"Stickers seemed to be quite revered by children when placed on their work. It
indicates good work." Harry replied so seriously the potions master couldn't
help but let himself smile helplessly, he can only hope his expression is
restrained enough not to reveal how hopelessly endearing he thinks the young
Potter boy is.
"Aren't you one of those children?"
The green eyed boy looked at him strangely, before giving one of his half
quirked grins, his eyes crinkling in humor at a joke lost on the older man. "Of
course I am. However I'm not so immature to be enamoured by a shiny star shaped
sticky bit of plastic on my work."
"Then why should I even bother if not even you find solace in these..
stickers." He asks.
Harry puffs up his chest and looks at the potions master with the indignant
pride of a ruffled owl. "I am the exception, not the rule Professor."
"Unfortunately so." Snape says long-sufferingly, though his tone contradicts
the soft way he looks at the other. He brings his hand up to ruffle the boy's
soft hair affectionately like how he used to do before. Harry looks surprised
at the gesture, but quickly melts into it with equal affection, moving closer
to the professor until his chest brushes against Snape's shoulder.
"May I- hug you sir?" Harry asks with an embarrassed blush on his face, he's
looking everywhere but Snape's face like he actually thought the professor was
ever going to say no. "I mean, if you, no, never mind, that was a stupid-"
"Yes." The potions master blurts out, because apparently the self control he
used to pride himself on is obsolete in the face of Harry Potter. "You may,
well, if you still wish to."
The wizarding saviour did not have to be offered twice, tentatively pulling
himself up onto Snape's lap until he is effectively straddling the man, slim
fingers digging into his shoulders for balance. The boy curls up against
Snape's chest and sighs contentedly at the warmth of contact while the potions
master just watches him fold into his arms, marvelling at how petite Harry was,
how perfectly he molds against him.
After a few moments revealing in the embrace, Harry murmurs a soft, nervous, "I
really am sorry.. for everything I've said and well, just everything."
Snape hums tonelessly, truth be told, he's still viciously upset over this
whole mess. Upset and jealous and so incredibly bitter. But he's not the
emotionally driven teenager that he was, and he's definitely not going to go
crying to the next dark cult that offers him a cuddle just because he's angry.
"I know you are." Snape finally settles on, "And I can't say I've exactly
forgiven you because I don't but… I have missed your presence here greatly."
"I've missed you too." Harry murmured, completely embarrassed now as he buries
his face into the crook of Snape's neck, something that the older man was
grateful for since like this the other wouldn't able to see the flush rising
from his cheeks. Then again, he wasn't able to see Harry's face either. Ah the
pros and cons of this situation is truly as complicated as it is juvenile.
They stayed like that for a while, contented to bask in each other's presence
until Harry spoke up once again.
"So… stickers?"
Snape sighed, he really had missed this, Merlin forbid.
"No Potter."
===============================================================================
"It's a basilisk."
Ron and Harry looked at each other, than back at the stern, serious face of
Hermione's.
"Oh, yeah. We, uh, know already." Harry says awkwardly.
"Harry figured it out ages ago." Ron added, "He only told me about it like a
week ago though before he got sexually assaulted by giant spiders for me."
Hermione stared at them. "I… don't know where to even begin to question."
"The snake thing was obvious. The basilisk thing was just an obvious leap in
logic." Harry answers blithely before delicately cutting off a bitesized piece
of steak and bringing it into his mouth with a strange amount of reverence. He
has begun to appreciate the wonders of hot meat now that he has spent so long
bereft of it. Harry will never understand those that would willing give up such
delicacies, he totally respects anyone with that sort of self control, but he
does not understand it nonetheless.
The bushy haired girl made an annoyed noise, "No, that is not even, that is
not, you kept this information away from us for how long?!" She turns to Ron,
"Ron! You aren't annoyed he kept us in the dark like that?"
Ron shrugged, "S'not like we didn't do the same thing last year. Personally,
I'm more annoyed by the way he's eating, seriously mate do you and that steak
need a room or?"
Harry flipped his friend the bird and pointedly made a low, drawn out moan the
next time he put some steak in his mouth. A student that had happened to be
walking behind them at the time, tripped and fell onto his red blushing face.
"I told the professors about my theory of the beast being a basilisk, it is
honestly not my fault they're doing such a shitty job in finding it."
Before Hermione could ask more about the subject, a tense and agitated Ginny
Weasley came over and sat down next to Ron.
"Wassup?" The freckled boy managed to garble out through a mouthful of mash
potatoes. Both Hermione and Harry wrinkled up their noses at that. "Come on
spit it out."
"Please Ron, for the love of god don't spit it out." Harry muttered.
"Here, here." Hermione agreed.
Ron opened his mouth revealing the chewed up contents of his meal before
swallowing it down, much to the other two's disgust. "Oh shut it, I meant Ginny
and you know it."
"I've got to tell you something," Ginny mumbled, carefully not looking at
Harry. Though that wasn't exactly new. Honestly, Harry wonders if the girl
hates him or something.
"What is it?" He asks politely.
Ginny stares at her fiddling hands for a minute, looking like she desperately
holds a terrible secret but can't find the words to say it.
"What?" Ron asks exasperated and annoyed. "Seriously, just say it already?"
Finally, when it looked like the youngest redhead had gathered enough courage
to speak, they were interrupted by Zacharias Smith out of all the inconvenient
people in the world.
"Hey, Potter! Hear your walking around, carrying a diary everywhere? How queer
can you get?"
Ginny jumped up with a startled shriek, gave Smith a fleeting, frightened look,
and scampered away. Zacharias gave the fleeing girl an equally startled look.
"Okay, what's the deal with her?"
"Maybe she got scared off by your ugly mug and your shittier attitude Smith."
Harry retorted snidely, "Seriously, she was just about to tell us something,
something possibly important… maybe."
"More important than you anyway," Hermione added haughtily, Harry gave her a
high five for that, because, yes Hermione. Yes.
"What do you even want Smith?" Ron backed up with a scowl. Smith and his
cronies all sneered at the insults.
"I don't have to explain myself to the likes of any of you." The Hufflepuff
scoffed, irritated. "I just wanted to confirm for myself if it's really true
that Potter over here writes in a diary like a sissy little girl. I bet you
wear a nightie too eh Potter? With pretty pink lace and ribbons?"
Harry bats his eyelashes mockingly and leans toward Zacharias flirtatiously,
"Why Zacharias, you dirty minded Hufflepuff, is that what you do all day?
Imagine me in women's clothing, how bold."
Smith's face goes a completely alarming shade of bright pink as he splutters
incoherent denials. The green eyed boy smirks and resumes eating his meal,
choosing to exaggeratedly lavish his cutlery with his tongue as he did so. Ron
and Hermione, seeing this, began giggling into their food whilst the Hufflepuff
group silently fumes, red-faced.
"I'll remember this." Smith seethes, Harry barely responds, just rolls his eyes
as the other boy stomps away angrily.
Once they were finally a good distance away, Ron decided to speak up, "Dude,
Smith is so gay for you."
Harry gagged. "Ugh, Ron, please desist in your jokes. That really isn't funny."
"No, I think Ron is right." Hermione nods sagely, "Smith totally has a thing
for you."
"You could say it's-" Ron begins with a sly grin. Harry glares, having a very
good idea about what the freckled Weasley was about to say.
"Ron, don't you dare-"
"-a weird Harry thing." Hermione finishes for her fellow Gryffindor. They then
high-five in triumph as Harry groans.
"I hate you both."
===============================================================================
Two days before exams and with the flurry of frenzied cramming going on in the
school, it was almost hard to remember that there was a giant ass basilisk
roaming the halls. The enforced escorting to every classroom is a good reminder
though. And the constant night patrols of both prefect and professors going on.
And the… still, even Harry had to admit he hadn't been putting as much thought
as he should have about the whole Heir of Slytherin thing. He had kind of
assumed the teachers were working on it or something.
You know, since they are competent magical adults with whatever high education
standard they need to allow them to teach tiny children.
Then again, it wasn't like Lockhart had a teaching degree. And Hagrid got
kicked out of school didn't he? Plus they've apparently been quite happy in
complacently sitting with a potential beast of Slytherin under their noses
despite like three centuries since its been stuffed in there… And no one has
actually done anything about the fact giant spiders and centaurs are currently
duking it out in the Forbidden forest for territory rights… Then there's
Moaning Myrtle who, if Hermione's theory is correct, is actually the only real
victim of the basilisk which brings up a whole bunch of other questions…
Holy shit, is this school even actually qualified to call itself a school?
Anyway, Harry had been busy. And also, if he thought about the Heir of
Slytherin he would inevitable think of Tom and then Harry would be forced
either to mope for the next few hours or be filled with immeasurably frustrated
rage.
Harry has not made his peace with the confronting fact that half a soul, a
teenaged soul, in a goddamn fucking diary, has managed to screw him over like
some lovesick fool. Contrary to popular belief, time does not heal all wounds.
Decapitation is one example. It's not exactly the most relevant example but it
proves his point.
The point is, unless you had a trillion years, that sort of shit will stick
with you if you don't do anything about it. Harry knows this. Hell,
he's still a little bitter about the fact that the word orgasm basically
translates to 'a little death,' like what the actual fuck right? And it took
several centuries and him personally killing about sixty alternate versions of
the person responsible for coming up with that term to allow his indignance to
simmer to mild annoyance at best.
Unfortunately, Harry does not have the privilege for that sort of time to
properly sort of his feelings before inevitably meeting the horcrux, and
therefore has chosen to use an ancient mortal technique to deal with his
incredibly confusing emotions in regard to the whole thing. Pushing them all
deep down and trying his best to completely ignore everything that has
happened. Usually this technique is strengthened by alcoholic beverages but
Harry thinks he's doing a pretty good job regardless.
So it came as quite an unexpected, though in retrospect not really, surprise
when McGonagall's voice echoed through the hallways midway through class. "All
students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to
the staffroom. Immediately, please."
Michael Corner and Justin Finch-Fletchley who were sitting next to Harry at the
time looked incredibly alarmed. "Another student petrified?" The Hufflepuff
wonders as they are hurriedly bustled out of the classroom.
"I don't think so," Harry answers thoughtfully, "the last time some of us got
petrified no one did anything like this. Clearly something way worse has
happened."
Corner shuddered, "Maybe someone finally died?"
"Or maybe the beast is finally loose in the hallways?" Finch-Fletchley hunched
himself over and hugged himself tightly like that would somehow ward the
basilisk away from him.
"Whatever it is, you guys should probably hurry up to your dorms." Harry
sighed, it figures this sort of drama happens before exams. Fate can be such an
inconvenient bitch sometimes.
The two boys exchanged worried looks before turning back to Harry, "Wait,
you're not coming with us?" Finch-Fletchley asks worriedly. Corner adds,
equally worried, "I mean, I'm sure no one will mind if you come over to either
Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff for one night considering the circumstances."
Harry grinned at his friends confidently, "Please, if anything, it's
the beast that should be worried that I'm loose in the hallways." His friends
from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff laughed at that, immediately relaxing under
Harry's self-assured demeanour.
"Yeah right Potter," Corner teases, "You're good but not that good."
"Hurry up and go then," The Hufflepuff huffs good-naturedly, "The sooner you
get back to your room the sooner Corner will stop fretting about you getting
eaten by the beast." Corner flushed and lightly shoved the other boy who began
laughing all over again. Harry blinked at the display, it seemed the two had
become unexpectedly close friends since Valentines day. Interesting.
"Well, see you guys then." Harry finally said once they finally had to separate
paths. The two other boys said their own goodbyes before hurrying off to their
respective dorms with their respective Housemates.
Harry doesn't watch them go, instead he walks quickly to the staffroom hoping
that he isn't too late to snoop for some prime information. Tom clearly has
done something big and dramatic if classes were cancelled, and with any luck
it'll be something that results in him being cornered in that Slytherin secret
chamber that only individuals that speak snake can access. If that's all true,
then Harry can easily track the horcrux down and proceed to beat the absolute
shit out of that damn diary.
And by any chance he gets caught eavesdropping, he could just use some excuse
on wanting to be safe and waiting for Snape to escort him back to their rooms.
Honestly, his plan is so foolproof it's amazing.
===============================================================================
The plan had started out so well. Disillusionment charm. Classic stuff. No one
had even noticed him hanging about outside the staffroom.
"A student has been taken by the monster." McGonagall announces grimly. Harry
could hear the gasps and 'oh no's coming from the room. He presses his face
closer to the slightly ajar door.
"How can you be so sure?" Snape asks, he sounds tense.
"The Heir of Slytherin," The transfiguration professor McGonagall answers back
quietly, she's clearly shaken despite the strong front. The green eyed wizard
wonders if the student was a Gryffindor. "they left another message right
underneath the first one. 'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.' "
There's sobbing. Harry guesses Flitwick. The half goblin was surprisingly the
most emotional of the four House Heads.
"Who is it?" Madam Hooch questions weakly, "Which student?"
"Ginny Weasley." Oh shit.
"We'll have to send all the students home tomorrow," Professor McGonagall
continues on, despite the obvious despair emanating from the room, "This is the
end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said…"
Harry starts to slink away from the doorway, already armed with the relevant
information he needs but he made the mistake of straying too long as the
Defence professor takes this moment to rock up last minute and burst into the
staffroom with a beaming flourish. Harry, surprised by the man's sudden
appearance, accidentally stumbles into the room with him like an idiot. Luckily
the charm holds strong enough for no one to notice.
Though it could possibly be because, Lockhart has once again captured the
room's attentions.
"A thousand smiling apologies, dozed off for a bit there- so what did I miss?"
Harry has never seen so much disgusted hatred in a room before. And he had once
attended the bi-century review meeting between Heaven and Hell. Picture
corporate supernatural beings of opposing forces that haven't had nearly enough
coffee to deal with each other's shit having to sit in a eight day meeting
pointing out every mistake they made the last half century and fighting over
every decision for the next half century. Never again.
Professor Snape stands up from where he's sitting and smiles at the blonde
professor. It's so clearly faked, the entity slash wizard child is just frankly
astounded that Lockhart fails to sense it. "Just the man," The potions master
practically coos, "The very man. Lockhart, a young girl has been snatched by
the monster, taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has finally
come at last."
It seems it's finally dawning on Lockhart that things are about to go to shit
for him.
"That's right, Gilderoy," chipped in Professor Sprout with a smile Harry did
not think the sweet Herbology professor was capable of. This was either a
testament to how little Harry truly doesn't know these people or just how much
the professors have suffered having to deal with Lockhart for a year. Harry
thinks its a bit of both, though one far more clearly than the other. "Weren't
you just saying that you've known all along where the entrance to the Chamber
of Secrets is?"
Lockhart blanched, "Well, I, uh,"
"Yes, didn't you tell me not to worry my- what was it?- tiny goblin head about
the beast? How you were sure you knew what it was and was more than capable of
slaying it?" piped up Professor Flitwick, a grin on his face and a grudge
burning in his eyes.
"I-I mean, I wouldn't s-say I was a hundred percent sure," Lockhart tried to
salvage desperately, "A-anyway, I really don't think-"
"I for one certainly remember you saying how you wished to have had a crack at
the beast before Hagrid got arrested." Snape slid into the other's spluttering
smoothly. "Didn't you say that if you had free reign first, that you wouldn't
have botched it up like the rest of us had apparently done?"
The defence professor stared aghast at the hole he has managed to put himself
into. The rest of the staff stares back expectant and malicious. Harry watches
on with rapt attention. This, this is the sort of dramatic stuff that really
should be put in a movie.
"Y-you must have misunderstood, I, uh, I,"
"We'll leave it to you then Gilderoy," Professor McGonagall says with a stone
faced expression that Harry honestly cannot tell was faked or not. "Tonight
will be an excellent time to do it. We'll make sure everyone's out of your way.
You'll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself. It's what you finally
wanted."
Lockhart's lip trembled. The man certainly didn't look like he had won any
beauty prizes now, he just looked scared and weak. Harry kind of felt a bit
sorry for him.
"V-very well," He stutters softly. "I'll- I'll be in my office, get-getting r-
ready." The blonde man leaves the room, far smaller than when he came in.
Once the door closes with a soft thump Harry curses himself for not taking the
opportunity to follow the Lockhart out. Damn his weakness for dramatic
television shows. Damn it.
The transfiguration professor huffs, "At least we got him out of the way now."
The other teachers murmur their agreement.
If Harry is going to be completely honest, he is a little perturbed by these
people's callous treatment for Lockhart. Sure the man is a complete douche and
a liar, but it's a little overboard to send the guy to his death. They could
just, oh, he doesn't know, fire Lockhart? Are they really just going to let him
do this? Also, slightly more importantly, were they just going to let Ginny
Weasley rot in the chamber just so they can spite some prick teacher?
Apparently they were. "So, House Heads should go inform their students what has
happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing
tomorrow and everyone else will make sure no students have been left outside
their dormitories. Am I clear?"
Everyone agrees and begin to stand up and leave. Harry once again wonders why
no one else was chosen to at least help rescue Ginny. Common sense dictates
she's probably not going to survive the night if they do nothing about it. And
Harry highly doubts Lockhart could even if he wanted to and hadn't most likely
run off already.
The young wizard silently waits for everyone to leave before he can take off
his disillusionment charm, however the moment he does so Hermione and Ron
practically tumbles out of a closet filled with what seemed to be teaching
robes. "What the fuck?!" Harry whisper shrieks in surprise.
Ron looks shaken, but then, it was his sister that's been kidnapped. Really,
this kid wasn't getting much of a break, emotionally. Hermione gives Harry an
equally shocked look. "What are you doing here?"
"I was eavesdropping!" Harry defended, then paused, "Wait, I mean, I, why the
hell did I say that so indignantly?"
"Never mind that," Hermione dismisses, "What are we going to do?!"
"What do you mean we?" Harry demanded, "It is way too dangerous for you two to
go fight a basilisk and you know it."
"It's my sister," Ron croaks hoarsely, he looks at Harry with fear and resolve
in his eyes, "You are not leaving me behind while my sister is.. my sister
is.."
Harry closes his eyes and counts to ten. Then he looks at Ron's big pleading
eyes and immediately crumbles. Damn it. Damn everything. "Fine, you can-"
"If Ron can come so can I!" Hermione piped up.
Shit.
"FINE." Harry sighs loudly. "But I want you both to know, that I hate you and I
just wanted you to be safe or whatever."
Ron and Hermione practically wrapped their whole bodies around him in what
Harry presumes is a hug of immense gratefulness. "We know." They chorus.
"Thanks."
Fuck.
"We'll do this in two hours." Harry tells them sternly, "We need to pretend we
aren't going to, well, fight a basilisk. You guys should, uh, look I wasn't
going to bring you guys but now that I am, I want you to try arm yourself best
you can." If his friends are coming, he can't exactly do his usual entity stuff
in front of them and even he cannot do much if one of them accidentally makes
eye contact with the serpent. "I'm sure you can procure some useful potions and
items from your dorms."
"How?" Asks Hermione, practically taking notes. The green eyed boy looks at
Ron.
"McGonagall is going to tell your House about Ginny. Everyone is going to feel
really, really bad for you guys so-"
Ron nods, glumly, "I know what you want me to do mate."
Harry gives him a one-armed hugged, "Hey, you don't have to, I just,"
"You want us to be safe." The redhead gives him a brave but wobbly grin,
"Seriously Harry, thank you."
Harry flushed, "No problem. Now- hurry up and go, I'll see if I can convince
Snape to help."
"Don't forget Lockhart! We need to inform him too." Bugger, Harry almost forgot
Hermione has a massive crush on the bloke.
"…Sure."
Plan. Wrenched.
===============================================================================
Snape wasn't there. The potions master was probably trying to calm down his
House in the Slytherin dormitories or something, which, was great and all but
highly inconvenient right now.
Harry grabs his invisibility cloak, his wand and scribbles his new, incredibly
stupid plan on a scrap of parchment for the professor to see and waits until
almost two hours are up. Since the Slytherin teacher hasn't shown up, he sticks
the parchment with his plan on the door just as he leaves and prays the man
would find it soon.
Not wanting to waste time and energy running, Harry gingerly steps into a
shadowy corner, letting the darkness quickly swallow him up and gently spit him
out somewhere near the Gryffindor portrait hole. He looks around carefully and
only when he was sure no one was watching, the boy steps out of the shadows and
takes off the hood of the invisibility cloak. He waits a few minutes until
finally, the portrait hole opens, revealing far too many people on the other
side.
"Are- are you actually serious right now?"
"She's our sister too." The twins say in grim unison as they walk out behind a
very sheepish looking Ron and Hermione. Even Percy is stepping out with a pale
face and an angry look.
"There is no way we're just going to take this sitting down." Percy says
stiffly, "Even if it does mean bending the rules a bit."
"If it helps Harry-" Hermione begins, but upon seeing Harry's irritated glare
immediately switches gears, "Ron totally blabbed." Ron smacks her upside the
head.
"Well it's not like you helped!"
Harry closes his eyes, and tries to massage the tension in his forehead away
vigorously, "Okay," he breathes out, "Okay, this is still doable. Percy is
competent enough to keep you all in line. We can still probably do this. I now
loathe you all but we can, we can still do this."
"You, uh, repeated yourself there mate." Ron says, Harry just glares at him.
"I needed to reassure myself." He snapped, "Now Hermione and I will go under
the invisibility cloak since we have absolutely no reasons to be wandering. You
four will look sad and if anyone stops you, you guys are all just worried about
Ginny and was looking for a teacher to ask for better confirmation about what's
happening."
"Great plan," Percy praises with a fond look that Harry just melts over. He
never was very good at getting mad at any of the Weasleys. It also doesn't help
that the twins were smiling so appreciatively either.
"Where are we headed to?" Hermione asks.
"Lockhart's office first." Harry answers reluctantly, the Weasleys groan as
Hermione does a quiet happy sound, "He's going to try get into the Chamber. We
can tell him where it is, and we'll follow him down there. Okay?" Everyone nods
in the positive and they all head off.
The sun is starting to go down once they reach Lockhart's office. Harry took
off the invisibility cloak, and knocked on the door. It takes a minute but
Lockhart cracks the door open warily, just enough to see a sliver of his face
on the other side. "Oh, hello there," He greets as he sees the group of
students outside, opening the door a bit wider. "I'm a little busy right now so
if you could just-"
Percy coughs, "Professor, we have some extremely pertinent information that we
think could help you find Ginny. If you would please let us in?"
Lockhart looks extremely uncomfortable but Percy stares him down with his
prefect gaze. "I, don't, well, alright." He finally acquiesces, and opens the
door for them to come through.
The defence professor's office looked like it had been robbed. There was three
large trunks open in the middle of the floor where it was obvious most of
Lockhart's things had been hastily stuffed into. Everyone stared at the trunks
suspiciously.
"Going somewhere are you?" Fred asks accusingly.
The blonde man shoves one of his portraits into the trunk as an excuse not to
look at them, "Yes, uh, just had an urgent call, got to go immediately, life or
death, you know how it is-"
"And what about Ginny?" George questions, disgusted. Ron is staring daggers at
the man, and Hermione seems to have very quickly gotten over that crush of
hers.
"That is… most unfortunate." The professor replies lamely.
Harry stares at him, "You aren't even going to try?" He had kind of expected it
but still.
"What about all that stuff you did in those books of yours!?" Hermione shrieks.
Lockhart fiddles with one of his robes he's putting away, "Books can be
misleading my dear."
The bushy haired girl gapes at that, "You bloody wrote them you absolute twat!"
She screams.
"Dear girl," Lockhart looks pityingly at her, "Do use your common sense. No
book would sell well if they all told the honest truth."
"Hah! I fucking knew those books were fiction!" Harry shouts victoriously, "I
told Draco, I bloody told him!"
"Seriously not the time mate." Ron muttered.
"It isn't fiction boy," The fake professor huffs, "All those adventures were
real, I just wasn't the one who did them."
"So you've just been taking credit for what a load of other people have done?"
said Hermione in outrage.
"Please, you make it sound like I've done no work at all." Everyone stares at
him incredulously, "I had to spend a lot of effort tracking these people down,
have to convince them to tell me every single detail on exactly how they
managed it and then I had to use a Memory charm on them so they wouldn't
remember partaking on any such adventure. Do you know how hard it is to perfect
something like that? Very is the answer."
During the explanation Lockhart finishes packing, closing the final trunk
closed he lightly taps a finger on his chin thoughtfully. "Now I know I have
one more thing to do, oh right, yes," He whirls around to face them, wand at
hand, "Sorry boys and girl, but I simply must put a Memory charm on you all
now. After all, can't exactly have you guys barbering out my secrets, I'll be
absolutely ruined and-"
"Expelliarmus!" Ron yells, blasting the professor clean off his feet, wand
flying in the air. George manages to catch the thing and shoves it safely in
his robe pocket. "Arse." He spits as they all gather around a meek looking
Lockhart.
"What do you want me to do now?" He asks plaintively, "I don't know anything,
there's nothing I can do, I'm useless."
"I dunno," Harry muses as everyone else seethes and glares at the fallen
professor, all pointing their own wands at him, "You look like a pretty good
meat shield from where I'm standing."
"Hear hear." The twins both say.
"No objections." Percy scowls as he forces the man to stand up.
"You're not going anywhere." Ron tells him.
"Maybe you'll finally get to write an honest bestseller after this," Hermione
snidely says as they march the professor down toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
"I'll certainly read it."
By the time they reached the bathroom, Lockhart was shaking like a leaf in
winter. Harry is actually quite impressed the man has managed not to fall over
what with the way his legs were wobbling all over the place. Fred and George
unceremoniously shoved the man into the bathroom first, before pointedly
walking over him. This time Harry doesn't feel any sympathy for the cowering
coward.
"I'll go open the entrance," Harry states, "someone make sure our dear
professor here doesn't make a runner."
"Don't worry," Fred assures with a sharp smile, "We won't." George finishes
grimly.
The green eyed boy barely even glances at Lockhart who was now making sad
whimpering noises and instead walks toward the sinks, surveying them all
carefully until he finally found the one with a small snake painstakingly
engraved onto the tap.
:Open.: He demands a little irritatedly, annoyed at how far his initial plan
has strayed. This, this is exactly why he is the entity of death and not the
entity of forethought and intricate planning. At least this tap will follow its
original purpose and not somehow pick up five other snakes along the way.
Under his words the tap glows and the sink moves away slowly to reveal the
entrance of Slytherin's secret chamber. Everyone but Harry is suitably
impressed. Harry is on the lines of disgusted more than anything really.
Because it turns out the entrance was a pipe. A very dirty and slimy looking
pipe. Did- did the sink water from when you wash your hands just spill down
this pipe? It must've right? That's just rank.
"Well, this has all been very fun but now that you found the Chamber I guess
it's time for me to go." Lockhart pipes up happily as he slowly begins backing
away from the entrance. Almost immediately he found himself at the end of six
wands held by five very angry wizards and a witch.
"You go first." Ron snarls.
"But why?" The professor whine piteously as he's shoved toward the entrance,
"There's no point in me being here!"
"Uh, have you seen the condition of that pipe?" Harry says, "It's absolutely
disgusting. There's no way I'm going first."
Lockhart wrinkled his nose as if only just noticing it's rather foul state, "Oh
come oOOoOOOOOoOHH!" He screamed as Percy gave the professor a hard shove,
causing the man to slide face first into the pipe. The prefect turns to face
everyone else.
"If anyone asks, he fell in by himself."
Harry whistled. "That… was incredibly hot just so you know."
Ron shoved Harry. "You are disgusting Harry." He berates but turns to Percy
shyly, "That was pretty cool though Percy."
Fred and George wrap one arm around the now blushing prefect with sly smiles,
"Didn't know you had it in you Perce," Fred teases, with George making dramatic
sniffling sounds, "I'm just," He sniffs, wiping a fake tear from his eyes,
"just so proud of my big brother."
Percy coughs, embarrassed and unused to the praise, "Yes, well, shall I go
next?"
The oldest Weasley turns to the pipe, only to be stopped by Harry. "Wait, let
me just," The green eyed wizard makes a hand motion and suddenly the pipe
entrance is completely cleaned out, no trace of dirt of mouldy slime in sight.
"That's better."
They can all just barely hear the faint echo of Lockhart cursing up at them on
the other side. Everyone just laughed.
===============================================================================
The twins were the last to come down. You could hear them whooping and cheering
at every corner and drop until the very end when they tumbled delightedly onto
a transfigured mattress. Clearly they had a much more entertaining time than
Lockhart who was covered in slime and looked paler than any ghost haunting this
school.
"That-" George breathed, "was smashing." Fred finished, equally as exhilarated.
"After this is over we should sell this as a ride."
"We could call it Slytherin's slide."
"Three goes for six knuts."
"Uh, guys?" Harry crosses his arms impatiently, "Maybe let's focus on this
first before we start exploiting ancient pieces of history?"
The twins look sheepishly up at Harry, "Sorry." They chorus.
"Come on then," Percy called out, already walking ahead of them with the
others, "We haven't got the time to waste!"
The tunnel is quiet save for their footsteps and the occasional drip of water
from above. Harry walks at the lead, much to the older Weasleys' chagrins and
bruised egos, since the boy has brutally explained how no one else would be
better at protecting them all in very crushing detail. Turning around a corner
Harry stops and gestures everyone else to do the same. "There's something
there." He whispers before summoning up a ball of light to float in front of
them.
The light revealed what was some shed snake skin of gargantuan proportions,
strewn across the tunnel floor. "Bugger me." Ron swore.
"Language," Percy chided weakly.
"The basilisk must be twenty feet long at least!" Hermione exclaimed rather
horrified. "That's far bigger than the average size."
"Which is totally weird since there is no way this thing could have eaten
enough to grow to such a size." Harry observed interestedly.
Lockhart dropped to his knees.
"Oh get up." Fred sneered while his brother pointed a wand threateningly at the
older man. The blonde wizard did as he was told, then he dived at George,
knocking him to the hard floor and unconscious.
"George!" The brothers all shouted, everyone reaching for their wands but it
was too late. The professor had George's wand pointed at the slumped Weasley's
neck, arrogant smile decorating his face.
"Back up and drop your wands if you don't want me to obliviate this boy so hard
he won't even remember which way is up after I'm done with him!" Lockhart
barked. Reluctantly they all obeyed, even Harry. He couldn't risk it after all,
not with the way Lockhart has the wand pressed up against George's neck so hard
it'll probably bruise for days. Harry's good with a lot of things, but healing
is so very much not one of them. "Now, I think I'm going to take a bit of that
skin with me up to school. Tell them all about how I heroically chased after
you stupid Gryffindors trying to avenge your sister before you all tragically
lost your minds with guilt once you saw her dead corpse."
"And how would you do that?" Hermione asked darkly, "It's five against one
Lockhart, you really think you can take us all on at once?"
Lockhart visibly falters at that and that's when Percy, Fred and Hermione
immediately yell out some sort of spell. At least one of them manages to
seperate the professor and George but since no one really coordinated this
improvised attack, the resulting mesh of spells caused a small explosion. It
was enough to rock the foundations of the tunnel to create a cave in, leaving
Harry on one side, and everyone else on the other.
"HARRY!" Ron yelled, "Are you alright?!"
"I'm good!" Harry shouts back, "What about everyone else?!"
There's a dreadful wailing on the other side of the rock wall that's got Harry
increasingly anxious.
"Everyone's fine!" Hermione answers back with a holler, "Lockhart may need to
get a new leg though- and a face."
Ah. That explains why the wailing is incoherent.
"What do we do now?" Percy says desperately, Harry's not sure if it's aimed at
him or the others. "We won't be able to get through, it'll take ages. Not to
mention there's a chance the whole tunnel could cave in if we're not careful…"
Harry sighs, what a mess. Literally. "You guys need to leave." He tells them.
The boy waits for the loud, and frankly, high-pitched protests to finally die
out before continuing. "Look," he says firmly, "We're wasting time, Ginny's
been down here for hours and George and Lockhart need medical attention. It'll
take you guys over half an hour just to get back to school with them, and when
you do you need to get any professor to come down to take care of this."
"But.." Fred sounds distraught, "What about you?"
"I'll see you guys in a bit. Don't worry." Harry replies with as much assurance
as he can. He can hear Hermione crying. Clearly he was not doing a good job.
"Seriously guys, go."
Then he sunk into the shadows and went to go find Tom.
===============================================================================
Harry craned his neck up to look at the giant statue of Salazar Slytherin in
the last room of the chamber. It was huge, tacky and suggested the man was
grossly overcompensating for something but at least it wasn't a giant statue of
someone else. Because that would be kind of weird if it was.
Though what was kind of weird was putting an unconscious Ginny Weasley between
his stone feet like some sort of virgin sacrifice. Seriously, there was like
twenty perfectly good pillars around the room to use. He kneels down by the
fallen girl's side and silently surveys her status. Ginny is cold, limp and
pale, but not dead. Not yet.
"Harry."
Harry turned around and grit his teeth. "Tom. I see you managed to get out of
the diary."
Tom Marvolo Riddle smiled, and fuck, Harry forgot how utterly gorgeous his
teenaged appearance looked. "In a way," He says in an intentionally mysterious
manner, "but don't worry Harry, I'll soon be free from the diary in every way."
"And why would I want that?" The green eyed entity asked sharply. The horcrux
had the actual audacity to looked hurtfully surprised.
"I don't understand, I thought you would be delighted. We would finally be
together." Tom looked at Harry shyly, "I know I've been looking forward to us."
What a lying piece of shit.
"You tricked me, used me." Harry growled, fury rising in his chest like molten
lava coating the inside of his lungs, boiling hot until it cools into something
heavy and choking. "And I do hope you realise just the extent of what you've
done Mr Riddle or you'll be in for a truly terrible surprise."
For once, the smug smirk on his handsome face faltered into confusion, "Tricked
you? Harry, I may have done many things but I've never outright lied to you
about anything we spoke about." He says and Harry almost felt like it was
genuine. But then again, it seems like everything about Tom puts him off-
kilter, he can't trust himself and he certainly cannot trust Tom.
"The compulsion!" The raven haired wizard shouts, and feels incredibly
vindicated at the translucent teenager's widening eyes of surprise, "You put a
compulsion charm on yourself so I would keep writing, so I would, so I would,"
Green eyes glow harshly as he stutters, too lost in his emotion to speak
coherently, his cheeks grow hot and Harry feels himself trembling faintly as he
remembers his humiliations, his naive mistakes, "So I would so idiotically
think that we had something.. together, between us." By the end of it he is
almost whispering, defeated and ashamed as the words spill out in confession.
So shamed he was at himself, Harry completely misses the stricken expression on
Tom Riddle's face.
"No, Harry, that's not what, that's-"
"Shut up," The younger wizard snarls, red faced and eyes grim with resolve and
dark inky shadows. "Shut. Up."
Tom shuts up.
There's fear in Tom's pretty blue eyes, icy and so easily breakable. It is hard
to believe that the teen was not the victim when compared with the depths of
Harry's eyes, acid bright green glowing through swirls of engulfing darkness.
It doesn't help that the shadows of the basement seem to coil around the
younger boy, making him seem something more and something far less than human.
Something dangerous.
"You have played me a fool, Mr Riddle," Harry chides with a smile as thin and
sharp as the edge of a razor. "Was your little game fun Mr Riddle? Watching me
fall over for you? Watching me squirm for you? Even to go so far as deluding
myself to possibly fall for you?"
"Now Harry," Tom starts nervously, he's smiling, the bastard, as he takes a
step back from the foreboding figure Harry has cut himself. "Let us talk this
through, whatever you think I'm sure if we speak calmly and civilised-like we
could- :Now!:"
Harry stumbles and falls back onto the cold, damp floor, gasping in pain and
shock as a gigantic snake dives past him with a speed belying it's immense
size. The basilisk barely nicked him, just a brush of fang and scaled muscle,
but it was enough to push him down, make him fall, and salt both his emotional
and physical wounds as he finds his still fragile, healing skin drenched by
sewage water. Disgusting.
Oh, now Tom was going to fucking get it.
"I don't want the hurt you Harry," Tom says softly, almost gently and the
younger boy almost laughs at him. He would have laughed if he wasn't trying not
to crush down his ever rising fury and disgrace. "That was a warning. Please
Harry, don't make me do this."
"I'm not making you do anything Riddle," Harry spits, he drops the 'Mr' in his
usually fond title of the other like it was garbage. Using 'Mr' implied
respect. Something which he currently does not harbour toward the young man at
the moment. "And while I doubt your intentions of not wanting me harm, please
note that I most certainly do not share the same.. compassion."
The translucent teenager gives a put upon sigh, like he's the disappointed one
in this messed up relationship, and Harry is so very tempted to try punch the
pretty out of that face. "Harry, I could have my body back," Tom implores, "We
could be together, don't you want that? Maybe I was using you in the beginning,
but we have a connection you and I. A bond."
"See that's all very sugar coated roses and rainbows," Harry replies coldly,
unforgiving and unbelieving, "But I can no longer tell if what you say is truth
or lie anymore and frankly my dear, I don't think I give a damn." Then, he
added, because he would feel like a dick if he didn't, "Also, that girl is a
sister of a friend of mine or whatever, so I wouldn't be very happy with her
being sacrificed for a lying jackass."
As if just remembering Ginny's presence, literally the sole reason they were
all down here in the first place, Tom glances down at her still form, his face
clearly unhappy. "Ah yes, Ginevra."
"Yeah. Ginny." Harry says unimpressed. "Redhead. Slim. Female. A little odd.
Also another victim of your parasitic compulsions. Need I say more?"
"That's not, I wasn't," Tom looked so clearly frustrated, Harry could almost
taste it from where he was. He can't. Obviously. But he imagines it tastes like
charred applewood, sweetened ash that is hard to swallow down, "Ginevra is a
stepping stone. She is nothing." The horcrux insists vehemently, almost
desperately in the face of Harry's cold indifference. "I played nothing but a
simple confidant to her petty, shallow words. The most intimate thing we had
ever shared was me being forced to listen on to her incessant nattering on
you."
That got a reaction.
The green eyed boy's facade cracked a little at the unexpected knowledge,
having to do a little double take at the information. The shadows cast around
his silhouette seem to recede and the air seems far more breathable again as
Harry becomes Harry once more.
"What? Ginny, towards me?" He asks incredulous. She certainly had a funny way
of showing it.
"Yes, that little.. harlot," Translucent, defined features soured in expression
as Tom tries to pick and choose his words, "was quite infatuated with you. It
was always Harry Potter did this, Harry Potter did that. Annoying girlish
gossip really but even I had gotten curious about who this great Potter boy
was."
"Well I hope your curiosity was satisfied Riddle." The raven haired wizard
curls his mouth downwards, his skin trembled with irritation as he finds his
mind twisting the other's words until they become sharp and hurtful, "Was that
the plan then? Ginny would pretend to toss you away and you would play the good
diary, the helpful little book, and maybe if you plant an innocent little
thought or three into the mind of whoever picked you that's neither here nor
there."
"Contrary to popular opinion Harry," And there was the frustration leaking
through Tom's gritted teeth, "The world does not revolve around you."
"No, it just revolves around you," Harry shoots back curtly, "Tom Marvolo
Riddle, Heir of Slytherin. It's a wonder how the sun still shines when you're
around."
"It's a wonder how there's still water in the clouds what with the way you are
raining all over my parade." Tom snaps back, and Harry couldn't help but let
out a surprised laugh at the unexpected wit. It was short and stifled, but it
was enough for any visible annoyance in the half soul melt off his face,
instead looking regretful and fond.
"Harry, I, I don't know how to make you believe me but I do have.. feelings for
you. Real ones."
Harry looks down to the ground, crossing his arms tightly against his chest as
if that could protect him from the way his heart beats faster at Tom's words.
"I... you hurt me." He finishes lamely, because there's so much he can say, so
much he wants to say, but now that he's finally getting the chance to throw
every single bit of devastation that's been inflicted on him back, he finds
himself at a loss how to.
"I did." The horcrux says, "And I am sorry for hurting you. Not in the
beginning no, I admit, but now- now I truly regret manipulating you like that."
And then the teen proceeds to look so morose Harry has no choice but to believe
him, even just a little.
"I guess maybe my anger is a little bit much," The green eyed wizard admitted
softly, "Though this is rather the first time anyone has.. tricked me in such a
manner, so I think my harsh attitude shall persist a little longer even after
forgiveness."
Tom goes wide eyed and hopeful at the admission, and damn, anger was so much
easier to hold on to when Harry wasn't actually face to face with this stupidly
beautiful bastard. "That's, that's fantastic Harry!" He gushes excitedly, "I
didn't expect you to forgive me so fast,"
"I mean, I'm still upset. And I haven't actually forgiven you." Harry
clarifies, "I'm just saying that I'm not going to burn your bones to ash or
anything permanent like that."
"Yes, yes of course." The teen agrees absentmindedly, there's a faint knowing
smile on his face, "So will you.. move away from the girl now?"
Harry blinked, "What? Will I let you drain an eleven year old girl's soul so
you could stop being intangible? Oh, no. Noo, no, no, I uh, definitely can't
let you do that. Sorry that's a hard no from me."
Tom stares.
He looks completely blindsided, like he is genuinely surprised Harry wasn't
letting him murder a little girl. "What? But, I thought…"
The younger of the pair closes his eyes and sighs, "Tom," Harry stresses, "Me
being slightly less pissed at you for dubious consent and me letting you kill a
person are two very different things." Harry tries explaining slowly, because
there's really no good explanation for not killing little girls since the whole
thing is already kind of an implied no-no. "Very different."
Now Tom looks like he was the one who was betrayed. Seriously. Harry's life.
It's complete bullshit really.
"Please don't do this Harry." Tom whispers, "I don't want to hurt you."
"I'm sorry Tom," Harry says gently, "But I'm not letting you kill the girl. And
also, you couldn't hurt me if you tried."
The translucent teenager's features hardened into something cold and
determined, "We'll see about that, :Basilisk!:"
Summoned, the giant snake coils up behind Tom, hissing and overall looking very
intimidating. :I'm here massssster.:
:Now attack,: Tom commands, before quietly adding as a hesitant afterthought, :
but don't kill him.:
"Parseltongue, language of the serpents." Harry mutters, "Fitting."
Tom glared at him, annoyed, :Maybe kill him a little.: He acquiesced with a
sneer. The younger of the two sneered back. :That will teach you to push my
kindness.:
The basilisk slithers slowly around the two, encircling the room and entrapping
them all. The creature watches until Tom gets impatient with the inaction. :
What are you doing?!: He hisses, furious at his order being ignored.
The giant snake shifts nervously, eyes flickering at Harry pointedly, :Tis
jusst.. Isss thiss wise masssster?:
Harry looks down at his feet. Partly because he's aware that his human body
would be most likely affected by a basilisk's gaze, but mostly to hide his
vindictive amusement and glee. He just hopes the serpent doesn't give away the
game too soon, after all, he's always had a bit of a weakness for dramatic
reveals.
:You dare doubt my words?: Tom practically snarls, if he was human his pale
complexion would surely have pinked from embarrassment. :As Heir, I demand you
do as I say!:
The basilisk hisses but positions itself in a ready to strike poise obediently.
The giant snake looks forlornly at Harry though, beseeching and weirdly
expectant. Harry, because even with his complicated emotions currently toward
the horcrux the entity is still kind of a pushover, of course feels bad for the
basilisk who has been placed in the unfortunately small space between a rock
and death incarnate. It is not an enviable position for anyone.
He sighs as he feels himself caving in and calls out, :Fear not beautiful
Basilisk, I will not hold it against you for what you are ordered to do.:
The basilisk stills, and Tom looks at him, wide-eyed and a little aroused. "I
knew you could speak Parseltongue too." He murmurs mostly to himself, "Ginny
told me, and logically you would have to know it to get here but-" and now the
translucent teen looks more than just a little hot under the nonexistent
collar, "I didn't expect you to sound so good saying it."
Harry flushes despite himself at the odd compliment. Damn Tom. Damn him to
every level of hell. "Shut up, we're fighting to the death here." Harry
mutters, irritated at his own embarrassment.
:I thinketh thy am in love.: The basilisk hisses out of bloody nowhere.
Now both wizards were staring at the serpent. Well, Harry was more staring
below the snake's head but still.
"Uh, what?" Harry says.
:What?!: Tom hisses angrily up at the basilisk.
The basilisk stares seriously at Harry despite the green eyed boy's
unwillingness to give the snake eye contact. :We would produce the mosssst
perfect clutch of eggsss.:
:Would we?: Harry says weakly. :I don't even know your name though.:
:Tissss Belynda.: Belynda the basilisk answers enthusiastically, :Doth you
sssee? We art perfect! None have asssked for my name for thoussandsss of
yearsss save you! My true love!:
:I asked for your name.: Tom protests annoyed.
Belynda flickers her tongue at Tom, :Oh, what tisss in a name really?:
The basilisk was kind of crazy. Harry realised. Like the sort of crazy you
could only get by being stuck alone in the darkness for a hundred years crazy.
:I gave you orders.: Tom says darkly, :As your master you will obey me.:
The basilisk falters at that, looking as sad as a basilisk can be as she looks
at Harry. :Alassss I cannot back down from my master's orderss, no matter how
cruel they art for me.: The basilisk hissed mournfully, :It seemss my love,
that we are just not desssstined to be.:
Harry gave what he hoped was a genuinely apologetic smile at the area where he
heard the giant reptile's voice. :I understand,: he lied, because obviously
being stuck down in the sewage pipeworks of a girl's toilet for centuries will
turn even the mightiest of creatures a little batshit insane and probably more
than a bit suicidal. :But this man here is not your previous master, beautiful
Belynda. He is but a shard between absolute nothingness and a shade of his past
self.:
Belynda the basilisk was silent for a moment. While he couldn't allow his eyes
to look upon her face lest his human body cease to properly work, Harry does
imagine she looks torn. Or as torn up as a giant serpent could look anyway.
"What." The horcrux of Mr Riddle just says. Harry ignores him for now. Even
when the teenager repeats a louder more irritated, "WHAT."
It seems to snap the silence out of the basilisk though as she hisses and the
noise of scale against hard floor is heard. :Masster tisss my massster.: She
says apologetic but firm, and fair, Harry can respect such undying loyalty, he
can. Unfortunate said loyalty is against him but that really just makes him all
the more impressed really.
:I will personally make sure your next life would be far more fulfilling,: he
promises seriously.
:Thy shalt never forget thee.:
Belynda gives a shaky hiss and the boy feels the flicker of tongue on his face,
letting the deluded snake have her tragically romantic moment, Harry let his
arms reach out above to touch the scales of the basilisk's face. :Goodbye
Belynda.:
:Farewell, my love.: She hissed before she struck.
The serpent was fast, even in her starved state. But no creature as simple as
her could ever defy death, could ever have a chance. She barely even touched a
hair on his vessel's head before she dropped to the ground lifeless.
Harry opened his green eyes to the fallen giant reptile's body, a young Mr
Riddle's gaping face and a pale green orb in his hands. Then, staring at the
translucent teen, without breaking eye contact, the boy smiled creepily as he
let his jaw dislocate to swallow the green orb whole. He even made sure that
his throat distended slightly so it actually looked way more disturbing than it
was.
Riddle looked like he was about to throw up whatever spiritual contents in his
stomach that he had.
Savouring the sour sweet aftertaste of green apples and salty lemons that was
Belynda's soul, the child that was clearly not just any child bared his teeth
in a facsimile of a smile. "Well, as the saying goes, it's all fun and games
until someone dies, unfortunately for you Mr Riddle," Harry moves in close to
the still, terrified form, his voice dropping liking an echo in the deepest
cave, "Playtime's over."
Tom balks.
"Wait!" He protests, "I-I can give you whatever you want! I can give you your
parents back- Ginevra told me all about your tragic childhood. You and I are
more similar than you think."
"Doubt it." Harry deadpanned, his face completely unmoved by the frankly
pathetic pleas.
Tom, seeing this, drops to his knees and grabs Harry's hand into his own in
desperation, both unable to stop the electric jolts of pleasure that runs
through both of them at their touch. Harry hates how he still loves the way
sensation sparks between each other, even now when he was trying so hard to
punish the young soul piece. "Can't you feel it?" Tom whispers seductive and
hopeful and so very urgent, "Can't you feel us?"
And the thing is, Harry can. He can feel the pulse of that inexplicable desire
that thrums between them, that magnetic pull, the heady scent of addiction and
adoration and absolution. It's hard to resist, the idea, the temptation,
especially when its right there, on his knees in front of him. But Harry can
and he bloody will. In the grand scheme of things, Mr Riddle is just a slice of
decadent chocolate cake in a French pastry shop, and Harry is more than aware
that he not only has his pick of choices, he fucking owns that metaphorical
shop damn it.
The entity on vacation looks down to firmly and utterly crush the impudent
little human half soul's hope but then he is met with the frankly blinding
force of those pretty baby blues on an even prettier face.
Fuck. His minions must never know about this. Or Lucifer. That smarmy devil
already gets far too much leeway being a ruler of Hell, first angel created
etcetera, etcetera- if that fiend ever realised the extent of his weakness
toward a nice pair of blue eyes (something which a certain entity had insisted
to add to a certain fallen angel's design), well…
Harry forces himself to look away, but the damage was done. It does not help
that Tom squeezes the hand he holds, sending a terribly cruel reminder of the
strange pleasure they hold over one another. "You're no use to me right now,
not the way you are." Is all Harry says.
Tom, because he was Mr Riddle, albeit a much younger, angstier part of him,
caught onto his wording like a lifeline. "Right now? So you do want me around."
He grasps, relief painted on his translucent features. "I knew it, we can make
this work Harry, we can-"
Harry grinned, it wasn't a very pleasant smile, all teeth and no eyes. Hollow
black sockets where vivid green eyes had been held stared horrifyingly at Tom,
faint black shadows seemed to seep out of every crevice of the smaller wizard,
from the curls of his wicked smile to the slits under his nails. Taking a step
forward toward the translucent half-soul, Tom Riddle instinctively took a step
back. As a soul piece he was drawn by the siren call of Death. As a being still
clinging to the living world, he was terrified beyond words.
"Honestly, I should gut you where you stand for the crimes of what you've have
done."
Tom whimpered.
"Oh don't look so scared Mr Riddle," Harry teased meanly, "I'm a very forgiving
person you know. I can forgive murder and mayhem, destruction and cruelty. It
doesn't really matter who you are, if you flirt with me, I flirt back, but it's
always a dangerously fine line Mr Riddle- and what you did? Well what you did
was frankly quite inconsolably rude."
Another step closer. Another step back.
"I do so hope you remember in your next life.." Green circles glow inhumanly
from the dark abyss of his eyeholes, letting the monster of the night, the
ultimate predator, the End of All, seep through. "That the things that you do
can have consequences like you wouldn't fucking believe.
Tom cringes, raising his translucent arms up, instinctively protecting his face
as Harry strides toward him. But Harry isn't aiming for him, well, not exactly.
He walks straight past the quivering ghost with barely even a side glance as he
hones in on his true target.
He knows what he will do.
Picking up the diary, Harry's pupils glow as he looks, really looks inside it.
Tom has done a marvellous work sewing himself into the pages and as it is, it
would be difficult to fully extricate but Harry is confident that with enough
time he can do it. Or enough power.
Harry looks at his left hand, flexes it, before channeling his power through it
until it forcibly changes into something claw-like and wickedly sharp. It's a
pale comparison to his original form's hand but it will do for this. He raises
it up, ready to strike but suddenly, blinding pain strikes his side.
The entity turns, only to see a desperate and crazy-eyed Tom stabbing him with
the broken off fang of the basilisk. "I'm sorry," He apologises, like the
fucking handsome psycho stabber he was, "but I can't let you kill me. I have to
much to live for."
"You.." Harry hoarsely whispers as his human meat suit is very firmly rejecting
the basilisk venom in his blood stream. With him being more Death than actual
human right now, his powers are naturally thriving off his own dying state,
further encouraging the poison to seep through, creating a seriously vicious
cycle for him. His small body collapses on the ground, just barely holding onto
the diary, "Bitch."
Then he plunges his clawed hand into the diary and rips Tom's half soul out of
it, taking the last of his strength and swallowing the horcrux whole while Tom
screams in the background. As Harry's vision darkens, the last thing he sees is
a flash of fiery red and a blurry stampede of feet that stops in front of him.
"HARRY!"
"Don't… panic.." He gurgles, it sounds like his mouth of something. Most likely
his own blood. "But.. I think… I've been… stabbed.."
Worst last words ever.
And then Harry blacks out.
***** Death's alternative universes *****
Chapter Notes
     ITS BEEN A WHILE IM SORRY. INBETWEEN TRIPS. BARELY ANY EDITING DONE,
     PLEASE ENDURE. THANKS. HOPE YOU LIKE. ENJOY!
 The one where Death traverses multiple alternate universes and (in this order)
saves two Winchesters, scares Captain America, fucks Thanos, sucks Loki, meets
a little dragon, and finds some fantastic beasts
Or the one where the author indulges in her crossovers
 
 
What happens next is rather a very complicated clusterfuck if Harry would say
so himself. Even he's a little confused at what happened what with being so
brutally backstabbed and all, but essentially it goes something a little like
this-
 
Scene: Slytherin's final chamber.
 
Harry Potter, lying splayed out on the cold floor, body cold and slowly dying
from the basilisk fang still pierced through his side. A completely normal, if
slightly battered, diary is loosely held on by the boy's hand. Blood is
beginning to pool out from underneath Harry's body.
 
Enter Severus Snape. Clearly having just sprinted and was not used to the
sudden need to exercise.
 
He sees Harry and runs to him, followed closely by most of the Hogwarts staff,
the Weasleys and Hermione Granger. The majority of these people are yelling
Harry's name in an incredibly unhelpful manner. Snape kneels down by the still
body to check Harry's vitals. It's weak. Distressingly so. He too, ends up
yelling Harry's name in an incredibly unhelpful manner.
 
Hermione starts to cry. The Weasleys are trying very hard not to follow. They
are failing. Badly.
 
Madam Pomphrey has all but shoved Snape out of the way, using emergency medical
spells to try slow down the poison pumping into the young wizard's veins while
at the same time, stifling the bleeding. From the sweat flowing down her face
she is struggling to do even that. It feels like there is something in Harry
that’s not responding well to healing magic. The situation looks grim.
 
Enter Fawkes.
 
The phoenix is majestic as he flies to the young boy’s side. Fawkes coos and
shuffles closer to the wound, flapping his wings to encourage the mediwitch to
shuffle out of his way. Fawkes looks beautiful beside the dying boy, like a
fiery angel.
 
A fiery angel that was sneering down at a dying boy.
 
Phoenixes, were birds that defied death. With their ability to reincarnate unto
themselves, death is not a natural state they will succumb to unless forced
down by another’s hands. Therefore, they are one of the few species that do not
care for, fear, or innately feel drawn to Death, rather it is Life that is
their one and only true master they look to. Life and Magic and a little bit of
Time would garner an almost equal amount of reverence but any other would be
beneath a Phoenix's standards.
 
Phoenixes, in Death's humble opinion. Were kind of pretentious, self-righteous
assholes. Sure there was the occasional good one that doesn’t do that thing
where they look down at you condescendingly and treat you like some cute
charity case, but there’s a reason why Phoenix tears were so bloody damn rare.
And it’s because phoenixes fucking suck.
 
So when Fawkes begins crying all over Harry’s body like it was the end of
Titanic, it wasn’t because of some sentiment of grief. It certainly wasn’t for
any genuine wish to heal him, no. It was because it fucking knew phoenix tears
burned away any traces of death. And it would burn and burn until death is
vanquished and the human would be brought back to the living.
 
Seriously Fawkes. Fuck you.
 
Because of this, because of that stupid chickenshit arsehole, Death found
himself forced to, metaphorically, jump off the sinking ship if you will.
Leaving behind an effectively healed but vegetative Harry Potter in its place.
 
Death looks at the still body, annoyed at how flawless his mortal form looks
now. How ironic, the burns on his skin were now gone and all it took was him
being set on fire from the inside out. Even now that his physical wounds have
healed, Death can still sense the flickering flames from Fawkes’ tears running
through his mortal’s blood, effectively sealing him from his own vessel.
 
The entity glares at the phoenix. The fucker stares back with the bird
equivalent of a shit-eating smirk pointedly bobbing his head toward something.
Death looks down to where Fawkes was looking at. One of his bone white hands
was slowly reconstructing itself together, an injury for not reacting fast
enough when he had realised what the damn bird had the gall to do. Death takes
a long, slow breath and silently pleas for strength not to smite the bird where
it stood. This, thisis what happens when you favour a species and give them
essentially eternal life.
 
Of course he has his dementors and reapers but that doesn’t count. He’s got
them well trained… sort of.
 
Death settles his irritation by roughly kicking the mystical bird and telling
the phoenix to go die in a shit hole. Fawkes squawks indignantly at the kick,
flapping his wings up into the air so the two are eye to eye before he
essentially tells the entity there's no need for the phoenix to do that since
Death's technically already done it for him. And then the fiery bird vanishes
in a burst of fire, which was a pity because Death was just about to grab the
feathery fiend and wring it by its scrawny neck, Life's protection be damned.
 
"I hope Colonel Sanders hunts you down!” He shouts at the empty space before
gritting his teeth and glancing contemplatively down at Harry’s comatose body
with it’s surrounding entourage of weeping wizards.
 
It would take a while for Harry Potter's body to fully heal from the strain of
housing an entity of death and even longer for the Phoenix tears to be pushed
out of the body's system, enough at least to allow his being to enter back into
the body without too much strife. Death was a little bummed at that, how easily
he has been thwarted. It seems living was much harder than it looks. He only
made it to twelve years before he technically died, even Chaos and Magic
managed longer than that, at least long enough to lose their human virginity.
 
Embarrassing.
 
So Death wallows in self-pity, if only for a moment before deciding to get over
himself and take the opportunity for what it was. Another vacation... From his
vacation... Again.
 
Being Harry Potter was hard work okay?
 
Plus, it would be admittedly quite nice to travel around in his usual
constructed body. So much less limiting than an actual meatsuit, not to mention
adaptable. He stretches his back, his neck, his arms, gleeful at the absence of
pressure that he had been forced to grow used to when he played mortal. It was
akin to taking off a bra, but for his whole body.
 
He sighs happily at the freedom, and then alters his appearance to his fancy.
Nothing too drastic, just making himself older, taller. His hair, after much
contemplation, is longer, mimicking a certain Malfoy's glorious hairstyle
because why the fuck not? Death is immensely fond of his current eye colour so
that’s obviously staying for a while. And finally, he’s all set to wander
again. Maybe he’ll even pop up over to see how his fellow entities are doing.
 
He nods to himself, actually that doesn't seem like such a terrible idea.
Certainly better than the last few he's made at the very least. He'll regroup
with his brothers and sisters, check to see if his paperwork hasn't done the
impossible and killed them all, and maybe ask for some nice recommendations for
universes to visit.
 
With a flimsy plan in place, Death takes one last lingering look at the frankly
depressing scene around him before stepping into the nearest shadow and letting
the darkness swallow him up.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
"Brother!" Came an exuberant cry, Death looked up from where he stood to see he
is back in his realm again. His office to be exact. His office with.. way less
paperwork than he has seen in a very long time.
 
Oh my god, maybe he should just stay on vacationforever.
 
“Don’t you dare,” Life hisses right into his ear, causing the entity to jump in
surprise. “I totally know what you were thinking just now, and once this
holiday of yours is officially over we are going to have a good and long talk
about the concept of delagating some of that simply horrendous workload of
yours to your little minions of yours.”
 
“But,” Death protests, “My reapers aren’t exactly capable-“
 
A rather tired looking Knowledge walks up to him, “I’ve been teaching some of
your more competent reapers and motivated gods of yours to handle some of your
documents. As fascinating as it was in the beginning, I am… considerably unused
to being forced to read such repetitive information.” She massages her
forehead, her inky features are faded from overwork, “I have all the knowledge
at my hand but for the life of me I do not know how one could sit here and do
such dull, mindless tasks for as long as you have. It is baffling how banal it
all is.”
 
“Don’t you mean- for the death of you?” Chaos says with a confident smirk as he
comes into the room with a small pile of papers. Papers that go flying
everywhere once he sees Death. “Brother!” He yells gleefully, rushing up to hug
a now sour faced Death staring disapprovingly at the fallen paperwork. “So
you’ve finally kicked the bucket eh? A little soon isn’t it?”
 
“I haven’t technically died.” Death defended at the pitying expressions on his
fellow entities’ faces. Honestly the lack of faith of them. “I’m currently
hospitalised because someone’s favourite birds screwed me over.” He glares at
his counterpart who is whistling at some documents she was holding, reading
them with a renewed vigour that was fooling nobody.
 
“I thought it was your insane diary that did the deed. You know, the guy you
wanted to mark your book if you know what I mean?” Chaos wiggled his eyebrows
salaciously up at Death who he was still clinging on to. Not one entity looked
impressed.
 
“Too soon man.” Life shook her head beside them.
 
“Also that was absolutely horrible.” Death deadpanned because now that he was
back at full power, he could say with absolute certainty that he’s definitely
moved on from it already. It still hurt, the betrayal, the humiliation, the
seething black anger- but he’s Death now, and suddenly the whole conflict is
less… significant. Humans can cling to their grievances like children with
their favourite teddy bears, and Death was sure that if he had stayed as Harry
Potter he too would’ve held onto his resentment against Tom Riddle for what he
has done to him, twisting it to make it worse than it had ever actually been
like most bad memories. But once he had shed his mortal skin, Death can feel
the emotions he held, so bright and vivid, slip through his hands like water,
leaving the pale shade of feeling he had always had.
 
It was enough to make him want to go back to playing human, pain or no pain.
 
Of course that doesn’t mean he still isn’t a little pissed at the soul.
 
Chaos, unaware of his favourite brother’s thoughts just snorted and rolled his
eyes petulantly, “It’s not my fault you just showed up with no warning! And
besides…” The entity looked sheepish and petulant, “…all the good puns were
taken in that letter.”
 
Knowledge looks at the chaotic entity derisively, “There were plenty of decent
puns and plays on words you could have used in reference to this context,” She
huffs, “Do not go blaming other people for their higher comprehension of the
english language.”
 
“I can if they are literally the epitome of knowledge!” Chaos hisses, “And
don’t say other people, I know it was you who helped out the others make the
punny.”
 
“Make the… punny.” Death repeated. “It seems since I have left dear brother,
your sense of humour has fled as well.” Chaos pouts.
 
“Aw, Death, baby, don’t be like that to your favourite, sexiest lil bro.”
 
“Aw, Chaos, honey,” Death mimics, “If you think you’re the sexiest one out of
all of us clearly it isn’t just your humour that’s left the realm.”
 
Chaos hugged the entity of death tighter and shivered dramatically, “Oh,
darling I do love when you get sassy with me,” he groans in half-faked
pleasure.
 
“Are-are we interrupting something?” Time asks awkwardly at the doorway,
fiddling with a pocket watch while his serene counterpart just smiles behind
him.
 
It’s funny how obvious everyone’s counterpart is so obviously opposite to the
other in some way or form. Death is awkward and sarcastically pessimistic while
Life is a bubbly extroverted optimist. Chaos and Order were pretty self-
explanatory. Knowledge was clinical and hard to please in the same way Love was
emotional and easily attached. The other two pairs were a little harder to
discern straight away but once you looked a little closer it was obvious
enough. For one, Magic had an attention span smaller than the number of teens
currently happy in high school, while Fate had enough patience and
determination to continue writing Bella Swan’s fate. Though to be fair it did
get kind of weird in the end, but hey, in another universe that story became a
fucking franchise so Death really shouldn’t talk. And Space, well he has always
been as calm and unflappable as much as Time is twitchy and anxious.
 
Death smiles at their arrival, “None at all brothers, we are merely catching up
before I leave again.”
 
Chaos lifted his head up from where he had been rather inappropriately been
nuzzling against the other’s chest with a shocked, slightly hurt expression.
“You’re leaving so soon?” He asks a little plaintively.
 
The monochrome man looked at Chaos apologetically, “Apologies but knowing
Fate’s works, my current mortal’s story is probably going to get quite busy
after all this is over, I wish to take the opportunity to check out a few new
universes personally.”
 
Life snorts, “Come on Chaos, this will be good for Death. You even said
yourself that he needs to learn to get some strange in his life.” The chaotic
man scowls and finally unlatches from his favourite brother to argue with Life.
 
Meanwhile Death decides to talk to Knowledge and his two eldest brothers. “So,
not that I’m ungrateful that you all showed up, but where are the others?”
 
“Fate’s taken up most of your workload currently, with Order helping her. One
is clearly having more fun than the other,” Knowledge states because she knows
everything, “Love has… well she’s trying to manipulate your love life.
Apparently she isn’t happy how quickly the whole Percy thing had ended and is
re-evaluating the prospects.” Death shifts guiltily at that, he knew Love
wouldn’t have liked him rejecting the whole squishy cute dating scene, he
senses an embarrassing love potion in Harry Potter’s future courtesy of her
wrath and need to satisfy cheesy love tropes. “They all send their regards and
apologies by the way.”
 
Death waves it off, “It is fine, though I’m more than a little worried about
what Love’s up to than anything.” He cocks his head curiously at Space and
Time, “And honestly, I’m a little surprised you two showed up at all, usually
you two can be as busy as me sometimes.” That or Time’s too immersed playing
with clocks and being a recluse while Space is off galavanting around and-or
getting high off the universe.
 
Well Space insistently calls it ‘absorbing the wonders and mysteries of the
world around him’ but everyone else likes to call it ‘getting stoned as fuck’. 
 
Time smiles sheepishly and even Space looks a little chagrined at the reminder
of being the most constant absentees in the group. “Yes, well,” Time dithered,
“we came to give you a little gift! So, uh, it would’ve been terrible of us not
to have come to give it to you.”
 
“Also you don’t trust the others to take credit of your gift.” Death deadpanned
with a faint smile.
 
Space smiled back amusedly, “Precisely.” Death laughed softly at the offended
expressions on the other entities faces.
 
“That is so not true.” Life protested while Chaos bemoaned how old age has made
his older brothers cruel and bitter. Even Knowledge feigns outrage as she
huffs, “As if I would partake in simple-minded gift giving." She retorts.
 
"Yeah, it's not as if you completely suck at it or anything." The chaotic
entity murmurs under his breath. Clearly still hung up on the last time they
all tried to exchange gifts like the humans on Christmas. Death got slippers
from her. Fuzzy blue ones with purple polkadots. It’s some sort of reference to
a universe or movie or.. something. Death wasn’t really that impressed by it
but whatever, it was not as bad as what Chaos got.
 
"There are too many variables to take account of," she complains darkly, "Is it
better to go symbolic and assume the subject would understand? Pick something
personal to their interests but not personal enough that it would embarrass
them if opened in front of friends and or family? Something homemade or
something expensive to show the extent of your care for them? And what if you
do not feel attached to the subject? The notion that I have to spend time and
effort on someone who I don't even make any effort to spend time with in the
first place feels rather illogical!”
 
There’s an awkward silence among the entities after that. Mainly because they
were all thinking the same thing.
 
Was the last bit about me?
 
Space coughed for a lack of anything better to do as a response. “Well,” He
says with his eyes averted from Knowledge, obviously remembering his own rather
lacking present during the last gift exchange clearly as well, “Hopefully you
will, uh, find this much less… less?”
 
From a pocket of space, Space reaches in and pulls out-
 
“Is- is that an apple watch?” Life asks dubiously. “Because those are kind of
lame, like, just use your fucking phone people. Life is not thathard.”
 
“It’s actually a trans-dimensional planner watch.” Time jumps in before Space
could object to the criticism. “We created it just for this moment in mind so
Death can take the opportunity to travel to certain points in certain universes
for a specific time in order to get a full and hopefully enjoyably experience
in his limited vacation.”
 
Everyone ooh-ed impressed.
 
“Now that’s a thoughtful gift.” Knowledge acknowledged. “I’m almost jealous.”
 
“Oh my god, is that why you two made me compile those lists?” Chaos suddenly
gasps, “Holy fuck I just thought you two were finally losing it, asking me to
put down fun universes to go to.”
 
“Wha- they asked you?!” Life shouted in outrage. “They never asked me!” She
turns to them. “You never asked me!”
 
Death narrowed his eyes at the pair. “Wait.. you knew I was going to get
stabbed by a teenage diary?”
 
“Well, technically we didn’t know per say..” Time fiddled with his glasses. “We
just sort of.. assumed.”
 
Now Death, just like his counterpart, gave them a look of both outrage and
betrayal. “You assumed I was going to get stabbed by a teenage diary?”
 
“If it helps, Fate knew.” Knowledge tells him helpfully, while less helpfully
Chaos adds with exaggerated mysterious flair, “She alwaysssss knooOowsss.”
 
Space smiled wanly, looking like he is amused at his siblings antics but giving
off that sort of vibe that implied they were all two steps away from being
sealed in a suffocatingly tiny bubble of anti-space. Chaos, who has experienced
a total of nine Space-related punishments in his existence and has been thusly
scarred from them makes a rather unmanly sound and hides behind Knowledge in an
equally manly way. Even Knowledge stepped back, while never having experienced
it herself, it turns out knowing pretty much everything is enough for her to
never want to poke that metaphorical bear.
 
Life cleared her throat, “So, it’s a very lovely little item eh? I’m like,
super impressed brother.” She says in her non too subtle attempt at a subject
change. Luckily it worked and Space’s smile shifted into something happier and
proud. The entity squeezes his counterpart’s shoulder fondly, “Thank you sister
for your kind compliments,” he says graciously, “Of course they would be no
gift in the first place without Time here to help me construct my designs.”
 
Time blushed and looked at his counterpart like he hung the stars and moon.
Which, well, he sort of did. “O-oh, thanks.. brother.”
 
Space smiled a little wider, his hand pointedly to leaving his counterpart’s
shoulder. “No, thank you.. brother.”
 
“Ugh, just kiss already.” Chaos mutters under his breath sourly. “It’s not like
we’re actually related biologically or anything like the lower class flesh
people anyway, I mean, come on, it’s beenages.” Knowledges jabs him in the
stomach with her elbow pointedly as Space and Time immediately seperate at his
words.
 
“Brother Chaos,” Space tells him with a stern look, “Just because you lust for
another fellow entity that I at least have the courtesy not to name here, that
does not mean I harbour the same feelings for my counterpart. Time is just a
brother to me.”
 
Chaos looks down, expression hidden.
 
“Y-yeah,” Time agreed, though his shoulders were a little slumped, “J-just a
brother.”
 
There’s another pause. This has been a great start to Death’s second vacation
in a vacation he must say.
 
Because Death is a mature, infinitely old entity who has recently learned the
proper social responses befitting a twelve year old child, he walks up into the
area between Space and Time, pecks them on the cheek before snatching the watch
and let his shadows wrap it around his wrist. “Well, this has been lovely.
Thank you for the wonderful gift and the reminder why we almost never have
reunions without at least three of our own personal minions.”
 
Death personally likes to bring the original Lucifer and Micheal, partly
because they’ve mellowed out a lot over the centuries but mainly because Death
likes to continuously show them how petty their little fight was in comparison.
His third usually is either a random individual who had captured his interest
at the time or one of the deities who have been grossly, grossly misinformed
about what happens up there.
 
It’s just so funny when they realise how wrong they were.
 
Death backs away from the pair to kiss the cheeks of the other entities
present, though Chaos- who had already jumped back from his very temporary
silence- had insisted on a very long lip lock. The entity of demise just rolled
his eyes and gave his chaotic little brother a soft press of the lips against
his before he tapped the screen of his watch and disappeared.
 
Chaos sighed, half-annoyed before looking interestedly at Space and Time. “So
where is he off to first then?” He asks the pair. “The wild west? Earth 616?
Westeros? I don’t think he’ll handle Westeros, he hates learning too many names
of people with short lifespans.”
 
The pair smiled, “Well,” Space says mysteriously, “Only time will tell.”
 
“….I fucking hate you.”
 
===============================================================================
 
SUPERNATURAL (A very supernatural Christmas)
===============================================================================
 
Death blinks blearily at his new surroundings, apparently all it takes was a
few years in mortal body to get him to forget how to smoothly hop across
dimensions and universes. It’s absolutely horrible. He wants a drink. And a
deep tissue massage while he’s at it.
 
It’s nighttime, which doesn’t exactly help his blurry vision but from what he
can tell he’s in some sort of suburban area. The upper-middle class sort. And
if the obnoxiously festive decorations around are anything to go by it seems
he’s made it just in time for this world’s Christmas. Oh god, he would
absolutely murder for some eggnog right now. Such a delightful drink, to
swallow whole unborn embryos as they drown in alcohol is a great bliss to the
entity. Death cannot help but smile, giddy at the thought of such an
indulgence.
 
He twirls around slowly, surveying the area like he has all the time in the
world before he locks on to an innocuously bland house with some rather nice if
a little gaudily large christmasy decorations on the front yard. It catches his
interest immediately as he recognises the sort of presence that's coming from
in that building. Deities. Minor gods at best but still, gods none the less.
 
Curiously Death walks up to the front door, careful to avoid the whimsical
snowman and other festive assortments as he crosses the yard. There’s even one
of those wreaths hanging on the door. Upon closer inspection Death notes
approvingly that the wreath is handmade, not any of that plastic shit people
had taken to using, it even smells nice. Meadowsweet probably. Someone has a
sense of humour.
 
He presses the doorbell. As expected a rather stereotypically cheerful ring
echoes the house. Death waits a few moments patiently before pressing the
doorbell a second time, more firmly this time, like somehow this was going to
get whoever was in the house to come faster. The moment he pulls back his
clawed hand, ready to press for a third and incredibly vicious time, the door
opens revealing two rather kindly looking pagan gods.
 
Seriously, they looked like they could have been the poster couple for
Christmas in the 1950s. The man was even holding a smoking pipe.
 
Death gave the shocked pair what he hoped was a very polite and friendly smile.
Though by the way the colour was being drained from their rosy cheeks, he was
failing rather spectacularly. “Good evening.” He tries, because he has spent
twelve years as a mortal child and he refuses to believe his ability to
socialise has not improved one bit. “Is this a good time?”
 
“O-oh my!” The woman gasps, “Oh fudge on a popsicle could it be?”
 
“Well this is certainly a christmas full of surprises eh darling?” The man
jokes weakly, his eyes not leaving Death’s form.
 
“Oh my,” The woman repeats breathlessly, apparently not hearing her husband.
She’s too busy staring wide-eyed at the incarnation of death in front of her.
 
The monochrome man waits on serenely for a moment, green irises glowing
amusedly as he watches as the knowledge of exactly who was on their doorstep
slowly sinks in to the pagan gods’ minds. Sometimes you don’t have to have a
grand entrance to take the stage after all, and it’s certainly been a while
since he’s felt completely empowered by a situation.
 
“C-care for some peanut brittle sir?” The man stutters out sudden and stiffer
than a frozen corpse.
 
That seemed to strike his wife out of her stunned coma as she practically
jumped at her husband’s attempt at manners. “Oh dearie me, you must be, uh, as
cold as you can get just standing out there sir!” She says, once again the
epitome of what an old-fashioned american housewife would be as she stepped a
little behind the doorway with a little ushering hand gesture. “Please, come
in, come in.”
 
The minor gods shudder in a mix of fear and awe and admittedly a little bit of
desire as Death smiles before walking past them into their home. “You are most
kind young ones.” He thanks gracefully, purposely ignoring how their eyes glaze
over for a moment as they bask in such simple praise from such a powerful
being. The man even gave a little whimper as a tendril of shadow inadvertently
brushed him, for to such a small god, the sheer touch of power in that one wisp
of shadow probably felt likepro enough for the man to burn down cities.
 
The woman looked both curious and envious of her partner's reaction but quickly
focused back onto her very important guest like a good host. "Do you want me to
hang your uh, robe?" She asks, obviously unsure of herself and clinging
desperately onto the rules that come with being a good hostess.
 
Death shakes his head, "Thank you for the offer but it is not needed." He rolls
back his shoulders and like waves, the shadowy darkness coating him ripple down
his body until they settle into the form of a fetchingly tailored suit that
clung very attractively to his body. The couple stared admirably at his form.
As they should. Death knows he's hotter than hellfire when he wants to be. "As
you can see."
 
"Oh I see alright." The woman murmured appreciatively, forcing her husband to
pointedly jab her in the side to bring her back to the reality at hand. "I
mean, let me show you to the kitchen!"
 
Death nodded, "That would be lovely, if your food tastes as good as it smells
right now, then I think we shall be in for having quite a wonderful time."
 
The couple gave strained, nervous laughter. "I told you we should have set out
the good China." Death heard whispered furiously behind his back. "But no
woman, you said only for 'special occasions.'"
 
"Well how was I supposed to know Death would show up for Christmas?!" The woman
hissed back, "It wasn't like he sent us a letter or one of those electronic
mails!"
 
"Electro- honey, he's Death!” The man flings his arms up exasperatedly and
Death has to cover his smile with a hand. Honestly, humans may be refreshing
but he’s forgotten how cute these minor gods could be to play with as well.
“We're astronomically lucky he actually appeared at all!”
 
Following his sense of smile, Death opens the door to the homely dining room to
see a nice table with candles, a sweet-smelling pie- and two rather strapping
young men tied up in chairs beside the spread. Death cocked his head at the two
men who immediately stopped struggling from their bindings to stare at the
newcomer.
 
“Who the fudge are you?” The shorter one asks incredulously.
 
The monochrome man stares back at him surprised. Not because of their presence
though, no, Death had noticed they had been there since the beginning. “Can you
not say fuck like a normal person?” Death asks back, curious, “Are you one of
those, ah, man-children?”
 
The taller of the two snorted as the shorter just glares at him for the
question. Death disregards them, choosing instead to survey the table and it’s
contents, which, upon closer inspection, was filled more with tools that belong
in a garage than any real food unfortunately. He picks up a bowl with some
blood in it to look closer, ignoring whatever the two mortals are saying at the
moment. He wrinkles his nose. “Is- is that a fingernail?” Inverted eyes narrow
down to the two men stuck in their seats, "Is this one of your fingernails?"
 
Gross.
 
“Listen man,” The tall one says, not at all answering his very important
question, “I don’t know how you got here but you need to go, right now.”
 
“Yeah,” Short One pipes up, “The couple here are nutters, seriously you need to
leave.” He struggles with his bindings for a moment before looking back at
Death with a crooked, dark-humored smile, “And ah, cutting us free would be
nice too. You know, if it ain’t too much to ask.”
 
“Now, now,” The lady of the house chides darkly as she enters with two cups of
hot cocoa. “Don’t you go badmouthing us to our special guest dearies, or we’ll
have to sew those pretty lips shut permanently won’t we?” She says with a sweet
smile before turning to Death, “Cocoa?” She offers demurely.
 
“Madge makes the best cocoa.” Her husband boasts as he comes into the room with
a platter of sliced raw meat, artfully done to look like flowers. The woman,
apparently Madge, giggles and preens under the praise.
 
“Oh Edward,” She says, then loudly whispers to Death, “That man, a flatterer he
is.”
 
Death takes the hot cocoa politely, “It seems you got a good one then.” He
replies with a thin smile, earning himself a rosy cheeked pagan goddess looking
both awed and delighted at his response. Edward seemed right chuffed as well.
Death sips the cocoa, rich and boiling hot, just as he prefers. “Good cocoa, is
there fresh blood in this?”
 
Tall One looks horrified at him while Short One tells the trio how ‘sick’ they
all were.
 
“So what, is this guy your second husband or what lady?” Short One asks rudely,
“Because, gotta say, he’s kind of way out of your league.”
 
Madge turns a rather furious red at the insult, either on behalf of Death or
not, but Death just chuckles. The short one has moxy. He’s probably what Draco
would have ended up like if Draco was American. And lower middle-class. Death
looks at their rather shabby clothes. Super low-middle class then.
 
“I’m definitely above their league if that’s what your talking about.” The
entity smirks as he sips more of the frankly bloody delicious hot chocolate.
Heh, bloody. “Anyway, what’s with these two guys here? You’ve already got three
sacrifices, five seems a bit greedy if you don’t mind me saying.”
 
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Short One tacks on.
 
Death looks down at the pair, “Okay, it was cute the first time you spoke up
kiddo, but I really can’t vouch for you guys if you keep this up.”
 
“Bite me Edward Scissorhands."
 
"Dean." Tall One whispers furiously, "What are you doing?! He's helping.. I
think."
 
At the same time, the pagan gods were practically spitting in their outrage at
the insult and fear as they awaited the response. "How dare-"
 
"-the disrespect in you whippersnappers-"
 
"-in my day-"
 
"-don't even deserve the dignity of being properly sacrificed-"
 
"-just gut you where you stand-"
 
Death looks self-consciously at his long taloned hands before willing them to a
more human appropriate standards with a sigh. Everyone was a critic. "I quite
like that movie," he comments idly, effectively silencing the pagans, "though I
do prefer a happier ending if given the option."
 
 
Honestly, he's feeling incredibly uncomfortable in this whole situation and
wishes desperately that he had just stolen some mortal shmuck's eggnog and
check out Disneyland or something instead of the nearest friendly neighborhood
gods. However since he's no longer playing mortal himself, there was no way
Death was going to show any such weakness to lesser deities he barely knows,
and instead takes on an expression of stone-faced boredom as looks at the
occupants of the house. "So, are we just going to keep standing around or-?"
 
The couple jumped into action.
 
“Of course, of course sir, give me a moment,” Edward the pagan god promised
hurriedly before dashing out of the room like the hounds of hell were at his
heels. Madge the other pagan god- and really, these names, ugh- just looked
flustered and offered Death the platter of sliced meat.
 
“Raw heart?” She offers eagerly.
 
"That will be lovely, thank you." Death accepts the bloody appetiser,
delicately picking a piece with his fingertips and letting his inky black
tongue wrap around the heart, pulling it into down his throat like a monster
dragging it’s prey into an abyss. Death can practically feel the stares boring
into him. "Not bad," he comments idly, "It's been a while since I've had
properly prepared heart. Is that vinegar?"
 
"Tears of the owner mixed with lime and paprika." Madge corrects with a wide
smile. Death tips an imaginary hat to her culinary skills as he reaches for
another slice. Maybe he did make the right decision, awkwardness aside. Merry
Christmas indeed.
 
Just as he's about to take a third mouthful of the chewy taboo goodness, Edward
comes into the room with a rather ornately carved chair. There was streaks of
actual gold that gleamed beautifully even under the artificial lights. "Here we
go, please sit sir." The pagan god gestured respectfully as he placed, what
could only be described loosely as a throne, across the table from the two
gaping prisoners.
 
"What are you?" Tall One asks full of reluctant awe and genuine wonder. Death
looks at the bound man curiously, using 'what' instead of 'who' was an
interesting choice of words indeed, it meant these humans weren't just in the
wrong place at the wrong time. They knew about the less worldly, probably was
one of those self-sacrificing protector types that fought against the monsters.
 
He sits on the throne graceful and regal with a serene smile that hides the
fact the gilded chair was uncomfortable as absolute fuck. Appearances were
everything after all, and despite the reprieve from his duties Death has found
he has missed being able to own the room simply by being there. "I..." He
pauses dramatically, "am Death."
 
"Death." Tall One repeats.
 
"Like death Death?" The Shorter and clearly less intelligent one asks.
 
Death nods regally and sips his hot chocolate. “The one and only,” he pauses
for a moment before amending, “Well, that’s not true, my son usually takes up
my mantle around these parts.”
 
“You have a son sire?” The goddess of the house asks weakly after the room had
fallen into a deep and unrelenting silence, apparently even the more
supernaturally inclined in this household did not know what to do with such
information. “He must be, uh, lovely.”
 
Death brightened up considerably at the topic of his brethren, “Oh he very much
is,” he agrees enthusiastically, now looking more like a proud father than
regal overlord, “He’s been doing so well managing this corner of universes I’ve
assigned to him, I’m thinking of giving him some more, show him that I believe
in his skill and whatnot.” The entity then frowns and sighs, sipping his drink
pensively, “However I fear that I may be giving my son far too much to handle,
just a couple of universes and their respective alternates is already a lot of
work and from what I’ve been hearing in the reports, it is time for the
apocalypse to arrive here soon.”
 
Edward and Madge pale at the casual confirmation the end of the world is
coming. The two humans, while still looking confused and disbelieving, look
just as uneasy.
 
“You’re fucking pulling our legs.” Short One accuses. Death shakes his head
somberly.
 
“I am afraid not Short One-“ a sound of indignation comes from Short One, “- I
can feel the earth readying itself for the oncoming carnage, the wheels are
already turning and the Apocalypse will not be avoided.” He looks at the two
humans thoughtfully. Now that he looks at them a bit closer he can sense the
pair are special. And not exactly lucky sorts either what with the amount of
death surrounding them. Past, present and future. Clearly there are worse fates
out there than Harry Potter’s. “...Though it could be stopped.”
 
“Wait. What do you mean it can be sto-“
 
Death turns his back to the mortals, dismissing them in favour of the two pagan
gods. The two pagan gods who looked ready to be rather severely ill as they
clutched their hands tightly together. “I see you two aren’t taking the news
well either.”
 
They shook their heads, looking extremely worried about their situation. Death
didn’t blame them. He highly doubts the godly couple was significant enough to
warrant any form of protection or even notice from the higher ups. The
Apocalypse was pretty much the minor god equivalent of the Great Depression.
They’re going to be starving, dying and possibly reduced to fighting each other
in the streets over the last few places they could hide away from the oncoming
destruction.
 
The entity looks at them, and he kind of wishes they didn’t look so much like
sweet old grandparents because they had fed him and gave him cocoa and now he
kind of feels obliged to not let them undergo the horrible experience that is
the ending of the world. He sips his cocoa and massages his forehead with his
free hand before the being of death decides on what he wants to do now. Fuck,
this was a good cup of hot chocolate. Finishing it with a few large swallows,
Death then points at the pair with the now empty mug.
 
“I’m going to give you my favour.” He tells them, immediately brightening the
pagan gods’ expression, but before they could start falling over themselves
with praises and thanks he finishes with, “But in return I want the two
mortals.” Death glances at them. The two don’t seem like the brightest stars in
the sky but certainly that whole telling him to ‘get out before it was too
late’ thing was a very nice thing they tried to do. Useless and laughable. But
very nice nonetheless. Also, he liked their faces. It would be a shame to kill
people as pretty as them for something as juvenile as some pagan sacrifice on
Christmas.
 
“Um, do we get a say in this?” Short one asks annoyed. Death hushes him much
like an owner hushing their whining pup.
 
“If you do not mind us asking,” Edward begins tentatively, “what does your
favour imply milord?” Madge nods in support.
 
Death faintly smiles. He notices there was no protest in losing the humans as
compensation. Though to be fair, Death is fairly sure a lot of individuals
would give up more than a few mouthy meal tickets in order to gain a boon from
Death himself. “It’s a generous offer.” He tells them, “Four centuries
guaranteed immunity from all forms of death, no need to feed, no need to try
gather power just to scrape by. I might even be kind enough to give you a
little power boost to fight off any undesirables once you carve out your
territory.”
 
“Holy shit.” Short One whispers, because apparently this one’s mouth just
cannot be stopped, “Can we get that deal too?”
 
“Shut up Dean, oh my god.” Tall One groans.
 
“I’m just saying-“
 
“We accept.” The couple say simultaneously.
 
Death’s smile widens. “Fantastic.”
 
Then he’s suddenly right in front of them, arm raised and both their throats
already effectively slashed.
 
“HOLY SHIT!” Short One, Dean, shouts while the other one is also cursing up a
storm.
 
“Oh do be quiet, they’re not going to die.” Death tells them calmly as he
slices his own wrists with careful concentration whilst the two gods lay on the
floor, writhing and gasping wetly in agony as they slowly bleed out at his
feet. “Now drink my blood, willing given, and rise stronger then ever.” He
orders as oily black sludge bubbles up from his wrist and sloshes down onto the
floor. In the light there’s a delicate silvery sheen to it, but the appearance
of his blood is still off-putting enough for the pagan gods to hesitate before
licking the liquid off the floor desperately.
 
“And I thought sealing a deal with a kiss was bad.” Tall One comments with no
small amount of disgust at the sight.
 
“A mere demon’s deal would not be able to accomplish what just a lick of my
blood could do mortal.” Death boasts smugly, “It is not as favoured as Life’s
blood of course but it does have it’s perks.”
 
Madge gasps, her hair has gone visibly darker and her skin had lost her rosy
vitality in exchange for something smoother and paler. She still looks old, but
younger than before. The slash on her neck is still bleeding, but sluggishly
now. “Oh my,” she breathes.
 
“I feel… great.” Her husband laughs disbelievingly, he is in a similar state of
changed appearance. “No, better than great, I feel powerful again!”
 
The two look up at the entity, awe and respect and gratefulness colouring their
eyes as their thanks and praises spill from their mouths. Death takes it all
with awkward grace, he’s never been great with receiving praise after all.
Like, language was not made to respond to that sort of positivity. He raises
his hand, silencing the newly improved gods.
 
“I am glad you feel so.. strengthened.” He tells them, “I suggest that you both
should probably pack up and leave to somewhere less… suburban. You may be
invulnerable to death but I didn’t grant you enhanced healing or anything.”
Then quickly he adds, “And if you have the chance, try and save as many people
as you can.”
 
The gods blinked, clearly confused. “But,” the woman begins tentatively,
“you’re Death.”
 
“And I have to oversee every single death, yes, it’s exhausting.” Well, more
like this world is under his Horseman’s reign, not his, and he would like to
minimise as much work as he can for his son. Apocalypses were a lot of work
after all. The amount of paperwork and documentation put into one of these
events is probably the absolute worst thing anyone could go through during an
apocalypse. Just the worst thing. Like, he could not think of one single thing
worse that could happen. “It’s not like I don’t already have immeasurable power
compared to any of you sorts, and not to be rude, but I’m fairly sure your
Apocalypse is pretty damn boring compared to most others.”
 
“Oh, well, gee.” Short One snarks, “So sorry the end of our world is so goddamn
boring for you.”
 
“Dean!” Tall One hisses.
 
“Sam!” Short One, Dean, Death’s going to start needing to remember their names,
mimics back. “He’s mocking us!”
 
“He’s recruiting help for the worst possible situation! How is that mocking
us?”
 
“I-I don’t know, it just feels mocking. I mean...” Dean whispers like he wasn’t
in the presence of those with supernatural hearing. Or normal hearing. Or even
slightly worse than normal hearing. “He kind of seems like a dick.”
 
Tall One, aka Sam, started trying to kick Dean repeatedly despite them being
tied back to back. Death and the deities just watched the whole thing for at
least thirty seconds.
 
“Are, are you sure you want them?” Madge asks. Death sighs.
 
“Well, at least they’re still pretty.”
 
 
===============================================================================
“I just don’t understand.” Madam Pomphrey says frustratedly, “The boy should
be, for all intents and purposes dead- his lungs are barely moving, his heart
beat is erratic, sometimes it stops altogether even, and I’m fairly sure there
is little to no brain activity going on in there.”
 
Dumbledore’s face is unreadable but there’s no doubt he is as confused as the
mediwitch in front of him. “But he’s not dead?” He asks, clutching onto the one
part of the sentence that brings hope.
 
The woman’s mouth thins, more perturbed than happy at the news, “His heart is
technically beating Albus, but nothing else is. It doesn’t make any sen-“
 
“Well that’s wonderful news!” Dumbledore says relieved, “Harry does have an odd
way of recovering but I’m sure the boy will bounce back eventually then.”
 
“Albus no, that’s not how the human body works.” Pomphrey groans exasperated.
The headmaster may be one of the most powerful wizards alive but like most
wizards that don’t train in the medical fields, the man knows near nothing
about even basic anatomy. Personally the woman blames their failing education
system because this stuff was important.
 
“This is marvellous, simply marvellous!” Dumbledore continues, and if he wasn’t
so genuinely relieved and happy, Pomphrey would have bashed his lemon drop dish
onto his head. Of course she shouldn’t be too hasty, the day was still early
after all. “I SIMPLY MUST INFORM EVERYONE OF THIS WONDROUS NEWS.”
 
“ALBUS. NO.”
 
===============================================================================
 
Reaper number DUMBASS- because Mistress Knowledge has assigned him as thus
after finding out what he has done- makes a soft breathy sound, something akin
to a sigh really as his hand gently squeezes Harry Potter’s heart to mimic the
act of it beating. It’s been weeks of tirelessly just sitting by the bedside,
squeeze, release, squeeze. Sometimes it zones out, the sheer mundane repetitive
boredom making even the task consume his every thought even while it’s hand
goes slack. Only when the magic spell the nurse woman had cast beeps
frantically does it jolt back to reality and try not to frantically
overcompensate by accidentally exploding the soulless child’s heart. It’s
already made the mistake of killing the boy once, it’s certainly not going to
do so a second time.
 
===============================================================================
Death sips his drink. It’s Autumn where ever he is now and pumpkin spice has
become quite a popular fad in many earths. Death sips his drink thoughtfully
again before standing up and going over to the nearest homeless person and
passing it to him.
 
“It’s pumpkin spice.” He warns the hobo seriously, but the dirty man just
smiles gratefully and takes the drink while Death tries to hide his pitying
disgust. At least someone enjoys the taste.
 
“Father.” A deep but quiet voice says behind him. Death turns around, surprised
at first, but now with a pleased smile.
 
“Son,” he greets, “How kind of you to drop by to see me.”
 
Death the Horseman smiles back, they had the same slightly crooked tilt to
their smiles, and hands him a cup of something hot. “Though you might enjoy
this.”
 
He doesn’t even hesitate to take a mouthful of the concoction, considering that
the Horseman had been made from brought into this world with a slice of Death’s
own eternal flesh, it is unsurprising that they both share many traits. Their
sense of taste and gluttony is one of them.
 
Death let’s the dreadfully sweet hot chocolate concoction run down his throat,
enjoying the faint sizzle that would have burned his Harry Potter body to the
point that the inside of his throat would’ve matched the outside. “Delightful,”
he compliments admiringly, “It tastes like melted gingerbread.”
 
“It’s a white chocolate ginger snap latte, extra chocolate, extra hot.” The
Grim Reaper tells him as he takes a long swig of his own. “I heard from my
Reapers that you’ve met the Winchesters.”
 
“I have.” Death agrees, “Cute kids. I see Fate and Life have not been very kind
to them.”
 
“That is the life of protagonists isn’t though?” His son muses, the Horseman
looks young, a lanky goth teenager in a suit instead of one of his usually
preferred dapper gentleman  forms. “Life’s always hard and never fair, and
Death will always visit more than once.” The Grim Reaper looks almost shyly to
his primary creator, his father, “Well, that’s what you used to tell me.”
 
“You’re first real protagonists,” Death sniffled a little, wiping an imaginary
tear from his eye. He’s only half joking, because Death junior was his little
boy and protagonists were hard work to deal with if you’re not careful
(Hercules punched him in the face when he tried to wrangle the man into the
afterlife, and he may be more powerful than any god could dream of but that had
really fucking hurt) and it’s, it’s just a big deal okay? It just is.
“You’re... really growing up.”
 
The Horseman smirked, it’s touch to dark to be amused and a little too bitter
around the edges to be humorous, “I didn’t think we were capable of growing
up.”
 
“Growing up isn’t something ruled by a lifetime,” Death says carefully, he
steps closer to his son and squeezes his shoulder sympathetically. He remembers
a period of time where he had felt resentment in who he was, in how easy his
fellow entities had it compared to him. It was.. it was a dangerous time, and
not one he wishes to see in his heir. “It’s how experiences molds us and and
it’s how we learn what we are here for.”
 
“I already know what I’m here for.” His son points out, his irritation
expressed by the sharp twist of his mouth. “I’m here to pick up what you
cannot.”
 
“You are here to lead.” Death corrects vaguely annoyed at the attitude. A small
part of him promises to try spend more time with his favored Horseman if this
is truly the belief he has harboured in terms of his existence. “You are here
because there is a system in this vast multiverse upon multiverse and not even
I could stay on top on. You are here to reign in the other Horsemen, you are
here to make sure every soul has paid its dues and that none shall lose their
places.” Death’s hand on the younger entity’s shoulder slips down to clasp the
Horseman’s own hand. “You are here because I needed help, and most of all, you
are here because I wanted a child to call my own.” He squeezes the other’s hand
tightly, “And I am so proud that I got you.”
 
“F-father.” Death junior chokes out moved. If he could cry, he probably would.
 
“Well,” Death coughs and shifts uncomfortably because he has no idea what to do
now when figurative tears become involved. “Hopefully those Winchesters won’t
be too much to handle, I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”
 
The Horseman, pulling himself together easily just smiles fondly at his maker
and raises his drink. “Hear hear.”
 
===============================================================================
 
Severus watches the still body like he has been for days. Weeks. He feels
hollowed out and worn down as attempt after attempt made to awaken the boy from
this stasis he has put himself in works to no avail. There’s only so much even
the top mediwitches and wizards in Britain can do, let alone a potions master
such as he. Dumbledore and even Lucius Malfoy have sought out connections
around the globe to ask for help- a shaman from the desert, a herbalist from
the East, the best and brightest that American medimagic has to offer, are all
heading to Hogwarts to diagnose this one child.
 
But Harry’s not just one child. He’s the child. He’s the Boy Who Lived. He’s
Harry bloody Potter. He’s... breaking Severus’ heart every day he fails to
awaken.
 
“Come on Harry,” he whispers to the comatose child. His voice feels painful and
cracked. “Come on you selfish child, don’t you dare leave me now, not after
twisting my heart so cruelly.” The man wipes the slowly accumulating grime and
dust gently off Harry’s forehead with a cool damp towel, a task he had insisted
he do for lack of anything else he was capable of helping. “I don’t know what
is worse,” the professor murmurs sadly, “seeing the woman I’d love die because
of me or watching her son slowly waste away while I do nothing but wish I told
him I love him when I had the chance.”
 
God, he is such a fucking mess.
 
===============================================================================
 
MCU Avengers
===============================================================================
The moment his feet touch the ground he knows this world was Trouble. Capital
T. And that sort of recognition only came to worlds with one of two things;
zombies, and other general undead species overrunning the planet like rats in
the sewers, or-
 
A robot of red and gold came shooting through the sky, followed by what looked
to be a massive mechanical flying alien whale. In their wake were many falling
buildings.
 
-Superheroes. He’s in a world with superheroes. He’s probably still in America
too, because of course he is.
 
"Ah fuck." Was all he very eloquently said. Another building fell somewhere
close by. It's all the worse because he knew exactly which hero-verse he's
ended up in. There's an infinite amount of universes out there but there's only
a handful that had a flying red and gold robot as well as a giant green angry
man.
 
"Uh, excuse me sir you need to evacuate underground." Death turned to see the
concerned face of Captain America behind him. Damn the man was gorgeous. In a
completely objective way. It was such a pity Life had claimed the man, Steve
Rogers would look great as a frozen decoration in one of his office.
 
Actually, thinking about it now the uniform kind of clashes with the general
color scheme of his realm. In that the uniform has color and everything in his
realm as a general rule does not.
 
That suit of red and gold though...
 
"Sir? Are.. are you alright?"
 
"Yes, yes," Death huffs as he waves the man's concerns off irately, 
impatiently. He knows the watch is meant to let him experience various
universes in a short time frame but his fellow entities knew of his distaste
for goody-goody spandex clad heroes. He has a vague feeling this is payback for
leaving them with his paperwork. "Now what are we dealing with here? Aliens
yes? It's clearly not a robotic invasion so it's probably alien-based or
magic."
 
Seemingly taken aback but the sheer attitude the entity is projecting, Big
Blonde and Beautiful in Blue just kind of stares for a moment. "Um."
 
"You know what? It really doesn't matter, I've got a few hours to kill anyway."
Death decides because what the hell. It's a vacation. He can literally stab
Captain America right there and then and there would be no consequences. No…
Consequences….
 
“Uh, why are you looking at me like that?”
 
“What’s it to you handsome?” The entity purred, leaning seductively over a
thrashed burning and overturned car. Because even he wants to have a crack at
Captain America given the chance.
 
Of course, maybe this was notthe time to do some serious flirting with an
American icon. Captain America must think the same because he was trying not to
look like he was shuffling backwards and away from the crazy person. The blonde
winces suddenly and touches one of his ears, Death's gaze flickers to it and
realized the man has some sort of earpiece communicator on.
 
"What's the hold up Cap?" Someone is asking through the device, Death
immediately straightens himself at the voice and schools his face into
something more serious. Inwardly he sighs, it seemed there's not going to be
any red, white and blue in the future for him. At least in this universe. Which
was a right pity, because, well, supersoldier strength.
 
"-civilian, think he hit his head-" Death heard him whisper into the earpiece
in one desperate hiss. He's heard snakes less snakelike. Still, Death thinks
he's heard quite enough from what he's gathered. It's a little insulting to see
that his blatant attempt at flirting had been interpreted to head injury but
the entity was magnanimous and willing to admit that he wasn't exactly the top
of his game in that moment. And even then his best game was more instinctual
attraction from the other party than any real work on his part. It's probably
why every entity prefers humans who are so blissfully ignorant and arrogant of
the big picture, these people make them work for what they want.
 
"My name is Death." Death offers kindly with a crooked smile as Captain America
glances back at him. It's clearly the wrong thing to do because the man's
expression gets even more perturbed. He's so distracted he doesn't even notice
one of the grey soldiers running up to them with some sort of.. thingymabob.
 
Raising his hand at the offending creature, Death summons the thing's own
shadow up from underneath it and encircles it like a very determined little
tornado of darkness. It tightens around the now shrieking grey alien soldier,
just enough to lift the being off the ground before Death makes a sharp
clenching gesture and the screams immediately stop with a sickening final
crunch. The now mangled, very dead creature lays messily strewn on the broken
road, it's fellow comrades staring at their fallen soldier with something akin
to absolute fear. And they weren't the only ones though.
 
"Holy- Jesus." Captain America says faintly. He looks a little sickened at the
absolute twisted mess Death had made, and more than a little horrified. Death
silently crosses out any chance of bedding Captain America today. Which was a
damn shame because that man has the shoulder to waist ratio of a fucking corn
chip triangle.
 
"No, I'm Death." He corrects blithely, "Jesus is currently trying his hand at
engineering a river of wine for some ancient Chinese emperor or something."
It's actually pretty cool, the trees are supposed to be golden and have fresh
meat hanging off the branches, the king is obviously going to be overthrown in
like a year but still. You could steal some river wine when no one's looking.
You could also get executed for getting caught but it's not like it's not a
pretty sweet gig overall. "Look Captain, why don't you go... help out with that
giant portal, while I go clean up this place."
 
The alien creatures screech in fear as they realized the immensity in which
they were screwed. The ones that had the ability to fly were already dashing
back into the portal while others settled for running to anywhere but there.
Death, because it's been a while since he's personally committed massacre and
he's not going to let such a nice opportunity slip by his face, snarls at the
retreating warriors, "Cowards!" He yells, "Come and be sacrificed like the
cruxtiens you are!"
 
"Cruxtiens are the English equivalent of pigs." He tells Captain America, "But
violent ones. With elephant sized tusks and blood that tastes like applesauce."
 
"Okay.." Captain America says before frantically whispering into his comm. Not
wanting to interrupt a conversation, the entity busies himself by grabbing as
many aliens as his shadows could- Chitauri, that's what they were, Chitauri-
and cracking them open like freshly cooked crayfish. Some of the yummier
looking souls he brought toward his person to personally consume.
 
Overall the Chitauri taste pretty darn good, there's the base of something
earthy and copper like blood soaked mushrooms roasted over a fire. Which is
great because the thing about mushrooms is they do well with balancing out
flavor and enhancing the whole umami of it all, the spice of a rebellious
personality is mellowed enough to truly savor the adrenaline from its time on
the war zone, the creaminess of a milder soul tastes delicate and full of
untapped potential, and the few drops of salty tears as they took their last
breath perfectly seasoned the whole thing.
 
Freshly prepared hearts then souls straight from the battlefield? It’s like a
delightful culinary adventure.
 
He’s onto his fifth Chitauri soul before Captain America deigns to look at him
in the eyes, he looks incredibly disapproving about the whole ‘eating your
enemies’ thing Death has going on.
 
“Alright... Death.” The blonde starts off dubiously, “Is there anyway you can
help with closing the portal with your, um, abilities?”
 
Death cranes his neck upwards and squints at the crack in the sky. It’s not
exactly his expertise- that sort of task definitely was a Space thing than
anything else. “Is there some sort of power source behind it? I could probably
destroy that easily.”
 
There’s a bit more talking in the comms before Steve turns back to the entity
to confirm, “Black Widow’s on the top of Stark Tower with the machine powering
the portal. There’s some sort of barrier protecting it.”
 
Oh god, please say Black Widow is a code name and there isn’t a giant spider on
this team. Death is so sick of giant spiders right now. “And Stark Tower is-?”
 
Captain America grins, it’s breathtaking. Death had to stagger back a little.
 
“The tall ugly one.”
 
===============================================================================
The Marvel Universe... IN SPACE~
===============================================================================
 
Death throws his head back and hisses at the feel of his body stretching to
accommodate the large girth of the male before him. Thanos grunts as he forces
himself to stay unmoving on his throne as the entity had ordered him to be.
Death gives the purple skinned conqueror a sly, mocking smile. Jagged and sharp
like the finest blade. "You've been rather busy since I'd last saw you." He
hisses as he lowers himself a little lower onto the other. "Such a violent,
terrible man."
 
"All for you," Thanos groans, his hands clenching hard around the armrests of
his chair. He’s been told not to move, not to touch, its torture for the mad
titan but he wants to prove himself to the entity, prove his title, his worth.
“It’s always, un, for you.”
 
“Well, can’t say I’m not flattered,” Death admits breathily, his legs are
spread wide across thick thighs and his upper body is half plastered onto the
much larger torso of the alien, dark shadows wrapped loosely around his body in
a teasing manner as they just barely hid his nudity. The incarnate of death
slowly, cruelly allows more of Thanos’ length to enter inside him, almost
halfway there, and god, Death’s fucking Champion indeed. If he had a fixed
form, Death’s sure that he would have been legitimately ripped open by the
sheer size of the thing.
 
“Please,” The conqueror pleads in a manner Death is sure no other but he has
ever heard. It's that clingy neediness and blind worship that both attracted
the entity and drove him away, though right now he was far more inclined to
feel the former.
 
Death smirks, a row of jagged black teeth under thin lips as he looks mockingly
down at one of the most feared beings in this universe. There's just something
about over-powered psychos that lights up his inner god-complex and sadism that
he usually doesn't indulge in. "Beg." He commands, "Tell me what you want me to
do to you, how much you've wanted this."
 
The entity can feel Thanos below him shift, shallow thrusting upwards into him
despite his orders, unable to control himself. Death has to curl his sharp
talon-like fingers into the nook of the other's neck to re-steady himself from
the unexpected rush of pleasure from the stimulus. It's nothing like the
vibrant firework of color he could feel as a mortal, something he thinks he
shall always mourn when he finally has to bid farewell to playing Little Boy
Potter, but it's still pretty great nonetheless. Still, he's not fond of being
disobeyed in this headspace, so reluctantly he pushes himself up from Thanos'
gigantic prick and in a demonstration of strength, adjusts himself so that the
legs wrapped around the purple warrior effectively pin him to the throne.
Completely immobile from the waist down.
 
Death tutted disappointedly, "Did I tell you to move Thanos?" He asks, to which
Thanos, destroyer of worlds, shakes his head looking meeker than any kitten.
"No, I didn't," Death answers for him, his eyes go completely, soul suckingly
black, "I told you to fucking beg."
 
And beg he did.
 
"Death, my master, my everything," Thanos breathes sharply as a satisfied
entity positions himself so the conqueror's cock is just barely brushing up
against the monochrome man's entrance, "I want you to let me worship you, to
prove I am your greatest follower. I've waited so long for you to come back to
me. I've killed billions in hopes that you will answer my call, to notice me
once more, only your attention is what I most desire."
 
Death blinks as he looks down at Thanos. That had been... unexpectedly sweet of
him. It wasn't really the begging he was hoping for but it was certainly enough
to effectively stroke his ego. As a reward Death leans in and kisses the being,
it's hungry, violent, and much like many of the planets that had the misfortune
to come across Thanos, the other had practically crumbled under such a sudden
attack. "Such a sweet darling," Death murmurs into the kiss that the alien was
frantically if a little clumsily trying to reciprocate, "you'll never betray me
would you?" And okay so maybe he lied and was still a little miffed about the
whole Riddle thing, sue him. The fucking diary stabbed him, he's allowed to be
miffed.
 
"Never," The purple skinned being hissed as if the idea of doing so hurts his
very soul thinking about it. The entity hums, pleased with the answer.
 
Letting one of hands travel downwards, Death guides his proclaimed champion's
dick, hard and wet with arousal, to his entrance. With a confident, sultry look
the entity kisses Thanos passionately before impaling himself fully onto his
erection. He devours and savors the sudden shout of surprise and pleasure,
letting his long inky tongue down the other's throat, lightly choking the
larger being, stimulating him further.
 
It doesn't take long, not with the way Death bounces himself on his champion's
dick with the enthusiasm of a child on a trampoline- or with the enthusiasm of
some other simile far more appropriate given the context. Thanos shudders,
rolling his hips up against his love, his god, and causing Death to arch his
back at the friction in a beautiful arc. The conqueror, unable to help himself
anymore, reaches up to hold the entity in place and begins thrusting into the
tight body of death incarnate with desperate ferocity. Death keens at the
sudden shift in dynamics but quickly adapts with a small amused bark of
laughter.
 
Thanos was never great at playing the submissive pet for long.
 
===============================================================================
SOMEWHERE I don't know
===============================================================================
 
“Rawr.”
 
Death stares down at the tiny chubby baby dragon. The crimson creature blinks,
lazy and curious before trying to take a swipe at a stray tendril of shadow
curling out at him. It disappears like foam under tiny claws, seemingly
entrancing the little thing.
 
“What the, why the fuck was I even sent here?”
 
The dragon looks up at him in response and yawns. Death blinks as he realises
there was an imperfection on the little thing’s tiny scaly head. Intrigued and
with not much else to do in the empty meadow, he picks up the dragon and coos.
“Now what do we have here little one?”
 
Squinting, Death sees it’s a rather odd scar. The design was weirdly familiar…
and then it hits him.
 
Death almost dropped the dragon in surprised.
 
“Funny,” Death mutters once he gets over the surprise, “Real fucking funny
Chaos.”
 
Harry the Hungarian Horntail licks his face.
 
===============================================================================
Marvel Universe. Again. Just. I've really planned this out wrong okay?
===============================================================================
 
"You know," Loki says rather conversationally for someone getting his dick
sucked, "when I was forced into imprisonment for trying to take over Midgard,
this wasn't what I expected I have to admit."
 
Death pulled his mouth from the God of mischief's aching erection, much to said
god's displeasure, and grinned cocky and sly. "Well I didn't expect to end up
in Asgard's prison chambers with you either but I've always found a way to make
lemonade with what I've got. It was either this or eating your soul," He lets
the tips of his sharp teeth graze the skin of the other's arousal, flickering
his tongue lightly against the warm flesh pointedly, Loki groaned at the
sensation, "and I rather like to think I've made the right choice don't you?"
 
"Yessss.." Loki hisses, his head banging onto the wall of his cell as he holds
the most powerful being he's ever seen's head down to swallow his cock. Forget
ruling a planet, this was the biggest power trip of all.
 
===============================================================================
 
When he steps out, he's inside a way too familiar glass tower building. When he
turns around, he sees the Avengers staring back at him. The archer has popcorn
falling from his mouth. Death cannot suppress his annoyance any longer.
 
"What the actual fuck, why am I here, and why is it always these fucking
characters?! This is getting repetitive, and they are getting dull!" He yells
into the ceiling, because this isn't even the fourth time he's entered the
Marvel multiverse now. This is the sixteenth. And the only times that were
actually memorable was when he lived through Tony Stark's childhood as his
imaginary friend, when he actually lived with the Avengers for two years after
the Battle of New York and had a weird but interesting time dating Fury, and
that one time he actually did go supervillain. Death's not gonna lie, it was
kind of stupid easy. They. Always. Fight. He didn't even have to bring out the
medium sized guns, with the exception of when he got double teamed by the Hulk
and Thor. That was, that one kind of hurt.
 
"No, please," Tony Stark called out sarcastically, "continue standing in my
tower and insulting us."
 
Death pauses and looks at the group embarrassed. This is certainly one of the
worst first impressions he has made. Not the worst worst but pretty up there.
"Apologies, let's just say I've been running into you guys a lot lately."
 
"Funny," the archer replies dryly, "I don't remember seeing you anytime in my
life."
 
The entity huffs, "Look, I don't mean any harm nor do I feel inclined to
interact any further with-" he pauses, “Is Captain America gay and single
here?”
 
Captain America turned bright red and glanced at Stark for a second before
looking pointedly at the ground. Ah, so it was like that. Death sighs
defeatedly. The window of opportunity seems to be nonexistent in regards to
this man, it’s either Stark or that Bucky character or that weird thing with
his first love’s niece or whatever. What a bummer, and here Death thought that
he could possibly be the third entity to, as his more chaotic comrade says,
‘tap that’.
 
“I see.” He says flatly, ignoring the sly looks on the two superspies, the
embarrassed flush on the super soldier and the confused but calculating look on
the super genius. “Well I don’t suppose you’ll just let me leave and allow me
to hang around a Starbucks until I have to leave?”
 
They did not.
 
 
===============================================================================
 
 
The healers were baffled. The shamans perturbed. Harry Potter wasn’t healing.
Harry Potter was barely classified as alive. One spiritual doctor straight up
accused Dumbledore of necromancy.
 
“At best the magic does nothing to the subject, at worst it damages the
patient’s body and sets the healing process even further back.”
 
“The Phoenix tears seem to have caused this adverse reaction in the boy, this
is the first time I’ve ever seen this response in a wizard, heck, in any living
creature.”
 
“Survived the killing curse when he was a babe eh? Think that has something to
do with it?”
 
“Fascinating, simply fascinating.”
 
Severus hated them all. He stood in the corner, glowering and glaring like
Harry’s own personal gargoyle at these esteemed strangers putting their hands
and spells over the comatose boy. He hated how they just swanned in here, so
assured that they would cure the Boy-Who-Lived. He hated how he has to spend at
least forty-five minutes explaining the situation, reliving how they had found
Harry, dying from basilisk poison because some fucking bastard had stabbed him,
how Fawkes’ tears had closed the wound but hadn’t truly healed him in the end.
He hated how at least half of them just hmm-ed and nodded and subtly prodded
for more information, what they have tried so far, did anything work, anything
go wrong. He hated how over half of them looked at him like he was useless and
incompetent and clueless despite him being one of the best potions masters in
England. He hated how the other half tried to be sympathetic at his distress,
at Harry’s plight, like by listening to a forty-five minute story has suddenly
made them emotionally connected to Harry on some deep and spiritual level. One
traveling monk actually had the gall to pat him on the shoulder and tell him
‘Not to fear, darkness always passes and light always finds a way.’
 
Merlin he fucking hates them.
 
“These imbeciles are all quacks.” He hisses to Madam Pomphrey as he watches
some Swedish mediwizard, with what is clearly Arthur Weasley’s love for muggle
objects, try scanning Harry’s brain with something called ‘X-rays’ while an
Australian witch and a South African mystic argue about some ingredients
nearby. Oh how he hates.
 
The Hogwarts mediwitch was eyeing the odd clunky contraption the Swede was
using warily as she replies exasperated to Snape, “Okay so maybe this batch
don’t seem to be prime examples of the height of medimagic but I hardly think
it fair to call every wizard here a ‘quack,’ Severus. What about Joseph
Bollhorn?”
 
The Head of Slytherin glowered at the fighting mediwitches harder, “Bollhorn
made some interesting theories.” He grudgingly admitted, “But they were hardly
useful in helping Potter.”
 
Joseph Bollhorn was a quarter veela French mediwizard who has dabbled in
necromancy and minor dark lord-ship in his more tremulous youth. Like everyone
else, he had been drawn in by the allure of saving the great Harry Potter from
his curious condition but unlike the others, he had been a little less orthodox
in his investigations.
 
“No one as we know other than Harry Potter has survived the killing curse,
obviously there must’ve been some repercussions to surviving such an ordeal or
at least a reason for said survival.” Bollhorn had once calmly explained as he
peered closely at a thin patch of flesh he had sliced off Harry’s forearm when
no one had been looking. Even Dumbledore was pretty upset at that, so you could
imagine how furious Snape had been at the time. “From what you’ve told me, and
from what my more esteemed colleagues have summarized, I find myself believing
that Harry Potter’s soul has somehow assimilated the killing curse into itself
and has adapted to rely on its power to continue existing.”
 
“That’s...” Madam Pomphrey had looked dubious at best at the idea but had been
too polite to say it to a stranger they themselves had invited over for their
opinions.
 
“Preposterous.” Snape had finished bluntly for her because he has no such
reservations.
 
“The theory is a little far-fetched I’ll admit,” the mediwizard admitted, “But
you must admit it is the only half-decent explanation we have got so far for
Potter’s strange inability to process healing magic, recovery potions and
apparently Phoenix tears.”
 
“If that was the case,” Dumbledore began thoughtfully, “If Harry here really
is, ‘dead’ in a sense, or has adapted to accept such dark magic, it would make
some sense that his body and soul could have mixed up their signals and mistake
light and healing magic as a threat to its health.”
 
“That makes no sense.” Snape growled, “Harry’s gone through a number of
injuries and has suffered through abuse from his relatives, I hardly doubt even
the Boy-Who-Lived could survive such sustained damage without healing.”
 
“Severus is right.” Pomphrey backed up, “While your theory, outlandish as it
sounds, does allow some things to be explained,” The potions master mutters
something deeply uncomplimentary at that, “It falls rather flat when we account
all the other times Harry has healed.”
 
“Ah, but Potter hasn’t exactly healed well has he?” Bollhorn says knowingly and
smug, the Hogwarts’ professors clenched their jaws and looked away, clearly
unhappy at the slight jab to their failures of protecting one wizard savior.
“No, he has exhibited stunted growth, slow healing even in muggle terms and a
high resistance, even to the point of an allergic reaction to medicinal
potions, light-affiliated magic and muggle drugs.”
 
“Interesting concept.” One of the previously fighting mediwitches observed,
both apparently drawn to the conversation. “So what if, by assuming that
Potter’s soul is supported by dark magic, we can attribute his slow natural
healing pace to his own magic fighting against the foreign magic-“
 
“-Which would possibly restrict the amount of magic Harry had needed to
maintain a normal healing rate for his body!” The other witch finishes
excitedly, the two grin and high five each other. Clearly whatever hatchet they
had been swinging has been buried. God Snape hates them all.
 
Even Bollhorn looked a little irritated at his deductions being interrupted. As
a former dark lord, he probably enjoyed long winded smug monologues more than
he enjoyed sex in Snape’s opinion. “Yes, well,” The mediwizard coughs, “As
mediwitch Janice and healer Cavadash said, I believe Potter’s magic, his own
pure magic, is what truly allows the boy to continue living. His magic, as
powerful as it is, must have sustained some sort of symbiotic balance between
his body and the death curse. By tipping that delicate balance by injuring
Potter, his magic probably would have to work overtime just to try maintain
that balance and prevent the latent curse from overtaking him, physical healing
would be a secondary focus.”
 
“Great.” Snape says, not looking at all as impressed as he was secretly
feeling, “So do you have any way to prove this half baked theory or are we just
stringing together tales by the campfire?”
 
Bollhorn didn’t. Nor was he able to provide much in the way of aid to help in
Harry’s little problem other than the useless advice of the boy needing time
for his magic to reestablish the balance. The Slytherin potions master had been
so enraged by the shite advice he had practically thrown the man out of the
castle with his barehands.
 
“We should ask him to come back.”
 
“Absolutely not.” Snape immediately says because he has done a lot of horrible
things in his life, having to apologize to people he doesn’t like is definitely
one of the worst, right alongside experiencing the cruciatus curse for the
first time and about four steps below witnessing Lily Potter’s death.
 
Pomphrey rolled her eyes, “Oh do man up Severus, Bollhorn is a perfectly nice
chap-“
 
“He used to call himself the Skull King, Lord of Despair.” Severus deadpanned.
 
“-a perfectly nice, reformed chap,” The mediwitch repeated through gritted
teeth, “and he and I have exchanged many letters updating me on his further
research on Harry’s status in his lab-“
 
“Evil lair.”
 
“-his lab. And Bollhorn actually has made some strides that he thinks may speed
up Harry’s recuperation.”
 
Snape gnashed his teeth as pride and jealousy fought against his concern and
need for Harry to stop being in a goddamn coma. Obviously the latter won out
but not without some serious side eye from the older woman as he took his sweet
time trying to force the agreement from his lips. “...Fine. But if he starts
monologuing again, not even Merlin himself will be able to stop me.”
 
===============================================================================
Fantastic Beasts and Where to find them
===============================================================================
 
"Hm." Death looks around unimpressed by this new place. He's definitely gone
back in time, nothing too far for earth standards but enough to know that
there's little chance of him going to buy a hazelnut frappicino around here
anytime soon.
 
He's in front of some sort of bank this time. It's a nice bank. For well, a
bank. There's a crowd of people gathered right in front of it and a rather
angry looking woman with some thin youths with flyers leading them all. It
seems this era is the time when witch hunting became a thing.
 
Does this count as irony? Probably not.
 
"You friend,” she points, thankfully not at him but at some startled red headed
twink of a man with a rather nice blue coat, "are you a seeker? A seeker after
truths?"
 
"I'm ah, more of a chaser actually," The man replies with a secretive twist of
his mouth, and suddenly this world has gotten far more interesting. Death
immediately zoned onto the wizard, and wizard he was. It seemed this world was
going to be rather more intriguing than he had thought.
 
He blends into the shadows, shifting through the crowd as he tries to locate
the red headed wizard, as he moves, Death casually adjusts his appearance to
fit his surroundings. Instead of the usual black, the shadows on his body shift
to a nicely fitting suit of the darkest shade of grey, his talons become well
manicured nails and his long shadowy locks recede into something far more
militaristic and slicked back. Once he finally makes his way to his target,
Death looks more like one of those arrogant corporate douchebags than the all
powerful entity he is.
 
"Didn't peg you for a quidditch player sir," he murmurs, startling the already
skittish looking man. Death grins toothily at the reaction. The redhead's gaze
flickers at his face before gaping rather rudely at his mouth. Death frowns at
that but quickly realizes he's made quite the error when he had been shifting
shape, he may have whitened his teeth but they still had retained their shark
like appearance. "Fuck," he mutters, hiding his mouth with his hand as he
quickly resolves his mistake.
 
"What are you?" The wizard breathes, completely fascinated and far less twitchy
after seeing the interior of his mouth. Which was odd since usually people get
twitchier when faced with rows and rows of wickedly sharp teeth. "Vampire? No,
no, you have the pallor but you seem completely unaffected by the sunlight, not
to mention those weren’t fangs, but it's the best I can come up with right now-
"
 
Death narrows his eyes at the blabbering, it's very cute but probably not the
right time considering they were in the middle of a crowd full of scared magic
hating people. "Let's take this somewhere else shall we?" He asks, the wizard
looks down abashed before his eyes flicker somewhere else and gasps softly.
 
"Ah bugger," Death tracks the other's gaze confused until he sees a small
little platypus like creature on the steps of the bank.
 
"A niffler?" He asks baffled. The young redhead actually looked just as baffled
as he did, but for a completely different reason.
 
“You know what a niffler is?” The wizard asks amazed, except this really isn’t
the time because the niffler is heading into the bank.
 
“Of course I do,” Death snaps, “I also know that putting one of them nearby a
building made solely for keeping shiny valuables is a disaster in the making,
now come on man!”
 
It's frankly a mess what happens next. Apparently the redhead 'owns' the
niffler and had been very remiss in his locking charms- something which Death
rather thinks should have been considered priority number uno if you keep
magical creatures for a living. They bump into some muggle almost as overweight
as Vernon Dursley but far more friendly and down to earth. Still a muggle
however, and last time Death had checked, them finding out about magic had been
a big no-no.
 
So of course that totally happened.
 
Seriously, who the fuck just accidentally leaves a magical creature egg the
size of a large fist and doesn’t notice? That guy.
 
“Hey! Mr English guys, think your egg is hatching!” The large man calls out
from across the bank as Death and the redhead were trying to stalk a niffler.
 
“Is that your possibly very magical egg?” Death hisses angrily, “Are you bloody
serious right now?”
 
The redhead hesitates for a moment before grabbing Death’s hand, pulling out
his wand, summoning the egg with themuggle fucking attached, and apparated down
some nearby stairs. Stairs which are still in pretty good view of the general
crowd if any cared to walk over into that area. Before Death leaves this
universe, he is going to deck the man. Hard.
 
And then it turns out the egg is hatching. It’s admittedly quite a beautiful
moment. Until Death realises its an occamy egg and probably cannot be explained
away so easily to the non-magical human.
 
“Wh-wha-wh-wh-“ Said non-magical human stutters after he gets over the moment.
He peers up from the stairs to confirm where he had been previously standing
before ducking back and looking for all intent and purposes, absolutely
gobsmacked. “I was, I was just there, and now I’m here.” He says faintly.
 
Death makes a suitably sympathetic sound and pats the poor man’s back as the
redhead walks down the stairs and out of view, presumably to put the newly
hatched creature into that daft suitcase of his. “Look sir, you’re kind of in
this now? Might as well see what blue coat over there’s gonna do next.”
 
It really does say something about how shock can make even the most stubborn of
people quite compliant to suggestion as the American wordlessly nods and begins
walking towards the direction the other had wandered off to. As expected, the
redhead was squatting over his slightly opened suitcase and murmuring soft
words into it. The muggle, who must have decided Death was the normal one of
the two (and isn’t that a laugh?), gives him an incredulous look to which Death
just shrugs in response. “Don’t look at me mate, I’ve only met him like five
minutes ago.”
 
The large man looks like he very much wants to say something to him but then
the redhead suddenly stands up, facing a vault with a determined and slightly
annoyed look on his face. “Absolutely not,” he says and for a moment Death
feared he was in the middle of some incredibly poorly thought out bank heist
before he remembered there was a niffler on the loose in here. The thought
was.. not better exactly. Blue Coat takes out his wand again and points it at
the large vault door, “Alohamora.” He incants, opening it easily.
 
“So you’re going to steal the money huh?”
 
All three of them spin around and see some guy in a suit, a banker presumably,
and not a happy one at that though that wasn’t entirely unexpected. Before
Death could even move, the banker hits some alarm button and the redhead hits
the banker with a petrification spell of some sort. Still too late as the alarm
bells ring throughout the halls in a rather deafening manner Death’s enhanced
hearing really rather not hear.
 
The American muggle whimpers what is presumably the banker’s name and woah, it
is a good thing Death didn’t react or he would’ve totally killed the guy on
instinct- and he would feel really bad if that was the thing that broke the
poor muggle’s sanity instead of whatever nonsense the redhead had pulled so
far. Seriously, Ron and the other Weasleys’ have never given him this much
trouble before. Well, unless you count Ron’s part in turning him into an extra
crispy Pottersticker or Ginevra technically bringing a Dark Lord into their
school which effectively released a giant basilisk, but they’re like ten. Ten
year olds get at least a pass for one incredibly dangerous and stupid thing
they do. And something tells him that this particular redhead has used up all
of those passes and more.
 
Blue Coat practically leaps into the vault and snatches the niffler up into his
grasp. Death rolls his eyes and follows after him. The man at least knows what
he’s doing as he tickles the upside down creature who’s now unloading a large
amount of trinkets and shiny things from it’s inter-dimensional pocket flap
things. “The guards are coming any minute now,” Death tells them both, he looks
the thieving creature in the eye, “Unload everything. Now.” He commands, and
the niffler immediately obeys, the rate of stuff coming out of it much faster
now.
 
The redhead looks amazed, “How did you-“ he begins to ask before the muggle
calls at them worriedly.
 
“Uh, guys?” And oh yes, the security detail has come. A little tardy in Death’s
personal opinion but this was a time before google so he will not criticise.
Everything was slower without google. Now it was Death’s turn, he grabs Blue
Coat and American muggle and lets the shadows immediately envelop them and
shift all three outside the building. Luckily he’s fairly sure no guard saw
them disappear. Fairly sure.
 
“That wasn’t apparating.” Is the first thing out of the redhead’s mouth, it’s a
little accusing but not in an angry way, just curious and assessing like when
he had saw his teeth. 
 
“You’re still holding the niffler.” Is what Death replies back with, because it
was true and the little, admittedly cute creature was looking rather star
struck at him. “Please put him in your little briefcase of yours.”
 
The thin man looks like he wants to press further on Death’s true identity but
decides against it in favour of scolding the niffler and shoving it back into
his case. As he locks the bag, he looks briefly up at the muggle
apologetically, “Awfully sorry about all that.” He says.
 
“W-what the hell was that?” The muggle pants wide-eyed, which was a completely
normal reaction all things considering.
 
“Look, we really shouldn’t compromise you anymore on this situation so maybe-
woah hey, where are you pointing that wand pretty boy?”
 
“Unfortunately you have seen far too much, don’t worry sir this will all be
over in a jiffy.” The redhead says, and gets hit with a suitcase for his
trouble.
 
Death watches the fat man practically make skid marks with how fast he ran
around the corner. He doesn’t do anything of course, partly because he was a
little surprised at the attack in the first place but mostly because the entity
kind of thought the response was totally warranted. Plus, you know, power to
the muggles and all that jazz.
 
“Ow, Merlin that hurt,” The blue coated man muttered. Death snorted.
 
The entity grinned, not even bothering to hide his rows of razor sharp shark
teeth. “No offense sir, but you could’ve at least tried to obliviate the man
subtly.” He chided playfully. The red headed man glared at him for a second
before it flickers away. Such a nervous little human. Twitchy but oddly
resilient and clearly unafraid of bank robbery, Death’s charmed by the
contrast. He wonders if the man would make a better meal or a pet. The being
was this close to reaching out to ruffle the man’s fluffy looking hair.
 
And then some lady burst in only to apparate them both away.
 
“Who are you?” She demands as Death inhales and exhales noisily through his
mouth. The nausea that hits him, hits fast but thankfully not long. Still, ugh,
wizarding teleportation sucks.
 
“Uh, Newt Scamander.” The redhead, Newt, tries to give something like a
disarming smile. “And you are?”
 
It is not effective if the frown on the woman’s face is any indication. “What’s
that thing in your case?” She hisses.
 
“Oh, that, uh, that is my niffler.”
 
She frowns, confused and clearly wondering why whatever wizarding god she
believes in is so cruel to her. Instead of continuing her interrogation with
Newt- which was smart because that way may lead to madness- she turns to face
Death, fierce and questioning. “And who are you?” Death in turn lifts his chin
up, looking for all sorts and purposes like a defiant lawyer sneering down at
his opponent.
 
“My name is really none of your business ma’am.” He retorts haughtily, his
voice dripping with the cold disdain of nobility. Inwardly he despairs. This
definitely seems to be the same universe where Harry Potter resides in, what
with the level of sheer inconvenience they both share.
 
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” She sighs, “I’m taking both of you in. Honestly,
this could not have been a worse time for you to release a creature out here,
we’re kind of in a situation you know?”
 
Of course they are.
 
Newt does not look at her face, “I didn’t mean to let him out, you see he’s
incorrigible and shy and wheneve-“
 
Death cuts him off, “Wait. When you say take us in do you mean..?”
 
She fishes out a wallet from her pocket and thrusts it at him triumphantly.
“Magical Congress of the United States of America.”
 
Aw, shit.
 
Death stares at the identification of Porpentina Goldstein who works presumably
as the magic police, then he stares at Newt in what he hopes accurately conveys
his worry and pointed accusations. Newt, clearly more comfortable with him than
the woman actually did look at his face and see his expression, his own
freckled face twists apologetically before he looks back at Porpentina. He
doesn’t exactly meet her eyes but it’s enough to tell he’s trying. “Look, this
man hasn’t done anything, he was just trying to help me.” Newt explains
pleadingly.
 
The police witch is unmoved, something Death secretly finds amazing because
Newt has some serious earnest puppy dog eyes there. However in the end it
doesn’t take long for her to look distinctly uncomfortable under the weight of
that expressively pathetic gaze and tucks in her identification back into her
bag just to have an excuse to look away, “Please at least tell me you took care
of the no-Maj.”
 
Death and Newt both look at her blankly.
 
“NoMaj?” She repeats, before clarifying exasperatedly in a way that clearly
outlined what she thought of the two men’s intellect, “No magic? Non wizards?!”
 
The pair gave a soft ‘ah’ of understanding. “That’s a very boring way to
classify them.” Death criticised.
 
“We call them muggles across the pond.” Newt adds helpfully.   
 
“I don’t care!” The woman hisses, before looking intently at Newt, “You wiped
his memory correct?”
 
“Uh,” Newt stammers as Death makes a humming noise with his mouth. Neither are
looking in the direction of the increasingly incensed lady.
 
There’s a stifled angry huff of air before the woman turns to the redhead.
“That’s a section 3a Mr Scamander, I’m sorry but you and your friend are coming
with me.” She reaches to grab both of them and Death barely had time to blink
before the woman apparates them away.
 
—
 
“Ughhhhhh.” Death groans. Fucking wizard teleportation. He has this numb ache
at the base of his skull from behind he just knows is going to linger like a
bitch.
 
“Come on,” Goldstein tells them both, practically dragging them by their elbows
to a large building.
 
Newt looked possibly even more reluctant then Death to follow her. “Uh, I do
have things to do you know?”
 
“Well you are going to have to rearrange them now don’t you hm?” The woman
answers, unrelentingly firm. “What are you two doing here anyway huh?”
 
“My family sent me here for vacation.” Death hisses annoyed, “They are probably
laughing themselves sick right now.” Goldstein at least gives him a pitying
look, she probably has a brother or sister too then.
 
“I-I’m here to buy a birthday present, some Appaloosa Puffskeins. There’s only
one breeder of them in the world and he lives here in New York.”
 
They finally arrive at somewhere called the Woolworth building and Goldstein
wasted no time murmuring to one of the doormen about their current predicament
before bringing them in. “And by the way,” She says casually as they walk in,
“We don’t allow the breeding of magical creatures in New York, in fact we shut
that guy down a year ago.”
 
Death shot Newt an arched brow. Newt just shrugged. This man. Seriously.
 
The inside of the Woolworth building was pretty damn amazing in the entity’s
humble opinion. All polished, classic and tastefully done in one set theme of
ebony and bronzed gold. The giant poster of the woman he assumed was the boss
around here was kind of gaudy in his opinion but every design has some flaws.
Some bigger and more self-absorbed than others apparently.
 
The only magical creatures he could see were house elves, and ones with far
more sass than those back in Potter’s time. But then again they also didn’t
have tailored clothing. He feels like there’s some sort of significance for
that but that sort of information isn’t really in his jurisdiction.
 
Death blinked at the unusual sight of a house elf in a suit working the
elevator. “Well, that’s new.”
 
“Hey Goldstein.” The house elf greeted.
 
Goldstein pauses a bit, it’s clear that she is not Suited House Elf’s biggest
fan. “Red.” Is all she curtly replied before nudging Death and Newt into the
elevator. Upon seeing the entity, the elf’s ears immediately twitch upwards as
his jaw moves downwards.
 
“Wha-wha-wha-wha-“ he says rather stupidly.
 
“Do you two.. know each other?” The British wizard asks curiously.
 
Death winks down at the creature and presses his forefinger to his lips in a
shushing gesture, “In a way.” He vaguely answers the wizards.
 
Goldstein coughs, “Yes well, that’s all very nice and all but we’re heading
down to the Major Investigations department if you will?”
 
The house elf, Red, pulls his eyes away from Death to look at the woman
confused, “But I thought you was-“
 
“Major investigations department.” She repeats firmly, “I’ve got a section 3a.”
 
Red stares at her like she just told him she had a contagious STD. “With, with
him?!” He squeaks in a very high pitch as he points at the entity, “Y-y-you
can’t be serious!”
 
The auror frowns, “Why, yes, of course I’m serious.” But she looks less sure,
thrown off by the near hysterical reaction. Newt was also staring at Death
assessingly. “Major investigations department.”
 
“Sure, sure, it’s your funeral.” The house elf replies darkly as he complies,
closing the elevator door.
 
Goldstein leads them to interrupt what looked like a very solemn and important
meeting between some incredibly stern looking wizards and a dark-skinned blonde
woman who Death recognised as the lady from the gigantic fucking portrait
hanging out in the main body of the building. They all turn to stare at the
three disapprovingly.
 
The woman and a very handsome man walk out of the meeting circle to greet them
rather icily. “We made your position here quite clear Ms Goldstein.” The woman
says.
 
“Madam President,” Goldstein replies anxiously. Death idly wonders why she
would go straight to the president of the damn country for a section 3a. Surely
this was not that big of a deal that the president had to be called in to this
personally. “I-“
 
“You are not an auror anymore Goldstein.” The President cuts in, her voice is
quiet but cold, like the first winter frost that slowly cracks on your window.
 
It’s super awkward.
 
Goldstein looks down in shame, “No, but Madam if you-“
 
“Goldstein.”
 
“But there’s been a-“
 
“This office.” Madam President interrupts in a tone which heavily implies this
will be the last time she will do so again, “Is currently concerned with more..
major incidents.” She turns her back to the group, ready to go back to her
meeting, though not without looking back to the ex-Auror, “Please get out.”
 
“Yes ma’am.” Goldstein immediately answers. She’s trying hard to not look hurt
and embarrassed by the exchange and pushes her two not so convicted criminals
out of the room. Death tilts his head back to look at the handsome gentleman
who hadn’t said a word, just stood there and looked intimidatingly pretty.
 
The entity wonders briefly what the man’s true appearance was.
 
—
 
The next floor they arrive on is far more familiar to Death than he would have
liked. Paperwork everywhere. Ugh. This place should come with a warning sign
because he’s certainly triggering some PTSD just looking at the endless desks
filled with documents.
 
Goldstein leads them to a desk with the words WAND PERMITS labeled neatly on
top. Seems like someone had a very depressing downgrade in their career. “So
you got your wand permits?” She asks sullenly, “Every foreigner must have one.”
 
“I made a postal application weeks ago.” Newt informs her, setting his luggage
down by his feet.
 
“I, uh, yeah, same.” Death tacks on lamely. “Postal application. Totally did
it.”
 
The woman, who was in the middle of writing Newt’s name down in some book gives
Death a look.
 
“I am going to need your name you know?“
 
Death hesitates, he's done many things but surprisingly enough he's never
gotten in trouble with any form of mortal government law. Well, that's
certainly not true. He's never gotten caught getting in trouble with the law is
a better way to put it. Newt looks nervous for him, probably because he's aware
that at the very least he is not exactly human.
 
"My name is... Harry." He finally settles on, because he hardly thinks it would
be a good time to declare who he actually is in this world. Humans were always
disbelieving and judgmental, wizards surprisingly enough were probably even
more so. "Harry uh, Mortimer." Hah, Mort-imer. God he was funny.
 
Goldstein squints her eyes at him like that could suddenly suss out his lies.
Death does not feel too worried about her calling out his bluff, magic or not
paperwork was a dull tedious task that could take ages to accomplish if you
were any less than enthusiastic. The moment they realise there was no Harry
Mortimer, he would probably not even be in the same universe anymore, or at
least time period.
 
“I don’t see your name here.”
 
Oh fuck, turns out magic was less useless than he thought.
 
“Okay, fine, I didn’t send an application because…” Death wracked his brain for
an appropriate excuse, then suddenly it hits him, “I don’t have a wand.”
 
“You don’t have a wand.” Goldstein repeats flatly.
 
“I prefer wandless magic,” Death tells her not untruthfully, “And this was a
very impromptu holiday for me, I was going to try doing things the muggle way
and figured that there was little chance of me getting arrested by the magical
authorities around here.” He side eyes the British redhead not a little un-
accusingly.
 
The woman looks like she wants desperately to question him but turns to Newt
instead.
 
“And you were just in… Equatorial New Guinea?”
 
“I’ve just completed a year in the field and I’m writing a book on magical
creatures.”
 
Goldstein looks a little bewildered at that, “Like an extermination guide?”
 
“No,” Newt says quietly but very judgingly at her, “It’s a guide that will help
people understand why we should help protect these magical creatures instead of
killing them.”
 
“OH MY GOD.” Death suddenly shouts, startlingly both of them. “You wrote
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them!”
 
The wizard looks absolutely gobsmacked, “Tha-that’s the working title of my
book, but how?”
 
“Fuck, okay, this just got way better.” Death says excitedly, whilst he tried
not to rub his hands together gleefully. When he was Harry Potter and greatly
injured he had a lot of reading time. That textbook was certainly one of his
favorites to pick up. “Your book is so great, even I learned some things about
creatures that I hadn’t known before.” Seriously there was some stuff in there
about Dementors that he had never even thought to try to discover about his
little creations.
 
“But-“
 
“GOLDSTEIN?” A male voice shouts somewhere which causes the woman in question
to dive under her desk. Death nudges the confused magizoologist and whispers a
quick “I’ll explain later. Probably. Don’t hold your breath though.” to him
before watching the unfolding show.
 
“Where is she?”
 
A short but immaculately dressed man walks up, he looks irritated and
unimpressed, much like everyone else in this building actually. It must be a
government worker thing. “Goldstein.”
 
Goldstein slowly arises from her paperwork covered desk. Death has to look down
to hide his bemused smile at the sight. She looked like a scared meerkat coming
out of it’s hiding place. The short man takes a long inhale of breath, “Did you
jut butt in on the Investigation team again?”
 
She says nothing.
 
“Where have you been?” The man presses on.
 
“..What?” Apparently it isn’t just Newt and he that made awful liars.
 
The short man looked like he was going to say something to her, probably
something cutting or lecture-y, but instead turns to Death and Newt, “Where did
she pick you guys up?”
 
They look at Goldstein for guidance. She just shakes her head subtly. They look
back at the man. “We…” They said slowly in unison, like somehow syncing up
their voices would save them from messing up, “.. weeeeereee.. aaat… theee…
strrr-” This was possibly the first time Death had gotten such intense eye
contact from the British wizard. It seemed they were at a stalemate here. In
the corner of his eye the entity can see Goldstein contemplating death by table
corner. “-rreee-“ He has no idea where this is going. “-eeep club.” The pair
looked horrified at each other and what they had managed to come up with. This
was the worst thing ever. And Death had once watched a chained human woman be
lowered down into a whole chestful of cockroaches to be used as an incubation
chamber and nutrition for the offspring.
 
“Strip club. We, uh, were at a strip club.” Death concluded lamely.
 
The short suited man just looked at them like they were idiots before turning
back to the ex-auror, “You’ve been tracking them New Salem-er’s army again
haven’t you?” He accused.
 
Goldstein glared at the pair. Death just shrugged. Well, they did try.
Technically. “Of course not sir.” She lies.
 
And then the handsome gentleman from before shows up. God, he looks so good in
that suit.
 
“Afternoon Mr Graves, sir.” The short man greets.
 
“Good afternoon.” The man greets back stoic with a little rough edge to his
voice that makes Death swoon a little on the inside. Even his name was dashing.
“What do we have here then?”
 
“Mr Graves sir,” Goldstein says, stepping out and away from her desk, she looks
at Newt and Death pointedly, “This is Mr Newt Scamander and Mr Harry Mortimer.
The crazy creature in Mr Scamander’s case got out and created havoc at a bank.”
 
Graves glances at Newt’s case and then back to Tina, “Let’s see the little guy
then.”
 
Tina smiles smugly and takes the case before Newt can react, placing it on a
clear table space. Graves and the short man follow while Newt and Death linger
a bit behind. “Well this isn’t good.” Death murmurs to the redhead, “How
important is that case of yours?”
 
“All my creatures are in there, it’s worth more than my life.” Newt replies
immediately.
 
“Bullocks.” Death mutters, “I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see then.”
Newt just agrees with a soft worried sound as Goldstein proceeds to unlock the
case. Not one to build tension, the woman opens up the top of a case quickly,
revealing..
 
“Is that?” Newt whispers as they creep closer to what is clearly not Newt’s
case.
 
“Fucking buggering shit.” Death swore vehemently.
 
That poor fat muggle.
 
——
 
So the muggle’s apartment exploded. Everyone thinks it was a gas leak. Death
kind of wishes it was as he runs after a surprisingly nimble Newt Scamander up
the staircase. He would’ve felt bad for ditching Goldstein but to be fair, she
really should’ve been keeping on eye on them. That’s just bad policing really.
 
The whole wall facing the city in the muggle’s apartment is gone. It’s actually
rather impressive.
 
“I’ll start repairing,” The entity volunteers, “You should probably take a look
at the unfortunate sap.” Newt nods gratefully before going to check up on the
guy.
 
“Thanks for, uh, well, sticking with me.” The redheaded man finally says as he
kneels down to examine the unconscious man’s wounds, “You didn’t have to
really.”
 
Death snorts, “Please, what are friendly strangers who just met in a bank for?”
 
He barely takes any time to repair the building, maybe a bit longer than if
Newt had done it but Death was never strong with reparations anyway. Once done,
he turns to see Newt already staring down into his opened suitcase. The moment
he re-shuts it Goldstein finally arrives, a little out of breath.
 
“Was it opened?”
 
Newt makes a little chagrined but darkly amused twist of his lips, “Just a
smidge.”
 
Tina seems deeply unhappy at the news, Death wasn’t feeling so great about it
either.
 
“That thing’s on the loose again then?”
 
“Might be.” The magizoologist replies rather evasively. Death narrows his eyes
suspiciously at him while Goldstein frets over the muggle.
 
“Oh god, he’s hurt, wake up please Mr No Maj, pleas-“ The woman screams as what
looked like a really fat cross between a naked mole rat and a porcupine attacks
her. Even Death shouts in surprise. Newt however just grabs the creature easily
and calmly. “Mercy lewis what in Merlin’s name is that?” Goldstein gasps.
 
Death tries hard not to stare at the wriggling flaccid tentacle-like spines on
it’s back with disgust. He fails. Ugh.
 
“Do not worry about that,” Newt tells them both, “That is,” He closes the case
a little to cheerily for any occupant in the room’s taste, “a murtlap.”
 
“…What else have you got in there?” Goldstein asks, connecting the dots and
finding the end result to be a most unpleasant picture.
 
Newt just smiles awkwardly. Thankfully for him, he was saved by the muggle
regaining some semblance of consciousness. The muggle manages to introduce
himself as Jacob Kowalski and after a bit of a verbal scuffle where Goldstein
pretty much tells Newt off for trying to obliviate a key witness and injured
victim despite the fact the whole problem stemmed from the British wizard not
obliviating the man in the first place.
 
“It’s not that serious,” Newt dismisses a little too blithely, “I mean he’s
showing a slightly more severe reaction than I anticipated but if it was really
serious then,” he falters at that. Goldstein of course catches that and stands
up from where she was kneeling and comforting Jacob.
 
“Then, what?”
 
The redhead looks at Death for help but Death just shakes his head furiously.
He is very aware of what a serious reaction of a murtlap bite entails and he is
not going to be the one to tell the angry ex-auror.
 
“It’s, well, the first symptom would be flames out of his anus-“ Jacob slowly
sits up just to stare disbelievingly at Newt. Death quite likes Jacob. Jacob
was funny. Ignoring what sounds like an escalating argument between
magizoologist and a magical government worker with a no nonsense attitude
toward the law, the entity decides to try his hand at comforting the muggle
instead.
 
“Hey sir- Jacob was it? Long time no see.” He greets with a smile. Jacob just
glares at him too.
 
“Yer..” He slurs a little. “Yer with.. him.”
 
“Kind of yes.” Death agrees. “It has been quite a little adventure so far,
well, not really. We just went to a magic government building to watch
Goldstein, that’s the cranky lady over there with Newt, get talked down to by
like, three of her superiors.”
 
“Sounds.. Fun…”
 
“More cringe-worthy than fun but it did have it’s perks.” Death tells him
conversationally, “The interior design was beautiful, I may replicate a few
things in my own offices. Also, I swiped a doughnut from your suitcase, hope
you don’t mind, it was delicious.” Jacob smiles widely at that, very pleased at
the praise.
 
“Thankss… Uh...”
 
“Name’s Harry.”
 
“-I know that you guys have some backwards regulations regarding non magic
people.” Newt is meanwhile telling Goldstein.
 
“Hoo boy,” Death murmurs. He can’t see the woman’s expression but he’s sure
she’s not exactly making goo-goo eyes at the man right now.
 
“You can’t befriend them, can’t marry them- seems mildly absurd to me.” Newt
continues.
 
“Well who’s going to marry him?” Goldstein shoots back, irritated.
 
Jacob looks deeply offended. Death pats him on the back.
 
“Ugh, you know what, you’re all coming with me.” Goldstein says.
 
“I don’t see why Ihave to come with you.” Newt replies back rather shortly, it
seemed the whole day had finally taken it’s toll on the British man and the
beginnings of actual annoyance was seeping into his mannerisms.
 
Death rolls his eyes, “I thinkI should be the one saying that what with all
things considered and all.”
 
“Just help me carry him,” Goldstein hisses. Newt hesitates but grabs the other
free arm anyway. Death supported the large man from behind.
 
Jacob groaned, “Please tell me this is all some sort of nightmare.”
 
“I wish it was Mr Kowalski.” Goldstein mutters.
 
“Me too.” Death adds.
 
“Seconded.” Newt tacks on.
 
____
 
Goldstein’s apartment didn’t allow men. Which was super weird but Death was not
going to comment.
 
“Well I guess we have no choice but to find other accommodations.” Newt began
edging away, only to be grabbed once more by the American ex-auror. That woman
had the reflexes of a viper.
 
“Ooh no you don’t.” She growls, “All of you are coming with me.”
 
“I really don’t think it’s really, I mean, Harry-“
 
“Please,” Death says in a distinctly feminine voice causing the group to
immediately focus on the now rather dainty woman that had once been a handsome
if shady looking gentleman, “Call me Harriet.”
 
“You can, you can swap genders.” Goldstein says faintly. Death looks at her,
long black hair curling around her pretty face.
 
“You said that only women were allowed.” The entity explained, brushing down
her knee length skirt and frowning at her lack of secondary sexual
characteristics. One day, one day Death will figure out how to become a woman
who’s chest doesn’t make washboards look voluptuous in comparison. “I figured I
could walk at the end of the group, that way if your landlady does take a peek
at us she’ll assume we’re all female.”
 
“Can all your kind do this?” Newt asks, peering closely at Death’s new
appearance.
 
“Your kind?” Goldstein repeats sharply, “As in, not human kind?”
 
“Ah, yes they can.” Death answers the magizoologist easily, “Though,
embarrassingly enough they are far more skilled in it than I. My female form is
not comfortable for me, I rather shed it away as soon as possible, so, if you
may?” She gestures up the building so the group can get on with it.
 
They shuffled quickly into the building, and like Death had predicted, the
landlady had stuck her head out to check out the guests. Death had to distract
the rather uptight older women with compliments on her home while Goldstein and
Newt hurried the still rather disoriented muggle up the stairs. Once she
finally managed to extricate herself from the landlady’s long winded rant on
her terrible tenants, a good fifteen minutes had passed.
 
Closing the door behind her, Death sighs and shifts back into his more
masculine form immediately, uncaring if anyone sees. He did enjoy certain
aspects of femininity but overall it was just not for him. Women literally had
the ability to form life in their bodies, is it no wonder he doesn’t feel as at
ease.
 
“Fascinating.”
 
Death startles a little at how close Newt was to him, staring intensely at a
stray tendril of darkness that was soaking back into his skin.
 
“I’ve never seen anything like this- do you happen to be distantly related to
Dementors?”
 
“More than a vampire certainly.” The entity says with a bemused smile. He turns
to the rest of the occupants of the room, Jacob was already sitting at the
dining table, looking dreamily at a pretty blonde that was making food float.
The blonde woman makes a complicated swishing motion at the dish before wiping
her hands on a towel as she walks over to greet the entity.
 
“Hello there, you must be Harry.” She greets cheerily, “I’m Queenie, Tina’s
sister and-“ she trails off as she looks into Death’s eyes, her own glazing
alarmingly. For a moment Death had no idea what was happening until an odd
feather light itch in his head festered quickly into a purposeful scratch
against the surface of his mind, threatening to try dig deeper in a way that
cannot be interpreted as anything else. The woman was a natural mind reader,
and she was trying look into his.
 
The being isn’t sure what to do to prevent the prodding from going too far, the
few mind readers he’s ever met that had been both a) alive and b) audacious
enough to actually try delving into his head, were few and far between. All of
them had gone insane or just straight up died, looking too deep until they
realize that the darkness in his head isn’t an abyss but a hungry ocean that
would rise and swallow them up. It’s something akin to a failsafe since he’s
never taken up to protecting his thoughts nor does he have a natural barrier
against such attacks like a few other entities (Order, Fate and Magic), however
in this case, Death’s fairly sure neither option would be very beneficial for
him right now.
 
He can feel the moment when the barrier between shallow thought and his true
consciousness is breached if only the slightest crack and Death just shoves the
blonde woman, hard enough for her to finally break the moment.
 
“Queenie!” Goldstein, Tina, yells, as Queenie falls in on herself, panting
heavily.
 
“Tina, your friend is very..” the blonde struggled for words to describe the
sheer vast depth she had managed to accidentally push into, like peering
through a sheet of plastic down an abyss, “unique.”
 
Death gave her a sympathetic smile, “My mind is not meant to be delved too
deeply into lest you be consumed by the darkness inside it.” He tells her
kindly, “As long as you don’t delve any deeper darling, you’ll be fine.”
 
Queenie nodded shakily, it seemed after that glimpse of sheer inhuman vastness
in his head she had chosen to maintain a distance, both emotional and physical,
with the being. Understandable, if greatly unfortunate. She seemed like she
could be wonderful company.
 
There was also the downside of having Tina becoming more suspicious of Death as
a response to her sister’s wariness. Which was unfortunate for a completely
different reason.
 
“So..” Death clears his throat as he cuts a wonderfully smelling strudel into
small bite size pieces. “How was law enforcement Tina?”
 
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The brunette shoots back as she chews her pastry
aggressively.
 
“Well not anymore now.” Death muttered sullenly while Newt quietly stifled his
snicker.
 
It had been a good, hearty magically cooked meal. Though the conversation was
sorely lacking what with Newt refusing any eye contact with anyone and Tina
giving far too much, glaring at everyone. It seemed only Queenie and Jacob were
managing pleasant conversation. And Jacob wasn’t even physically participating.
Not going to lie, Death was a little jealous.
 
“Oh, so you’re a baker. I think that’s just swell.” The blonde lady cooed
seeming genuinely interested in the man. Jacob was the very picture of
besotted.
 
Jacob must’ve thought something humorous because Queenie giggled coy and
blushingly at him. “Oh you,” she says with that little hand wavy gesture that
people do when they’re abashed and pleased. So maybe less of a joke and more
alongside a very flattering compliment then.
 
The lighthearted onesided banter however, breaks off abruptly as Queenie
catches her sister’s disapproving eyes.
 
“... I wasn’t flirting.” The blonde mutters, her own gaze now ignoring everyone
else’s.
 
There’s more silence after that. You could probably cut the silence with a
knife and then eat it. It would probably taste like bitter uncomfortable
despair.
 
Overall not the worst meal Death has been part of.
 
....
 
“I’m sorry we only got two beds here.” Tina grudgingly apologizes.
 
Death shakes his head, “Don’t be, it’s not exactly like you planned for this
sort of scenario after all. I’m fine sleeping on the floor really. You’ve even
transfigured a mattress and such, I’m fine. Really.”
 
“Well... if you’re sure.” The ex-Auror mumbles because apparently trying to
imprison, wrongfully he might add, him was no big deal but not letting him
sleep on a bed was far too much for her sensibilities. Wizards. Honestly.
 
“He’s fine.” Newt tells her assuredly before quickly faking a yawn, “Well,
you’ve been lovely for taking us in-“
 
“And making this wonderful hot chocolate.” Jacob butts in with a wide grin, hot
beverage in hand as he looks very comfortably settled into his assigned bed.
 
“-yes, and providing us with hot chocolate. But now we really must rest, Jacob
especially so, considering.” Newt finishes.
 
Tina still looks suspicious at the three, but her eyes soften sympathetically
at Jacob who was nothing but a victim of circumstance than anything. “Of
course.” She agrees with a sharp nod, “Good night then.”
 
Once the door closes, Newt practically jumps out of the bed he’d slowly slid
into and rushes to his suitcase with a singleminded focus. Death nudges his
mattress with absentminded disdain while he watches. Thank god. There was no
way he was going to sleep in such a low quality lump of a mattress. He may not
be the most pretentious of the entities (that title proudly belonged to Fate)
but he was still better than a god, and therefore deserved to be treated as
such. His time as Harry Potter notwithstanding.
 
“So we’re finally seeing what’s in that coveted briefcase of yours?” Death asks
as he lets his dark suit shift into something more loose and comfortable. Newt
stopped his fidgeting movements to watch the process with sharp eyes and a keen
gaze. Frankly it was a little uncomfortable. “Uh, Newt? My morals may be a
little looser than you humans but that doesn’t mean I’m totally on board with
letting you watch me change like this.” Death then smirked slyly and pushed his
black shirt down just enough to reveal a pale shoulder, “Well, not when you
could have just asked after all.”
 
Jacob laughed when Newt’s pale freckled face went a bright pink as he began
spluttering apologies about his behavior.
 
“Relax wizard,” The entity drawled, “You’re hardly my type anyway.” He can
sense the amount of Life and Love’s hold they had in the man, two attributes
that almost completely clash with his own. It would be like kissing a unicorn
or getting courted by a phoenix- Death wouldn’t say it wouldn’t ever happen per
say, but if it did, it would be most definitely awkward and possibly with some
dubious consent happening in the contextual background. Unless it was like, a
serial killer unicorn or something but those situations are pretty rare.
 
Just to be clear though, serial killer unicorns? Fucking hot.
 
“Well,” Newt huffs a little flustered and quickly snatching up what little
decorum he has left, “We’re wasting time fellows, are you coming or not?”
 
Death shrugged, “What the hell, we’ve already almost gone to jail together, I’m
sure I can make time for a night rendezvous with two men in a tight place.”
 
Newt’s face was blushing furiously at the implication and he clearly wanted to
argue something about that but decided against it, instead settling on nodding
and turning toward Jacob. “And you?”
 
Jacob looks mournfully at his cocoa. “I, uh, don’t know if I feel right
comfortable doing this to the girls after all they’ve done.”
 
“You mean you don’t feel comfortable doing this to Queenie.” Death jibed with a
smirk. Jacob, the sap, didn’t even look even a little embarrassed at how
obvious he was.
 
“She made us cocoa,” he argued.
 
“Jacob, your going to be obliviated by those girls in the morning.” Death tells
him slowly, with Newt nodding his head in solemn agreement, “I suggest you take
this twink’s offer and get in the magical briefcase.”
 
“What’s a twink?” Newt asks curiously. “Is that another magical creature?”
 
The entity smiles secretively, “Well that’s one way to put it.”
 
The magizoologist looked so giddily excited at the notion of another
undiscovered beast Death almost felt bad for leading him astray. Almost.
 
Once Jacob finally shoves himself into the case, it was Death’s turn. He takes
two steps toward it before he immediately takes three steps back as he finally
zoned on to the containment magic in the briefcase. It was.. much larger than
he had anticipated. And oh my god, there were a staggering amount of souls in
there. He didn’t realise the ‘zoo’ in ‘magizoologist’ was so literal.
 
“Come on then, what are you waiting for?” Newt asks a little impatiently at the
entity. Death hesitated. He’s been to the muggle zoo before. He’s very aware it
will be nothing compared to whatever he’s going to face in that suitcase.
Especially with what he’s seen on Newt’s non too strict regulations on the
subject. Death just hopes there isn’t like, a giant fucking acromantula in
there- because that whole thing with Aragog was certainly enough to last at
least three human lifetimes.
 
“Harry,” Newt says, a little more concerned, “Is something the matter?”
 
“Uh, magical creatures tend to flock to me.” Death finally confessed. “To many
I can be seen as rather… attractive.”
 
Newt stared at him. “Excuse me?”
 
Death stares up at the sky, silently begging his brothers and sisters to give
him strength. Though they were probably laughing at him up there so he sends a
silent ‘fuck you’ glare at them as well, for good measure. “Creatures, they
find me... attractive.” He repeats flatly.
 
Newt stares some more. Then his eyes lit up with the fire of scientific
curiousity. “And this is a hundred percent natural? Do all creatures exhibit
the same behavior or are there certain levels of attraction you find to be the
receiving end on? When you say attractive do you mean that they enjoy your
presence or...”
 
“A mate.” Death finishes before adding casually, “Or maybe more of conquest
considering my inability to produce offspring.”
 
“Oh,” Newt looks awkward, “I’m, so sorry.”
 
The entity laughs, “Don’t be, I’ve come to terms with that long ago. Besides, I
have been gifted a brilliant son so I hardly think myself too bereft of the
opportunity.”
 
The magizoologist fidgets, clearly wanting to press on at everything Death has
and has not said, yet at the same time aware of the unfamiliar ground he has
stepped on. Death let’s him stew for a bit before gesturing for the man to ask
his questions.
 
“Is there a reason for your infertility?” Newt bursts out before immediately
slapping his hand to his face, aghast at his lack of decorum. Out of all the
questions he had, it seemed he had picked the most offensive one.
 
Death shrugged, “My... kind cannot reproduce per say. We can create beings
under our name but they will never be as immense as we are. I myself have major
difficulties in producing life, there is nothing environmental or external
effecting me, it’s just how I was constructed.”
 
“I see,” Newt nodded seriously, his face serious, “And when you say
constructed, does that, uh,”
 
“Mean I was not biologically conceived?” Death finishes amusedly at the other’s
struggle for words. He hums thoughtfully, it’s always interesting seeing the
different responses he gets when trying to explain himself. “Now that’s a tough
one. If I did have some sort of parent I certainly am not aware of it, one
moment I wasn’t and the next I simply was.” If you really want to think deeply
into it, Life did bring about Death so maybe... no, that is too weird to even
contemplate, even for him.
 
“Huh,” Newt says, but not in the ‘huh wow I would never have guessed,’ sort of
manner, more like ‘huh, well that confirmed my hypothesis.’ Which implied that
this man totally had written down somewhere in his observation journal about
the possibility of Death being one of those species where nurture clearly
wasn’t established when young. Which, rude. Not exactly untrue though. “And how
old are you exactly?”
 
Before Death could respond vaguely to thatcan of worms, Jacob popped his head
out impatiently. “Come on then, what are you lads waiting for? A tea party
invite?”
 
“I mean if you’re offering, yes I would enjoy a spot of tea right about now.”
Death smirked, “Isn’t that right Newt, old chum?”
 
Newt looked a bit unsure for a moment before straightening up and replying, “O-
oh yes, verily my good sir, a cuppa now would be a b-bloody right good time.”
 
Jacob rolled his eyes, “Honestly, you people across the pond baffle me.”
 
….
 
Once in the suitcase, and after being suitably impressed by it’s wondrous
contents, Newt realised he was not missing just one but around three creatures
from his case. The first it turns out, because this was Death’s life and he
totally blamed each and every brother and sister he had for this, was a horny
erumpent looking for a mate in Central Park.
 
Newt had come prepared with only some musk and a weirdass, frankly embarrassing
mating dance to attract the creature back in. However the giant rhino like
creature was less than interested in Scamender’s odd mating ritual, well, not
as much as the presence of a certain entity. Once Death realised what exactly
has caught the creature’s attention, his eyes widened and he took an
instinctive step back. “Fuck me.”
 
“W-what’s happening,” Jacob whispers loudly, “Why’s she eyeing you up like a
Sunday roast?”
 
“I have to leave,” Death whispers back seriously, “I-I have to leave right
now.”
 
But it was too late, the moment they had made eye contact it was probably too
late and Death begins to sprint away from the fragile squishy human with a
horny erumpant chasing him with a determination most battle hardened warriors
would falter at.
 
He runs for about a few hundred meters before he stops to mentally hit himself
on the head. What was he thinking, he's fucking Death. Gathering up the
surrounding shadows to weave around himself Death twists and disappears right
before the erumpant crashes into his person, and reappears next to Newt.
"Where's the blasted suitcase?" He growls impatiently as he warily watches the
confused creature in heat try catch his scent again.
 
“I don’t understand..” Newt mutters, but it’s more the zoologist in him trying
to figure out where he had went wrong than anything remotely in context right
now. Which is unacceptable because Death needs the magizoologist on the case
like yesterday.
 
“The suitcase, Newt!” Death snaps impatiently, “What’s left of my virtue
depends on it!”
 
That spurs the man into action, with powerful, confident motions Death could’ve
really used during the whole bank fiasco in the very beginning, Newt runs up to
the creature and the momentum of both in motion was enough to shove the erumpet
back into the suitcase. Thank the fucking lord.
 
“Wait.” Death says after a minute of nothing but heavy breathing and silence
after the suitcase was closed with an underwhelming click of its clasps.
“Doesn’t this mean your giant arse erumpant is making a mess out of your magic
herb office right now?”
 
“Uhm, no?”
 
Fucking wizards.
 
——-
 
So because it turns out, yes, since the erumpant was still not properly
contained into her enclosure she was still running rampant. The large hole in
Newt’s ‘office’ was very much evident at that. Grimm, being veritable creature
bait, and Jacob, who had the gift of common sense, were tasked reluctantly with
the quest to find and re-capture the erumpant while Newt re-did his room. Death
would’ve gladly volunteered to do it but the place was filled with specific
poisons, herbs, animal bits, etcetera that only Newt knew where they went.
 
“Wow, you really weren’t kidding about that whole animal attraction thing huh?”
Jacob comments as a third pink owl creature swoops in to nuzzle at Death’s
cheek to pay its respects to the entity and hint to its openness for affection.
Death would scowl at the amused muggle but he was afraid that would only make
the disjointed picture he portrays even worse. Instead he humors the adorable
feathery creature by patting its head once before sending it off its way.
 
“It has its perks.” He stiffly replies back. “They can sense my higher status
in this world and therefore treat me very favorably, if a little too
aggressively at times.”
 
Jacob gives him a considering side eye, “So... yer some sort of god or
something?”
 
Death smiles blandly down at the man, “Perhaps.”
 
The muggle raises his hands, “Hey, totally get it, no further probing. Though I
wouldn’t be surprised if I was talking to a literal angel after all this
nonsense.”
 
Death barked a startled laugh, “Hah! Well you’re actually closer than Newt ever
guessed, so kudos to you sir.”
 
“You’re an angel?!”
 
The entity rolled his eyes and petted a doe-eyed mooncalf who strayed from its
herd for some attention from Death. That little thing is going to be a reckless
troublemaker, he can see it now. “I said you were closer relative to Newt’s
ideas, Jacob. Not that you were right.”
 
“Are angels real then?” Jacob looked up at the being, eyes wide with curiosity
and wary fear, like he was half afraid of the answer.
 
“Would it matter if they were?” Death asks back.
 
Jacob laughs nervously, “Well for starters, if they were, I’m going to have to
start going back to church again.”
 
Death waves that answer back dismissively, “Please, church is a human
construct. The ability to drive to the same building every Sunday and listen to
an over glorified lecture may say something about your perseverance in your
beliefs- because that shit is so boring oh my god- but it’s hardly the glowing
endorsement that people seem to think it is.”
 
“Oh,” Jacob looks absolutely fascinated, “Then what is?”
 
Death shrugged, “You know, common sense stuff. Helping people when you see them
need it. You can have your prejudices and beliefs about stuff but don’t go
actively out of your way to attack people against them. Respecting that no
means no. Don’t be a dick essentially.”
 
“What about murder?”
 
“Why?” Death smirked, “You planning something I should know about?”
 
Now it was Jacob’s turn to give a short bark of laughter, “You got me. I’m
secretly stupid rich but in order to get my fortune I must kill my twin half-
brother James.”
 
“Well if you’re killing for greed I’m fairly sure most angels consider that a
flaw in your soul than anything.” Death tells him dryly, “Revenge is
understandable though. And self-defense and accidents don’t really count.”
 
“So is there like an angel courtroom or something then? You know, to judge the
souls and so on?”
 
“It’s a complicated system that really depends on the universe they oversee
really.”
 
“The universe they- there’s more than one?!” Jacob looks like his mind is very
close to being literally blown. Death enjoys the man’s genuinely earnest
responses.
 
“Well picture this-“ he begins, readying up a very Space-esque metaphor to
explain the general concept of alternate universes with alternate timelines,
until a loud bellowing sound and the thumping of heavy footfalls could be hear
coming toward them. “Oh fuck, it’s the erumpant.”
 
There was a lot of running and cursing as the pair realized Newt had forgotten
to tell them where the erumpant enclosure even is but eventually they got
there. Exhausted and cranky. But still.
 
“Could you just,” Jacob panted as he slid down to the ground, the man was
particularly sweaty and red faced, “I don’t know, magic the thing here in the
first place?”
 
“Not in this form no.” Death admits, “Not unless you want to explain to Newt
how I inadvertently killed his magma rhino creature because we were too lazy to
run around like headless chickens for a bit.” The magic he still has from Magic
is too closely intertwined with his own power now that there is no mortal
barrier to separate them, there’s no telling what may happen should he use too
much of it.
 
The default usually results in some sort of dementor. And Death is not
interested in making another mutated Dementor army again. He has a Dementor
that is part spider, part octopus that he can never look directly at. That
thing, among other monstrosities, has been banished to guard the very edges of
his realms. He feels a little bad for the discrimination but to compensate he
gives those guys a nice work environment and a sizable amount of souls to
consume to prevent mutiny.
 
That’s happened more than once Death is ashamed to say. It’s hard being the big
boss.
 
“Yeah okay,” Jacob pouts, “we wouldn’t want that.”
 
“Oh thank Merlin!” Newt cries as he jogs up to the pair. “I only just realized
I forgot to tell you were the erumpent enclosure was and I panicked, and then I
heard the noise and-“
 
“Peace Newt,” Death intones, effectively shutting the British man up and
preventing what sounded like the beginnings of panic attack to form. “We got
the creature in its habitat safe and relatively cranky. And I’m fairly sure we
incurred minimal damaged.”
 
“It was amazing,” Jacob agreed, “Harry just had to shout for everyone to get
out of the way, and they did! Even the blowfish cheetah thing!”
 
Newt looked intensely at the entity, “He did, did he?”
 
Death shrugged, “What can I say? It’s a natural allure. Though don’t expect
much from me if I’m faced with a Phoenix.”
 
“My headmaster has a Phoenix.” Newt says for lack of anything else really to
say. The entity scowls.
 
“Fawkes, yes, I’m very aware of that damned fucking bird.” Then in a low,
annoyed mutter, he added, “Undying piece of shit fire fucker.”
 
The magizoologist and muggle blink at the entity, as if genuinely shocked at
the change in demeanor and string of obscenities that followed. “I.. see you
and this... Fawkes... has some bad blood?” Jacob asks tentatively.
 
“He attempted to kill me, yes.”
 
“Intriguing.” Was all Newt, the damn unsympathetic arse said. Clearly Death
isn’t the only one in this group that needs to take a social study lesson or
two. “Is this related to how you have Dementor ancestry?”
 
“Dementor.. you mean, like, a berserker?” Jacob asks tentatively, trying
hopelessly not to look too lost at the flow of the conversation.
 
Newt smiles at him, looking pleased just to have the muggle man’s interest at
all, “A Dementor is, well, I’m not much of a fan of the grouping terminology
but it does fit, a terrible dark creature that feasts on souls and can drain
happiness in the very air around you, if you get too near for too long, they’ll
suck out every good memory and happy thought and leave you haunted with your
worst.”
 
“That’s.. that sounds absolutely horrible.” Jacob says aghast.
 
“They’re very misunderstood creatures,” Death defends petulantly, “I mean, if
you get past the soul sucking and their nightmare inducing presence, they’re
actually, uh, quite docile and sweet. Like a cow really.”
 
“You’re comparing a Dementor.. to a cow.” Newt deadpanned incredulous.
 
“Yes.” Death says half seriously. “A big fat mooing cow.”
 
“I.. see.” Jacob says, even though he clearly does not. “Hey, maybe we should
all get out of here yeah? So we don’t get caught by Miss Porpenstein and Miss
Porpenstein?”
 
“Sounds like a smashing idea Jacob.” Newt agreed.
 
“Yeah, that ex-auror one seems kind of nosy,” Death comments, “Wouldn’t put it
past her to double check our rooms for this very reason really.”
 
“Uh, guys?” Newt looked at them worriedly, his hand pushing at the entrance
from where they had come from. Death has a terribly foreboding feeling. “I
think we’re locked in.”
 
Fucking Newt Scamander. Who the fuck has a magical suitcase that holds a
fucking magical zoo filled with magical creatures that can be considered
magically illegal and doesn’t have a magical back up escape route if someone
flips closed the stupid suitcase latches? Seriously. Fucking wizards.
 
—-
 
So when they finally get out of the suitcase, they come face to face with the
boss lady from before, the intimidating hot guy and like, a bunch of other
wizards with an equal lack of expression on their faces. Ugh. Death has seen
his dementors show a greater range of emotion. And the room they’re in, ugh,
was it originally a gothic church? Why did it look so grim? As they all
cautiously step out of the suitcase, Death looks at the floor and sees a circle
with a star design in it. It looked like a summoning circle. Of course that’s
what this place needed.
 
Also, also, speaking of Boss Lady- that women is wearing just the most
ridiculously unnecessary headdress he has ever seen in this situation. Was it
just something that cam with the role? He doesn’t see any other witch or wizard
looking like that in the stands and he’s assuming they must have some high
status to be here. Though admittedly a few had quite tacky stuff on as well.
 
There’s a bit of a murmur among the crowd as the three of extricate themselves
out one by one. “Scamander?” A strong voice rings out, Newt who was in the
middle of closing his case looks up and smiles nervously.
 
“Oh, hello minister.”
 
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Whatever’s been happening right now must’ve been pretty
important if the British Minister of Magic and what Death assumes is the wizard
equivalent of the UN are all here.
 
“You mean the war hero Scamander?” An african wizard minister asks
disbelieving.
 
“No, this is his little brother,” A presumably french wizard minister replies
back, causing Newt to grimace a little and avert eyes from everyone else’s.
 
The British minister doesn’t look the least bit sympathetic, “And what are you
doing here in New York Newt?” He asks stern but not unkindly.
 
“I, uh was just here to buy an Appaloosa puffskein sir.”
 
“Right,” The British minister squinted his eyes knowingly, “Now what are you
really doing here?” Newt looked a little lost for words, clearly thinking he
wouldn’t have been called out on his lie by his minister- who he apparently
knows personally on some level- in front of all these people. Death felt bad,
he knew personally what it was like to be put on the spot like that and this
must not exactly feel good for the rather anti-social redhead.
 
The Boss lady turned to Tina, asking her about their presence. Tina’s voice
wavered a little, either from nerves due to the pressure or some feeling of
guilt of betraying them like this. Which, well she should be. This was a bitch
move. When she revealed Jacob’s no-Maj identity, that’s really when the
governmental wizards and witches began showing their taste, muttering about
obliviations and such. Jacob curls up, trying but failing to look smaller than
he is.
 
Death just looks forward, chin held high and looking as confident as he isn’t.
In doing so he notices the hologram of a dead man floating above their heads
and nudges at Newt to do the same. The magizoologist does and gasps softly at
the sight, recognition lighting his eyes. An asian witch in the front row
notices. “You know which of your creatures was responsible then, Mr Scamander?”
She asks.
 
“No creature did this,” he denies, moving forward, closer to the image, “just
look at the marks…” Newt bit his fist before finally declaring softly, “It was
an obscurus.”
 
Whispers move faster than a wildfire in the room, everyone there knew what was
an obscurus, what it meant, what the American government had failed to do if
this was true. The Boss Lady, Madam President, furrowed her elegantly shaped
brows slightly, “Mr Scamander, do not be absurd,” she tells him confident and
with just enough heat to know how truly angry she was, “There is no obscurial
in America.”
 
“Well that seems like a rather shallow promise.” Death snorts, before
regretting it immediately as all attention turn to him now. “Ah, damn.”
 
“And who may you be?” Madam President asks icily. Death bows slightly.
 
“I am-“ The french minister gasps suddenly, as well as one or two others in the
room, clearly there’s some strong creature blood running around here. “Harry.”
 
“You know this young man?” Boss Lady asks the frenchman who weakly nods.
 
“Oui, he is… not to be defied Madam.”
 
“Yes,” Another witch with a less recognisable nationality adds on hurriedly,
“You could say this… being has diplomatic immunity from where we are from,
please, do not anger him.”
 
Madam President frowns, “Yes, well, he may have immunity where you are from,
but he holds no such power here. This.. Harry will be treated the same as the
rest of the group.” She turns to the hot intimidating man, “Impound that case
Graves, and arrest them.”
 
Graves does just that with a flick of his hand, summoning the case to him while
bringing all three, surprisingly four actually since Tina was included too, to
their knees. Death knows he probably should resist, but he kind of wanted to
see what magic prison was like.
 
“Please don’t hurt my creatures,” Newt pleads, “They’ve done absolutely nothing
wrong, nothing.”
 
“We’ll be the judges of that.” Madam President tells him, her cool,
unsympathetic voice making Newt struggle further from where he was. “Take them
to the cells.”
 
Tina whimpered. Bet she never saw this coming when she decided to do this.
 
“No please, they’ve done nothing wrong,” Newt begged desperately, as they began
being hauled away, “Don’t hurt those creatures, not-nothing in there is
dangerous, please, please don’t hurt my creatures, please, please they’renot
dangerous!”
 
Newt looked almost near tears when he looked at Death, and fuck, Death had
really grown to like the stupid animal-loving man. He can always check out
magic prison when he’s Harry Potter anyway, knowing his luck he’ll get there at
least once. “Right.” He says loudly as soon as they were far enough away from
the room filled with very important wizards, “Well you guards have been lovely
but we have a dinner appointment and we really must leave.” Death turns his
arms to dark smokey shadows, letting the handcuffs fall before turning to grab
all three- even Tina- and warping away before the guards could even pull out
their wands.
 
He brings them to Tina’s apartment, the only place he really knew, where he
dumps them all onto the ground easily and none too gently. “You’re lucky I like
you guys.” He tells them, “because I’m fairly sure it was going to be the death
penalty for you all at this rate. Which feels a little drastic since we are all
capable of obliviation.”
 
“My case,” Newt gasps, teary eyed and panicky, “Wha-we need to go back Harry!
My case is still, still-”
 
“Looking for this?” Death grins, shark-like as he summons a dark hole where
Newt’s suitcase falls out from and into his waiting hand. It was a piece of
cake to get, it’s not often you see so many souls all condensed into one
suitcase sized shape after all.
 
The magizoologist gasped in wonder and joy as he leapt up into Death’s arms and
began hugging and thanking him profusely in gratitude. Everyone let it be a for
a bit, since it felt a little embarrassing to be the one to interrupt, finally
though, Jacob came through.
 
“So, uh, is anyone going to tell me what the hell an obscurus is?”
 
——
 
“The goblin’s not bad looking.” Death muses, tilting his head to get a more
flattering angle of the criminal.
 
Jacob looks at him funny. “Look, I ain’t really got much of an opinion bout
fairies like you, but you’re kind of funny in the head aren’t ya?”
 
Death smiles devilish and crooked. “I get that a lot where I come from as well.
But as they say, everything’s fair in love and war.” He loosens his tie and
unbuttons his top two buttons as he starts to walk a bit faster over to where
Newt and Tina were negotiating with the goblin, “And this, this is war.”
 
“Uh, I don’t think that was the right optio- and he’s gone.”
 
“Aw, leave him be Jacob, the guy’s surprisingly a flirter.” Queenie smiles
amused behind her glass, “It’s cute how confident he is. Even if his taste is a
little... unique.” Jacob stares at her like he can’t believe a women like her
could exist and Queenie just giggles demurely.
 
“Wait,” Gnarlak stares intently at Newt’s chest, “That’s a bow- that’s a
bowtruckle right?”
 
Newt immediately covers Pickett protectively, “You’re not having him.” He
protests.
 
“I see,” The goblin give a cruel smirk as he begins leaving the table, “Well
good luck getting back alive, what with the whole of MACUSA on your back and-“
his face slackens into one of surprise and awe.
 
Newt and Tina look up as Death joins the table with an easy smile. “Harry, what
are you-“ Tina hisses but is cut off by the gangster, suddenly and firmly
sitting in his seat across them.
 
“Shut up,” He hisses through his sharp teeth, “Don’t you know who that is?!
This is, this is,”
 
Death sticks his hand out with sly smirk and just enough fang to warn the guy
to stop where he was going lest he regret it severely. “Harry Mortimer, a
pleasure.” He greets with a silky soft tenor that has the two wizards gaping in
a rather unattractive fashion. Which, rude, he always sounds this inviting.
 
The goblin falters for a second before visibly picking himself together to take
the pale hand and kiss the back of it reverently, “Greggoric Gnarlak, milord,”
he murmurs as Newt mouths ‘milord’ like silently saying the word would unlock
the other’s mysterious identity while Tina mutters ‘Greggoric’ as her hands
twitch. Probably wishing she could write it down somewhere. Gangsters weren’t
exactly known for giving out their full birth name in front of cops, this was
probably the first time she’s gotten verbal confirmation that he had a first
name at all.
 
“Greggoric,” Death smile softens and his hand curls a little into the goblin’s
own hand in a flirtatious manner, “a handsome name for a handsomer creature.”
 
In the background the female Auror snorts but Newt hushes her, taking the
incredibly strange interaction as the distraction he needed to shove Pickett
deep into his pockets.
 
Gnarlak, he, for the better word, swooned. Just a bit. “Milord you’re tongue is
slicker than any partner, business or pleasure, that I’ve ever met.” He praises
smoothly. Death smiles slyly.
 
“If you help my companions here, I may show you how slick my tongue really is
gorgeous.”
 
The goblin blinks, and then he turns looking deadly serious at the two wizards,
“There has been some talk about something going on around Fifth Avenue, I
suspect it’s one of your creatures.” He looks at the entity, clearly awaiting
any response to signal he has done a good job.
 
“Thank you Greggoric,” the entity tells him when it’s clear no one else was
going to, “Your kindness is greatly appreciated. I’m sure if you have any free
time right now we can-“
 
“Fuck.” The goblin suddenly says, his face that had been slack with overjoyed
disbelief had tightened in anxiety and stress, “Fuck, you all, you all have to
leave right now.”
 
“What? Why?” Tina demands sharply, her back straightened as she searches her
surroundings subtly.
 
Gnarlak coughs, “I may have, blabbed, a little. To MACUSA. In my defense-“
 
Jacob punches him in the face as everyone begins to walk quickly out of the
place, trying to draw as little attention as they can while they give the
goblin dark looks. Death lingers back a little, taking a quick moment to grab
the goblin’s collar and lifts him up so they’re eye to eye. “Backstabbing?
That’s not very nice is it, Greggoric?” He tuts.
 
“I, urk, didn’t know you would be here.” Gnarlak coughs out.
 
“No, you didn’t,” Death agrees, his eyes flickered assessing the criminal, “And
you did tell us before the aurors came. So,” the entity hums for a moment
before he kisses the creature passionately. Gnarlak made a startled sound
before he melts into it, enthusiastically giving it all he had before Death
drops him back onto the ground, dazed and a little dopey. “Call me hot stuff.”
 
Death licks his lips, tasting the faint secondhand tobacco and alcohol before
following his companions out of the speakeasy with a self-satisfied smile. It
was a nice kiss.
 
Death didn’t leave a number.
 
——
 
It turns out there’s not one but two creatures hanging around Macy’s or
whatever shopping mall building this is. That’s not really the important part
of the sentence here.
 
The important part of that sentence was that there were two creatures instead
of one of no one was paying attention, though maybe it wasn’t that important
since the whole situation was finished ridiculously quickly. Death barely had
to step in before the demiguise and the occamy practically jumped into his
arms, cooing and touching his chest. The occamy even had the gall to slip under
his clothing to curl around his torso possessively.
 
“Seriously, are you the magical creature whisperer?” Jacob demands only half
joking. “And here I was expecting some big trial with dramatic orchestra music
in the background.”
 
——
 
The wild obscurus turns out to not be a child, but a teenage boy, arguably a
young adult male even. It’s the same lad from in the beginning with the anti-
magic woman. With what Newt has told them about Obscurus’ this human must be
powerful, strong in both mentality, physicality and magically to not have
degraded from the strain of abuse and self suffocation of his abilities.
 
It’s honestly just a very sad thing all round.
 
Such a young man with absolutely nothing to live for. No friends, no family, an
incredibly unsupportive household and no future. Even if he did somehow gain
control of this whole obscurus business- unlikely- at best he’ll be shunned by
the magical community anyway for what he’s already done, at worst he’ll be
constantly used and experimented on. Maybe Newt could help his situation but
let’s be brutally honest here, this is the guy couldn’t keep his suitcase in
check, Newt ain’t exactly the most reliable wizard this side of the state.
 
To be fair towards the red headed British man, he was very close to soothing
the savaged beast if you will, the boy, Credence, seemed to be reforming
himself back to something resembling his original form before hot but
potentially evil Graves shows up to ruin it all. It seems that the two had
shared history, which, super weird if you look too much into it. An abused
child seeking the comfort of an older man in the dark of the alleyways,
probably when it was raining for added dramatic effect, really, it all sounds
either like the start of some messed up dubious porn or the very twisted start
of a Charles Dickens-ish type novel.
 
There’s a nice fight, which Death decides to stay out of because he feels the
battle may be just a little too one sided if he joins the fray. There’s a lot
of lights and Credence screaming and so much talking, oh god, wizards and their
incessant need to talk. Everyone was trying to get Credence on their side and
honestly, Death kind of wonders why. Clearly the child has lost all control
once he released the dam, expecting him to collect back all that metaphorical
water and shutting it all back in to manageable levels seems nigh impossible at
this point. Credence is damaged and abused and the type of broken that takes
hell of a lot more than some glue and duck tape to fix. One day, with time and
love and a good dash of miracle magic, maybe he would have come out of this
ordeal a strong, powerful wizard, but this world is preparing for war soon
ahead and a time for war meant no time for poor little orphan boys in need of a
good hug.
 
So Death watches quietly, easily ignored in the shadows. He watches them fight
and plead and coax. And then he watches the MACUSA aurors swoop in to decimate
the unfortunate boy’s wraith form. Death wonders the semantics for this
obscurus creature as he is faintly surprised at how little the creature
acknowledges his existence. He’s never heard of an obscurus until today, and
this being has certainly never crossed over to his realms before. Though, maybe
unlike werewolves and vampires, obscurus can still be considered at their heart
humans.
 
As Newt had said, it is a result of raw magic previously restrained, so in a
way it makes sense that the obscurus, both alive and not truly a different
magical creature altogether, would not truly recognize the innate power of an
entity. Even if it was able to, it would probably fall more under Magic’s
purview than anything anyway.
 
It’s only when, after withstanding the attacks of the American magicals, the
obscurus was near death did Credence finally turn to Death. He’s barely a wisp
of the looming storm of darkness he had once been and his soul is beginning to
bare itself, ready to be reaped. Credence just seems resigned to it rather than
fighting back like the caged animal he had been before.
 
Death tuts sadly as he looks down at the small wisp. Not even a body to be
buried. Tragic.
 
“Don’t worry child,” he whispers, soft and sympathetic as he twitches his
fingers and summons the remnants of Credence Barebones to his hand, “I’m going
to make sure all that pain you feel goes away now.”
 
Without anyone seeing, noticing, Death deftly rips a soul from its barely
tangible body. He’s tempted to keep it alongside Riddle’s twisted shards in his
mind, but decisions made solely out of pity would benefit neither party so
instead he just swallows the little soul down and let’s it be swallowed up into
the darkness. Credence tastes like salty tears and the bittersweet burnt
caramel taste of lost hope.
 
 
——
 
Death blinks at the newly revealed Dark Lord unimpressed. Don’t get him wrong,
the man is roguishly handsome in a way that reminded the entity of those
charismatic pirates of the caribbean back in the day. Cocky and confident with
the magical power and skill to back him up. Honestly, if it wasn’t completely
inappropriate given the context, Death might’ve tried his luck in seeing if the
wizard’s carpet matched the drapes if you catch his meaning.
 
But what is so underwhelming was the fact that clearly this guy could have
easily completed his tasks without all this convoluted Obscurus nonsense.
 
“Seriously man,” he tells the dark wizard, “If you just wanted to make enough
mayhem to make the muggles aware of magic I’m pretty sure you could’ve done it
yourself. Like, it isn’t that hard.”
 
“What are you doing?” Tina says through gritted teeth, “Why are you teaching
the enemy how to do better?”
 
“I’m just saying, this guy fucking manages to kidnap and masquerade as the head
of MACUSA security or whatever. He could have loosened the rules, could’ve
introduced his own loyal men into the system while flushing out the good
aurors. Hell, you people regulate magical creatures, he could’ve just set those
free instead- they would’ve been injured and angry, chaos was guaranteed. But
no, instead he chose to lurk around an orphanage like a creep as he hugs
underage boys in alleyways.”
 
Grindelwald and the other aurors just sort of stared, part irritation, part
stupefaction and part impressed.
 
Death shrugged, “I’m just saying, the whole plan of his was weird and vaguely
pedophillic.”
 
“It was not pedophillic!” Grindlewald protested, clearly unhappy at that
accusation. “Credence was of age and nothing I did could be construed as
remotely sexual.”
 
“He looks like he’s less than twenty.” Death tells him seriously, “That, in my
opinion means teenager.” Of course there is a chance that Credence’s young
appearances was due to poor upbringing stunting his growth like Harry Potter’s.
Still. Not cool. “By the way, where is the real Graves? That fellow was quite
dashing, it would be a pity for him to die from neglect.”
 
Seraphina Pickery did a double take at the man’s casual question like it had
completely slipped her mind to go find her kidnapped, very likely tortured,
subordinate. Which, to be fair, was understandable given all the other far more
pressing subjects pressing for her attention at the moment. Still, Death would
feel pretty shit if he found out he hadn’t noticed his boss slash friend slash
subordinate had been replaced by a psychopath for however long. The least you
could do would be to find and free the poor sap as soon as possible. And maybe
try to salvage the guy’s reputation as well because who knows what other creepy
ass stuff Grindlewald had been up to in that body.
 
Death tilts his head toward Grindelwald as he acknowledges the Head of MACUSA’s
attention, “I suggest legi-lega-oh just take it out of his pretty head of his.”
Fucking magic terminology.
 
Grindlewald laughs then, it’s not the laughter of a defeated man but a man
confident that the cards are still in his favor. He’s amused despite the
situation, and Death wonders how far exactly has this man managed to get his
claws into the American Magical government. “What is your name?” The Dark Lord
asks slyly, loudly, “Not that Harry bullocks you’ve fed these sheep, I want to
know who you really are.” 
 
He’s managed to gather everyone’s attention, Picquery was now staring at Death
with outright suspicion and his companions were looking at him warily. Newt was
looking worried for him, sweet kid that one, not that the entity would invite
the guy to tea anytime soon. The man would probably steal his Dementors or
something.
 
Death straightens himself and smiles, “Not as incompetent as I had assumed.”
The entity chuckles, “Though you know, you were a little off,” the color of his
eyes invert as he flashes his sharp teeth, but that wasn’t what catches
Grindlewald’s eye. No, it’s the Deathly Hallows mark slowly searing into the
skin of Death’s neck that truly caught the Dark Lord’s breath. “It’s not who,
but what.”
 
And that’s when he disappeared.
 
Fucking nailed it.
 
***** Death's awakening *****
Chapter Notes
     GUYS. Check out zombu7's amazing fanart for BtDoM on tumblr! So good!
     Or just find it on my account hweianime haha. Seriously, it's awesome
     :)
 The one where Death wakes up.
 Or more accurately, Harry rejoins the living.
===============================================================================
It's not like in the movies where the comatose patient immediately opens his
eyes and there's some lover right beside them, crying all over the place as
they had just conveniently spouted off their undying love that the patient,
equally conveniently, has overheard. No, instead the awareness of his body
comes slowly, a step at a time. Harry first feels the thin weight and warmth of
the blanket that covers his body. Then it's the sound of his own blood pumping
through his ears. The clean but stale smell of the room. It all washes over him
slowly like lazy waves of sensation which settles under his mortal skin.
Finally he feels comfortably integrated back into his human flesh, enough so
that he can control his breathing at the very least with some relative ease.
Unfortunately that seems like only one of the few things he can accomplish with
such.
He's not sure how long exactly it's been since his human body finally recovered
enough to allow itself to, well, 'reboot' for the better sense of the word. But
from the stiff, uncomfortable numbness that Harry feels in the meat suit, he's
not exactly optimistic about the timeframe. Just opening his mouth is
difficult, and he tastes dry and horrible. Like someone stuffed cotton balls
soaked in the blood of tiny dead animals in his mouth while his body was left
unattended.
"Beh." Is what he musters up to say. Because well, there's really not much to
comment on there. Ugh, even his witty mental commentary feels sluggish.
His muscles had definitely atrophied, okay maybe not drastically, but enough
that Harry roughly estimates a month at the very least. He's never exactly been
on this side of the coma before and he has to say, not fun. Of course it could
be equally as likely that it's only been a week thanks to his... 'natural
affinity' which certainly wouldn't have done him any favours.
Harry deeply envies his fellow entities who probably could have woken from a
nine year long coma with a spring in their step smelling like daises. Life was
probably incapable of such an injury in the first place even when suited in
mortal flesh. Hell, his counterpart could slip into the meat suit of a man with
stage 4 brain cancer, bleeds out buckets while someone blows dynamite up his
arse and Life would still be able to come out of that with barely a bruise.
Jealous.
The room from where he can see, is empty, but not for long. There must be some
sort of monitoring spell or something because about forty seconds after he's
awoken Snape bangs open the door in legit the most dramatic way possible, the
first actual noise heard from Harry Potter's ears in whatever time and it's the
loud slam of heavy wood against even heavier rock. Marvelous. Literally the one
time the Slytherin doesn't glide in all ominous and quiet and slick like oil.
The one bloody time.
Harry side-eyes him, the most he can apparently do since his body refuses to
work. It's like his mortal flesh is punishing him from returning to this living
world and not dying like any decent individual who got stabbed by an insane
half-soulless bastard. "Ss'v." He hisses out with great concentration.
The potions master, well, he doesn't look great. It's not the messed up hair,
or the fact that clearly the man's newest ideas on pyjamas was snake inspired
monk-wear. No, it's the crazy frantic haunted look that hangs off his face,
coupled with a sallower, sickly complexion and tired panicked eyes. Tired
panicked eyes that immediately lose their panic as the settle finally onto
Harry's green ones. "You're awake." He says redundantly. Then again, it looks
like the man hasn't slept for a year so Harry will graciously ignore the man's
current lack of brain to mouth filter.
"You're awake." Snape repeats again and this time Harry has to roll his
eyes. 'No, clearly I'm still sleeping.' He wants to say sarcastically. What his
mouth manages to produce from that is, "Nnnn, mnananm shweep nmamnnaa," and a
dribble of drool from the side of his mouth.
Sometimes, even Harry is just blown away with how attractive he can be.
The potions master doesn't seem to care though. He just approaches Harry's
bedside with a look of dazed relief on his tired face, dropping down to his
knees so they were face to face and even going so far as to wipe the younger
wizard's drool with his bare hand. Which, Harry's not going to lie, is kind of
sweet, being taken care of to the very lest detail and all, but still. A little
gross.
Though thinking about it now, it's not exactly like he hasn't done worse things
in front of the man. God, it's a wonder the professor isn't sick of him really,
what with the constantly needing serious medical care and attention every five
steps. Seriously this man is either secretly the nicest man in the world, the
most guilt-ridden man in the world or in love with him.
"You've been in a coma for forty-eight days, almost seven weeks." Snape tells
him quietly, and wow straight to the heart of it. Harry's eyes flutter shut at
that. He's not sure about wizards, but he knows normal humans that lie in a
vegetative state for over a month would not be considered to wake any time
soon, and if they did, they would most likely come out of it with some sort of
temporary disability or form of amnesia. Seven weeks was a long time when you
were technically brain dead.
Severus continues his recap, each word he speaks let's the tension in his
shoulders loosen a little bit more, letting the task at hand push away his
tiredness for a while longer, "We don't know what happened back in the Chamber,
however we did recover the diary." The older man squeezes his hand gently on
Harry's nape and lets it stay there in an act of comfort as he continues quiet
and angry, "Harry... There was no damage to the book at all, physical or
otherwise. It is like there had never been anything residing there at all."
Another squeeze. "Tom Riddle has disappeared."
There's a brief moment, small, minuscule even, where Harry thinks what the fuck
is this man on about before he remembers. Oh, right, Riddle, the hot teen in a
book who Harry almost thought he was in love with before realising that most of
his feelings could be attributed to some bullshit compulsion charm. Most
meaning at least half. Maybe a bit less. Charm or no charm that kid was
still smoking fine. Like damn, that hair? And his facial structure? To die for.
Not to mention Harry still found him witty and rather interesting and such a
good kiss- wait, what was he doing again?
"Harry?" Ah. Now he remembers.
He smiles shakily at Severus, just the simple pull of facial muscles feels
Herculean, and whispers to him vague and confident, "On't thi- thingk Tom'll be
probwm no mowre."
"Wait, what do you-"
And then Harry went to sleep. It was high time he made a long awaited visit
inside his head again.
===============================================================================
"So," Death says conversationally in his head as he looks coolly at the glowing
form of Tom Riddle's soul. "You're more.. sentient then I remember."
The soul dimmed fearfully.
It should not have been so surprising, considering how the shard in the diary
seemed to constitute at least half of Riddle's soul itself, but nonetheless
Death was surprised. Then again he did sort of forget about the whole
'collecting Tom Riddle's soul and keeping it in his head' project he had going
on so maybe it shouldn't be so surprising that he was surprised. He's like a
bajillion years old, he's pretty sure he can play the old age card here.
The crimson shard, dark as blood mixed loosely with ash, was still there. But
now So was the large piece that came from a younger Tom's soul, baby blue with
swirls of purples and greens with just a few budding signs of the dark red he
will slowly become. They've merged a little. Shattered souls need time to
coexist and find the right way to realign themselves together. Too much time
has passed after all, too much has changed. But for now, Tom Riddle's slightly
less broken soul just looks like it's kind of got an unfortunate pimple on it.
And now Death can't get that image out of his head.
"Well, you seem stable-ish enough." He observes, "Clearly aware of your
surroundings, I think we can afford to make your appearance a little more...
comfortable."
The entity stares intently at the soul, the little glowing thing moving
tremulously with the waves while Death stays firmly in place like he was
standing in the calmest place in the world. It looks so small and vulnerable
like that, it's hard to believe that something so insignificant could sway him
as much as it did. Now that most of the rage of the moment has faded, curiosity
and interest once again replaces it with a fervor, Tom Riddle, every part of
him, seemed to stir Death in ways that truly fascinated the being.
He flicks his bony hand upwards and gives a sharp twisting movement, causing
the sea of pure black to rise and cocoon itself around the soul. There's a
moment of silence as the cocoon of darkness just twists and pulses before
there's a scream and the surrounding shadows fall away like wilting flower
petals to reveal a rather naked, huddled Tom Riddle.
"Wh-wha-wha-wha-wha-wha-" Riddle stuttered, looking frantically at his body,
the ocean of shadows he's somehow still a float on like there was glass between
him and the fathomless pit of darkness. "I-I-I- am I… dead?"
"You are bodiless." Death tells him, "But technically not dead. Well, I mean,
maybe technically is a strong word here."
"Not technically dead?!" Tom shrieks, looking up at Death before visibly
catching his breath, "Who- who are you?" He asks in fear and awe. Death smiles
and walks closer, bending down so they are both at around the same eye level.
Scooping a handful of the darkness underneath them, the entity lets it drip
onto the curve of his ankle. They both watch as it slithers upward, covering
the wide eyed young man's body and forming into a rather simple but elegant
black suit that hugged his figure perfectly. Death whistled lowly, "Not bad if
I say so myself."
"Wha-" Tom's eyes are bulging, clearly not coping well with this whole dying
not dying thing going on right now, "Wha-wha-wha-wh-wha-"
Death slaps him in the face, feeling an inappropriate amount of vindictive
satisfaction, and an even more inappropriate blip of arousal at the action,
"Get a hold of yourself Mr Riddle, I told you I wasn't going to kill you yet."
"But you didn't… the last thing I remember… Harry was the one who… Harry was
the one… who… said…" The young man looked at the entity warily and the clouded
look of confusion in his eyes were beginning to fade to something clearer, more
Tom, "…Harry?"
Death grinned toothily, proud at Tom's intelligence, once again he is reminded
of why he had chose to save the guy. Not many would've made such an incredulous
leap, especially the humans, they are a species that just adore the whole
'ignorance is bliss' thing. Seriously, he's seen the shit some people do- or
not do really- when confronted with some form of horror-esque theme. Idiots.
The lot of them.
"Got it in one darling."
"But you, you, you aren't-" Tom stuttered, overwhelmed.
Death tilted his head creepily, "What? A boy? Human? Beautiful?"
The young man flushed a little, it's easier to see, to feel the mortal's
emotions here, in his realm where the soul is stripped bare to Death's eyes.
It's a little odd, after being so used to a more closed off teenager instead of
this more flappable older version. Though to be fair Tom Riddle was probably
not having the greatest moment of his life, what with the whole waking up in a
black abyss with disjointed new memories of his past and future trying to hold
together despite having an incredibly large blank of time between them.
"…You're still beautiful," he mutters looking mortified at himself for even
admitting it.
The entity actually gives a small double take at the compliment, it must be a
genuine one too because souls don't lie to Death, not when they're so stripped
bare like this. "Wha- really?"
Riddle doesn't answer, just looks down at his new clothes and fiddles with the
hem of it. The silence was probably more telling than anything really. Death
fights the urge to coo or kiss the mortal again, it seems in term of
personality, the younger Diary Tom Riddle has dominated and the result is
rather adorable. He is intrigued at how much more Riddle will begin to alter
the more 'whole' he becomes.
Gotta catch 'em all and all that jazz.
Death clears his throat in an attempt to dispel the awkward mood that has begun
settling between them, "Well anyway, you're currently trapped in my mind. It
was either this or you finally succumbing to death under these black waters
here."
Tom looked down at the liquid floor he stood on horrified, only fully realising
how precariously close to death he actually is right now. The teen scrambles up
to his feet, like putting the minimum amount of contact between him and the
shadowy sea was going to make less of a difference. Death tries to hide his
raspy, soft laughter behind his clawed mouth. From the unamused look on Tom's
face, he would say it hadn't worked.
"Why aren't I dead?" Tom asks, only a slight tremor in his voice to suggest how
truly frightened he was, "If, if you don't terribly mind me asking of course."
Death smiles soft and enigmatically, he stands up, feeling a little smug at how
much taller he stands in his favoured form against the young Riddle and leans
down to kiss the soul's forehead. "Because you're soul intrigues me my darling
little mortal."
Tom, who had been looking breathless during the chaste pressing of lips
grimaced slightly at the mention of his mortality. Death tuts and kisses him
again, this time gently on the lips, this time he is the one in control here.
"Everyone is mortal Mr Riddle, it's just some take far longer to succumb than
others." He tells him fondly. Death straightens his back and starts to back
away from the young man. "Now, not that this has been charming or anything, but
I should probably go." He begins to summon his shadows to rise up and take him
away.
"Wait!" Death turned around, Tom was standing, his arm half outstretched like
he wasn't sure whether or not to reach out to the entity. "Don't leave m- I
mean, who, what are you really Harry?"
The entity grinned sly and mysterious, "Didn't I tell you Mr Riddle?" His eyes
go completely black, no glowing green in sight, Tom looks both fearful and
entranced, "The name's Death, my dear darling Mr Riddle. And we are going to
have quite some fun together."
===============================================================================
When he awoke again, Lucius Malfoy was sitting in front of him. He looked a
little haggard, a little rumpled, and hair a faintly dark stubble showing on
his face. So all in all, he looked kind of roguishly hot. Tired. But roguishly
hot. "Mmer Malfoil?" Harry slurred.
The older Malfoy startled at his voice visibly, "Merlin." He muttered to
himself, rubbing his temples with his hands.
"Wha-wha arrre yooou-"
"Oh damn, I thought I was imagining things, no, you don't speak Potter, please.
Save your strength." The Head of the Noble House of Malfoy took a deep breath,
"Look, I.. just want to say I'm sorry."
Harry gave him a curious look. He would raise an eyebrow, but he's fairly sure
his muscles are incapable of such fine tuned facial movements right now.
"Shorrey?"
The older man grasps for words for a moment before nodding to himself, more
resolved than before, "Yes. I am.. Sorry. I'm sorry for what happened to you,
Draco does too- he has been fretting this whole time you've been asleep, though
he's got nothing on Severus and those Weasleys who've practically slept by your
bedside much to each other's consternation."
Harry huffs a breathy laugh, imagining Snape glaring at the whole Weasley
family across his bed until they all went to sleep. It's both amusing and
strangely warming to imagine the extent everyone has gone to keep him company.
Well, not him, his soulless body really. But whatever. The thought still
counts.
Lucius smiled wanly at Harry's pathetic wheeze of laughter, though even that
looked a little strange. "I never expected this," He tells the half conscious
boy, "I really didn't, I hardly think anyone did to be honest. If I had known…
If I had known… I would have tried to prevent it."
The Boy Who Lived just replied with a simple, yet eloquent, "Uhm?"
The Head of Malfoy nodded regally, as if Harry actually had said something
clever or coherent. He stands up from his seat, and the green eyed boy can't
help but admire how long Mr Malfoy's legs are. He wonders if it's just the
expensive tailored pants or if the man's thighs were as really as toned as they
seemed.
There's a faint ache in his head at his thought, for a second Harry thinks its
the whole coma thing acting up before he realises the pain is much more
centralised in his forehead. Specifically the soul in his forehead, radiating
disapproval and a lot of other bad vibes. Shit. This was not something Death
had anticipated when he decided to anchor the half soul to his mind realm
palace place. His body is very complicated.
However, in hindsight, it's, uh, something he probably should have considered.
Either way, Harry was not enjoying the second hand angsting he's getting from
the soul. With a roll of his eyes, he mentally tries to quiet the protesting
Riddle inside his head by agitating his own ocean of darkness. Thanks to
Death's 'blessing' that allows Tom to stay buoyant in the not so metaphorical
sea of death, Riddle is practically ensured that he will not perish, however
that doesn't mean he won't feel nauseated when the waves start to roll him
around like a kitten's ball of yarn. Can souls even get sea sick under these
extenuating circumstances? Whatever, as long as Harry can stare at Mr Malfoy's
legs without his own peanut gallery judging him in his head.
What? It's literally the only thing in his line of vision right now, fucking
sue him.
Lucius must've said his goodbyes while Harry had been mentally reconstructing
his usual relatively calm mindscape of death into something akin to one of
those wave pools you find in waterparks, times fifteen, because he pats the
bedridden child on the head twice awkwardly before leaving. "I really am
genuinely apologetic at how things came out." He said right before leaving the
room, "I assure you that in the future that any similar situation will not come
to pass unless it is out of my hands."
Harry just kept staring as Lucius Malfoy left. Had the man just assuaged his
own guilt by apologising without admitting to his own crime of endangering a
whole school via giant magical Basilisk and Dark Lord diary? The Boy Who Lived
let out a small dreamy sigh. He couldn't decide what was hotter, Mr Malfoy's
slick cunning way with words or his hair.
Spoiler alert. It's still his hair.
His beautiful, beautiful hair.
…
Rehabilitation sucks.
Harry vehemently blames Mr Riddle and takes great satisfaction mentally hurling
him around like he's in a washing machine when he's in the middle of a
particularly painful exercise. It's oddly soothing. Well, for him at least.
'I think I'm going to be ill.' Mr Riddle mutters in his head, 'Is this hell? It
feels like hell.'
The entity disguised as wizard saviour grins, but that quickly turns into a
grimace as Madam Pomphrey instructs him to do another stretching exercise.
'Fucking deserve it asshole.' He grits out in reply as his human muscles are
practically screaming obscenities at him as he bends down and tries to touch
the floor. This was humiliating, and rather tragic as his fingers barely brush
against the soft magicked carpeting underneath him. Potter's naturally flexible
body was probably one of his more favored traits. And now he's gone and
bullocks that up by getting stabbed and poisoned and technically dying for a
week or six. This was why he can't have nice things.
"Poppy I have the vials of-Merlin's fucking tits!"
Harry, too tired to bother standing back up and enduring all the pain of the
action, looks between his legs. There, the resident potions master stares back
with an undignified open mouth and a slight flush on his cheeks. From the looks
of it, and the sounds before hand, the man must have bumped himself terribly on
the nearby desk or something. One of his potions was even smashed onto the
floor so the man really must have been distracted.
"Severus," Madam Pomphrey scolded, though their was an air of amusement there
behind all that mighty, mighty disapproval, "Please keep that mind of yours out
of the dirty cauldron and pay more attention to your surroundings."
"I was, I, just, was, just," Snape spluttered a little, trying to defend
himself while still gawping a little at Harry, "Exactly what are you doing to
Potter?" He finally accused.
The mediwitch huffed, "Well now that we know that general basic healing spells
and recovery portions are pretty much ineffective against Potter's... unique
system. I'm implementing muggle methods to help restore the boy's basic motor
functions."
"And the muggle way means bending Harry over like, like-"
"Like what Severus?" Madam Pomphrey asked in a way that, if Harry didn't know
better, sounded awfully like a dare, a taunt. Slowly he tries to move back up
again, straightening out his back and completely missing the way the potions
professor's face reddens. "Like what?"
"Like, like, like," It was odd to hear the usually cuttingly eloquent man at a
loss for words. In his haste to stand up properly to take a look at what
expression his favorite professor was wearing, his stiff muscles begin once
more to rebel against him, Harry groans low and throaty as his spine seems to
realign itself via painful yet pleasurable 'pops' all down his back.
It actually feels... really good, like what a butterfly must feel after
cracking open its chrysalis. Harry arches his back further, throwing his head
back and letting out a hissing sigh of satisfaction as the crick in his neck
temporarily departs. "OoooOoh, that feels good." He breaths out happily.
He's never been a fan of the whole cracking your knuckles or neck sort of thing
that he's seen the older kids do. Personally Harry always thought the foreign
concept rather disgraceful, especially since too much of it can cause serious
health conditions like arthritis and such in the future. But now he
understands. It's a faster relief than medication and more intimately
satisfying as you feel the joints release the tension in one swift motion.
Harry can feel himself groan in the ecstasy of this new strangely amazing
sensation.
"...I have to go." Professor Snape says, his voice strangled, and go he went.
Harry blinked, then looked toward a disapprovingly amused mediwitch for some
explanation. "He doess th't a lot eh?"
Madam Pomphrey raises an eyebrow at him and pats him on the head like he was
some stupid, but adorable nonetheless, puppy, "Oh, dear, well aren't you quite
the innocent little flirt?" She pats him again, "Unfortunately there's no cure
for that sort of nonsense." The mediwitch ruffles his hair before clapping her
hands, "Now that, that distraction is over with, let's see if you can walk to
the bathroom without help."
Pushing the last minute of weirdness out from his memory, Harry decided to just
focus on his recovery for now. Internally groaning at his new arduous task set
out for him this time.
===============================================================================
Dear Death,
Fate here. I get to write because apparently no one had the decency to tell me
when you were coming back to your realms for a spot of tea. Seriously, I'm not
Time, I shouldn't have to keep track of it!
Well, anyway, I've heard your undergoing mortal rehabilitation? That's not fun,
I know, I tried my hand at the whole broken leg thing a while back. I got sick
of it after, like, a week and just healed myself right up. Honestly, I'm like,
totally proud you're going through the whole painful god awful thing- though I
guess it's not like you have much choice in the matter anyway. Lol.
Lol means laugh out loud old man ; )
I don't have much to say really, other than uh, I see you're collecting Tom
Riddle's soul. That's.. well surprisingly not that surprising of you
considering your collection. So, you should probs know that there's like,
another shard in Hogwarts. It's covered by quite a lot of magic which may throw
you off a bit but it is there nonetheless. I mean, Harry's fated to acquire it
anyway so if you're feeling lazy (which, let's face it, you kind of are when
you're off duty) then I guess you can wait a few years or whatever.
Also, and this is a little more important than some Dark Lord's soul, I saw a
brief glimpse of Love's plans for you. There's a potion and I think lace or
something? I, uh, didn't get much of a look of anything but I got enough of it
to tell you one thing-
Run my brother. Run far, run fast.
LOL
But seriously.
Run man. Your dignity kind of depends on it.
Toodles,
Fate
===============================================================================
Severus and Pomphrey watched the wizard saviour slumber. He looks so beautiful
despite it all, maybe even because of it all. There's something strange about
how well ill-health suited Harry Potter- the sullen cheeks, the sickly pallor,
the darkness around his eyes, it's made the young teen hauntingly elegant and
strikingly delicate. Madam Pomphrey cannot help but think of the fairy tale of
Snow White when she lay in a state of half-death, her beauty preserved, and how
similar it seems to apply in this situation. Or was that the Sleeping Beauty
tale? Honestly they were pretty much the same thing anyway.
"I feel like I should be envious on how Potter looks like an ice carving of a
sleeping nymph despite being comatose for six weeks. But then again, Potter's
been in a coma for six weeks." The mediwitch comments, she looks at the potions
master and blithely adds, "Still, I guess I do sort of see why you're so
infatuated with him despite… well literally every reason you shouldn't."
The potions master nearly fell out of his chair. He stared at the older woman
with shock and nauseated fear, "What?" He asks, voice cracking whether from
lack of use or the raw terror of being found out. Snape quickly composes
himself, his face shutting down into that cold sneer he so loves using. "Has
all the potion fumes finally gotten into your head Poppy? Because what you're
insinuating is simply preposterous and disgu-"
"But it's true isn't it?" Madam Pomphrey interrupts, her voice betraying
nothing but the question, "You love Harry Potter."
"He is my student!" He hisses furiously back, "He is barely thirteen,
a child for Merlin's sake! How dare you even suggest-"
"That you want to bend over said child and plough him like a cornfield?"
"Poppy!" Severus gasps, scandalised, his sallow skin reddening at the crude
words, "How could you?"
The mediwitch scoffed and rolled her eyes, "Oh come off it Severus, I'm not
blind." She stares hard at the man who looks ready to be sick, "Nor am I
particularly happy with this knowledge mind you. You're right, Potter is barely
considered a teenager, never mind an adult and that does certainly make you a
pedophile. Honestly, I should report you right here and now."
Snape grits his teeth, chin pointed upwards defiantly but his gaze refuses to
look directly at the older woman. He says nothing. There's nothing he can say.
"But," And the woman softens her demeanour slightly, she sighs, "I won't."
"…Why?" The potions master finally says after a minute of silence.
"Because you're a good man." Snape snorts derisively. Pomphrey gives him
a look. "Shush, you are. And even if you aren't, I know you genuinely love the
boy. If you didn't, I hardly think you would have spent all this time by his
trauma-prone side taking care of him. Both times. I watched you spend every
waking moment fretting about him, more than any one of us here has. And I know
you would never deliberately hurt or… force yourself upon him."
The wizard stares at her, he looked a lot more like that helpless student he
had been than the seemingly invulnerable man he is now. "You don't know that."
He whispers. "You can't."
"I do." Pomphrey replies firmly, "Severus, I'm old, I've seen a lot of things.
Like, a lot. Seriously, I've seen some shit Severus. A binding spell between
two students in a rather unfortunate position. Some fifth year who wanted to
have sexy cat ears to impress her boyfriend but ended up with the mind of one
instead of the body. The results when someone skimps out on well, any sort of
potions. Oh merlin, there was this one defence professor that mistook glue for
basic lubrica-"
"Get on with it woman." Severus snapped, his previous meek demeanour apparently
just a very temporary temperament that had quickly dissipated under the woman's
nattering. Sometimes the potions master forgot how old the woman was,
especially considering he had always considered her one of the most stern,
stoic characters alongside him and Minervra. Actually, the Head of Gryffindor
was pretty old too.
Merlin, it's hard to remember he was the youngest of the professors by far.
That does make Severus feel a little better in hindsight, not that he'll ever
admit that aloud. McGonagall and Pomphrey would hex him to next New Year's.
"The point is, I've seen a lot of things in my life Severus." The mediwitch
looks at the professor seriously, "And I know what true devotion looks like."
Severus swallows. "Th-thank you Poppy. That.. that really means a lot, what you
said." He looks at his hands, "I, am at a loss for what to do with these..
feelings Poppy. It's even worse than when I was a foolish child-"
"Because you are infatuated with a foolish child?"
"Yes." The potions master grits out, clenching his fists, "Thank you so much
for interrupting my confession of emotions to summarily dig into my wounds."
Madam Pomphrey looked like she was trying not to smile, "I'm sorry." She
gestured to her fellow colleague, "Please, continue."
Snape scowls, "No. The moment has passed. You no longer can access my torrid
inner workings."
"I think I will survive." Madam Pomphrey answers dryly. This, this is why
Severus doesn't hate her. The mediwitch turns back to look at Harry, "You know,
if it makes you feel any better, I do think Harry adores you. Maybe not in the
deviant, perverse, sexual-"
"I get the picture Poppy, again, thank you." The potions professor growls.
"-illicit way that you harbour. But he adores you nonetheless."
Snape looks fondly at Harry, "And I, him." He admits as he reaches out to touch
Harry's sleeping face, only for his hand to slapped harshly away by the
mediwitch. The wizard looks at her incredulously, "You just gave me your
blessing."
"Yes, but that doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy for you." Pomphrey
smirks, "He's thirteen for Merlin's sakes, honestly, keep it in your robes
Severus."
This, this is why Severus hates her. The bitch.
===============================================================================
"So this is just going to be a thing now?" Death asks half-curious, half-
annoyed. "You're just going to take over my dreams now are you?"
"I would hardly call this a dream." Mr Riddle points out. "I'm still standing
on liquid death and everything is still blacker than tar."
"Hey!" Death protests indignantly because fuck him and his ability to properly
dream. "For your information this is a slightly lighter black than usual. And
look-" he points at a faint purple swirl floating in the air. Mr Riddle had to
actually squint to see it despite his soul state giving him perfect vision, the
twat.
"... What the fuck is that?"
"You've gotten more crass since I killed you, combined your most recent soul
shard together and dumped you into my mindscape." Death complained, "That," he
pointed at the purple swirl, "is proof it's a dream."
Mr Riddle was giving the entity an odd pitying look, "That's what you consider
a dream? Colors?"
Death looks down and rubs his arm self-consciously, "Death isn't exactly
associated with rainbows Mr Riddle." He replies a little too shortly,
"I do apologize if my inability to properly dream is such a hindrance to your
delicate sensibilities."
Sensing he's stepped in a sensitive area, the young man tried verbally stepping
back, "I should be the one to say sorry, I didn't mean what I said in a bad way
per say, I just... Well, I was a little surprised at your, er, limitations."
The entity huffs, but his ire has lessened under the genuinely inquisitive
furrow in Riddle's brow. The soul looked genuinely interested and intrigued, it
was easy to see how such a curious creature had eagerly devoured the forbidden
knowledge of soul breaking. "Death is all powerful but it is not the most
flexible concept, and thus I am more restricted in certain traits and
abilities. For example," Death conjures up a rather delicate looking rose. He
passes it to the soul. "What does this bring to mind?"
The young soul could not help but admire the rose's beauty and yet he felt
oddly uncomfortable with it in his hands. Upon closer inspection though, Tom
realized how strange it's appearance was, with wicked sharp thorns, a stem that
could've been carved out of charcoal, a scent not of sweetness but earthy like
on the cusp of decay, and petals the exact shade of freshly spilt blood. It's a
rather intimidating looking flower all in all.
"Death." He finds himself saying, he looks up to the entity who is also adorned
with an elegant but darkly intimidating beauty, "it, this reminds me of you."
Tom steps closer and presses the rose back into a waiting clawed hand. His own
hand tentatively brushes against one taloned finger before quickly retreating
back.
Death smiles, "Very good," he praises, causing Riddle to duck his head
modestly. The being of death pauses at the involuntary action of the soul, poor
little thing, probably wasn't praised nor hugged much as a child.
Which, thinking about it now, is probably the reason why most people end up in
villainy anyway- that or some really awful tragic circumstances that somehow
link to the main protagonist of whatever. Either way, maybe now that Tom's
sentient and aware of his surroundings Death shouldn't just ignore him like he
totally did the whole of last year.
He clenches his fist holding the rose and when he opens it again its gone. "My
affinity to death is infinite in all things related to its concept. While that
may have looked like a rose, it's clear to anyone that it was not. I can only
create such a thing because of how widely roses are used to decorate corpses
and such to be honest."
"That seems.. complicated." Tom murmurs.
Death shrugs, "It is and it isn't. Look, I feel a little bad ditching you
alone.." He looks around into the surrounding blackness save for that one
purple swirl, "..in the infinite darkness that is my mind.. again. So I'm going
to summon some books focused on the concept of death for you to pass the time."
Mr Riddle raises a brow, "You're giving me books about yourself? A little
narcissistic don't you think?"
"It's that or giving you books on how to kill people." The entity smirks, "And
given you're uh, penchant, I figured that wouldn't exactly be wise."
"It's not like I can do anything here anyway." The mortal soul points out
petulantly.
"Yes well, I feel like that's just bad sense." Death comments, "I didn't give
Magneto his stupid ugly helmet until like, his twentieth year as my
paperweight. I mean, not that he really noticed after I placed that Xavier
bloke next to him but it's the thought that counts I guess."
"I have no idea what any of that means but I'm fairly sure I'm not getting a
murder book."
"No Mr Riddle, I'm not giving you a murder book."
===============================================================================
"Draco." Harry greets, his voice still a little rusty but healing much faster
in comparison to the whole potions 'accident' that happened last year. The
young Malfoy heir grinned wobbly before rushing up to his bedside.
"Harry!" The blonde boy cheered, giving him a light hug before hitting Harry
harshly on the thigh.
Harry raises an eyebrow. Luckily, unlike his previous horrible injury his skin
wasn't sensitive from healing itself, instead his nerves were more numb from
stiffness than anything so the assault barely registered. "Um. Ow?"
"DON'T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN!" Draco shrieked with the shrillness that could
rival a fucking mandrake as he continuously kept hitting his friend's body. "DO
YOU UNDERSTAND ME POTTER?"
"YES. TOTALLY. WHY ARE WE SHOUTING?" Harry screams back vindictively because he
shouldn't be the only one here to suffer from this interaction.
"BECAUSE I'M DEEPLY UNIMPRESSED BY YOUR ACTIONS." Draco yelled back.
The Boy Who Lived fidgets, "Yes, well, get in line my friend. Se- I mean,
Professor Snape, Madam Pomphrey, Professor McGonagall and even Dumbledore had
all given me some version of this lecture." His green eyes roll, "It was like,
twenty minutes each of 'What were you thinking Potter?', 'Why didn't you wait
for help Potter?', 'I told you that diary was no good Potter,' 'This is what
happens when you get overconfident and rely too much on your magic Potter.',
'Potter, wha-"
Draco raises his hand, silencing Harry. "Okay," he says impatiently, "I get it,
everyone's pissed off because you're more a Gryffindor than anyone realised."
Harry shrugged, "Pretty much, yeah. To be fair though, I totally would have
gone through this unscathed if someone," he mentally prods at Mr Riddle's soul,
"hadn't stabbed me in the freaking back."
'I'm never going to hear the end of this am I?' Mr Riddle grumbles in his mind.
The soul is crafty, it's only been just over a week since Riddle's been pretty
much given free reign to wander around the mindscape and he's managed to
somehow figure out a way to breach the gap between mindscape and shallow
thoughts, enough to verbally communicate with Harry. If, a little quietly
anyway.
"Still," The Malfoy frowns a little, "I can't help noticing, you know, that
every weird adventure you get up to is always with a Gryffindor, and like,
three out four times you usually get the short end of the wand.. sooo," Draco
shuffles a little closer to Harry, fiddling with the hems of his sleeves, "I
was thinking, maybe I should join you next time round. To, well, help you reign
in all that Gryffindor in you. The Wealeys and that Granger chit are clearly
horrible influences on you."
Well Harry couldn't exactly argue with that one.
"Wait..." Harry smiled slyly, "Are you saying... you're jealous that I'm always
spending time with Ron and Hermione instead of you?"
"Wha-" Draco's pale face reddened as he began to splutter, "Me? Jealous? W-what
nonsense." He crosses his arms, "I just think maybe, if you spent time with me
and the other Slytherins more, you wouldn't get int these ridiculous Gryffindor
antics. If anything I'm doing you and your health a favor here."
The green eyed wizard grinned, god Draco can be so easy to tease. "Suuuure."
"I-it's true!"
Harry reached out to pat Draco's cheek, "Hey, I overheard Pomphrey, Dumbledore
and the Head of Houses talking before. They think it would be best for my
recovery if I keep in one place for the rest of the year, and guess which House
I'm supposed to be in this term?"
Draco gasped, "Seriously?" He asks visibly excited.
"Yes," The wizard savior nods solemnly before signing tiredly and shrugging,
"I'm afraid you Slytherins are going to deal with my- what did you call it?
Ridiculous Gryffindor antics for a whole year."
The young Malfoy wasn't even listening at that point, too excited at the
prospect of Harry being his dorm mate for the whole year. His mouth was already
nattering various plans and ways to make up for Harry's lack of holiday due to
his.. unfortunate circumstances. "-and we can play Truth or Hex with the guys,
and oh, I cannot wait to rub this in that shmuck Weasley's face! I definitely
need to get father to buy us some extra sweets and we can bring out the
Monopoly set you gifted us and we can try out that card game you insisted we
try-"
"Uno?"
Draco snapped his finger and pointed at him enthusiastically. "That's the one!"
His smile is excited and childishly bright, Harry cannot help but mirror a
similar giddiness just watching him. "Oh Harry we are going to have such a
blast, and unlike those Gryffindorks, we are not going to send you to the
medical bay."
Harry laughed, "Yes, well, the year is still young isn't it."
===============================================================================
"Mate, oh Merlin you are awake!" Ron cried out joyously when he caught sight of
Harry trying to eat jelly. It was unfortunate timing because Harry's jelly
filled spoon was halfway to his lips and the unexpected yell was enough for his
already weakened grip to slacken, causing his jelly to fall to its death.
The raven haired teen mourned at the loss. It was grape flavoured. The good
fucking kind too with peeled grapes preserved in there as well. Professor Snape
got it for him. Fuck. "Ron you arse." He hisses. "I should kill you where you
stand." Ron just looks even more relieved.
"Oh Harry it really is you!"
What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
Harry scowled. "Wanker."
"I've missed you too buddy." Ron says and then hugs him. He gets grape jelly on
his shirt as well. Fucking good.
With a sigh Harry returns the hug, "Yeah, yeah," he says fondly before adding a
bit more seriously, "You totally owe me another jelly cup."
Ron laughed, "Still with the jokes."
"But I'm not-"
The redhead tightened his hold, "Such a joker."
"Ah..haha." Harry fake laughs, a little weirded out by how apparently Ron's
psycho switch is easily flipped by having to pay for food. A little weirded out
but ultimately not surprised in retrospect. "Yes. I was totally joking."
Ron lets him go, goofy big grin on his face. He looks like he was going to say
something but was ultimately interrupted by the rest of the Weasley family
barging in, followed by a very sulky looking Professor Snape. "Harry!" The
twins, Percy and Ginny shouted, running toward Harry and joining Ron's side.
Professor Snape, the Weasley parents and another redhead that's probably one of
the older brothers Harry's yet to meet, all lingered a little further back.
Which was just as well because Harry was practically bombarded by questions and
demands for attention. Seriously, he needs like, three headache potions after
this.
It takes a few minutes before everyone calms down enough for Harry to properly
make sense of what the hell they were all going on about. Apparently Mr Weasley
had won a bunch of cash and subsequently spent it all on Ron's new wand and a
family trip to Egypt to visit the other older brother- Jesus Christ does
contraception not exist in this place?- Bill Weasley. They've only just touched
back down to England yesterday before finding out that Harry had awoken from
his state of half-death and practically apparated right then and there.
"Mate it was amazing over there," Ron gushed, eager to spin his tales to
entertain his friend, though more than a little annoyed at his family's need to
be there to interject and interrupt his stories, "Bill took us around all the
tombs and you wouldn't believe the curses those old Egyptian wizards put on
them. Mum wouldn't even let Ginny come in the last one."
Mrs Weasley from the sidelines tutted as she sipped her tea, "Good heavens I
certainly wouldn't, not when you could clearly see the remains of those muggle
burglars who had gotten cursed. After what happened last year, I certainly
won't be letting Ginny near anything cursed ever if I can help."
"Muuuum." Ginny hissed embarrassedly, eyes flicking over to Harry. The wizard
saviour tries not to look at her, remembering Tom's words about how the girl
had a crush on him and feeling a little awkward himself.
Instead he turns to Percy who looks ready to explode with whatever news he had
been impatiently trying to spill. "What about you Percy, any highlights?" He
asks.
"I'm Head Boy!" The prefect, now Head Boy, blurts out.
Harry grins widely, good for Percy. Harry knew how much the older teen had
wanted it, and he knew how much Percy worked for it as well. "Oh my god,
congratulations Percy!"
Without thinking he pulls Percy in for a short sweet kiss, which the other
reciprocates happily into before gently pushing Harry away with a dazed blush
on his face. "Wow." Percy says before muttering under his breath, "Thank Merlin
I didn't tell you via letter then."
Harry chuckled bashfully, "Sorry bout that, I was just so proud that i just,
well," The bedridden teen shrugs. Percy smiles, though the blush on his cheeks
hasn't fully faded yet.
"I guess I forgive you, but only if you forgive me for this," Percy leans back
down to kiss Harry, however it was far more passionate than Harry's had been.
The Boy-Who-Lived moaned a little as the newly crowned Head Boy tugged on his
hair, knowing full well how much he enjoyed that, and slipped a little tongue
in. A you can imagine, it took a far bit longer and a lot of background
vomiting noises courtesy of Ron, George and Fred, for that kiss to end.
"Holy shit." Harry gasped breathily, now it wasn't just Percy's face that was
red that was for sure. Damn, had Percy gotten a new girlfriend or boyfriend in
Egypt? Because, because he got good. Really good. "Not that I'm complaining but
why?"
"Well," Percy began to fidget, apparently whatever casanova confidence he had
been possessed with in that moment had quickly faded now that the heat of their
intimate exchange had, "I figured, you deserve it for getting yourself stabbed
and scaring me like that."
"That, that's great." The wizard saviour says a little faintly, "Kind of wish
everyone else did that now."
"Yeah, no mate." Ron said, looking a little queasy, "I was scared but
not that scared."
"I was totally that scared." Fred pipes up, "Can I get a kiss too?"
"Me too, me too!" George adds, "I was absolutely terrified."
"Traumatised really," Fred nods to himself.
George grins cheekily, "In fact, I think we deserve two kisses, right brother?"
"Well as delightful as all this.. cheer was, visiting hours are now over."
Snape stepped out of his shadowy corner and sneered. For some reason he looked
more irritated than usual.
"It's barely two in the afternoon!" Ron argued, his arms flung around Harry's
body as if those scrawny things could hide his friend's form from the hated
potions professor. "I haven't even given Harry his birthday present yet!"
"Severus, maybe we should let the kids have their fun?" Mr Weasley tries to
convince, it's not half as effective as it should be considering the very
obvious distance he has maintained between the two adults. Apparently Mr
Weasley wasn't unaffected by how intimidating the other wizard was, especially
in the sour mood he seems to be right now.
Snape glowers at the man. "Don't you all have some unpacking to do?"
"Severus," Mrs Weasley scolded, because Harry has found the woman around here
rule the fucking community. Seriously, if the whole premise was a Dark Duchess
instead of a Dark Lord, the wizard saviour was fairly sure there would have
been no wizard saviour in the first place and Britain would have been
overthrown ages ago. "I think we deserve more than ten minutes with the sweet
boy who sacrificed himself to save our precious Gin-Gin."
Ron and his brothers snickered while Ginny groaned quietly, during her face
into her hands. The potions master clenched his jaw but sneered an annoyed, "Do
what you wish."
The Weasley children, save for Percy and the other older one, cheered at that.
Quietly of course. They were cheeky, not suicidal.
"Oh, right! I haven't introduced you to Charlie." Ron said brightly, he turns
to the adults and gestures his older brother over, "Charlie, this is Harry.
Harry, Charlie."
Harry looked up and just froze. Jesus. Did the Weasleys just get hotter with
age? The twins were charming, Percy was cute but Charlie was fucking hot. Like,
athletic hot too, something you don't see a lot in the Wizarding world
unfortunately. God, the biceps on him. If this is what the second oldest son
looks like, Harry cannot wait to see this Bill fellow.
"Harry?" Ron was side-eying him hard. Sometimes he hated how weirdly perceptive
his red headed friend can be.
The green eyed teen blinked, before letting his face relax into a sweet,
enticing smile. "Hey." He murmurs bashfully, fully aware of how well it fits
with the faint blush that he can't help stop from crawling up his cheeks.
Charlie seemed suitably charmed at him.
'I don't like him.' Tom complains. Harry mentally shoves him off, the soul's
constant presence flittering around the back of his mind was going to be quite
the nuisance in the future, he just knows it.
"Hi," The older Weasley says a little shyly, his eyes darting to his brothers a
little guiltily before focusing back on the pretty young teenager before him.
He raises his hand to shake, and marvels at how small and delicate the other's
own hand was in his own. "Charlie Weasley."
"Harry Potter, but you can call me Harry." Harry squeezes the older man's large
hand, both end up staring up into each other's eyes. Their hands still
lingering together.
"Oh hell no." Ron firmly says, effectively interrupting them. "No. Harry you
cannot do this to me."
The wizard saviour lets go of the older Weasley's hand to look innocently at
his friend. "What?"
"Charlie's not even gay mate!"
"Actually.." Charlie coughed awkwardly. Ron and the others stared at him. "Mum
and dad already knew about me a while back, I was going to tell you all
eventually but, uh, figured there was never a right time."
"Well now certainly wasn't exactly the best moment either!" Ron shrieked before
turning back to Harry, "Harry, for fuck's sakes please don't sleep up my family
tree."
"Ron, I don't know how to break this to you but all your older brothers are
incredibly attractive. If anything, you should be happy that there is clearly
hope for you in the future." Harry pointed out bemused.
Ron spluttered, "Wha, attractive?! Are you seriously say- wait. What was that
last thing you just said you wanker?!" Harry laughed.
"Don't worry Ron, I'm not going to work my way up your family tree or whatever
nonsense anytime soon anyway. Feel better now?"
"Not exactly reassured that you just said 'anytime soon' instead of 'at all'
like I was hoping for but I guess that's really the best I can hope for at this
point huh?" The youngest Weasley son sighed exasperatedly, "Merlin, are you
sure you ain't part veela or anything?"
"Fairly." Harry smugly replied, before wisely changing the subject, "So where's
this birthday present you haven't given me?"
The twins, who had been rather uncharacteristically quiet piped up before Ron
could. "Consider it a present from all of us." Fred said cheerily as George
handed Harry a vibrant red wrapped object from behind him. Ron squawked
indignantly at having his moment stolen quite literally from him. "Happy
birthday Harry!" George cheered as the younger wizard began ripping apart the
gift.
"Cheers guys." Harry thanked as he unveiled his present, "Erm, what is it?"
Ron opened his mouth but Percy was the one who replied faster, much to the
other's ire. "It's a Pocket Sneakoscope. It's purpose is to light up and spin
if there's someone untrustworthy nearby." Harry 'oohs' appropriately.
Charlie even contributes a little, "Bill, that's our oldest brother, had said
it was unreliable trash to trick wizard tourists into buying it, because it
kept lighting up at dinner last night." He winks at Harry as he whispered
loudly and not so secretly, "What he didn't realize was that Fred and George
had put beetles in his soup that night." They all had a nice little laugh over
that. Even Percy who was usually quite uneasy around his family sometimes.
"Hey, I know you've only been awake for a few weeks now but have you heard that
Sirius Black escaped?" Ron asked excitedly. In the background Snape, who had
been steadily looking more and more aggravated, jerked suddenly at the Ron's
words. His face a mix between pure fury and, well, more fury. "Pretty messed up
right?"
Harry, intrigued, leaned forward, "No, who is this Sirius Black?"
The Weasley boys looked confused, "You don't know who Black is?" Percy asked,
"How could you not? He is your-"
"ENOUGH." Professor Snape shouted, silencing everyone. Shoving open the door,
he gestured to it with a face that not even Molly Weasley was going to argue
with, "Visiting time is over."
"Boys, I think we should go." Mrs Weasley says, looking at Severus' infuriated
expression. Clearly the adults have an idea of what made Snape snap, and
whatever it was must've been to do with who ever this Sirius blog was. "Harry,
sweetheart, we're planning to maybe go buy everyone's school books in three
days. Do you think you might be up to joining us?"
Before Harry could agree, Severus snarled out an, "Absolutely not Molly. I will
not have you ruining Ha-Potter's hard won recuperation so close to the
beginning of term."
The matriarch of the Weasleys looked disapprovingly at the black-clad wizard,
"Severus, the boy needs a day out of this castle! You don't think just
confining him here in the infirmary forever is going to protect him from-"
"With all due respect, do not even presume to know what I think." Severus
hissed. Molly Weasley looked ready to fight back but Harry decided it was up to
him to diffuse this already tense situation.
"I think," He says, loud and clearly, "That maybe I should be the one to decide
how I'm feeling."
"Potter," Professor Snape still looked angry, but gratifyingly calmer now that
his attention is on the younger wizard, "You don't understand."
"Maybe we can discuss this later then Professor," Harry implored, because,
fuck, Mrs Weasley was right. He feels a little like he is imprisoned in this
place, stuck with medicinal herbs and a rather colourless interior as company
at night. He needs sunlight or at least some fresh air. Even as Death, his
realms have, well it has a moon. But it's a very nice moon okay? "Make me
understand."
He turns to Mrs Weasley, "Is it okay if I owl you a response later Mrs
Weasley?"
"Of course dearie, take your time," She gushes, then with a sly smile that
someone as motherly as her should not have adds, "Maybe I can convince Charlie
to stay an extra day or three to accompany you all. Or maybe you could get
reacquainted with Percy? He has a lot of rather interesting-"
"O-kay dear," Mr Weasley laughed awkwardly as Snape's glower intensifies into
something that could be loosely described as visual evisceration. "Maybe we
can, as the muggles say, 'pimp my sons' at a later date ey?" He gestures to the
kids, "Come along guys, let's not risk your professor's patience anymore."
The Weasley kids all 'aw' in disappointment collectively but begin leaving
anyway. As they say their goodbyes, Ron whispers a quick promise to tell him
about this Sirius Black character next time, something Harry finds himself
grateful for. Severus may be more open towards him than most, but Harry has no
illusions that the secretive man will tell him the truth about such an,
apparently touchy, subject.
Finally it was just Harry and Severus left alone in the room. They look at each
other.
"So…" Harry starts. Severus stares at him for a moment, he opens his mouth,
then closes it and with an irritatingly dramatic swirl of his robes, he leaves.
"…Okay, that has really got to stop."
***** Death's argument *****
Chapter Notes
     This is the most smutty thing I've done up to date. Tbf, I haven't
     exactly done much, tell me how it goes haha.
 The one where Death argues with a potions master, goes shopping with his
friends and has a relatively nice nighttime chat with an acquaintance. Not much
really.
 Or,
 The one where Severus Snape fights with the Boy Who Lived, adds accidental
voyeurism to his growing list of sins, chases down a rat and gets shooed out of
his own quarters by the Minister of Magic. It's not been the best day all
things considered.
===============================================================================
"Harry," Professor Snape began for the nth time, his voice edging from
exasperation to irritation. Harry folded his arms, waiting, face defiant. "You
are being foolish, going out to buy your textbooks for this year at such busy
time will only serve to be detrimental to your recovering health. As one of the
individuals responsible for said health, I ban you from going with the
Weasleys."
"You ban me." Harry says flatly. "From book shopping."
"I ban you." The older wizard repeats smugly, like he actually thinks he is
going to win this battle. Hah. Snape may be interesting, intelligent and have a
charmingly desert dry wit but Harry would be damned if he manages to get
fucking banned.
"How am I going to get my textbooks then?" He complains, "I haven't even gotten
to choose my electives or whatever you wizards call those extra lesson
subjects."
"As I'll be your Head of House for the year, you can easily inform me of your
elective decisions." Snape replies loftily, sidestepping the first question
like the sly prick he is.
"I want to do Care of Magical Creatures and Divination." Harry immediately
says, because argument aside, he kind of needs to submit his choices in weeks
ago.
Snape raises a very disapproving eyebrow, "You want to do Care of Magical
Creatures and Divination." He says in a manner where Harry might've just told
him he wanted to drop the wizard saviour shtick altogether and pursue his true
dream of being a tap-dancing, opera-singing rodeo cowboy.
"What, are you going to ban me from those too professor?" The younger wizard
sneers defensively. It wasn't his fault that Ancient runes and Arithmancy
sounded completely and utterly dull. Not to mention Harry already knows pretty
much all about them anyway, making them an even more redundant subject than
they already were to him. Honestly, it might as well be a Killing for Dummies
class for all it was worth. At least meeting up with some of the creatures will
be interesting, and he's always had a slight interest in whatever Fate does.
"You-" Snape pinches the edge of his nose, clearly his limited patience even
for Harry, is reaching its end. "For Merlin's sakes Harry, I am doing this for
your own good!" He shouts.
"My own good is seeing some goddamn sunlight that doesn't come through a
window!" Harry shouts back. "How am I going to get my books?! How am I going to
see my friends?! You might as well chain me up by your bed and watch me every
single time I sneeze!"
Snape rears his head back as if Harry had slapped him, his usual pale pallor
reddening. He looks absolutely furious. The older wizard pulls Harry's face
harshly toward him, his large hand painfully gripping the younger boy's jaw and
his fingernails digging slightly into the flesh of his cheeks. Harry glares,
tired and in his own way, just as infuriated as Snape. He was going stir crazy
stuck in Hogwarts, and the young wizard hardly thinks a nice trip to the
bookstore would warrant the amount of injury the potions master had been
describing for the past twenty minutes.
"You seem to forget your place, Potter." The man spat out, "I am your
professor, your superior, and I will not condone you talking to me in such a
way. No matter how much I- no matter how I favour you so. You may be Harry
Potter the Boy Who Lived, but here you're just an impudent little boy who needs
to learn to listen to their teachers and gather some proper decorum along the
way."
Harry inhales sharply, it takes all of his willpower not to let the darkness
bleed into his eyes but the rage that takes him at his professor's insulting
words practically slapping him on the face. His throat feels clenched, and to
his humiliation Harry can feel the stinging warning of involuntary tears
threatening to fill his eyes. Fucking humans and their stupid hormonal
prepubescence and their sensitive feelings. Harry opens his mouth, ready to
yell out words just as harsh when the door to the medical bay opened, letting
Dumbledore, Madam Pomphrey and Professor McGonagall in to peruse the scene in
front of them.
"Have we come at a bad time?" Dumbledore asks innocently.
Snape releases his grip on Harry's face, straightening his back to his usual
height and looking back at his colleagues like nothing of great consequence had
just happened. Following his lead, Harry quickly wipes his eyes and also
pretends he hadn't been this close to cry-screaming at his professor.
Stubbornly he looks at the trio, completely missing the brief flicker of
concern on the potions master's features.
"No Headmaster," Snape replies, "Me and Potter were just having a slight…
disagreement."
Harry snorted quietly, "It's 'Potter and I,' professor. Clearly you're not my
superior in the english language." He muttered, earning him a sharp glare from
the man.
"Yes, well," Dumbledore coughed, he summons up one of the nearby chairs for him
to sit on. The others quickly do the same, "Harry my boy, how do you feel about
living under Severus' supervision when the school term starts?"
Harry stares. Snape stares. McGonagall and Pomphrey, who apparently hadn't had
any idea why the older wizard called them over here, also stared.
"Excuse me?" While normally Harry would be completely amenable to such a
decision, hell, even ecstatic, somehow he wasn't exactly feeling very
enthusiastic at the idea right now. "Why must I have to continue staying
under his watch?" He protests.
"So sorry, do you have a problem with my way of care?" Snape sneered, "Because
you certainly were not complaining the last few times I had to suffer through
your drug addled presence."
Harry clenched his jaw and wiped the prickling sensation away from his eyes
again. Fucking Snape hurting his fucking sensitive human sensibilities. Harry's
not hurt, he's absolutely seething, it's just his mortal eyes are very weak. To
hurt feelings.
"Severus!" Both McGonagall and Pomphrey chided at the same time, both looking
insulted for Harry's sakes. Dumbledore also looks faintly disapproving but it's
hard to tell with that natural genial attitude he always projects and that
gigantic beard of his.
"Harry, I understand that there seems to be some sort of.. rift between you two
right now." The headmaster starts seriously, "But please remember the times
Severus has helped you when you were weakest, he has done a lot for you my boy,
an integral part of your recovery, and I think Severus is trying to hold your
best interests at heart okay?"
Harry flushes, maybe his temper was getting a bit ahead of him when he puts it
like that. Still, Snape didn't have to be such a fucking prick about it.
Deflating slightly, green eyes look at his lap as he concedes a little sulkily,
"I guess I understand. But I hardly think Professor Snape would be happy with
me imposing for so long, what with him suffering so much the last time-"
"Nonsense Potter," Pomphrey practically purred, her hard gaze staring into the
potion professor's own infuriated glare. Honestly, she doesn't know what
conspired between the two before they came, but she knows that it will be the
potions master who'll suffer if the misunderstanding caused by his own callous
remarks continues any longer. "I'm sure Severus would be simply delighted."
"Oh." Dumbledore says after a brief silence, his eyes darting to the two
smirking women, the embarrassed Chosen One who was pointedly not looking at a
rather sour-faced potions master. "Oh-ho." He smiles gleefully like this
revelation was the most fun since setting up those obscenely redundant traps in
Harry's first year, stroking his beard and raising his eyebrows bemusedly.
"Well isn't this interesting?"
Severus shoots Dumbledore a warning glare but gets easily waved away by the old
wizard. "Yes," The headmaster says smugly, "I think it would be in Harry's best
interest to keep living under our potions master's residency. Keeping him
protected from.. current circumstances and all. It's decided then. Poppy and
Minerva, let us adjourn and talk elsewhere yes?"
"Of course Professor." The transfiguration teacher smiled, patting Harry's head
as she stood up to leave. She can't help but feel a little jealous of Harry,
being able to live so closely to his crush, even if that crush is the dour
faced Severus Snape. But hey, after all that the young wizard has gone through,
McGongall figures he could use some fun. Of course, she wasn't condoning any
real 'fun' between the two until Potter was of proper age but Severus was
always quite the stubborn, romantically-oblivious git. That man would probably
need all the convincing and seduction Harry could dole out for next three years
before he even realises the child's feelings. What Severus would respond with
is anyone's guess really.
"I would be delighted." The mediwitch smirks at a glowering Severus,
practically vibrating with his restrained emotions. It's almost funny how the
usually unflappably stoic man gets into all these knots just for one boy.
Not that she should really laugh, she wasn't lying about not seeing the appeal
in Potter. There was just, something about him, it's nothing as simple as his
maturity or wisdom or beauty or anything like that. It was all of it and
somehow more, like her very soul wanted to reach out to the small child and
never let go. All things aside, it was obvious that Harry Potter is going to
grow up to do great things in his future. With Severus by his side of course.
After all, the mediwitch would like to assume that the man by then would
finally sack up and act on his obvious feelings for the young wizard. How Harry
would respond is anyone's guess really.
===============================================================================
It's awkward, moving back to his quarters. Refusing to give in, Harry, the
stubborn fool, had insisted he walk down like a normal person and not the
invalid he obviously was. Snape, because admittedly he wasn't that much better,
had let him. He watches with a mask of impatience as the young boy leans
against a wall, panting and exhausted as if they had run a marathon and not
walked a mere hallway and a half.
It's worrying. How little he has recovered.
"Potter, just let me bring you there. No one will judge you if you can't get
there. What they will judge you on is if you die by falling from the stairs or
bleeding out because you leaned too hard on one of the large vases." He sighed,
unfortunately the younger wizard seemed to take that as a challenge. Baring his
teeth like some animal before tottering toward him like a three legged
hippogriff. Snape hates how he finds even this irritating display of
bullheadedness oddly endearing. "Come on, I'll cast a floating charm if you
really don't want to be near me."
"I… can do this." Harry gritted out before he half stumbles and nearly crashes
himself into the opposite wall.
"Right." Severus finally says, striding over to the short teen, "Clearly I
can't put faith into anything you can say right now. Now we are going to go to
my quarters and we are going to get there before the time for dinner generally
finishes."
Harry looks up at the professor suspiciously, "What are y- woah! Hey! Put me
down Severus!"
With barely a please and thank you, the potions master grabbed the young teen
up and hefted him into his arms. "You, you, yo- oh my god why are your arms so
muscular and toned?"
"I lift very heavy cauldrons constantly." Snape says, feeling incredibly smug
at the surprised awe infused in Harry's voice. It takes a lot of willpower not
to actually break into a smile as Harry tries to subtly squeeze his forearms.
The wizard saviour was so entranced by this new discovery, he barely even
noticed they had made it to the dungeons until Snape had to re-adjust his hold
to open the door. "We're here Potter."
Harry blushed embarrassed, but the potions master noticed that the teen hadn't
exactly let go of his hold onto Snape's bicep either. It gives the man a small
flutter of hope that maybe Harry's attitude toward him isn't as purely platonic
as he had previously assumed, though he squashes the thought quickly down. It
would do no good to put hope over reality, that path only leads to heartbreak
and dead bodies in Snape's experiences.
There wasn't much to unpack, Harry's room in the quarters had been untouched
since he had last been save for the potions master running the occasional
cleaning spell through. The most they had to do was unpack what the young
wizard had already put into his trunk when he had started getting ready to
leave for the holidays.
Dinner was a short rather unpleasant affair. Harry refused to even answer
Snape's attempts at banal chit chat, not with the fight still looming over
them, stagnating and suffocating them with the tension. It's made even worse
with how fondly the older wizard had remembered their usual dinners together
the year before, how they seemed to be able to discuss near anything and how
Harry's unique, if a little callous, views were always refreshing and
interesting. The inside jokes they had shared together. The smiles. The
contentment of companionship. Snape had promised himself that he would get that
back when Harry was still in a coma, and now that he was awake, the memories
felt mocking and cruel.
Fucking Black, ruining even this for him.
"I'm done." Harry says mulishly, before adding a lot more politely, "Thank you
for the meal." Sometimes Snape forgets how horribly Lily's sister and her awful
husband had treated Harry. But every time they have a meal the young wizard
reminds him all over again as he never forgets to thank him for providing him
with food.
"No need to thank me every time Harry." He tells the other, trying to go for
lighthearted but his words had come out more scolding than anything. The
professor internally winces as the wizard saviour's expression falls a little.
"Fine." Harry replies shortly, a scowl on his usually serene face. "Excuse me
then, I think would like to have an early night." 'Away from you' was heavily
implied.
"I'll see you in the morning then." Snape murmurs, not that the younger male
heard, the door to his room already slamming. The professor sighs, standing to
go up to Harry's door and quietly casts a monitoring charm so he could listen
in just in case the green-eyed wizard exhibited any signs of pain. Occasionally
Harry had trouble sleeping due to phantom aches and itches in his body, and the
teen didn't exactly have the fine motor skills to accurately pour out an
appropriate potions dosage for himself. Also, he gets irritated and careless
depending on how long he had been sleeping before his body wakes him up.
When the charm properly settled into place, Harry's irritated voice quietly
filled the room.
"Shit, fucking arsehole." Harry swore angrily, "I'm not invalid, should at
least have the courtesy to pretend to consider it, god, doesn't have to be so
fucking rude about it. Prick."
The potions master sighed again and continued finishing his meal as he listens
to the sound of his favourite student's furious mutterings about his person.
It's painful, but the insults were relatively tame compared to the sort of
verbal abuse he's used to. There's a brief lull in Harry's rant on how unfair
Severus was where the sound of rustling fabric instead filled the room instead.
In a way, listening to that was harder than listening to the insults.
"I'm not being selfish right?" Snape perked up curiously at the question, how
odd. Venting his frustrations to empty spaces were one thing, but voicing
actual questions like there was someone there to answer them seemed a little
bit more worrying. "No, yeah, I guess you're right." Harry laughs like someone
just told a joke, Snape can't help but feel a little wistful at the sound
before his more sensible side kicks in.
Talking to himself never seemed like Harry's thing, then again, the potions
master guesses it wasn't exactly something one would advertise. He remembers
when he was younger, when he didn't have the wealth of friendship others seemed
to take ahold so easily, sometimes he would catch himself talking to himself
without even noticing. So maybe it wasn't too hard to believe considering the
teen's isolated childhood. Snape shouldn't feel concerned.
"Wha- for god's sakes, is murder always your solution? I don't care how
annoying he is right now or how easy it would be!"
Okay, maybe Snape should feel a little concerned.
After a while, the noise on Harry's end had died down as the youth began to get
ready for bed. Snape, far too awake to even contemplate sleep, decided to move
to his study and finalise his plans for this year's curriculum. Being the only
professor in one subject most definitely had its pitfalls. There's a rustle of
what he assumes are bedsheets, a soft sigh before Harry seems to slowly lull
himself to sleep.
Taking comfort in the quiet rhythm of Harry's breathing Severus continued to
write his plans for this curriculum. He's not sure how long he's been at it,
but his ears instinctively perked up at the soft gasp that was picked up in the
spell.
The potions master looks up from his paperwork with a worried frown. Was Harry
in pain? A nightmare perhaps? It would be unsurprising considering the wreck
that was last year, and the year before, and just his entire childhood history.
God, its hard to believe at one point he had thought the boy to be spoiled.
Harry moaned and the professor froze.
That was definitely not a pain moan. Or a nightmare moan. That was more like,
like-
"Mmn, yesssss." Harry sighed.
Merlin's testicles dipped in fish batter.
Severus felt his face burn as he heard sheets shifting and another quiet moan.
"Oh, god, yes." Harry breathed, the faint but inexplicably sloppy sound of
lubed skin sliding against skin. "F-fuck."
Distantly Severus wondered if that stuck up pervert Percy Weasley or that
accursed notebook taught Harry about such deplorable ways to satisfy his needs.
Or if Harry figured it out himself. Exploring his own body with those curious
young hands… Experimenting with nothing but innocent curiosity and sly fingers…
Severus looks down at the bulge in his pants. He's not even shocked at his
body's vulgar reaction to his corrupt thoughts anymore. He is so far past that
now it's just moved onto horrified resignation. Like a prisoner on death
sentence.
He can see it so clearly in his depraved mind too. He can't help it, not with
all those times he had to help redress and change him last year, there was no
way he hadn't gotten an eyeful despite his best efforts.
Harry lying back on his bed. The blanket kicked away leaving the boy exposed
and aroused with his hands on his cock. Maybe his head tilted into a pillow,
his mouth half pressed up against the soft object in some half heartedly polite
attempt to stifle the noises. It's terrible how dreadfully erotic such an image
imposes in the man's mind. Gritting his teeth, Severus picks up his wand to
dispel the monitoring charm, initial worries for the boy's health
notwithstanding, but then Harry whined, such a needy, demanding little sound
that the professor had never heard before and now could confidently say he
would kiss Sirius Black just to hear it again. He drops the wand.
Cursing, the Slytherin dropped down to his knees, crawling under his desk in
order to search for his blasted wand and end this madness before he is forced
to do something drastic. Like bashing his head against the corner of the desk
in attempt to either knock himself unconscious or to kill himself. Or,
something less physically violent but far more morally dubious. The man
pointedly tries to avoid thinking about the stiffness of a certain part of his
anatomy practically begging for attention right now.
It seems the wizarding saviour isn't much of a talker, small mercies really,
and the charm recording him is mainly projecting breathy sighs and groans and
quiet drawn out moans, interjected occasionally with those greedily slutty
whines that was Severus' new favourite noise that's ever existed ever. But then
Harry spoke again, and Severus had banged his head on the underside of the
table at his words.
"Sh-shit, shit, S-Severus, please."
The professor does not even register the throbbing pain on his head, not when
something further south was throbbing far more insistently. Severus was
surprised he still had enough blood to rush into his ears as he can hear his
own pulse thumping wildly. Clearly his own lust was boiling his mind to
insanity. Because obviously he must not have heard correctly. He couldn't have.
"Please, please, deeper Sev, harder. Severus, professor, so, uhn, good." Came
the almost frantic pleas through the spell, damning the older man's doubts and
lighting a fire in his nerves like witches on a stake. So much for not being a
talker. "M-more, I need," Harry pants and Severus has the sudden dawning
realisation that not only was Harry stroking himself, he was, he
was fingering himself too. Thinking of him.
Of him. The Slytherin could feel his erection leaking heavily, just begging to
be touched. Severus harshly pressed the palm of his hand against his prick,
groaning in pained pleasure at the pressure it brings but refusing to do more.
Not when he was so grossly violating Harry's privacy like the deviant he is.
'The deviant that Harry apparently wants.' A dark part of his mind whispers
eagerly, dripping with lust.
As Severus struggles with this, frankly, mind-blowing revelation of Harry's
apparent feelings, or at least desire, towards his person, the younger wizard
seemed to be reaching closer to his.. completion. It was now just a near
incoherent string of hushed words and vulgar sounds. "F-uck, yes Sev, deeper,
deeper, uhhnnn, please, I want, I need, Severus, please, t-touch, ah, me, oh
god, god, Severus," was rushed out and, Merlin, whatever Harry was doing it
sounded so messy. The fantasy of the young wizard, legs spread wide to allow
slick fingers push in and out of his sensitive virgin hole which would be so
wet from the sloppy frenzy Harry had worked himself into as he called out for
Severus' name, surged up into his mind.
"F-finite incantatem," He gasps as he grabs his wand, and Harry's private
verbal commentary on his wanton acts is mercifully silenced off from the room.
Leaving him nothing but the echoes of deliciously demanding whines ringing in
his ears and a heavy aching arousal between his legs.
Severus unbuttons his pants and fishes out his cock, uncaring about how
distasteful he must look right now, too overcome by his lust. A stronger man
would have refrained, but then again a stronger man wouldn't have any such
thoughts as he does and Severus never really thought himself much of strong man
anyway. Furiously he begins jerking off, rough and dry and painful in hopes
that maybe that could ward of his lust, his climax afterwards was
unsatisfactory at best but it was exactly what he deserved really.
And what's worse, now he knew Harry looked at him with at least some modicum of
sexual lust. How was he going to keep his hands off that damned underaged siren
now?
It's like he honestly can't sink any lower.
===============================================================================
Harry wakes up in a far better mood than he has been since waking up from that
coma. His bed is familiar and comfortable. His mind is clearer. His muscles
don't feel like its been tenderised with a steamroller. And he had an
absolutely fantastic wank last night.
Seriously, it's true what they say, sexual release really is the best type of
stress release. And here Harry had thought it was the high that comes from
ending another person's life with your bare hands. Boy, was he wrong.. ish. It
still feels pretty darn good either way.
Honestly, it wasn't like he could do anything with one of those heart monitor
spells Madam Pomphrey always cast on him, nor was the idea of playing with
himself on a hospital bed in an empty infirmary as erotic as some people may
find. So for the past few weeks he hadn't had much of an opportunity to well,
'release' his stress. Which, wouldn't have been so bad except if you add on the
weeks his body has been in a coma and an extra two before that coma, Harry's
body has been technically been pent up for like, eleven weeks. Now he's not an
expert on living biology, but he's fairly sure that's not exactly the
healthiest situation all in all.
He stretches his back, before licking his dried lips. Ugh morning breath. One
of mortality's finest gifts to the world.
Going up to brush his teeth, the young wizard decides maybe a nice long shower
would help improve his already great mood. Maybe he can even fit another bout
of self-pleasuring before breakfast. His prick throbs a little at the idea,
cementing his decision.
Taking off his pyjamas Harry gingerly stepped into the magical shower booth,
which by the way, definitely one of the best things wizards have to offer what
with it's sensitive heat and water pressure control and the
fucking rain option, Christ, you can even choose what type of rain from spring
shower to summer storm.
Immediately he picks one of his favourite setting, waning waterfall, sighing
happily as a pillar of perfectly warmed water hits his head, running down his
back like a river god was gently massaging the aches in his back. It's
official, he's definitely going to have to steal this before he goes back.
Once properly cleaned, he sets the shower setting to spring shower, letting the
torrent of water dwindle into a light spray. Harry bites his lower lip in
anticipation as he leans his back on the shower wall. The young teen doesn't
waste his time in grabbing his half-hard cock, stroking it to full hardness,
its not like he has anyone to impress with his stunning strip tease skills
anyway.
Harry softly groans as the combined feeling of his hand squeezing his length
and the warm, random pressure of the water showers him with electric drops of
pleasure. With his other hand, he begins to play with his balls, squeezing them
gently and lightly scratching the sensitive skin with his nails.
"Shit." He hisses, accidentally banging his head against the tiles of the wall,
too immersed in his fun. "Fuck, that is not the type of pain I usually like."
He mutters, annoyed that a bit of his arousal was dampened by this setback.
The wizard saviour looks down at his erection, still going strong. God,
teenagers really were resilient in all the strangest ways. "Fine." He tells his
prick long-sufferingly, "I'll continue, but only because you probably won't
leave until I finish."
Maybe more blood went south from his head than he had previously thought.
Huffing a bemused breath at his own ridiculousness, the youth decided to try
going about it a different way. This time facing the wall, chest pressing
against its cool smooth surface, Harry stuck out his ass and reached behind to
tentatively graze between his cheeks. He teases himself for a moment before
letting his finger dip further in, nail brushing the sensitive rim of his hole.
Harry has to grin at the sensation, yup, nothing can beat the responses of a
true mortal body. It's honestly confounding to him why he had waited this long
to attempt masturbating from behind until last night. Though to be fair, he had
used a lot of transfigured lubricant to get just two fingers into his tight
little body.
The teen spreads his ass with one hand, hissing incoherently at the feeling of
the shower's hot water hitting his puckered entrance, it's amazing but not even
close to enough. Tentatively he uses his other hand to slowly push a finger
inside of him. Just as he had suspected, his body was still a little open from
last night's intense activities and with a little bit more twisting and a fair
amount of warm water, Harry had managed to slip a finger in. He moans at the
burn of something moving inside of him, it's painful yet satisfying yet still
agonisingly unfulfilling. He wants to be stretched with something bigger,
thicker, but Harry's body is still unused to even this single finger and he's
not willing to rush into too much too soon lest he really injure himself.
And that is not an injury he wants to go to Madam Pomphrey for.
It's not enough but it would have to do. Harry begins to slowly pump his finger
in and out of his asshole, his free hand now traveling toward his leaking prick
to do something about it while he lets his mind wander. His mind ends up to a
similar space as where it was last night, dark eyes, dark hair, tall build,
strong arms, gorgeous hands with spider-like fingers and a frustratingly cruel
sneer Harry would very well enjoy turning into a flush of surprised arousal and
embarrassment.
Gods, he wants to absolutely ruin Severus, teach him a lesson or three for
being so callous and unreasonably horrible to him. Maybe chain him up and use
him as nothing but a plaything for Harry to do as he sees fit. Yes. He can just
imagine it, the man cursing until his curses become groans and his groans
become whimpers as Harry bounces on his cock, letting his hands map his exposed
body like un-plotted land, tugging and twisting cruelly at the man's chest
until his nipples become so wanton they'll immediately go hard at the slightest
brush against his robes. Of course the potions master wouldn't be able to stop
any of it, his limbs splayed humiliatingly apart by Gryffindor red ropes, he'll
quickly become a writhing horny mess, especially when Harry makes sure the man
won't cum once throughout the whole time. A cock ring maybe, or better yet,
some sort of potion of Severus' own making he had been told to drink, a torture
of his own delicious making.
Of course Harry wouldn't be that cruel. Once he's proper satisfied, he'll let
the professor have his orgasm- after he apologizes and begs of course, and even
then, if he's feeling particularly cruel, Harry would make him masturbate
himself to completion with his own hand, making Severus' completion far less
satisfying and far more humiliating than it could have been.
"Sev... fuck... yesssss." Harry breathed out harshly against the wall, his
finger rubbing strongly against his prostate and his other hand around his cock
tightening and twisting around the head before finally cumming. His hips thrust
erratically up against the tiles, the tip of his dick brushing against the cool
surface as it ejaculates on to it, dirtying the wall and his dick as well as
his stomach.
Sighing at himself for the mess he made, the young wizard quickly waved away
the evidence of his... activity, and made his way to get dressed, feeling
boneless and a little high. It was a little strange how he's suddenly thinking
of Severus whenever his mind begins to wander off the less than pure path.
Sure, he hadn't masturbated often until he had become mortal, but every time he
had, it wasn't exactly like he had a proper image of anyone whilst doing the
do. Just savouring the sensations and coupling them with brief snatches of
different but equally arousing scenarios.
But these last two times were clearly different, vivid really. The first one
was rather mind blowing, he had been angry and upset with the potions master
and the resulting stress had somehow coerced him into trying to release itself
via sexual means. He had imagined Severus walking in on him right there as he
started stroking his cock, ready to apologize but instead getting an unexpected
eye full. He would've been shocked at first but then he would fall over himself
to try help work through Harry's horniness with a perverse eagerness. Just
imagining those long tapered fingers rubbing inside him was enough to make his
dick throb again.
Harry wonders if that says something about himself.
'It says you have terrible taste.' Mr Riddle scowls sulkily in his mind, he
sounds quieter, which makes sense since the soul had promptly receded to the
back of his mind since last night and hadn't exactly been willing to play
voyeur to Harry's shallow level thoughts since then. 'I mean, not that I'm
offering or anything but I am right here.'
===============================================================================
"Good morning professor," Harry chirped.
Professor Snape turned to him, mug of freshly brewed coffee in hand. He looked,
well, the complete opposite of what Harry was feeling actually. Horrible was
one word to describe. The man looked like he hadn't slept all night. Clearly he
hadn't wanked recently. "Morning." The man grumbled.
The youth, in an attempt to extend the proverbial olive branch, smiles and
nudges the older wizard's side playfully with his shoulder. "You, uh, feeling
okay Severus?" He asks. The potions master just makes a noncommittal noise,
eyes glancing at Harry's face before pointedly looking away. So it was like
that then. Someone was clearly still holding grudges about their argument
yesterday and it seemed Harry had to be the one to make the first move.
Granted, he wasn't exactly pleased with the idea, after all he still maintains
his argument had been both valid and perfectly reasonable- but Harry has grown
as a human being. Also, once you get screwed over by a magic diary, you tend to
learn to let things go a little faster in retrospect.
With a sigh, Harry nudged Snape again, this time a little harder. "Look, I'm
sorry about.. lashing out at you before. But, it wasn't like you didn't say
some pretty shi- awful things as well. I mean, I realise you probably didn't
mean it but still. I just," He looks down at his hands, twisting them a little
anxiously as he tried to sort out his thoughts, "..I just want to go out and
see my friends for once this holiday. Like, a normal kid."
"Harry," Snape says quietly, "You don't understand…" Harry looks up at the
professor, his gazing staring into the other's.
"Then make me understand Severus." He demands, "Tell me what you're so scared
about, because this fight seems unnecessary at best and I don't like being at
odds with you."
The older man says nothing for a moment, his eyes searching for something in
Harry's face. He must have found something he could agree on, or maybe Harry's
face had nothing to do with it and it was just the place he had been staring at
as he finally came to a decision in his mind, because finally Severus says,
"Sirius Black has broken out of prison."
Harry stares. "…And?" He prompts because while that was something, it wasn't
exactly clearing much up.
"And," Severus intones gravely, "He's after you."
Harry stares at him again. "Um, who isn't?" Because let's face it, he's one of
the most famous, richest, prettiest and most powerful wizards alive in Britain.
Constant medical attention needed aside, he's quite the catch ta very much.
The potions master glared, "Please put aside your hormonal addled brain Harry,
despite your attractiveness-"
"You think I'm attractive?'
"Despite that, it was not what I meant by 'after you'," Snape hissed, "When I
said 'after you' I implied it in a brutally murderous manner than.. sexually.
Besides," He adds snidely, "You should be aware he's just as old as me."
"Psh," Harry waves off, "That doesn't bother me at all, the age thing, not the
murder thing obviously." Well, maybe a little of the murder thing too.
Semantics.
"I.. see." Snape coughs, "Nonetheless, this is why you cannot go out with the
Weasleys. It is far too dangerous when their is a crazed prisoner wanting to
kill you somewhere out there, especially in your weakened condition."
The wizard saviour scoffs, "Severus, no offence but I've literally faced a
literal two-faced defence professor who was being parasitised by an actual Dark
Lord, a soul possessed diary as well as his pet Basilisk. An escaped murderer
who, I assume has had his wand snapped or something, does not sound as bad as
you make it out to be."
"Harry, no offence," The older man mocks, "But you couldn't walk down two
hallways without needing my assistance. Forgive me if I don't think you're in
any shape to fight Sirius Black."
"Then you come with me." Harry declared.
"..Excuse me?"
Harry grinned impishly, "If all you're worried about is my safety then all I
need is a bodyguard to scare off my pursuers, yes?"
Snape looked at the youth, disapproving and annoyed at the point he was making,
"You assume I have so much free time that I can just spend a whole day doing
nothing but look after you?"
Harry's grin widened, "I mean, don't you do that anyway?"
The potions master's silence was a clear sign that Harry was totally winning
right now. All he needed now was just one more push to sway Severus' resolve.
He moves close to the older man, clinging to the front of his favourite
professor's robes much like he has seen Dudley do when he was still spoiled and
really wanted something from Aunt Petunia. He looks up, wide eyed and pouting
as his presses against Severus' front, "Please Severus?" He pleads softly,
"We're going to the apothecary to pick up potions supplies, and I know that you
need to restock for classes anyway."
Severus stared down at Harry. Just for good measure, and because he was that
desperate to see proper civilisation outside these goddamn walls again, Harry
even went so far as to rub his cheek on the man's chest like an affectionate
cat. Dudley and even Draco had told him that sort of childish display can be
endearing enough to make their mothers soften to their whims. Well, he's fairly
sure its during a cuddle or something but whatever. "Please?"
The older man rumbled out a rather choked sound, probably because of the sheer
cuteness Harry must be giving out. "…Fine."
Harry practically purred in his victory.
===============================================================================
With only around a week away before term started, Diagon Alley was stuffed to
the brim with familiar faces and new students. Harry had to constantly hold
onto the potions professor's arm for support against the crowd, but he couldn't
help but grin at all the smells from the store and the warm wind on his face.
He's not much of an outdoors-y individual, but even as an entity he needs to
get out of his rather dreary realms at least once every five decades or he
would go absolutely insane. There is only so long one can go staring at walls,
and as impressive as Hogwarts is- it's made of fucking grey stone. Not the most
exciting of walls to look at, even with talking paintings.
"Potter!" Another upper year greeted enthusiastically, alongside his family who
also suddenly looked incredibly interested in meeting him. "Mum, dad, this is
Harry Potter- he saved the whole school from closing down last year!"
Harry smiled weakly, this was the twelfth time something similar had happened
since they've stepped in Diagon Alley. The novelty has since then worn off.
"Please, it wasn't much." He says modestly.
To his relief Severus stepped in, intimidating and tall and striking as usual,
with a sneer on his face. "As delightful as this is, Potter and I have a rather
pressing appointment to be at."
Waving goodbye to the disappointed family, Harry happily let himself be whisked
away by the professor. "Thanks again Severus. You really saved my hide back
there."
"Maybe if you weren't being so sweet and nice to them, I wouldn't have to swoop
in." Snape snapped, irritated that another besotted student once again was
trying to wriggle his way clumsily and ham-handedly into Harry's good graces.
How many people must this damned little incubus seduce before he is finally
satisfied?!
The younger wizard smiled as Snape pointedly manoeuvred Harry away from a group
of rather excitable looking wizards with his body and murderous glare, proof
that despite all the irritation the man does care for his protection. It makes
his heart beat flutter a little as they press up against each other's body in
an almost possessive display. Harry bit his lip a little, worrying it as he
contemplated the odd feeling, sure he's fantasied about the potions master a
bit recently, but this didn't exactly feel like the usual bout of lust he
feels. It was definitely something more self-conscious, bashful even, maybe
it's because of how close Harry's gotten to the man? So much so that he's
actually hesitant to even think about the idea of them together in reality?
Maybe he should talk to Professor McGonagall about this. She seems like the
sort of woman who'll be totally unbiased and all no nonsense about this sort of
thing.
"Harry! HARRY!" The Boy Who Lived turned at the familiar voice, previous
thoughts discarded as he grinned and waved at one bushy haired witch being
followed by a small stampede of freckled redheads behind her.
"Oh goody, it's the Gryffindor parade." Snape says sarcastically. "How I have
missed this."
"Everyone!" Harry cheers, waving vigorously as they finally joined the pair.
"Oh goody, it's Professor Snape." Fred smiles cheekily. George, with an
identical grin adds, "How we have missed you sir."
The older man's expression doesn't change one iota but somehow Harry just knows
how annoyed he is that somehow the Weasley twins of all people had managed to
mirror his own words right back at him without being in proper hearing
distance. Was it coincidence? He'll never know.
"Mate, I almost didn't think we would get to see you till the Feast." Ron
giddily said.
"Well you have to thank Professor Snape for finally letting me out of my cage."
Harry joked, gently brushing up against the man.
Hermione, ever the girl with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the respect for
professors of a Ravenclaw, steps up and smiles at the adult wizard, if a little
nervously. "Thank you sir." She says politely, and is followed with a more
mumbled chorus of half-hearted gratitude by some much less enthusiastic
Weasleys.
"The condition for Harry's 'freedom' was for me to personally accompany him
around." Snape informs them aloofly, "Your thanks, while kind, is unnecessary
and unneeded."
There's an awkward pause. Someone in the pool of redheads coughed, "..Wanker."
"SO, Ron!" Harry hastily intervened before Gryffindor House started the year in
the negative, "I see you all have some shopping done! Whatcha got there?"
The distraction, thankfully worked.
"Look at this," said Ron proudly as he pulled out a shiny new wand. "Fourteen
inches, willow, one unicorn tail-hair. We weren't sure what you were doing this
year so we just bought most of our extra subject stuff first if that's cool
with you," He pointed to a large bag under his chair. "Good thing we did too,
those Monster books? The assistant nearly cried when we said we wanted two."
"Monster books?" Harry asked curiously. "What's wrong with them?"
Snape, listening to the whole conversation while glaring at the twins- the most
likely of the group to insult him to his face- swivelled his head down like
some sort of owl, "Don't worry about it Potter, Hagrid had insisted on getting
your copy the moment he found out you're interested in Magical Creature Care."
"You're going to be in Care of Magical Creatures." Ron says flatly. "Merlin."
"Yeah, what of it Ron?" Harry asks, offended by his dubious look.
The redhead looks torn between saying what he's thinking and staying silent
since a a bunch of people, including one of his least favourite professors,
were in eavesdropping distance. "Never mind. Just, for the love of Merlin,
don't kiss a hippogriff."
"Wha- you mean for a grade?"
"A gra- no, Harry for anything!" Ron hissed, "I don't care if you suddenly gain
magical life giving kiss powers and it was the last of its' species, you kiss
it away from me okay?"
"Well that seems a little cruel-"
"AWAY FROM ME."
Hermione rolled her eyes as her friends begin to bicker all over again.
"Honestly, boys." She sighed as she bundled up her bags and began lifting them
up with a soft grunt.
"Hey," Harry says slowly, attention quickly dwindling from his friends rant on
kissing a minotaur, "Hermione, what's with all those books?" She seemed to be
carrying way more than the others combined.
"Well, I'm taking more new subjects than you, aren't I," Hermione tells him.
"Are you taking all of them?!" The Boy Who Lived asks incredulously. Hermione
grinned proudly.
"Yup! These are all my books for Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures,
Divination, the Study of Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies-"
"Aren't you a muggle-born?" Harry asks, mystified about why she would take so
much work onto herself. Especially considering those end of term tests and
exams, that was just asking for pain. "What's the point of taking that?"
"Mate, that is totally what I said!"
"I'm taking it because I'll be studying them from a wizard's point of view,"
Hermione tells him earnestly, "Wouldn't it be fascinating?"
"I… guess?" Harry's fairly sure he would be fascinated, but more in a distanced
horrified way, like watching a horror movie, the slasher kind with a bunch of
stupid people. The whole thing would be just one awful train wreck that he
wouldn't be able to look away from. "But how will you make time for it all? I'm
fairly sure that some of those classes overlap with others."
Hermione smiles a little secretly at that. Harry frowns and looks up to Severus
who was also frowning contemplatively at the witch. But since the professor
didn't voice any of his opinions to this, Harry decides to let the subject be
for now.
"Well, do you need some help?" Harry asks.
"Oh, no, I shan't impose on you Harry, not when you're still recovering."
Hermione gasps, "Don't worry, they're only a tad heavy. I'll be fine."
"No, no," Harry brushes her concerns off easily, "Please, you can't just expect
me to watch you carry what looks like five times what even Percy is carrying."
"Well," Hermione says doubtfully, "I mean, if you insist."
"Of course I do." The bushy haired girl hands over two bags, Harry looks up at
the potions master expectedly. "Professor, if you would?" He gestures to the
bags.
The Slytherin raised an eyebrow, "You are not serious." He says flatly.
"Of course I am," The Boy Who Lived replied loftily as the Gryffindors broke
into nervous laughter at the scene, "C'mon professor, we can't just leave a
girl hanging like this."
Snape glares at the boy but gives in with a put upon sigh and a hidden crooked
smile. "You're gall really is astounding Mr Potter." He says as he picks up the
bags of, assumably, books from an increasingly nervous looking Hermione.
"Thank you sir," Harry jokes.
"Don't worry professor." Percy assured, though he looked distinctly
uncomfortable with the man for some reason, even compared to his more
mischievous brothers, "Our parents are at the ice cream parlour, we'll just
drop our bags there before we continue the day."
The potions master sneered at the Head Boy but nodded anyway. "A decent idea Mr
Weasley, then again, you wouldn't be much of a Head Boy if you couldn't even do
that much."
Percy bristled but said nothing despite how desperately he must want to.
Surprisingly, it was the twins who calmed their brother down, whispering things
that made the older teen reluctantly smile. It was nice considering how
ostracised Percy had been before, by the twins especially so. Still, it hardly
made up for the rather unnecessary backhanded compliment Severus had hit him
with, Harry looked at the man disappointedly.
"What?" The Professor harshly asks him, Harry turns away unwilling to get into
another argument again so soon.
"Nothing," the wizard savior says sulkily as they walk over to some eagerly
waving Weasley parents plus their second oldest child. Ignoring the older man's
gaze he quickly trots up to greet Mr and Mrs Weasley as well as smile shyly at
Charlie.
"Hi Charlie, I thought you had to leave for-?"
Charlie chuckled, god, puberty is clearly more than kind to the Weasleys. No
wonder they have so many children. "Romania. I'm currently helping out in a
dragon reserve."
Fuck that was hot. Harry was always a fan of the dragon in those white knight
saves damsel stories. The only thing better, in his opinion, than a dragon, was
a dragon tamer- because then he gets to tame the tamer, if you know what he
means.
Harry gulped, "Wow, dragons you say? That must be…" God, so fucking hot, take
me now, "…awesome."
'Dragons are overrated,' Mr Riddle complains his head, 'If you remember, I had
a bloody giant basilisk.'
"I'm not going to lie Harry," Charlie leaned down a little and winked, "It
totally is."
"O-KAY." Ron yelled, suddenly in the middle of the two. In the background Molly
Weasley slumps over her large sundae with visible disappointment at her
youngest son's apparent cockblocking tendencies. "Well as fun as this is, me,
Mione and Harry should go get our stuff before everything gets sold out. We'll
meet you back here in a bit, okay? Okay."
Harry was about to protest when the potions master slid in smoothly, "The
youngest Weasley boy is correct," He agrees easily, like he hadn't just spent
the last two years berating said Weasley's mental facilities. Ron was actually
gaping like a fish at his words, "It would be a shame if Potter had gone so out
of his way to come here, only for his one errand to be uncompleted merely
because he had been too busy… chatting."
"Uh, yeah," Ron says awkwardly, "What Professor Snape said I guess." Clearly
the young teen was uncomfortable with the idea of his most hated professor
actually agreeing with him for once.
"Sounds like a plan, sir" Hermione agrees easily. "Come on boys, let's get a
move on then!"
It takes a bit to get their core texts and supplies. Mainly because Flourish
and Botts was practically filled to the brim with children and their exhausted
parents. Not going to lie, being Harry Potter helped a lot, also Snape had this
amazing ability to scare off everyone in a one metre radius. He was like a goth
Moses, and the people were the terrified Red Sea. Together with Harry's fame
and Snape's strikingly intimidating appearance, they all managed to get their
things relatively quickly.
"I've still got ten Galleons," Hermione tells them, checking her purse. "It's
my birthday in September, Mum and Dad must have given me some extra money to
get myself an early present."
"Let me guess, you're going to get yourself a nice book? Ron asks oh so
innocently.
Harry moaned. "Please don't," he begs, "We just got out of that store."
"No, I don't think so," Hermione says slowly, "In fact, I think I want a pet. A
nice owl like Harry's Hedwig. Or you're Errol."
"He ain't my Errol." Ron groused, "Errol's the family's owl. All I've got is
Scabbers." He pulled Scabbers out of his pocket, Harry instinctively takes a
step back. Scabbers loved Harry, but Harry wasn't as fond of the rodent, well,
more the rodent's almost constantly unhygienic state than anything. But
seriously, how long has that little guy been in there? "I want to get him
checked over," The freckled teen adds, stroking the rat's head with a finger.
"I don't think Egypt agreed with him."
Scabbers was looking thinner than usual, and there was a definite droop to his
whiskers.
"Well, there's a magical creature shop just over there," Hermione suggests.
"You could see if they've got anything for Scabbers, and I can see the owls."
"Sounds good." Harry agrees. "I should probably get some owl treats for Hedwig
too." He has been ignoring her a bit lately, and he does feel rather terrible
about that. "Maybe a toy for her to play with as well."
The Magical Menagerie didn't have much room inside, what with every inch of
wall practically hidden by cages and cages of animals. It was smelly and noisy.
Something which Harry sort of expected considering all these animals in one
place but, everyone here was fucking magic. Couldn't they have, oh he doesn't
know, a magical incense that takes away the edge off that stench?
"I'll.. be waiting for you outside." Snape suddenly declares the moment he
steps in, subtly covering his nose.
"Coward." Harry mutters, the man just smirks.
"They aren't my friends Harry. Now have fun. Don't brain yourself on one of
those cages."
Harry silently hopes the man trips on his way out. He doesn't. The prick. The
three all look around, and, upon realising that the only help was a witch
already busy talking to someone behind the counter, they all went around to
examine the cages. Harry of course, had attracted every animals' attention,
emphasis on attracted. The birds all began singing as he looked over, there
combined songs clashing into a rather headache inducing cacophony, toads
started croaking, there was a rabbit in one of the bottom cages that changed
it's fur into a heart pattern. That last one was pretty cool.
"Ooh, I like this one." Harry says, peering in to see a jewel encrusted
tortoise preening under his attention.
"It's a bit… ostentatious." Hermione pointed out, "Also it says here that it
eats gold Harry."
"But look how she shimmers! I'm rich, I can probably afford her."
"Mate, no." Ron laughs, "Even Malfoy wouldn't even buy something as gaudy as
her. Now come with me, I think that witch over there is finally free."
"I'll just keep looking for my pet." The bushy haired witch tells them,
"Probably do it better without trying to peel Harry off that tortoise."
"I would've named her Gemma. Get it? Gem-a?"
Ron and Hermione sighed.
"Excuse me, I have a problem with my pet rat," Ron tells the witch on the other
side of the counter they had approached. "He's been a bit off-colour since I
brought him back from my holiday in Egypt."
"Bang him on the counter," the witch tells him as she pulls out a pair of heavy
black glasses and adjusts it onto her nose. Harry quietly snickered next to
Ron.
"Didn't think Scabbers was your type Ron." Harry whispers earning him a shove
from the redhead.
"Oh come off it mate, don't be so disgusting." The freckled boy smirks,
"Besides, out of the two of us, you're the one most likely to have sex with a
rat."
"You leave a guy in the Forbidden forest at night to make out with a
centaur one time.."
"Umm.." The witch says uncomfortably. "The rat?"
"Oh, right, yeah." Ron hands over Scabbers.
Ron lifted Scabbers out of his inside pocket and placed him next to the cage of
some other rats, who stopped their assortment of, admittedly, very impressive
skipping tricks in favor of scuffling to the wire for a better took at the rat
that came from Death's entourage. From the angry chittering noises, it doesn't
seem like they were much impressed.
Not that Harry could really blame them. Like nearly everything Ron owned,
Scabbers the rat was secondhand and it definitely showed. It was almost
embarrassing comparing him to those glossy rats in the next cage.
"Hm," said the witch, picking up Scabbers. "How old is this rat?"
"Dunno," muttered Ron. "Quite old. He used to belong to my brother."
"What powers does he have then?" said the witch, examining Scabbers closely.
"Ermmm..." Ron stalled, "...the ability to sleep for three days straight?"
"Dude, I would love that power." Harry whispered, Ron fist bumped him in
agreement.
Meanwhile, the witch's eyes moved from Scabbers's tattered left ear to his
front paw, which had a toe missing, and tutted. Loudly. "Poor old thing, been
through quite wringer it has."
"He was like that when Percy gave him to me," said Ron defensively. Harry
supportively nodded by his side.
"An ordinary common or garden rat like this can't be expected to live longer
than three years or so," said the witch. "Now, if you were looking for
something a bit more hard-wearing, you might like one of these."
She gestured toward the black rats, as if waiting for that cue, the creatures
once again started skipping and doing cute little tricks. Harry 'ooh'ed a
little at one rather amazing rodent who was doing backflips like a pro.
"Bunch of show-offs." Ron muttered.
"Aw come on, that back flip was impressive."
"Harry whose side are the you on here?"
"The one with the back flipping rat Ron, look, oh my god is that a
matchstick?!"
"Well, if you don't want a replacement, you can try this rat tonic," suggested
the witch, reaching under the counter and bringing out a small red bottle.
"Ron! He's lit the matchstick, he's going to do a fire dance, pick this one!"
Ron glared at his so-called friend before turning to the witch offering the
bottle.
"Okay," he says, "How much is- SONOFA"
Ron screamed as something huge, orange and furry came soaring down on top of
him with inescapability of a tidal wave. It landed on the Weasley's head, using
it to propel itself at Scabbers.
"NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!" cried the witch working there. Scabbers shot from
between her hands like a bar of soap, landed splay-legged on the floor, before
making a beeline toward the door. Harry watches, frankly amazed that the little
guy was even capable of such speed. That fat rat hadn't even moved that fast
when Harry tried to bait it with a piece of chicken parmigiana- and he's once
got a shark to jump out of the water just from showing him a half chewed leaf
of lettuce.
"Scabbers!" Ron shouted, racing out of the shop after him; Harry, because he is
a supportive good friend and also this was kind of hilarious, followed if a
little slower. Snape, who had been waiting outside, startled when the pet
emporium doors burst open with Ron and Harry running out of it.
"Merlin give me strength," he mutters darkly as he too is forced to chase after
the group. "That boy can't be left alone for ten minutes. Ten minutes."
It took them all almost twenty minutes to catch Scabbers, who, in the end had
taken refuge under rubbish bin outside a Quidditch Supplies shop. Ron stuffed
the trembling rat back into his pocket whilst everyone panted and groaned in
the background. Harry was leaning against a very dirty wall and he didn't even
care. God, at least he had the coma thing as an excuse for his laking physical
prowess, but seriously, they all needed to work out more.
"Can," Snape grunted unhappily, "Can someone please enlighten me to why we had
to run so long to get this mangy rodent?"
"I-It's, ugh my sides, it's Ron's rat."
"Your point?"
Harry groaned tiredly, "The point is, is, uh, the point, shit, the point is I
need a long bubble bath after this and Ron's paying for my goddamn bubble
soap."
The potions professor chuckled, "Now that's more like it."
"But seriously, Ron, you have any idea what jumped you?" Harry asks his friend.
The Weasley shrugged, "Could've been a small tiger or a really big raccoon.
Either way, I hope they muzzled that beast by the time we get back to see what
owl Hermione's picked."
They made their way back up the crowded street to the Magical Menagerie. Harry
felt a little bad about slowing them down, both physically and with the fact
that every second wizard wanted to stop and talk to him. By the end of it, even
Ron was giving him extremely pitying looks.
"Mate, not gonna lie, I get a little jealous about that fame of yours but it's
obvious that it has its downsides huh?"
"Ugh, tell me about it." Harry sighed as he wiped his now wet hand onto his
robes. Honestly, what was the last wizard doing before he shook the teen's
hand? Swishing it in a toilet bowl?
"Here," Professor Snape passed him a handkerchief, a surprisingly plain looking
thing with a simple green border as decoration, Harry took it gratefully, "It's
charmed to disinfect any.. dirt."
"Cheers professor." Harry thanked.
Hermione was already waiting outside for them, but she wasn't carrying an owl.
Her arms were clamped tightly around a frankly ginormous ginger cat.
"You bought that bloody monster?" said Ron, his mouth hanging open, clearly he
recognised his attacker.
"He's gorgeous, isn't he?" Hermione glowed. Harry forced what he hoped was his
most genuine smile that he could muster at the moment. It's not like he could
talk with his own preferences or anything but even he has to say, Hermione
clearly doesn't have the best aesthetic tastes in the world. Sure the cat's fur
was fluffy but it's face looked like it had run into a wall. Repeatedly.
Though at the very least, now that the cat couldn't see Ron's rat anymore, the
cat didn't look too much like a feral beast. Instead, it was purring happily in
the girl's arms and looking in awe at Harry. Harry awkwardly waved at it,
causing it to purr harder.
"Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!" claimed a very justifiably unhappy
Ron.
"He didn't mean to," The witch defended before turning down to the cat and
saying in one of those 'baby' voices, "did you, Crookshanks? No, no you
didn't."
"And what about Scabbers?" said Ron, pointing at the lump in his chest pocket.
"He needs rest and relaxation! How's he going to get it with that, that
awful thing around?"
"That reminds me, you forgot your rat tonic," Hermione chided, rummaging one-
handedly through one of her bags before finding and slapping the small red
bottle into Ron's hand. "I got some owl treats for Hedwig too, Harry." She adds
as she hands a bag to Harry.
"Cheers Mione."
"Also, do stop worrying Ron, that's my job here." She tried to joke but it fell
a little flat at Ron's anger.
Harry, sensing an impending fight, decided to quickly step in, "Hey,
Crookshanks will probably be kept in the girl's dormitory and Scabbers is
already always sleeping in yours, Ron. So there's no problem right?" The pair
hesitated but finally both nodded. "Right then, let's go meet up with the
others and get some ice cream eh?" Harry suggests, "You would not believe how
tiring I found it just walking around here."
Ron grinned, bad mood instantly evaporated, honestly its just so easy to read
him sometimes, "Mate, I like how you think."
Hermione nodded sympathetically, "Of course Harry! You must be exhausted, I
read some stuff about rehabilitation and people can take up to and over a year
to fully restore their movements!" The cat meows and she begins patting the
large feline and cooing over him enthusiastically. "Poor Crookshanks, you know
that witch said he'd been in there for ages. No one wanted him. Can you even
imagine?"
"Wonder why," Ron asked sarcastically.
===============================================================================
"Oh my god, finally," Harry whined, his legs buckling a bit as they finally
trudged their way to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. The potions master
was immediately by his side, steadying him.
"I did tell you not to push yourself." He tells the tired looking teen
disapprovingly, "If you can't move tomorrow morning because of overexertion, I
refuse to help aid you in getting out of Madam Pomphrey's daily rehabilitation
exercises."
"Ugh, that's harsh sir." The green eyed wizard groaned between pants. "Ron,
help me."
The Weasley raised his hands, "Uh-uh mate. I ain't fighting against Madam
Pomphrey, rather try my hand at facing Hermione's ugly cat again but covered in
barbecue sauce."
"Hey!" Hermione shouts.
Harry shot him a betrayed look, "I ran for you Ron. I ran for you."
"And I shall never forget your bravery. Now why don't I help you put your bags
in the booth eh?"
"I suppose that's sufficient." Harry huffed before turning to Professor Snape.
"So I guess we should go pick out our ice creams then?"
Snape straightened, "We shall do no such thing, I will be the one going up to
order your frozen dessert for I fear that you will not make it that far."
"It's like, twenty-five feet!" Harry protested, "I can totally," he takes one
step forward and nearly falls onto his face if Snape hadn't caught him mid-
fall. "…May I please have a strawberry vanilla ice cream in a cone Professor?"
Snape snorts.
"You may." The potions master says smugly as he helps Harry up in a more stable
position. Harry has to once again wonder at the musculature of the man's arms.
He's never seen Severus bare-chested or shirtless before and now more than ever
he finds it such a crying shame.
With the help of his friends, Harry managed to flop himself onto one of the
seats as the older wizards of their group went to the front to order everyone's
ice cream. "Hey," Ron suddenly said, "I almost forgot," he shuffled through his
shopping bags before finally taking out a rolled up piece of newspaper and
handing it to Harry. "Dad got it for me to show you. Turns out, he's like this
horrible Death Eater bloke who helped off your parents or whatever."
"Wow Ron." Hermione deadpanned, "You are so subtle and sensitive, thank you for
bringing up the death of Harry's parents in those exact words."
Ron flushed, chagrined, "Oops, uh, sorry mate?"
Harry shrugged, "I've heard worse, so he's related to my parents' death huh?"
"I think he was one of their friends or something."
Hermione gasped, "How awful."
Harry just begins reading the page.
 BLACK STILL AT LARGE
 Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban
fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.
 "We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic,
Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain
calm."
 Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of
Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.
 "Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is
mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime
Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity
to anyone. And let's face it - who'd believe him if he did?"
 While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal
wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear
of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen
people with a single curse.
"Wow, so this year is already looking great." The Boy Who Lived mutters, but
then he sees the photograph of this serial killing madman and whistles lowly.
"Hellooo daddy."
"What." Ron says. Hermione too, does not seem impressed by the reaction either.
"What?" Harry defends.
"Merlin's hairy balls on a plate," His redheaded friend mumbles, before turning
to Harry and swiftly smacking the green eyed boy's head, repeatedly for
emphasis, "Get. your. head. out. of. the. gutter! You cannot keep doing this!"
Ron kept smacking his head just to drive the point home.
"Ouch! I was just- seriously stop- just- Jesus, ow- joking- dammit- maybe-
fuck-STOP."
"It's like you can't be physically attracted to anyone normal." Ron despairs,
"I have like, a million brothers and you choose the worst one out of them all-"
"Hey," Percy says as he conveniently passes by with two ice cream cones in his
hand, he passes one to Hermione who thanks him politely. Ron ignores him. "-and
then you make out with a centaur, twice, which by the way, pretty sure counts
as beastiality, yes it does, shut up Harry. Then, then, there's also apparently
your little crush on Mr fucking Malfoy,"
"I just like his hair." Harry protests.
"Oh I'm sorry, you have a crush on Malfoy senior's hair. That's waaaaaaaay
better." Ron sarcastically replies. "And let's not get me started on Snape..."
"Okay that's not fair, Snape is clearly the hottest of the professors."
"Who says you have to be attracted to any of the professors in the first
place?!" Ron burst out, "They're all at least four times our age!" Blue eyes
look deeply into green, "Harry, mate, is- is this like a messed up childhood
thing? Because I know you went through some seriously tough shit at the
Dursley's but you know that you can, uh, you can always find love in other
places right?"
Harry stared at Ron,!not really comprehending. "…What the fuck Ron." He says
slowly. Judgingly.
Ron threw his hands up, exasperated and embarrassed, "I don't know! I overheard
mum talking some nonsense like that a few nights back with dad. Something bout
you desperate to be loved and in need of human touch."
"I think she meant that in the most platonic, friend, family way." Harry says
slowly, then paused thoughtfully. "Or at least, I hope she did."
Thinking about it now, that woman had been weirdly eager when she heard about
him and Percy getting together during the holidays. And getting Charlie to
accompany them. And then insisting on Percy again. If this is all some weird
form of thanks for saving Ginny, that is pretty messed up.
"The point is," Ron says wearily as he pokes his friend in the chest, "I've
looked past a lot of disgusting things you've said- and I mean, a lot- but that
man betrayed your parents and killed like twenty people mate."
Harry put his hands up in surrender, "Okay, okay, Jesus Ron. It wasn't like I
was planning to go ask him out the moment I saw him or anything."
The Weasley raised an eyebrow.
"I wasn't!"
"Sure mate," Ron says in a manner that clearly held dubious surety at best,
"and you're also not going to call him handsome or sweet cheeks either?"
"One, I have never called anyone sweet cheeks arsehole," Harry glares, "And
two, asking a murderer out for butterbeers and calling them a stud muffin are
two very different things."
"You couldn't be anymore disgusting." Ron wrinkles his nose, "Stud muffin? What
the hell Harry."
"It's a muggle thing." The Boy Who Lived defended.
"Really." And when did Ron get so sarcastic? This was like, Draco levels of
sarcasm. Oh god, his two judgmental friends were melding into one super
judgmental super friend, this cannot stand.
"You sound eerily like Draco right now." Harry points out seriously,
immediately distracting his friend's next scathing remark on Harry's apparent
promiscuity to look at him with horror.
"Mate, don't you ever say that. Ever." He grabs Harry's face and mushes it
close we to his as he whispers, "Ever."
"This ice cream is really good." Hermione says in the background.
===============================================================================
Harry sat down, feeling goose bumps rising up his arms despite the glow of the
fire. It's nine o'clock and he's tired from today's day out shopping. He wanted
to have a nice long shower, some dinner, and then finally go to sleep. Having
midnight snacks with the Minister of Magic wasn't exactly what he had planned.
Fudge took off his pinstriped cloak and tossed it aside, then hitched up the
trousers of his bottle-green suit and sat down opposite Harry. Snape glowered
in the corner, clearly also displeased at having his night ruined by the
unexpected guest, his scowl deepened further as the stout man waved him a way
like some servant. Once finally alone, the Minister turned to face Harry.
"I am-"
Harry smiled and extended his hand, despite the inconvenience, it would't do
for him to antagonise a man who currently has the most powerful standing in the
community. "Cornelius Fudge. The Minister of Magic." He finishes for him,
"Don't worry sir, how could I forget when you helped me so much during, well,
before."
Looking both surprised and pleased at being so quickly recognised and thanked,
the Minister of Magic shook the young wizard's hand enthusiastically. "Quite,
quite, awful business really. It's a shame how I can't speed the process of
your adoption as fast as I could that."
Harry laughed, he can relate to that at least, "Yes well, I'm sure that there
is a reason for the delay."
The overweight man grimaced, "It's terrible really. We're all contractually
obligated to read every single submission that comes from any wizard or witch
who wants to adopt the Boy Who Lived."
Harry laughed again, homely it doesn't sound as vindictive as he feels, it's
not every day someone is suffering through loads of paperwork just for his sake
after all, and the novelty of it was entertaining. "Well I'm glad I'm not the
one going through that nonsense, all I had to do was fight a bloody Basilisk!"
Fudge laughed nervously, "That's, uh, that's true then Potter?"
The young wizard shrugged, "Please, call me Harry, and of course that's true.
Ridiculous I admit but it wasn't like I could've benefit in lying with
something as outrageous as that."
"That's true indeed," The Minister gulped, he tugged at the collar of his robe,
"A-and what about those rumours in first year?"
Harry quirked a curious brow. "Excuse me?"
"You know," the man leaned in, wetting his lips nervously, "with He Who Shall
Not Be Named?"
Harry looked blankly at the older wizard. There's a soft poking sensation in
his mind before Mr Riddle sighs irritatedly, 'He obviously means me you goddamn
fucking-'
'Language.' Harry mentally chided. And ugh, he seriously forgot about the He
Who Must Not Be Named bullshit, like, really, who makes up a fucking fancy ass
French admittedly clever name and then bans everyone from even saying it.
Narcissists with self esteem issues probably.
'FUCKIN-'
"Oooh," Harry clapped his hands as if he had just remembered, "Yeah, that's all
pretty much true."
"But how can that be possible?!" The man spluttered, "Are you sure it was
really him and not some farce masquerading as him? A former servant of the Dark
Lord perhaps?"
The wizard savior looked at the overweight man, it seemed Fudge was going to
insist on denial, denial and more denial when it comes to this topic, no matter
what Harry was going to say. Was there no proper male role models in this
world? Maybe the men over here should, as a whole, learn to grow a pair. Of
breasts. Because the ladies here really have their shit together, Harry must
say.
"Maybe your right Minister Fudge." He conceded. Fudge looked relieved, then
smug.
"O-of course I'm right Harry, I am the Minister for a reason after all."
"It's just," Harry pretended to hesitate, looking down to his shoulder like he
was really thinking hard over something. "It's just, maybe you should be
careful sir. I mean, that may not be He Who's Not Named back then but it proves
that at least two of his followers had managed to infiltrate Hogwarts." He
bites his lip and looks up at the man through his lashes, "I'm worried sir,
something big is coming and I, if you don't mind my opinion, think you should
be prepared for the worst."
"Hmmm..." The Minister looks thoughtful, his cheeks flushing a little pink at
the look the younger wizard had given him, internally Harry smiled. He may not
be the best at the finer points of socialising, but he's watched enough
universes in shitty situations and met enough politicians to know that the best
way to go about things right now is to flatter him, point out the logic of his
argument and then make it seem like it was all their idea. "I haven't heard
much chatter about that sort of thing but I suppose that attack on Hogwarts
does suggest something might be happening in the shadows."
"Sir, if I may," Harry suggests quietly, submissive but earnest. "Maybe you
should focus more on your defence force. Hire a few more police wizards, train
them. Maybe put more funding in Hogwarts."
"I don't think... I mean..." Since the word 'funding' came out of his mouth,
the older wizard's interest in his ideas went from a hundred to the number of
times Hufflepuff has won the House Cup in the last century.
'Nice one.' Mr Riddle chuckles.
Harry refills Fudge's tea and gives him a bashful smile, "I know, I sound right
silly don't I? My aunt and uncle used to call me a stupid little liar all the
time you know, I guess if even you think so-"
"No!" The politician looked appalled at the implications, for Harry and what
would happen if word spread about such an awful comparison. "Harry, your muggle
guardians were monsters to say the least." He shuddered, remembering the photos
the aurors investigating that horrid place had taken as evidence. "Sure I
personally think that the lengths you're suggesting are a bit.. financially
stressful but I do believe you're on to something."
The teen beams brightly, "Really sir? You know, if you just make a statement
about your hope to protect us all, especially since You Know Who's reign of
terror, I'm sure everyone will definitely feel much safer knowing you're being
so proactive about it all."
"Yes…" Minister Fudge rubbed his chin musingly, "I guess people would like to
see me take a more active role in security, especially what with…" He flickers
at Harry. "Well. I think we can arrange some extra protections."
The wizard saviour, triumphant at his successful manipulation and hopefully
ensuring a much less stabby future for himself, offered the other man some
sugar cubes. Fudge took two. Absentmindedly, Harry wondered how come wizards
have managed to summon slugs out of someone's mouth and yet somehow they
haven't figured out how to make a healthy artificial sweetener alternative.
Like, priorities.
"I can even donate some money." Harry says idly, "For the funding of the auror
department only though. It's my paranoia and I do feel a little responsible if
you become too stretched thin because of me."
Fudge's eyes lit up at the idea, "Oh Harry what a generous little boy you are!"
He practically grovelled, "Yes, how could I refuse such an offer?"
"The Potter fortunes may be immense but they aren't infinite sir, if I choose
to put money into the department, if I choose to associate my name with the
Ministry, I insist that it be used well and those benefiting to be of a certain
high standard." Harry tells him seriously, partly because he's not sure how
much the man may plunder for his own benefit and also because he's not been the
biggest fan on relying on throwing some strangers' money at a problem and
hoping it would go away. But getting favour with the government would be
extremely beneficial, at the very least it wouldn't exactly hurt him to not
make an enemy of them.
Grabbing the older wizard's hand with his own, Harry looks pleadingly at the
Minister, "Please sir, promise me you'll make sure the money I give will serve
the people well. I… don't trust a lot of adults these days, but I want to put
my trust in you sir."
"O-of course." Fudge stutters a little, he's clearly unsure what to do with
him. But then his expression clears a little and suddenly the man straightens
confidently, sometimes there's nothing like the feeling of someone in need
relying on you to make you feel powerful. He clasps Harry's hands with both of
his and says more firmly, "Of course Harry, I won't let you down."
Harry grins, "I know you won't sir. I just know you won't." He glances at the
tea set on the nearby table, "Now maybe we should finish our tea sir? I think
it's getting cold."
The man laughs, but lets go of the other's hands anyway, "You sure get
distracted easily don't you?"
"It's really good tea." Harry says defensively, picking up his cup and sipping
from it. It wasn't that great, the stuff from Filch's was way better but
Fudge's hands were sweaty. "Actually, I've never asked by why did you pop in
anyway? I hardly think you came here to complain about my adoption mess sir."
"Quite right Harry, I didn't." Fudge amiably agrees with a chuckle, the man
smiled at Harry over the rim of his teacup, rather like an uncle surveying a
favourite nephew. "Now I'm sure by now you've heard about, well,"
"Sirius Black?" Harry queried, Fudge spluttered into his coffee but nodded
anyway. Harry shrugged, disinterested, "Only that he's broken out and looking
for my blood. But honestly sir, I don't see what the big deal is."
"Don't see the big deal?!" Fudge sent Harry a pitying look, "Harry you are the
savior of the Wizarding world! A symbol of hope to us all- we can't exactly
have that hope dying out before he can even lose his virginity!"
"Uh, okay..." the Wizarding savior says, a little creeped out by the choice of
phrasing, "So you're going to post some aurors around then?"
Fudge looks thoughtful. "I guess I could also add some aurors around
Hogwarts... Better safe than sorry after all." Harry narrows his eyes
suspiciously.
"Wait. What did you mean by also-"
"Oh my, this late already?" The Minister downs his tea and stands up. "Awfully
sorry Harry, it's been rather lovely meeting with you again but I have a
meeting I simply must be present in."
Ruffling Harry's head like he was somehow close enough to the teen to actually
do that, the Minister waved and left. Harry scowled. That could not have been a
coincidence.
Whatever else is guarding Harry better not fuck up his year again that's for
sure.
***** Death's dementors *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
The_one_where_Death_meets_some_runaway_dementors,_causes_a_food_fight_and_does
something_a_little_unplanned
===============================================================================
So, those guards stationed in Hogwarts?
Dementors. Fudge stationed Dementors. It was stupid of him, foolish, idiotic-
"Awwwwww," Harry cooed happily as the ghoulish creatures all surrounded him
with equal happiness while a bunch of professors and a handful of aurors
huddled a safe distance away from the, the, they weren't even sure how to
properly the describe it really. Their reactions was disbelieving at best, as
Harry Potter, the wizard saviour and golden child of Britain, had run up to
these fiendish monsters and hugged them like they were his long lost children.
"My lost little lambs." Harry cooed, "So this is where you bunch have gone off
too huh? I'm surprised you're working for a bunch of wizards."
Actually, what he was more surprised with was his initial reaction to his
dementors. Harry had actually had a flash of memory the moment he got near the
creatures scenes of Voldemort killing Lily Potter, and, for some even odder
reason a dead rabbit. He had near frozen in shock at the unexpected
recollection of something he shouldn't have before he quickly pushed it away.
It's intriguing, the human brain. Even with the soul gone that doesn't
necessarily mean the memories stored in that particular organ would leave too.
There's always a science to the magic of it all.
Though that really doesn't explain the bunny. Maybe he had a pet? Oh my god,
did Voldemort kill his pet rabbit just because he could? What a fucking dick.
Harry pauses, waiting. Huh. Usually Mr Riddle would come out and object to an
insult like that.
A dementor nudges at his hand, like a puppy hoping for a cuddle and effectively
distracting him from his musings. Nonetheless, he indulges his creatures,
submerging into the nostalgia of some of his first creations he'd made with the
help of Life, Love, Magic and a little bit of Space. Granted, they weren't
exactly the angels Death had originally envisioned when they tried creating
them, not as intelligent as hoped, as good looking as he wished, a little more
soul sucking than originally intended but he was fond of these silent
nightmares nonetheless.
"Well aren't you all cute and domesticated? The dementors in my realms could
learn a few things from you guys." Harry commented as one dementor, who had
been patiently waiting for his turn immediately took the place of the one
before it, lavishing under Harry's attentions and head rubs. He turns his head,
the only thing he can truly twist what with the sheer amount of dementors
swirling around him excitedly like a small black whirlpool, and grins manically
at Minister Fudge, the aurors and the professors.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, we simply must keep them around!" He informs them
happily as a more impatient dementor nudges the one under Harry's hand away so
it could have its turn. Harry gently whacks it on the head as a reprimand but
still continues rubbing it's head gently nonetheless. Precocious little thing.
"Maybe just two would be easier. Hey Headmaster may I keep two?!"
===============================================================================
"Is uh, is Mr Potter right mad?!" Minister Fudge whispered to the Headmaster
loudly. And Harry was such an adorable boy the last time they met, a little
crafty but who doesn't have a little bit of Slytherin cunning anyway. Was it
those awful muggles? Did they drive the poor child to insanity. Oh yes, clearly
Potter had been holding himself together alright since then but to treat a pack
of dementors like some, some basket of puppies?! There's obviously got to
be something wrong with him somewhere.
"I, uh, uhm." If this was any other time Fudge would have died not having a
camera to take a picture of Dumbledore's speechless face. He had always loathed
how this powerful man with a vague answer to everything had the potential to
over-seat his place. Hated how wise and unfazed he always was. At least now
Fudge knows that no one, not even the Great Albus Dumbledore had no weakness.
It was oddly settling. Well, as settling as it could be with about a hundred
dementors nearby. "Uuuuuhhh…?"
"Let me go woman!" A deep voice snarled, the Minister turned to see the sternly
aloof Professor Snape looking quite feral indeed as he struggles against
Professor McGonagall and one of his aurors who were restraining him by the
arms. "H- Potter is, Potter is!"
"Harry Potter is fine!" McGonagall shouted before grunting as her frantic
coworker's sharp elbow hits her in her stomach, she still doesn't let go.
Briefly she wonders why she didn't use magic for this but she's half afraid
that once she reaches for her wand now, the crafty psycho will take the chance
to run straight into the crowd of soul-sucking dementors. "Well, obviously
not mentally but Potter doesn't seem like he's in any dange-ow! Fuck! Merlin,
calm down Severus!"
"Do you think it's one of the side effects Headmaster?" Madam Pomphrey
whispers, Fudge's Head snaps up at that.
"Side effects?! What side effects?!" He demanded, any personal opinions aside,
Harry Potter was a symbol for Magical Britain, he was the torchlight of hope,
the Golden Boy, the Boy Who Lived, if anything happened to him while Fudge was
in charge... "Dammit Dumbledore, tell me this instant!"
"Harry has shown some unfortunate... quirks that we believe are because of his
miraculous run in with the Killing curse when he was a baby." Dumbledore
admitted uncomfortably, it's not like a grand number of Wizarding researchers
and medical professionals don't already know by now anyway but Dumbledore never
liked revealing his cards until absolutely necessary. "An incredibly poor
healing factor is the most prominent one, worse than a muggle actually."
Fudge paled. The Boy Who Lived, so powerful yet so easily breakable. "Are you
serious?!" He hissed.
"Potter can heal fine with minor scrapes and bruises. It's heavy wounds to his
person that causes something in him to slow the healing process." Madam
Pomphrey stepped in reassuringly but not before glaring irritatedly at the
Headmaster's rather generalized explanation to a very complicated situation,
"We believe Minister that somehow elements of the Killing Curse have latched
onto the boy's soul and have created a sort of symbiotic balance. Growth is
slowed and healing potions don't work as well as expected because of that
aspect of Harry, when the balance is tipped most of his magic is spent re-
configuring it to its original state rather than healing the body as it's meant
to."
"And you think it's this, this preposterous explanation that causes Mr Potter
to be immune to dementors?!"
Dumbledore shrugged as he watched with perturbed disbelief as Harry
cuddled, cuddled one of those horrid nightmare beasts like some plush teddy
bear, "If you have a better explanation Cornelius than go right ahead, because
not even Grindlewald would mess with a dementor."
And that, that was pretty damning wasn't it?
"PROFESSOR SNAPE I WILL USE FORCE!"
"YOU BLISTERING MORONS, HARRY IS OUT THERE SURROUNDED BY-"
"FUCK'S SAKES SHUT UP SEVERUS HE'S FINE."
===============================================================================
When Harry wasn't spending time with his dementors, he was hanging out with the
aurors. It seemed they've heard about what Harry has done in terms of
contribution to their rapidly dwindling funding and were all immensely
grateful, initial fear aside of course. There were eight of them, four newbies
and their respective more experienced partners. It's a good system, Harry was
almost doubtful he was in the right universe.
"Merlin, your skin!" A young female auror, Auror Jewelfin, exclaimed jealously,
her hand already reaching out and pulling up Harry's sleeves to reveal his
milky pale skin, stroking it reverently. "It's like, like-"
"-the first spun silk of a baby acromantula soaked in honeyed milk." An older
female auror, Auror Steinblak, gasped as she too began feeling up Harry's arm.
"Jameson, Carterwheel, stop being pussies and come over here!" She snaps to the
two male aurors lingering around them like nervous butterflies. Quickly she
looks back to the bemused teen, "Excuse my french Mr Potter."
Harry waved her apology off, "I'm thirteen, my ears are hardly so virtuous to
bleed from that sort of language Auror Steinblak."
"Isn't this, uh, a little inappropriate ma'am?" The younger of the two, Auror
Carterwheel, hesitated, his face heating up as a pair of vaguely entertained
green eyes looked at him. Merlin, Potter may only be thirteen but he has an odd
ageless beauty to him that seemed seductively unfair here.
Auror Steinblak rolled her eyes, "Mr Potter had said it was fine Carterwheel,
honestly you men are acting even odder than usual aren't you? Auror Ruble and
Auror Callouse wouldn't be acting like such a timid unicorn."
Carterwheel and Jameson looked at each other and scowled, of
course they weren't. Those two were too busy acting more like starving
werewolves around Potter to be anything but timid. It was almost pathetic how
they had insisted on practically serving the young teenager hand and foot. That
scary professor Snape had to actually ply those two off the boy like they were
some sort of lust-driven moss on a very enchanting tree. Well, it's not like
Carterwheel wouldn't half mind if Harry had asked him to get on his knees but
that's completely different. It is. At least he's not being a complete and
obvious prat about it.
See, this is what happens when you let people with creature blood in as an
auror, even the half breeds were animals.
===============================================================================
"I don't see why those untrained idiots must linger if we already have overkill
in the form of those dementors around." Severus Snape grumbled as he bit
angrily into his soup soaked bread.
Harry laughed, "They're enthusiastic at least." He lightly defends.
"Yes, in protecting you." The potions master scowled harder, "Honestly it's
like they've forgotten that there's an actual serial killer they're supposed to
find. I would like to say at least Aurors Finklewicks and Baysides are doing a
half decent job but they're too busy mooning over each other than to do
anything else."
"To be fair, they were just recently married." Harry pointed out with his soup
spoon before quickly pushing the spoon back into his mouth. It was a really
good mushroom soup, and he'd be damned if he wasted it.
"Then they should go be married somewhere else more useful than here." Snape
grouches.
The wizard saviour grins and playfully nudges the older man's long legs under
the table with his feet, "Is Severus grumpy that I've made new adult friends?"
He teased causing the man to glower. "Don't worry Sev, you're still my
favourite."
"I better be considering all that effort I put into you." Snape humphed but
secretly he felt incredibly pleased at such a confident statement. 'I'm his
favorite,' was his heady thought. Merlin it was like pathetic had dug itself a
grave just so he could sink to a lower level of sad.
Harry chuckled, "If anything I should be saying that about you sir," he joked,
now that he's getting out more, he's feeling far less, how would one say… like
he would cut a bitch. It's odd how something so simple as a change of
environment could improve his mood so very well.
Severus raises an eyebrow but from the way his knees gently pushed against
Harry's feet, the teen could tell he was amused. "What is it with those
dementors anyway? Generally the correct reaction to one of those is fear and
crying."
The Boy Who Lived shrugged, "Not going to lie Severus, I occasionally get these
brief flashes of.. well, not great memories, but it's like a moving photograph-
easily ignored." But seriously, that dead bunny keeps popping up and that is
really, really weird. How much did this baby Potter kid love that rabbit?!
Snape leans in, interested, "So you can just dismiss your own worst fears like
that?" He sounds fascinated and a little jealous.
'Well it's not like they were my own fears,' Harry thought but said instead,
"It's not like that. It's just, it's more of a muted, blurry memory which
quickly fades if I don't pursue it. The connection I have toward the dementors
are far stronger."
The professor leans back on his chair, eyes never leaving Harry's form. To have
something to do, Harry's feet keep tapping against the older man's own, it was
a good gauge of Snape's emotions right now as he was fairly sure an irate Snape
would not have allowed such whims. It's.. cute. How surprisingly amenable the
usually strict and taciturn man can be in a one on one environment. Though he's
probably just as tolerant to Draco as well considering how close the two can
be.
Harry frowns a little at that. He wonders why that last thought felt like it
was underlined with something sour.
"And what do you feel towards those… things?"
Harry's frown deepens, but for a different reason this time, "Oi, dementors
aren't things. They're creatures, with feelings." He defends.
"Feelings." Snape deadpans.
"Delicate feelings." Harry nods confidently, "Though their comprehension could
use some work." He admits because all things considered, they were quite
primitive in their designs. "Hunger is predominately what drives them."
It's true, dementors were constantly hungry. It was a point of deep guilt for
Death as these were some of the first creatures he could claim as his own and
they 'live' in constant suffering. They were made to collect souls, essentially
what the everyday Reaper does, but something had gone wrong. In hindsight they
had probably should've called on Space to consult more in their creation. While
dementors were meant to feed on the energy of souls, wiping the slates blank
before passing them off to the afterlife via their 'digestive system,' they
were too inefficient. It resulted in the souls swallowed down be completely
broken down and destroyed in order to properly satisfy them, something that
essentially wrecks the rather delicate balance of things undead.
Since then they had been ordered to mainly take power from less than happy
memories, but even the most traumatic of recollections would not satisfy their
hunger as much as even half a soul. As such, the species had become withered in
appearance, malnutrition causing their less than attractive forms. Which sucks.
Because originally they were actually quite pretty.
Unfortunately the only way to reform them to their natural state permanently
was… expensive.
"- Harry? Harry?!"
Harry blinked, "I'm sorry Severus, I zoned out a bit."
The potions master gives him a faintly concerned look, "Maybe you should go to
bed, it is nearing your usual bedtime."
"I'm thirteen going on fourteen," Harry huffs annoyed, "It's demeaning how it
seems like every year I get older, the earlier my bedtime is."
"Yes," Snape drawls, "So sorry my worry for your health is so humiliating for
you." The man pauses before adding, "And please, let's not talk about
your… age until you hit sixteen."
That seemed like a weird request but Harry nodded anyway.
"Hey," Harry says quietly, his feet brushing tentatively against the older
man's knees, Snape moved his legs to push up at the movement. A good sign then.
"You know I didn't mean it like that right?"
The older wizard sighed and lets one of his own feet tap at Harry's thigh,
trying not to feel to guiltily happy at this freedom of inappropriate touches.
"I know Harry, and I do apologise at the things I had said when I had been
feeling.. incensed at you. I find your company very pleasant and enjoyable."
"Oh." Pale cheeks warmed at the compliment, it felt like there was a hot
buzzing in his ears and Harry felt the corners of his mouth lift up into what
felt like a stupidly wide grin. "Thank you Severus. I, well, I enjoy your
presence immensely as well." He confesses shyly.
Severus looks at him, his eyes dark and assessing. Harry startles a little at
the movement the older man suddenly makes, a small surprised 'eep' was all he
could squeak out as the potions master stands up abruptly, and leaves the room
with a hurried goodnight and a faint flush on his cheeks.
Harry just stared. Did, did Professor Snape really just caress up against his
inner thigh with his foot?!
"Well… that's new." He finally settles on. It seems this year, there is going
to be far more interesting things than some stupid serial killer on the loose.
===============================================================================
"Harry, why is this Auror bloke sitting at our table?" Ron asks far too
casually to be actually casual. It's like Harry has unlocked a new level of
exasperated rage in Ron. He senses he should thread cautiously here.
"Auror Callouse is just looking out for me Ron, you know, what with Black
lurking around." He explains slowly, carefully.
"Yeah, but does that really mean he has to HAND FEED YOU RIGHT HERE."
"I'm okay with it." Harry shrugs as he opens his mouth again.
"Same here." Auror Callouse, a part vampiric wizard, sighs dreamily as he tilts
the teen's chin up and feeds him a grape, his hand lingering a little too long
considering it was just a grape he had fed and not like, chocolate sauce or
anything. His younger partner, Auror Ruble, a part veela wizard, was off to the
side silently fuming while trying to politely fend off the young witches
attracted to his looks.
Ron rolls his eyes and huffs his displeasure, "Figures we leave you alone for a
week and you have the aurors eating out of your hand."
"Well, technically its the other way round." Hermione corrects bemusedly but
still a little perturbed as the auror with skin almost as pale as Harry's own
hand feeds the young wizard with the reverence and lust as if one was feeding a
god. "Anyway Harry, you will not believe what happened on the train ride over
here!"
"Did Ron and Draco fight again?" Harry asks, "Because that happens like, all
the time, tell me if one of them dies though. That would be interesting."
"I am so proud to call you my best friend." Ron tells him less than sincerely
which was very rude of him. Harry was the Boy Who Lived, wizard saviour, a
magical genius and a rather gorgeous specimen of humanity. Harry had an auror
hand feeding him grapes like a roman emperor. Harry was cool as hell. Ron
should be proud as fuck.
"Well, yes, but no that's not what I was talking about." Hermione says with a
smile, "No, see there was this guy sleeping in our compartment-"
"Was he hot?" Harry interrupts curiously.
Hermione looked at him derisively, "Ron. Please answer this for me."
"Why do I always have to respond to this?" Ron complains.
"Because I handle smart Harry all the time. You handle the other side of
Harry."
"I like how you're implying that I consist solely of genius and sexual desire."
Harry snorted. "Ta Hermione."
"You forgot snarky, there's snarky too." The Weasley piped up helpfully.
Hermione nodded in agreement.
"How could I forget," She says solemnly, "Harry does have many complex layers."
"Oh fuck off," Harry grumbles before opening his mouth for another grape.
"What's the story then- also you didn't answer my question."
"He's.." Hermione and Ron looked at each other, "Passably cute?"
Ron shrugged, "Your standards are kind of low Harry. He looked kind of young-
ish but had bits of grey in his blond hair. Also he looked kinda like a
homeless person."
"Ah." Homeless people were not at all his type. Harry generously waved them to
continue their tale. "Continue then."
The bushy haired Gryffindor rolled her eyes, "Anyway, so on his case was the
inscription Professor R. J. Lupin and we figured he must be the new Defence
Professor."
"Wait. This guy is a professor?" Harry suddenly says. "There was a grown man
just sleeping in your magical train compartment? A magical train compartment
for children? Where I'm fairly sure there are only students there and no
professors slash grown adults." Harry looks at them doubtfully. "That seems..
suspect."
"Well yeah if you put it that way it does." Ron muttered under his breath,
"Then again, not everyone has an inner perv in them that tells them that it's
okay to smooch with anything that has lips."
"Hey!" Harry protested, "You don't need lips to kiss, I mean snakes-"
Ron groaned. "Merlin Harry, you just, you just suck." Harry opened his mouth
but Ron, with the reflexes of someone who could be a skilled seeker, struck his
hand out to cover the green eyed wizard's words, "Don't you dare Harry, I swear
to Merlin."
"Jeez you are no fun since you hit puberty." Harry grumbled. Auror Callouse
patted Harry's head sympathetically. "So did the creepy old man do anything?"
In a lower voice, he added with a mischievous grin, "Do I need to conjure up a
doll so you can show me where the bad man touched you?"
Hermione smacked him across the head. Meanwhile Ron muttered how rich that was
coming from Harry of all wizards.
"Ow!" The Boy Who Lived scowled, "You know I'm injured and very delicate right
now."
"I know," Hermione moans half regretfully, "But it's like you come out of the
coma twice the… Harry you were."
"Like a perverted butterfly." Ron swooned.
Harry stuck his tongue out childishly, "Let's just say, I had a lot of…
interesting food for thought when I was in that coma." Yeah, there was nothing
like fucking an evil purple space conqueror, a god of mischief and a few more
gorgeous villains to be more self-confident and more in tune to yourself. God,
he should write a book.
"Is that what the muggles are calling it these days?" Ron said under his breath
while Hermione laughed. Harry gave his friend the evil eye. Sometimes he's
surprised at how okay Ron was about certain sexual matters at such an immature
age, then Harry remembers he is in a family household of over six kids and
decides to no longer think too closely on the sort of sexual education they
get.
"Anyway," Hermione huffs, but not looking as put out by the lack of direction
this conversation was taking as she usually would've been. Seems someone also
matured a little during his coma. "There were no more empty compartments so we
kind of ignored the guy and just sat there and chatted. Ron got prissy over
Crookshanks-"
"You mean the Hell Beast." Ron whispers darkly. The girl ignored him.
"-and then the sky begins to darken, like it was very obvious that there was a
huge storm approaching. The train began to rattle and the rain and wind was so
loud!"
"Yet the professor still slept." Ron chuckled, causing Harry to chuckle too.
"Really? Even I saw the storm in the distance, thank god I was here sitting
pretty waiting for you guys instead."
Ron nodded in agreement, "Yeah not the best ride for you all things
considering. Mione, you want to continue telling the story or should I?"
"You can continue it for a bit," Hermione tells him amicably. "But for Merlin's
sake don't exaggerate anything, I will correct you." Ron grins.
"Right, so outside looked like, pitch black right? So we couldn't see nothing
and the train began to slow down, so I was all, 'Must be nearly there' right?
But Mione insisted that it was too soon for us to arrive there and Mione's
usually right, right?"
"Right." Harry says with a smile.
"Anyway we both went out to look at the corridor, see what's going on, then all
of a sudden all the lights went out! So it was dark as the inside of a
boggart's arse in there."
"Charming." Hermione says, clearly impressed by the simile. "I think I shall
take over this story now Ron." Ron shrugged unrepentant, "Well Harry, that was
when I decided we had to go ask the driver what was going on but we bumped into
Ginny who had come here looking for Ron, with Neville lagging behind. So there
all of us were, in our compartment trying to figure out who's who and suddenly
Professor Lupin hisses, 'Quiet!' at us and lights up the room a little with his
wand. Lumos it was. He tells us to stay where we were and begin to head to the
door."
"But then the door opens!" Ron interrupts, apparently far too excited not to
say this next part. Looking a little annoyed at having Ron jump into her tale,
Hermione glared and shoved the boy.
"Dammit Ron, we agreed to take turns."
"..Sorry?"
Hermione sighed, "Fine, finish it off then."
"Wicked! Anyway, so the door opens and BAM, there was this horrible cloaked
figure that was so tall it's head hit the bloody ceiling! At that point we only
could see it's hands, awful looking things, looked like a person's hand burned
alive then decayed in slimy swamp water but like, grey. It draws this long
rattling breath, like it hadn't breathed air in forever and was trying its
hardest to take in as much as possible and the room went from cold to tit
freezing in a second."
Harry blinked, suddenly in understanding, "Oh." He says a little stunned, "You
guys met a dementor then?"
The pair stared at him.
Harry stared back. "You... guys were aware I was in the castle right?" He said
slowly, "You know, the castle the dementors were sent to protect me and defend
against Sirius Black?"
They kept staring. God, he loved them like the incessant children he never
technically had but sometimes it's just a wonder why humanity as a whole hadn't
just all keeled over and died at one point.
The Boy Who Lived sighed at the continued staring, he can practically hear Ron
reboot and Hermione rearrange her mind palace to make way for this apparently
mind-blowing revelation.
"Well…" Ron finally says, "This story no longer seems as cool now."
"Awwwww, no, don't say that." Harry says encouragingly, "Please, continue about
this amazing, fascinating story that I just know will enrich my life and future
choices."
"You're a dick." Ron tells him, "Just for that we will finish this story." He
turns to Hermione, "Go ahead Hermione."
Hermione smirked, "No, no, let's keep the turns equal." She insists with faux
innocence, "Please Ron, I insist."
"Both of you can go eat a poisoned vomit flavoured Bertie Bott's jellybean."
The redhead grouched, "So anyway, Professor Lupin walked toward the Dementor,
and pulled out his wand and said something like, 'We ain't hiding Sirius Black,
get the heck away.' But the Dementor didn't move right? So Lupin muttered
something, and a silvery thing shot out of his wand and the thing just glided
away. Then Lupin gave us chocolate." Ron tilted his head thoughtfully, "Lupin's
a pretty okay guy for someone who looks like he's lived in a dumpster."
Hermione scoffed, "You would think He Who Shall Not Be Named is okay if he gave
you free chocolate."
"Well maybe he should," Ron shot back jokingly, "That could be his new
recruitment campaign- Our Blood is Pure and so is our Chocolate, Join the Death
Eaters."
They all burst out laughing.
'That's not funny.' Mr Riddle sulked in Harry's mind.
===============================================================================
After Dumbledore said his bit about the dementors, praising their amazing
ability to see past any disguise, illusion and invisibility cloak which made
Harry puff up a little in pride before frowning as the headmaster continued by
adding how it was not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or
excuses.
"That's not true." Harry hisses annoyed. Sure the dementors had a faulty grasp
on a lot of things but expecting them to understand the cries of humans was
like expecting humans to understand the pleading of cattle. It's hardly a fair
comparison.
'Fascinating.' Mr Riddle murmurs, seems like someone had decided to crawl up
from the mindscape and set up camp in Harry's thoughts. 'Do you see us as
cattle too?' He's not as fearful nor indignant as Harry had thought him to be.
Just clinically interested with a healthy normal sized dash of wariness. It
seems hanging out in his mindscape of rolling oceans of tar had given the half
soul a better perspective on the matters of the dead.
'Obviously not,' he thought a little derisively. 'You are all more like...
insects.'
There's a pause, and then Harry could just feel Mr Riddle's fury. It seemed his
pride was still taller than any man made building then. The wizard wasn't
surprised, it was more than a little obvious the man had some anger issues. And
daddy issues. And status issues. Really, Tom Riddle just had.. issues. Period.
The anger seemed to grew even hotter, which makes sense because Mr Riddle
probably picked up on the whole issues thing Harry had been totally not on
purposely thinking loudly about.
'An insect?' The voice hissed, 'I am no mere inse-'
'Oh do get over yourself,' Harry sighed. 'Of course you're not an actual bug,
god aren't you tetchy today. I meant in terms of population and like, how
quickly you all die off and the resilience of your species.'
'Still,' Tom mutters petulantly. 'It's rather a degrading comparison.'
Harry tutted, 'Insects are only treated as disgusting things because they're
small, squashable and fail to conform to your standards of beauty. If the sizes
were reversed, and they held similar morality and conscious thought, I'm sure
they would think it far more of an insult than you would take it.'
'... Oh?' Mr Riddle's voice was subdued and quieter now, must have retreated a
little further back then. Thoughtful it seems. Harry feels sympathetic for the
young man. If only he had learned a little more, been encouraged to focus on
things he had been interested in instead of shunned like he had been, he's
fairly sure the poor mortal would've been set off on a far better course in
life.
'Insects are a fascinatingly diverse organism Mr Riddle, cruel as well. You
would be interested in some of the more morbid stories about them I'm
sure.' Harry tells him supportively.
'Huh, really?' Mr Riddle says tentatively, 'Well I guess it wouldn't be too bad
to be forced to endure your nattering on primitive life form-'
"I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year, first is
Professor Lupin, who has very kindly consented to be our Defense Against the
Dark Arts teacher."
'Damn,' Harry internally whistled, 'He does't clean up too bad for an apparent
homeless guy. Still a bit shabby though.'
'-aand, I've lost him.' Mr Riddle muttered annoyed and maybe a touch
bitter. 'Hussy.'
Harry mentally pulled Mr Riddle back into the deeper parts of his mindscape
with a hushed promise of continuing the conversation later when the other was
in a better mood. After all, he does not appreciate such old fashioned language
in his head. Harry's trying to get with the times. Also, Mr Riddle gets really
pissy whenever Harry's mind wanders to anyone else Harry had deemed attractive
for some reason.
"Look at Snape!" Ron hissed in Harry's ear, distracting him from Mr Riddle's
farewell swears.
Following Ron's instructions, Harry looked up to see Snape staring along the
staff table at Professor Lupin. And yeah, the young wizard saviour was aware of
how much the potions professor wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts job,
was common knowledge really. But the look on Severus' face was rather, well,
bewildering to say the very least. His expression was beyond mere anger, it's
crossed furious, jumped over fury and had wandered comfortably in the middle of
the territory between downright loathing and outright hatred. It's the sort of
look that suggested someone was probably going to die very soon.
"Whoa, seems like someone pissed in Snape's cereal." Ron muttered half
gleefully.
"Ron!" Hermione and Harry hissed. Ron just snickered at their scandalised
tones.
"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued as the rather half
hearted clapping for Professor Lupin died quickly away- poor sap. "Well, even
though I do feel sorry to have to inform you all that our dear Professor
Kettleburn, Care of Magical Creatures teacher, has decided to finally retire to
enjoy more time with his remaining limbs, I am delighted to say that his place
will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this
teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."
Everyone took a second to be stunned, trying to take in the new information.
Then they all burst in applause, Gryffindor table in particular was the
loudest. Harry felt a little bad at being so enthusiastic right after he had
barely clapped for the other guy but Hagrid, the half-giant had to live in
a shack outside a school. The bloke bloody deserves the damn raise.
Then again, the homeless looking guy probably needs the job as well. Huh. It's
like this school was looking for new ways to look even worse than they already
do.
Harry wonders what the other magic schools were like if Hogwarts was considered
and he quotes, 'the Best.'
In the back of his mind, Mr Riddle scoffs.
Hagrid was blushing under the thunderous applause, his wide grin visible even
under his gigantic tangled up beard. The large man was even wiping his eyes
with the tablecloth. Aw.
"We should've known!" Ron cried happily, pounding the table loudly because
apparently clapping just wasn't enough to show his support. "Who else would
have given us a biting book?"
"Well, I think that's everything of importance," said Dumbledore as the
clapping, far longer than Lupin's had been, finally quieted down. "Let the
feast begin!"
Golden plates and goblets, which by the way, seemed rather gaudy and expensive
for a school that can't afford proper flying brooms, filled with food and drink
and the hall began to bustle back to excited talking and chittering as everyone
began their meal. Auror Callouse easily banished the unfinished bowl of grapes
in his hand in favour of picking up Harry's plate and looking eagerly at him,
"May I, Mr Potter?"
"Merlin's tits." Ron grumbled, rolling his eyes as he started piling a generous
amount of gravy on his mashed potatoes.
It seemed this was the final straw to Auror Ruble's patience, pushing himself
off the wall he had been leaning and sulking over, he strode to where Harry and
his superior officer was. "Sir, maybe I should take over your uh, current
duties?" He asks, his handsome face strained under his smile.
The half vampire smiled easily back, "Auror Ruble, you should be grateful that
I'm letting you properly experience auror work. After all, hadn't you
complained that you hadn't needed, hm, what was the word again? Training
wheels?"
The half veela flushed a little, torn between his pride at wanting independence
in his career and his base desires calling out to please the clearly powerful
boy in front of him. "I- uh, while I appreciate you're concern sir," He sneered
at the 'sir' part, clearly there was some unwelcome tension between the two
half breeds. "I do think it is time for our break and I deserve to do whatever
I see fit now." Auror Ruble finished smugly.
Auror Callouse scowled, "Fine, then I too shall see to do whatever I see fit."
He turns to Harry with a seductive smile and summons up some chips onto Harry's
plate. "Of course, as long as you wouldn't mind Harry?"
"He has not given you permission to use his name!" The half veela practically
shrieked, earning the attention of not only the entire Gryffindor table but a
lot from the other Houses and professors as well.
The older Auror smiled, it was not a very nice one, more like Professor Snape's
smile when he was about to take a load of points off a particularly irritating
student. "I think if you had put some of your Auror skills to some proper use
and not into styling your hair everyday you would find that Harry here has
given me his permission to refer to him as such."
Auror Ruble froze, his handsome face thunderous and red. And then he jumped the
half vampire auror with a screeching war cry of an indignant veela.
"BLOODY HELL!" Ron shouted as the two half breed aurors began fighting on top
of the table, Auror Callouse's fangs were out and Auror Ruble's talons
extended. Despite their more intimidating forms, the fight mainly consisted of
fisticuffs and smooshing food into each other's faces. Everyone was watching
entranced at sight.
It got even better as the other aurors jumped into the fray to try seperate the
two, or at least try save some face in front of the school. Except Auror
Carterwheel and Auror Jameson apparently had some less than kind reservations
towards the half breeds so they ended up fighting as well. The teachers had to
get into it then. Professor Snape especially seemed to be taking great pleasure
in hexing the Aurors, clearly his displeasure about their bumbling incompetence
as he had so often described them as being, had finally bubbled over like a
overboiled potion.
The whole mess took twenty five glorious minutes. It didn't help that the twins
were throwing all manner of random colour changing spells, adding to the havoc.
Chaos would have been proud of the pair. Harry needed to introduce the three
someday. Or never. Never sounded more and more appealing the more he thought
about it actually.
Once the aurors were sent out to run their patrols food covered and grumpy, the
hype for violence had simmered down and all there was left was the sad remains
of the Gryffindor's share of the feast. In the end they all had to go sit with
the other Houses to finish off the meal with, luckily there was more food and
space than they all really knew what to do with so it was only met with some
grumbles and glares toward Harry.
"Great going Harry." Ron grouched, "Now we're sitting with the Slytherins."
Harry shrugged and nibbled on a cob of corn. "Ain't my fault I'm so bloody
irresistible to creatures. It's a curse, really."
"Yeah, a curse to food. Dammit I was really looking forward to the roast beef."
"Hey, now you can still steal Slytherin's roast beef." Harry suggested
compromisingly magnanimous. Ron at least perked up at that.
"Mate that does sound great," The Weasley says, cheered and with a hungry look
in his eyes.
"Gee Potter," Draco drawled across from them, apparently unimpressed with how
Harry had misdirected Ron's attention. "Thank's so much for bring the
bottomless stomach of a Weasley here. We were just absolutely dying to eat only
a quarter of our usual meal tonight."
Harry acknowledged the sarcasm by holding up his half eaten corn with a smirk,
"No problem Draco, it was my pleasure to help control those growing thighs of
yours."
"MY WHAT?!"
In retrospect, maybe Harry shouldn't have lied about that to someone as vain as
Draco. It took him a month to convince the teen he was joking.
===============================================================================
"Harry." Snape sighed though internally he wanted to scream and throw a
patronus. "Please, if you have any respect or affection for me at all, take
that damned creature out of your room."
Harry pouted. "But Davian's very docile and sweet."
"… I'm almost afraid to ask, but, Davian?"
"In Christianity the name means, one with a lovely heart and soul."
The potions master sighs again. Figures, he was a pedophile in love with a
crazy half-dead person who emotionally bonds with soul sucking monsters. He's
sure his mother would've been proud. "Of course it is." He says blandly,
"Well Davian needs to leave. Right. Now."
Harry mutters something to the dementor curled up on his bed like some lazy
cat, it makes a wispy yet guttural sound before getting out of the bed and
floating out the door. It, or most likely, he, purposely ignores the potions
master like that was some sort of punishment for the older wizard or something.
Still, Snape had to shudder as the creature passed by him, images of his worst
memories, of Lily dead in his arms, of being so thoroughly humiliated in
school, that fucking werewolf, filling up his mind like a grossly unwelcome
flooded sewage pipe.
He likes to think he's gotten better at dealing with the dementors thanks to
Harry's need to treat them like pets- something Snape would like to point out,
that not even bloody Hagrid does- but there's no escaping that sort of trauma,
no matter how dulled it's starting to feel after these constant reoccurrences,
the guilt just lingers, heavier than ever.
Once Davian had left, the potions master slammed his door shut firmly and
soundly. He turns to a pouting Harry. "Do not ever bring a dementor into my
quarters Harry." Snape warns menacingly, "Unless Sirius Black is here butt
naked and erect, there shall be no business for dementors to be here
understand?"
Harry made a 'psh' sound. "Please, if Black was naked and erect, I hardly
thinking I would be asking for a dementor to come ruin the mood." The teenager
had joked blithely.
That joke had fallen flat. Onto a spiked floor. With lava.
"You! Don't you, don't you dare-" Severus was both furious and disgusted beyond
words. The idea that Harry was attracted to Black of all people was
just, just! Harry, realising he had tripped on some sort of very sensitive
landmine, began quickly backtracking.
"N-not that I would!" He laughed nervously, "That man is a serial killing
prisoner for god's sakes Severus! I just, well, you said those things and I
couldn't resist. It's just a lark Sev, come on."
The potions professor took a deep calming breath. That didn't work so he took
five more. Harry, green eyes watching nervously, bit his lip uncertainly. "Why
don't you go sit on the couch to calm yourself?" Harry suggested soothingly,
"I'll go get some tea."
Feeling a little foolish and more than a tad childish at getting a teen one
third his age to comfort him after what must have seemed like an incredibly
irrational hissy fit, Severus just silently nodded. The only thing he could
think of that would've been worse is if he had begged for Harry to never look
at another man, especially that prick Black, and to allow him the privilege of
showing the young wizard the pleasures of being plowed against his office desk.
And now he's thinking about bending Harry over against a desk.
"English breakfast with two squeezes of lime." Harry flourishes, setting the
cup down in front of Snape who takes it with a wry smile. Perversities aside,
it was rather heartening to be liked well enough to have the younger man
remembering how to make his favorite cup of tea.
"Thank you." Snape takes a sip. "It's perfect." He comments like he is
pleasantly surprised despite the fact Harry has brewed tea for him before and
they've never been below an exceeds expectations range of mark at the very
least.
Harry smiles before sitting down next to him, putting down his own cup of tea
on the coffee table. Milky tea with far too much sugar than there should be in
Snape's personal opinion. It's okay, everyone had serious flaws.
"Now," Harry says primly, and Snape almost has to snort at how… professional
the youth seemed, it suited his elegant appearance but clashed horribly with
his recent less than stable mood swings. Not that he could hardly fault that
what with the coma and the blasted book's influences, but still. "I know you
aren't, well, the most fond of whenever I joke about sexual matters. Especially
recently."
Snape scowled, "Because if those aurors that surround you like planets around
the sun, overheard your crass suggestions, I'm fairly sure that they would
hardly take the joke as casually as you would think." And also because the
potions professor was starting to realise that maybe Harry was far more..
lustful than he had originally speculated, it must be an unfortunate side
effect of being the offspring of that gigantic manslut James Potter.
The Boy Who Lived smirked a little, the older wizard once again thanks the
stars at how little Harry seems to resemble both his parents. He's not sure how
he would feel if that sly upturn of the lips that caused his gut to clench in
arousal had reminded him of the Potter senior. Not to mention the downright
mischievous and sultry look would have just looked so wrong on Lily's features.
As if realising whatever train of thought the teen had been having might not be
the most appropriate thing to voice out loud to his professor, Harry coughed,
using it as an obvious excuse to quickly rearrange his features into something
more serious and innocent. "I don't know what you mean Severus." Cunning little
tart.
Hiding his own fond smirk, the potions master sips his tea and waits for Harry
to blurt out whatever it is he will blurt out. Another problem with the young
wizard, while usually quite comfortable with silence, he becomes immensely less
so with it once in conversation. It's almost like Harry's treating
conversations like a game, but not one of wits and politics, more along the
lines of manners and social niceties with his intense need to fill in the lulls
in conversation. For Harry it's a weakness, one that Snape is shameless enough
to exploit. He is a Slytherin after all.
"Okay maybe, I did encourage Auror Callouse and Ruble a tad." Harry finally
admits bashfully. "And to a lesser extent Auror Carterwheel and Jameson I
guess."
Snape raised an eyebrow, waiting. Harry shifted uncomfortably, clearly feeling
some sort of guilt over the whole Great Feast debacle. "Anything else you would
like to confess Harry?"
"It's just…" Harry blushed as he fidgeted with his teacup whilst struggling
with his choice of words, "I couldn't help but screw wi- I mean, I couldn't
help myself when they were piling me with so much uh, attention."
Severus nods slowly like he actually understands the concept of being
attractive enough to garner so much attention in the first place. He supposes
with a childhood with so little affection gained from his guardians, the young
wizard must crave the affection he has so much of now yet only on a superficial
level. Which is rather sad if you really think about it.
Then again he could've ended up like Severus who also craves affection but is
bitter and untrusting enough to only satisfy that craving with only one or two
individuals. Which makes him incredibly vulnerable to their praise and scorn.
So that too, is also rather sad.
"Yes. Well. I would ask you to control yourself but since you are a wizard on
the cusp of teenager-hood I rather doubt that you could if you tried." The
potions professor said stiffly, "Though maybe do make an effort to not sabotage
what little competence our first line of defence against Black has."
Harry chuckled before sipping his tea. "So, speaking of Black," he said slyly
and Severus had to smile regretfully at how smoothly, if a little obviously,
Harry had transitioned the topic, "what's with the reaction sir? If you don't
mind me asking of course."
Snape sighs and summons the teapot from the kitchen. He's going to need more
tea for this. "I," He pours some more tea in his cup. "Knew Black personally.
He was in the same year as me alongside Professor Lupin and," Snape grimaced at
this, "your father."
The young wizard savior leans against the older professor, looking up at him
interestedly. His face is far too close for comfort, if Severus just leaned a
little further... the Professor looks away and hastily takes another sip of his
tea.
It's a less than pleasant distraction to the completely unpleasant topic at the
very least. "The three along with a fourth, Pettigrew, made up a group self
named the Marauders."
Harry tilted his head thoughtfully, "Sounds... noble?" He said, clearly
threading carefully.
Snape laughed into his drink bitterly, "Hardly. They were nothing but horrible
bullies who enjoyed pranks and humiliating all they didn't like." He spat out.
A small hand clutched his arm, tugging at it and earning Snape's attention. He
was surprised at the fierce angry protectiveness that painted Harry's features.
"They bullied you." It wasn't a question.
The potions master found, to his dismay and horror, he was blushing quite
terribly. He tries to wrench his gaze away from those glowing green eyes,
glittering with fury. Merlin he was so beautiful it hurts. "It's in the past."
He muttered, no longer in the mood to bash his tormentors in front of Potter's
scion.
"It's not," Harry defied, "That's why you looked ready to murder Professor
Lupin before, why you're so worried about not catching Black, why... you
refused to like me in the beginning." The younger male sounded less biting and
a little more mournful at the end. Harry stares up at Snape, eyes big and
woeful, and woe certainly be it to Snape if he did not look back.
"I would've thought you would have at least tried to defend your father." Snape
admitted a little confused and touched. Even he would have lashed out at such
blatant accusations and he had absolutely loathed his own father.
"Oh Severus," Harry breathed, his lips shaped into a wry smile, "I never knew
my dad. He's nothing to me but the stories we tell and the people he knew. But
you, you're far more to me than that."
Harry seemed to hesitate before his eyes narrowed in some sort of resolve.
Tilting his head upwards, the Boy Who Lived moves up and presses a chaste but
determined kiss onto Severus Snape.
Snape inhales sharply at the unforeseen action, his heart breathing a mile a
minute as his mind blanks. It's only when he finally reboots he realizes he's
kissing Harry back.
Chapter End Notes
     Buy me a coffee? I mean. You don't have to. No pressure or anything
     man.
     https://ko-fi.com/hweianime
***** Death's rejection *****
Chapter Notes
     I'm not great with the serious talking stuff so the writing isn't my
     best. Hopefully you'll enjoy it either way :D
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
===============================================================================
The one where Death gets rejected gets some resolve and gets humped.
Harry gasped as Snape- Snape!- kissed him back. Firm and hungry and passionate.
He hadn't expected the man to actually reciprocate but when Harry had seen him
so vulnerable, opening up to him, it was like he couldn't help but follow the
rush of want and need that had filled inside of himself.
It felt good. Amazing actually. Well, the more precise term would be mind-
blowingly woahto be exact but who's writing this down anyway? The point was
Harry loved it, the giddy rush under his skin, the way his heart pounds like a
frantic war drum and the spark ignited by the pressure between his lips and
Severus'. Harry's not going to lie and say that it feels like it's the first
time he had truly kissed someone or some other such bullshit nonsense- because
he's kissed a ton of different individuals okay, literally a ton, like so, so,
sooo- but he will confidently say, he's never done this feeling the way he does
now.
This, this must be what Harry had been missing this whole time. God, he was
dense. Affection. Compatibility. Friendship. Attraction. Trust. Love had always
tried to explain herself to him, but Harry thinks that maybe he understands it
now. Just a little bit.
He likes Snape. Really, trulydoes.
It's different from what he felt for Tom. Very similar, but not as well. Mr.
Riddle was, lust and intrigue and the rush you get when you run toward
something potentially life-threatening. But somehow Harry thinks it wouldn't be
like that with Snape. It was something a long time coming now and if he looked
back on the past, he was sure it would have been as obvious as a slow-moving
train in the desert.
The professor had been right about how strange it had been that the young
wizard had rushed into his declaration of love so soon, he had been muddled a
little by the charms and intoxicated by Riddle's own natural ones.
Explains a lot on why he had dealt with all that shit between them with
relatively good humor. The fighting, the arguments, the insults. Sure he was a
fairly laid back pushover of an entity generally but his sole existence is
about ending lives, and disrespect from mere mortals can really go either way
here.
The young wizard pushes himself further up against Snape, panting a little too
loudly like some dog in heat as he tries to touch as much as he could with his
body. It's excitingly novel just how much he wants this. It's like he's waited
for forever without even knowing how much he desires this. Even more than he
wanted Captain fucking America dammit. And that man wasfine. Fine as all the
hells.
"Severus," He breathes before sliding his arms up the older wizard's chest and
around his neck, taking his time to try to savor every curve and bump he
passes. His face must be pinker than a peach because it feels like his face is
simmering in liquid lightning, especially at the tips of his ears for some odd
reason. And the tips of his fingers. And toes. Affection was a strange thing.
"I, uh, um, I think I really-"
Snape, who had been touching Harry just as eagerly, stopped abruptly. His
posture that had been languid and relaxed now had gone stiff and rigid at
Harry's tentative words. The younger wizard had a sinking feeling that, like
every other vaguely sexual encounter he's had with the man, Snape was about to
bolt again.
'But not this time,' Harry thought determinedly because this time he wasn't
oblivious. This time he's perfectly aware of his wants and what he wants is for
Severus to stay with him, maybe even until his life as Potter is finished.
Resolved, he stretches up to kiss the other wizard again, less chaste this
time, filled with intention. Chasing the retreating lips, until he had captured
his prize and devoured it eagerly, sucking and licking and moaning.
For a second Harry thinks he's managed to break through when the potions master
pushes himself harder against his lips but then the young wizard is suddenly
shoved onto the floor with a startled yelp. The Boy Who Lived looked up to see
Snape still sitting, his arms still raised from shoving Harry away and his face
pink and blotchy. Harry's really hoping it's at least half because of his
amazing kissing skills and not mainly due to anger and or disgust at him.
"Don't.." The professor was actually vibrating, like his restraint could only
hold onto so much and he was going to explode any second. This did not bode
well. Because Harry does have a fairly good self-preservation instinct, despite
certain previous events that contradict this, he scoots a little away from
kicking distances of Snape and remains quiet.
The older wizard tries to start another sentence but only ends up spluttering,
it was almost comical how much the usually eloquent Snape was struggling. Well,
it would've been comical if it wasn't so distressing and anxiety-inducing.
Unable to wait, for fear that his already frail health would collapse onto
itself from the stress of it all Harry gathered his Gryffindor courage and
stood up. "Severus, I know this is a little abrupt but-"
Snape slumped in his seat, covering his eyes with both his hands. He looked so
tired, "Merlin please, just... don't."
Incensed Harry snapped an angry, "I haven't said anything yet!"
"As if I don't know what you're going to say, Potter," The potions master
sneered, "some deluded little lie about me being the love of your life just so
you can sleep with the greasiest professor in Hogwarts and tell the tale."
Harry stiffened, "Is that really what you think sir?" He hisses furiously,
"That the only reason I would snog you was for a lark?" He shook his head and
stepped closer to Snape, who immediately tried to shuffle further into his
couch like a frightened animal. "Severus, I think you're a witty, intelligent
man with striking good looks and a gentleness you like to hide." Harry smiled
fondly at the man, the inside of his chest felt like the frantic beating of a
thousand butterfly wings as he realized how true his words were to him. "I find
you attractive despite how frustrating you can be, and while I may not be in
love with you or anything I do know I love spending time with you. You make me
smile and feel... things."
God, how did he not see this before? Fuck he was blind. And stupid. Stupidly
blind.
His smile widened and his cheeks burned as he says quietly, "Severus, I really
do like you. I, well, I think we-"
Severus closes his eyes, "Stop." He says hoarsely and stands up, gently pushing
Harry away from his person, "I don't want to hear any more of this."
It felt like someone shoved cold slime down Harry's back, the icy realization
of Severus' words doesn't hit him fast but cruelly slow, sliding down and
clinging to every crack and hole in his head. He was rejecting him. He was
rejecting him.
Snape was rejecting him.
"...what?" Harry croaked weakly. He's never been rejected, not like this, and
certainly not feeling what he does now. It hurts.
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
"You're young Harry," Snape says quietly, his eyes refusing to meet the younger
wizard's. "You're young and too warped to understand, but this is wrong." The
professor states firmly.
"I," Harry was speechless. Harry was confused. Harry was beingrejected. Turned
down. Pushed away. "I," What does he say? What should he say? He feels dizzy
and his throat feels like it's collapsing onto itself. "I am not a child." Is
all his wobbling voice manages to protest. Which, really ruined the whole point
of that sentence.
The older man just gave him a forlorn look of what Harry assumes is pity. "You
are a child, a mature one I must admit, but a child nonetheless. Did you really
think I would actually say yes?" It's like Severus was looking for new ways to
make the metaphorical wound in Harry bleed faster. "Grow up Harry."
"How," Harry was mortified to find his breath catch in his throat and all the
warning signs of a quickly impending breakdown blaring in his mind. The young
wizard bit his lip and turned away. He can't help Snape brutally rejecting him,
but he'll be damned if he bloody cried in front of him too.
He has some pride. Not a lot recently. But still.
"Fuck you." Harry spat before walking purposely away.
"Where are you going?" Snape demands, and Harry almost turned back in his
sudden irrational rage at the fucking gall of the man. Can't he see how stung
Harry was? The professor had done his damage, the least he could do is leave
him to brood and lick his wounds however way Harry deemed fit.
"A walk." he hissed shortly before adding venomously, "Don't look for me."
Ashamed and angry at Snape as well as himself, Harry ran out of the quarters
before he could burst into tears like a child who had just lost their favorite
toy. And Harry refused to shed a single tear in front of Snape, further
demeaning himself and proving the other's point on his lack of maturity. Snape
didn't call for him to come back. He shouldn't have expected the man to, but
somehow just that inaction really salted the wound.
God, Snape. He didn't realize how much he wanted the professor till now, and
now that he's more aware of these… emotions he's already been turned down. It's
all a horrible hex to the face is what it is.
So there he was, sniffling like some pathetic heartbroken asshole while
wandering the halls of the school aimlessly at night. The night sky was
cloudless and beautiful and Harry wished it would break and fall down onto the
earth and it's muck just so it can look even a little like what he was feeling
right now.
"Mr. Potter?" Harry looked up, eyes blurry from his tears and realized in his
angst that he had failed to pay attention to his surroundings and now must pay
the price.
"Professor McGonagall," he croaked out weakly, wincing at the way his voice
shudders and wobbles like the final leaf in fall. It's embarrassing and the
prickle of this last act of humiliation on top of everything that completely
topples over his pride as he bursts into tears.
===============================================================================
"Oh Severus." Poppy Pomphrey sighed, "Tell me you didn't say those exact words
you'd just said to me."
Snape stayed sulkily silent. He didn't know what possessed him to firecall the
mediwitch when Harry had stormed out in near tears. He had been.. frazzled at
the unexpected turn of events that was all. Yes, frazzled. An apt if rather
understating description to his heart beating faster than a snitch's wings when
Harry had confessed to him before Snape had brutally strangled it to silence as
he turned him down.
Merlin, who says being good is rewarding? Snape has been trying to do good for
years and all he has to show for it now is frown lines, grey hairs, cohorts of
students that despise him and now a broken fucking heart of his own making. He
loathes his life.
"Severus," A sympathetic Pomphrey hands him a cup of tea. He takes it and sips
it, uncaring of how hot it burns his mouth. "Maybe it wasn't as bad as you
thought."
"Yes Poppy," The professor sneered, but even his caustic tone was half-hearted
at best, "Because running out of a room crying is always the best sign for
one's continued friendship with the other."
The older woman winced before drinking from her own cup. "I see…" Tentatively
she asks, "And how are you feeling Severus?"
He glares at her but then he sighs, what anger he could manage to gather
slipping through his fingers like water. It wasn't like he hadn't invited the
witch for possibly this very reason anyway. She already knew his less than pure
feelings toward the boy. "Possible worse than when I ruined my friendship with
Lily." Snape confesses begrudgingly. He may be willing to unload his feelings
onto the woman this time but that doesn't mean it won't feel like vomiting out
his own teeth to do so, "But Harry's young. Extremely underage to be precise.
Not to mention a history of abuse and far too many murders to be even remotely
healthy mentally."
Poppy hummed into her tea, "Yes, he does seem to be pretty blasé with injury,
death, and sex from what I've been hearing through the Hogwarts grapevine. It's
why he broke it off with Percy you know?"
"Do tell." Snape says, self-loathing pushed away for the moment in favor of his
piqued interest, he may have ruined his own chances at the young Potter but
it's nice to hear how someone else has done so too. Schadenfreude and all that.
Eying the potions master's glittering intrigue disapprovingly, the mediwitch
started talking. "I overheard them, back then. Not one of the worst breakups in
the hospital wing but certainly rather painful nonetheless." She sighs, "It's
clear to me that Harry, Mr. Potter, has issues with understanding the softer
emotions of life. He seemed to have it in his head that sex was important if
the whole reason for a romantic relationship. It's, not the sort of thinking I
would expect from a child."
"Yes, well, if he had both the mentality and body of a child I'm fairly sure I
wouldn't have had the unfortunate realization of me being such a depraved
pervert," Severus replies droll and self deprecatingly for lack of anything
else to say.
"Get over yourself Severus, we've both acknowledged that you're a sick
pedophile who apparently believes in the muggle phrase 'Go Big or Go Home.'"
Madam Pomfrey sighed. Because Harry Potter may only be thirteen, but he's one
of the most sought-after individuals in the magical community, a wizarding
celebrity and since a few months ago, a globally recognized medical anomaly.
Witch Weekly had a poll and Harry had ended up usurping Lockhart's title of
Best Smile while also gaining a few new ones such as Number One Wizard to have
their First Kiss with, Number One Wizard to want in their Family, and Nicest
Eyes.
(Unbeknownst to the mediwitch, some of the less savory wizarding magazines too
had done polls with Harry Potter in them. Recently he had unknowingly won an
Honourable mention for Cutest Twink, Third Nicest Arse, and Number One Guilty
Fantasy About.)
"The point is, in my professional opinion-"
"Of general practicing medimagic." Snape snidely mutters. Madam Pomphrey
bravely ignores the urge to strangle.
"Mr. Potter is less inclined to romance than to sex, whether it's upbringing or
just the way he is, I fear that the boy's heart is wary of true emotion. I
believe the muggles can tentatively label this as demiromantic." The potions
master says something very uncomplimentary about Pomphrey's professional
opinion under his breath. Oh, she was going to enjoy her next words. "I think
your overly romantic to the point of obsessive nature might do some good for
his stubborn heart really."
Snape choked on his own saliva.
"I'm sorry, what?"
The older witch smirked, "All I'm saying is, in most cases I would frown at
such a relationship, but I also think if you don't scoop the goldfish up
sometime soon, you'll find that someone else will scoop up that goldfish and
then you wouldn't have the goldfish. Understand?"
The potions master stared. "…No."
They both decided to resume this conversation at a more reasonable time. Snape
quietly resolves to never bring it up again.
Madam Pomphrey, unfortunately, had made no such promise and had taken to
leaving books of wizarding homoerotic fiction nearby his person as well as
guides to the art of pleasurable homosexual relations.
And maybe Severus might have read a few chapters. Maybe he studies them a bit
too intensely late at nights in the comfort and privacy of his bedroom. It's
not like he doesn't know how much of a horrible human being he already is. At
least he'll be a prepared one.
===============================================================================
From realizing he was, well 'in love' was a strong word but the most fitting
one at this moment, and kissing the subject of his desire to crying in front of
one of his more respected teachers in a deserted hallway at night. It's amazing
how quickly and how far one could fall in a span of fifteen minutes.
"Oh, Harry," the transfiguration Professor gasps, more than a little befuddled
at the sudden tears. She's never even seen the young wizard shed a tear when
the topic of his abusive childhood came up, just a nonchalant embarrassment at
best, so the sight of a sobbing Harry Potter in the middle of her patrols
startlingly unexpected. Admittedly she was a little at a loss on what to do.
"Shhhhh... Harry, shhhh. Why don't you tell me what's wrong?"
What she got in response was rather incoherent blubbering, though she suspects
that the teenager was being overdramatic and inserting random words in there to
make himself sound incoherent. Because she's fairly sure that a 'jellyfish' and
'quackers' do not belong with 'Snape,' 'git,' 'reject,' and 'spineless'. Fairly
sure. Actually, spineless jellyfish would make sense and, what was she doing?
There was a crying student in need!
"Let's go to my office," McGonagall says soothingly, Harry just nodded as he
tried to wipe his constantly falling tears. "Come along then."
It doesn't take long, thank whatever Harry's god is. It's almost unnerving how
sad Harry had been the whole time, he had stopped crying for the most part but
there was still a few weepy sniffles interjected in the somber silence.
"Now," The transfiguration professor says once they had finally settled into
their respective seats- her in her usual chair and Harry across her office
desk. "From the top please Mr. Potter."
Harry sniffled again. Merlin his eyes are so big and watery and adorable.
Minerva almost feels bad for thinking that it was possibly one of the boy's
cutest expressions she had ever seen. She could shove Harry in front of He Who
Shall Not Be Named with that teary-eyed face and the woman was fairly sure the
evil psychopath would have keeled over from the sheer pure pretty of it all.
"I… I kissed Professor Snape."
The transfiguration professor silently screams in her head. "….I see." Is all
she says outwardly.
"You… have to promise not to tell anyone," Harry says, his voice still wobbly
and scratchy from his previous weepy outburst.
"Of course I will," McGonagall promises seriously while cursing inwardly. She
so wanted to tell someone. Dumbledore maybe. Or one of the other female
teachers. Poppy had this ridiculous idea that Severus was going to be the one
to make the first move. Damn teacher-student confidentiality. Damn it to wizard
hell.
As if sensing her inner conflict, the teen wizard raised a brow. Awkwardly the
older witch coughed. "Yes, so, you kissed Severus you say?" She says,
effectively moving back onto the very, very interesting subject at hand. This
was so much better than her novellas. Maybe she should write her own? She
certainly had a lot of material.
"He-" Harry looked suspiciously at her, "Okay, look, you really have to swear
on, well not your magic but something okay?"
Damn the Slytherin in the boy. Damn it to wizard hell.
"Fine." She sighs irritatedly, taking out her wand and saying monotonously, "I
swear on my catnip whatever you say shall not leave this room without your
permission, so mote it may be."
Green eyes, still a tad watery, glittered in amusement, "Catnip professor?
Really?"
"It's very expensive my stash." The older witch defends, her catnip is exported
from Brazil and of the highest-class dammit, "Don't change topic Mr. Potter."
The wizard savior slumps in his seat, his faintly amused smirk sliding off into
something more forlorn and embarrassed, "I, he was talking a bit about how… he
was opening up to me, see? And it was like my lungs were twisted around my
heart and I just, just... couldn't help myself."
Harry looks away, shifting uncomfortably. "I thought, maybe, well," He laughs a
little bitterly, "Obviously it doesn't matter what I thought, I was wrong
anyway."
McGonagall gives her student a sympathetic look, it wasn't like she hadn't had
her fair share of rejections. Then again, she didn't exactly have the same
background as Harry did either. "Humor me, tell me what you thought."
"I thought he wanted me." Harry confesses, "He kissed back a little you know?
And why else would he have put up with me and all the trouble I made the past
two years?"
"Oh Harry, that's not why, that's not tru- wait, what did you say in the middle
there?"
The teen blinked, "He kissed me back?"
McGonagall blinked, "Huh." That did explain quite a bit actually. And made
things exponentially more complicated. Interesting, but complicated. "Well,
either way, just because an adult person takes care of you or treats you
nicely, doesn't necessarily mean that they are looking for, well, that with
you."
Merlin, she's taught students for decades and never had she found herself in
the position of explaining why nice people don't expect sexual favors from
minors to a student. Harry narrows his eyes.
"Well, I certainly wasn't going to give them eternal life." The teen muttered
petulantly. McGonagall chose to ignore that overdramatic statement as typical
teenage snark. She sighs and massages her forehead.
"You don't have to give them anything." She tries again, "Not everyone does
nice things because they want something Mr. Potter."
"Obviously, that's why some people do badthings to get what they want," Harry
scoffed, rolling his eyes irritatedly. The transfiguration professor felt the
reaction rather unfair since she was the one who wanted to do that to him.
"Really professor, I know how the world works."
"I'm trying to help you," She says in a strong show of patience despite it not
exactly being much of a strength of hers. That was more Pomona's expertise.
Everything about this was Pomona's expertise. Where the fuck was the Hufflepuff
when Minerva needed her? "Are you sayingI'm trying to get something out of
you?"
The Boy Who Lived leaned back on his seat, now that the tears were more or less
dried the curling of ire and anger was creeping in his eyes. It doesn't help
that the teen was probably exhausted from the whole thing. "Let's see," Harry
hisses, "You're getting paid as a professor for this, you could benefit even
without telling people by sidestepping the truth a little to circulate new
gossip and betting material, you could get satisfaction from gaining weaknesses
of the Boy Who Lived, you could blackmail me, you could blackmail Snape, you
coul-"
"OKAY." The witch says forcefully, a headache coming on as well as a sick
feeling in her gut. Harry has hidden his cynicism well it seems. Dumbledore got
off too lightly with his shattered bowl of stupid lemon drops. "I get it Mr.
Potter. The point here is, I could gain all those.. things you had just
artfully described but I won't. Because this is what being a good person is.
I'm sure you do nice things all the time without expecting repayment from your
friends."
"I expect my friends' continued friendship for the nice things I do." Harry
states so blandly the professor didn't know if she wanted to laugh, cry or pull
her hair out. Harry just gives her a Look. The sort she usually gives to
impertinent young students who should really know better than to tease the
Giant Squid. "Everything has a price Professor. The exchange may not
necessarily be equivalent but the exchange is there nonetheless."
"You... make me sad." She finally says defeatedly. Harry grinned crookedly,
though it wasn't a very victorious smile, just one of steady acceptance. Which,
is probably worse. "Okay, maybe you have a point, but Harry, I think we both
know you're straying from the subject at hand again."
"Fuck." Harry muttered petulantly.
"Five points from Slytherin," Minerva says because she, like Severus, finds
great pleasure in the expressions of students when they dock points. "Potter,
please, it's almost midnight, we've been talking for at least twenty minutes
and the only thing that's happened is you said you kissed your professor and
I've lost a little faith in the world."
"I don't know about you Professor but that sounds like a rather productive
conversation if you ask me."
"Potter." Oh, Merlin, she was getting flashbacks. It's hard to remember that
Harry was James Potter's son what with his great academics and only a few
disruptions to the classroom under his belt- they weren't really even his
fault! Then he goes and says these things and she remembers.
The teen sighs, looking older than he should be, "What do you want me to say,
professor? I got rejected because I'm childish and immature and just saying it
out loud is like shrapnel dancing up my throat."
"I know you're hurting Harry," She says softly, carefully, "But Professor Snape
is a fully grown wizard, the same age as your father even, while you are a
child under the eyes of the law. I think you may have been a bit too hasty if
you do not mind me saying."
Harry bites his lip, as if he wanted desperately to argue with that but didn't
know how to. Well unless he brought up the whole immortal being of death thing
but he rather used that only for actual dire emergencies. And as dire as this
was for his squishy little heart, it wasn't exactly a 'reveal your true
identity now' emergency.
"I really do like him, Professor." He confesses softly, he looks so small and
vulnerable and confused as he does, as if he still couldn't really believe it
himself, "I've never, I don't think I've ever felt this way about anyone."
"Do you.. love Severus?" Merlin just the concept was mind boggling.
The young wizard hesitates before carefully replying. "... I don't think I've
ever known love to be perfectly candid Professor. Not personally. I know
attraction, affection, and lust well enough I guess. Comradeship and friendship
I get, more or less. But love is, well, it's a different beast to me. I know
it's out there but I don't know if it's for me." Briefly, Harry thinks of his
past, Death's past, before he pushes it violently away. He doesn't think his
new sensitive human emotions could take that sort of trip down memory lane. Not
without a ton of chocolate at least. And one of those cheesy romantic comedies
that he does not secretly sometimes watch in his realms when he feels a little
grey.
He lowers his eyes to his lap, fingers twisting against each other as he says,
"All I know is, I feel.. warm with him Professor McGonagall. It's like," He
waves his hands vaguely as if that would help properly convey the emotions he
barely understands much less voice, "Like choking on electrified fairy dust
while being pierced in the heart by boiling unicorn blood."
The woman furrows her brow, clearly not expecting that metaphor.
"That was meant in a good way," Harry insists.
"I'll take your word for it." She replies dryly before going back to looking
serious. "Harry, I appreciate your honesty with me, and to be perfectly candid,
I do not disapprove the idea of the two of you engaging in romantic relations,
even though I really should be." It helps that she now knows that Severus has
the morality and self-control to resist Harry's charms and push him away. "But
if the man has turned you down, I think you should respect his wishes. Maybe
wait until you're of less.. objectionable age."
Harry was about to nod sadly because that made sense but then he stopped, a
thought struck him. Did Snape explicitly turn him down? Now that he thought
about it closely, he realized that the man never said that he, well, maybe he
had, but. But.
But the man had kissed him back. That meant something right?
"No," now that tears were dried, Harry could feel his thoughts unfog and clear
from the haze that his emotions had clouded him with. Green eyes glittered
calculatingly as he began to think a little more logically, "I mean yes, I was
rash. But I don't think he had outright rejected me. Not in like, complete
disgust or anything. Professor Snape is a cautious man and I scared him off."
The last part was said a little disbelievingly. No one's ever rejected Death,
not really. And even less have rejected Harry Potter, save for the Dursleys of
course, but they hardly counted as flobberworms in his opinion. The idea that
someone he genuinely desires, especially so strongly, does not like him back
is, and probably will always be, a little baffling.
Then again, Harry's fairly sure Snape wouldn't have been half as intriguing as
he was to Harry if he had just rolled over and begged like the rest of them.
Harry smiled wickedly, Professor McGonagall instinctively shuffled further away
from him. "Potter? You have a very… concerning look on your face."
"Oh, this?" His wicked smile turned into a full-fledged manic grin. "This is my
idea face Professor, and I've just had a very delightful one indeed." He
cackled. Yes, he couldn't afford to waste time being mopey and angsting like
some sniveling human teenager. He was Death. Powerful, feared and yet desired
by all.
Harry's going all about this the wrong way, he shouldn't have expected such a
stubborn human like Severus to bend to his will so easily, to fall onto his
knees eagerly like everyone else. Severus would fight, armed with his sharp
tongue, his self-loathing and his odd yet strict morality, and it was up to
Harry to rise up to the occasion this time.
He's let the soft gooey parts of Potter take far too much control these last
few months. It's all well and good to play the human but there was always such
a thing as getting too deep into your role after all. Romantic affection for
Snape, even Mr. Riddle in hindsight, has made him soft, submissive in a way
that really he usually only prefers in matters of the bedroom. But not now, not
for this.
Harry's not going to wait for the damn man to change his mind, he's going to
change it for him.
With patience, understanding-
and seducing the fucking socks off the man.
Harry cackled again. He's never had to really hunt for his meal before but the
idea is lighting up his blood like a match to a straw house. Oh, Harry dearly
hopes Snape was ready because the young wizard was going to make the man regret
fucking with him. By fucking him.
In a far much better mood than before, Harry hugged the deeply perturbed
Gryffindor Head of House. "Thank you, Professor McGonagall," He gushes, "I know
what I must do now."
"Yes, well," The older witch says a little weakly, "Let's not kill anyone shall
we Mr. Potter?"
Harry laughed, McGonagall really was funnier than most people gave the stern
woman credit for, "I'll do my best," He says before strolling out of her office
with a skip in his step and a jaunty tune to his whistle.
Professor McGonagall watches him leave quietly. Only once the incredibly
haunting whistling was tuned out did she shake her head, "Goodness, I do hope
that boy never decides to go for world domination or anything like that." She
mutters, shuddering at how, for a second there, when the young teen had looked
at her with that grin on his face, he had looked… Powerful.
The wizard savior was a god, a mighty beast, a king and something far greater
at that moment. Chilling and yet terrifyingly comforting, like a heavy blanket
suffocating her. Suddenly she felt far less concerned for Harry in this
possible relationship and much more worried for Severus.
"Well better Severus than the entire wizarding world." She sighs as she summons
a cup of tea. "Merlin help that stubborn git though."
===============================================================================
The morning after was not as awkward as Snape had feared. More baffling than
anything as it turned out.
Harry'Casts shield charms around his potion cauldron at all times' Potter,
Harry 'I will burn every diary in my sight' Potter, Harry 'Smith will earn my
forgiveness the moment every coin in his vault is unwisely spent and the meat
on his face melts from his bones' Potter was making him breakfast. Well, that
little house elf so enamored with Potter was doing most of the work but Harry
was cooking the omelets so the potions master figured it counts. They did look
like very tasty omelets.
"…Harry?" The older wizard calls out warily because he is now convinced that
somehow this is a trap. Even if, best case scenario Harry had flung himself
onto Snape as some sort of sick joke- which the man immediately feels a little
guilty about thinking- the young wizard would still not have taken such a harsh
rejection so lightly. Not many people would. Especially ones with pride as high
as Harry's. Snape expected the silent treatment at the very least.
Harry turns around and, well, Snape's heart can't help but stop a little. The
young wizard's eyes are still red-rimmed from his tears last night but he's
smiling, smiling like he had just heard the best news in the world and wanted
to tell everyone about it. And here Snape was, in the middle of his sitting
room in his dark green nightgown and matching slippers like an asshole, wishing
fervently to be the one Harry told it to.
"Severus." Harry greets warmly if a touch too intensely. The Slytherin picks up
on the odd note in his voice but fails to do anything about it as he's quickly
ushered into one of his seats on the small round dining table he has and
flourished with a rather delectable looking breakfast feast. "Sit. Eat."
He sits. Then he watches Harry plate the omelet he was cooking and placed it in
front of him. There was Italian chorizo and feta with a sprinkle of finely
chopped spring onion. It was his favorite. Clearly, Harry was going to poison
him.
"It looks lovely." The professor compliments because one should never reveal
when one has suspicions of being poisoned. And it did look rather lovely. There
was a decorative design made with ketchup on it. Snape would like to assume it
was an attempt at some type of flower but it could have as easily been an
artistic interpretation of what his impending doom looked like. Still. Call him
biased but he still thought it quite charming.
Harry beamed brightly at the praise, and that was rather lovely and charming
too. Maybe Snape was already dead. Maybe Harry had killed him in his sleep and
somehow he had made it to heaven. "Cheers Severus, I hadn't done much cooking
for a while so I hope it's not too runny or anything." The young wizard rolled
his eyes pointed toward the house elf in the kitchen who was cleaning the
dishes whilst making waffles. "Dobby over there almost cried when I insisted to
help out, so if they're anything less than perfect I doubt I'll be allowed back
in there again." He half-joked.
"I shall do my best to be a generous critic then," Snape drawled despite his
confusion at the situation. Maybe Harry wasn't going to poison him? Tentatively
he takes a small bite out of the hot eggy dish, it's delicious if a tad runny
like Harry had worried about.
Luckily for the other wizard, Severus quite enjoyed his eggs a little runny. He
had decided this very thing just now. With a smile that felt odd belonging on
his face, the Slytherin swallowed and scooped up a noticeably larger mouthful
to savor in his mouth.
It's hot and gooey and deliciously salty. The older man enjoyed it immensely.
And that's when Potter struck.
"Is your cock proportional to your height?" Harry asks casually, all the while
staring intently at him with those glowing green eyes of his. "Because I would
think I would greatly enjoy gagging on it." Snape choked on his omelet. His
face burning both from shocked mortification and a genuine lack of oxygen.
The sly little vixen smiled superiorly at the reaction, though after a full
minute of Snape continuously coughing up egg, Harry began to look more
concerned. "Um, Severus? Are you-you're not actually dying are you?"
Well, at least that confirms that Harry had been purposely trying to murder him
via choking. Oh, how that warms his shriveled deoxygenated heart.
"Oh shit, shit! I'm sorry, water, where's the- here drink this."
Snape gratefully took the glass of water and drank it all. "I'm sorry," he
choked out sarcastically because his head was a little dizzy from all that
hacking and coughing, "I don't think I quite caught that."
Harry burst out laughing. It was breathy and a bit nervous but it was a
wondrous sound nonetheless. The older Slytherin wanted to bottle it up and
listen to it on his darkest of days. "Dobby, more water for Severus please?"
Dobby clicks his fingers and the cup in his hand slowly refills with water.
Huh. The potions master wasn't really aware they could do that. He drinks the
water, slower this time. This time he is more prepared for whatever Harry has
to say.
But fuck, now his mind is going to be putting the memory of Harry saying the
word 'cock' and 'gagging for it' on repeat for probably forever now. The
punishment is cruel as it is unusual. It oddly suits Harry's style.
"Well, I wasn't lying. About, well, what I said before." Harry sighs, slumping
back in his chair and taking a bite out of his waffle. He looks at Snape
seriously, determinedly, "I'm sorry for startling you, well, not really, I am
sorry for making you asphyxiate on your food though. But I will not retract my
statement, sir. I really do like you."
Marvelous. A repeat of yesterday and a confirmation that Potter thinks about
sucking his dick. Just what he needed. Snape points at the young teen with his
fork. "You are still a child." He sneers like he hasn't been fucking his fist
over said child for a very inappropriately long time considering. Snape thinks
the only person who could be a bigger hypocrite than him is if the Dark Lord
ended up being a half-blooded muggleborn or something.
Harry tilted his head up defiantly, "Children grow up." He sneers back, looking
regal even in his rebellion. "Don't you worry professor, by the time I hit
sixteen you'll be fucking me on this very table." The boy confidently predicts
as he shoots pointed glances down at the sturdy old piece of furniture. Snape
could not help but helplessly stare at it as well, imagining a sixteen-year-old
Harry spread out naked and bare just for him, coaxing him with a smirk.
It's… definitely an image.
"As cocky as your father I see." Is all he can croak out. Damn that whore James
Potter. He hopes the man is turning his grave knowing that his stupid charms
and general low morals were being utterly wasted on his son.
"Wouldn't know, never met the bloke." Harry shrugs, "But I have met you, and I
must say, anyone who had the stupidity to think you deserve to be bullied is
probably a right wanker and certainly not anyone I would've liked half as much
as I like you."
Fuck. Severus was not going to last until Potter's fifteenth birthday if the
boy kept saying things like this.
Quickly he tried to change the subject, lest he falls any further into his
depraved, maddening affections. "And this breakfast? Don't tell me this is your
cunning master plan." Never mind that it was working. Snape snorts derisively,
"Hardly would call it a plan really." More like an ambush of domestic
temptation.
For the first time, Harry blinked, confused. His brow furrowed in a manner one
might consider adorable if one was not Severus Snape. "But... the books always
say stuff like a way to a man's heart is through the stomach." Green eyes look
plaintively at the potions master. "And it doesn't mean by dismemberment or
physically maiming someone- I checked."
Poppy's words about Harry's lack of ability to understand the softer emotions
rang through Snape's head like warning bells. And yet here Harry was, trying,
like some ham-handed awkward fool to woo him in the most cliche of ways.
"Bloody precious boy," Snape muttered irritatedly fond under his breath because
he was above making cutesy cooing noises like a second year Hufflepuff at the
sight of a baby puffskein.
"What was that?"
"...nothing."
Merlin, forget fifteen, Snape would be lucky if he lasted a month.
===============================================================================
Heyy big brother,
While Snape is not who I would pick (because damn that Lucius bloke seems fine
as hell, also the twins, or Draco considering how his father turned out to be,
even that Lupin fellow-never mind, getting off topic as usual lol) I shall have
to take your word for it. Also, if you were hoping for some advice on how to
woo your professor in this letter, I'm sorry but I am shit out of stuff. Mainly
because I can only offer you love potion recipes and apparently that's a huge
no-no.
Not that I would know. After all, it's not like I have to work for my dates ;P
Chaos has given some very.. interesting suggestions but I hardly think doing
what he wants you to do with a milkshake on the couch is a great start to a
romantic relationship. Or any relationship really.
Presents are always nice- Love says they gotta come from the heart but I think
if it comes from a deep enough wallet that works just as well. I say get him
some nice rare potions ingredients, check out the Forbidden Forest since it's
always brimming with stuff, oh and take some basilisk scales and such from the
Chamber. The Black Lake has some pretty goodies too and- and now Fate is saying
I'm going to inadvertently spoil next year for you. That is so unfair, my words
should literally come first considering the world you're residing in right now!
Honestly, she is soo annoying, always acting like the mature older one, as if
she knows so much.
I do hope you come back soon, she listens to you. They all do. And Chaos is
especially grumpy recently, even I can't keep him entertained for long. He's
just all snippy and mopey. It's rather sad.
Life says the food and present ideas are very good for courting. You already
have a high social status which works in your favour as an attractive
individual, but she suggests maybe the problem is that your human does not see
your viability considering your young physical age. Showing the man that you
have many other potential mates should help in that regard. Also mating dances
and feats of strength to show that you can protect your future offspring.
… There's a whole essay about reproduction and mating tactics here. Life gets
pretty damn enthusiastic about all that stuff, though I'm sure you know all
about that. Though Love gave her thumbs up for some of the stuff, she laughed
about the rest but that's still a positive response right?
Yeah, a grain of salt may need to be taken.
Cheers and good luck with your attempt at a love life brother, hopefully, it
doesn't become as a big of a train wreck as Knowledge's last attempt at a
harem. There, there was a lot of tears that Knowledge was not emotionally
equipped to handle.
xoxo Magic
===============================================================================
Harry waves goodbye to the Slytherins to see Ron and Hermione for breakfast. It
wasn't like they weren't going to see each other in ten or so minutes anyway,
despite what Draco says. And it turns out since Harry's in Slytherin for the
whole year, the professors' decided to save all that hassle about Harry's
unique House-less situation and just put him on the usual Slytherin time table
for the core units. Which usually meant he shared time with the Gryffindors
too.
His choices of Care of Magical Creatures and Divination were apparently quite
popular, mainly because they were considered rather easy to pass so Harry
wasn't that surprised to see Draco and him matched class for class practically,
though the Malfoy heir was doing Arithamancy instead of Divination.
Fucking nerd.
"Wassup?" He greets.
Ron grins and gestures for Harry to sit by him, "Not much, Hermione here's
hogging our schedules."
"We're starting some of the new subjects today," is all she said happily. Ron
looks over her shoulder and frowns.
"Hey. They've messed up your timetable. Look- your down for about ten subjects.
There isn't enough time in the day."
Harry frowns as well, he cranes his head to see the girl's timetable and sure
enough, the thing is filled with black ink of a lot of writing. "This morning
at nine o'clock you have Divination and Muggle studies and…" He squints.
Ron laughed, "And Arithmancy?!" He finishes for Harry. "Seriously how are you
going to be in three classes at once?"
"Don't be silly," said Hermione shortly. "Of course I won't be in three classes
at once. Now pass the marmalade."
"But..."
"Ron, what's it to you if my timetable's a bit full?" Hermione snapped, Ron
looked startled at the sudden aggressiveness, Harry narrowed his eyes. For
someone as eager to explain literally everything, refuse to do just that meant
secrets were afoot. "I told you, I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."
Before Harry could begin his own subtle interrogation- for he had no interest
camping out in the hospital wing for the third year in a row- Hagrid entered
the Great Hall. He was wearing a long overcoat made out of what seemed to be
moleskin, an odd choice in Harry's personal opinion but not as odd as Hagrid's
choice of accessory- a dead polecat that he swung absentmindedly in his hand.
Not that Harry should really talk. He remembers a time when he had thought it
the height of fashion to be draped in dead animal remains. Furs, teeth, bone.
Nowadays he prefers a more modest, sleek shadowy appearance but occasionally he
took out a few claws and fangs for a wilder look. God, he had the cutest
necklace of eyeballs Chaos had given him that really brought out his own lack
of them.
"Mornin'" Hagrid greeted them eagerly on his way to the staff table. "Yer in my
firs' ever lesson! Right after lunch! Been up since five getting' everthin'
ready... hope it'll be okay... wot with me bein' a teacher... hones'ly..."
He grinned broadly at them and bid a cheery goodbye, still swinging the very
dead polecat. Harry cannot judge. He used to keep revive dinosaur skeletons and
keep them as pets. He named one of them Bones, and another Skeletor. Harry
cannot judge. He cannot... but... it's so tacky.
Damn. He judged.
"Wonder what he's been getting ready with?" Ron murmured to Harry with an
audible note of anxiety. Clearly he still hasn't fully forgiven the half-giant
about Aragog. Harry can't blame him. He still gets the occasional plate-sized
spider literally dropping in on him. Draco, Nott and even Zabini shrieked like
a bitch the first time it happened. It was probably the only thing that got Ron
back on speaking terms with Hagrid again.
===============================================================================
Divination was in the North Tower. Like the most north tower to ever north.
Despite two years at Hogwarts none of them had ever been there, and Harry would
like to point out that there were plenty of closer empty towers to have placed
the class in. Goodness knows Harry's been thrown off of several by the damned
castle. The journey to North Tower was a long, arduous one, especially for his
weak body. Well, everyone's weak bodies. God they all needed to do some serious
cardio because Quidditch and study marathons just do not cut it.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," Harry whined as another staircase appeared,
disrupting their short but sweet horizontal platform they had been walking on.
This was the seventh staircase. Seventh.
"There's- gotta- be- short- cut," Ron panted, "kill- me- please."
"Where the hell is Voldemort when you need a psycho?" Harry grouches as they
begin their assent once again.
'Right here.'An amused Mr. Riddle pipes up. 'Oh, wow that is a lot of foul
language, you kiss those dementors of yours with that mouth?'
"I think- it's- oh Merlin- this way," Hermione groans as they finally reached
the landing, peering down an empty passage to the right.
"Can't be," Ron complains breathily. "That's- uh, south. Look- ow my sides- you
can see a bit of the bloody lake outside the window..."
Before they could start to bicker, Harry takes out his wand, places it flat on
his hand and growls out an impatient, "Point me, Divination classroom."
' Smart.'
' Shut the fuck up Riddle.'
The wand jumps into action, as eager as any house elf, arguably more so since
Harry actually uses house elves more than he does his wand. The green-eyed
wizard would feel worse about that if the last time he had tried using that
magical piece of wood had involved an explosion of glitter than Seamus and the
Weasley twins had been jealous about. You could still get smudges of the shiny
dust onto your robes if you leaned on the wrong wall sometimes.
"That way," Harry grunts, pointing at the direction of his wand and wondering
if it wasn't too soon for him to change subjects as there in the distance was
another staircase. Ron and Hermione groaned.
To make matters worse, apparently, this was the area of the castle Sir Cadogan
was painted in.
"My dark maiden!" The knight greets boisterously as they pass by his painting.
"What did he just call you?" Hermione whispered.
"Ignore the crazy painting," Harry grits out, because he was tired and cranky
and has no desire to play any fair princess unless someone literally sweeps him
off his terribly sore feet. "Come on."
"Ah, how you wound me my delicate black rose. Your thorns are as sharp as your
words indeed."
Hermione and Ron giggled at the knight's dramatics, even Harry could feel his
mouth quirking a little in a smile. It's a nice reprieve from everyone's
whining and complaints anyway.
"Listen," Harry says, taking advantage of his brief good humor to find his
politeness that's been hiding under all his muscle pain, "we're looking for the
Divination classroom. A brave adventurous knight such as yourself must know the
way yes?"
"Yes! A quest!" Sir Cadogan yelled victoriously, he clanked his metal feet in
joy, "Come follow me my evil queen and servants, for we shall find our goal, or
else perish bravely for the sake of the journey!" He jumped on a comically fat
pony. Harry really has to wonder about wizard painters sometimes. "Onwards! To
adventure!"
And then the knight ran out of the portrait frame and to another.
"I am not evil." Harry says offended as they began chasing after the very
inconsiderate knight. Cadogan hasn't looked back once to check on them the
wanker.
"I see you're not denying the queen part of that statement." Hermione observes,
earning a two fingered salute.
"Why were we called the servants?" Ron complained as they ran, "We could've
been knights too!"
"Yeah, from the, ugh, way you're puffing I'm sure knighthood was clearly the
obvious choice."
"Cheers." Ron sarcastically says while gasping for air.
"This is it!" Cried, Sir Cadogan. The trio moaned as the painted knight
brandished his sword toward some very tightly spiraling steps, "Venture forth
and you shall find the treasure you seek! Till we meet again my shadow maiden
and her slaves!"
"Great, we got demoted." Ron muttered sourly. "Arse."
Finally, finally, they began to hear the voices above them and knew they had
reached the classroom.
They climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a tiny landing, where most of
the class was already assembled. There were no doors, but a circular trapdoor
with a plaque on that read, 'Sybill Trelawney, Divination teacher'.
As if sensing the students, the trapdoor suddenly opened, and a silvery ladder
descended right at their feet.
"Ughhhh." Climbing. Just what his legs needed.
"After you." Ron grinned, seeing Harry's obvious distaste.
"You just want to see my arse." Harry shot back, causing the redhead to
immediately make a face.
"Not bloody likely mate."
Hermione and Harry both giggled.
"Suuure," says the wizard savior with a flirtatious wink, "I get it, we'll keep
it on the down low."
"Wha- what does that even mean?!" Ron spluttered red-faced as Harry began to
climb up the ladder.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" The Boy Who Lived to Harrass pointedly wiggled his
hips as he did, causing Hermione to shriek in laughter at Ron's expression.
"WELL I BLOODY WELL DON'T NOW!"
===============================================================================
Professor Trelawney was like this sparkly, scarf covered praying mantis wannabe
gypsy. Like, Harry wanted to know if the woman realised her glasses made her
eyes ten times bigger than they should be. Because they do.
"Sit, my children, sit," she tells the still panting, sweaty trio.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione awkwardly sat themselves around the same round table
as the other students there seems to have already taken the other spots. Harry
needs to ask how everyone else got there before them because fuck, he will cut
open a goat and stuff a squirrel in it's stomach to never go through that
again. He assumes he would get used to the exercise later, especially when his
body stops being such a weak bitch about everything but the point still stands.
At least the chair was comfy and plush.
"Welcome to Divination," Professor Trelawney intones in a suitably mysterious
manner, who had seated herself in a winged armchair in front of the fire. A
fireplace and armchairs? Divination must be a good subject to warrant all these
luxuries damn. "My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me
before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main
school clouds my Inner Eye."
Intriguing. Harry couldn't see if a person has an inner eye or the 'sight' like
Fate could but he has met a few people with the gifts.
"So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical
arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is
very little I will be able to teach you... Books can take you only so far in
this field..."
Harry nodded in agreement, well at least she won't garner any false hopes or
anything. Though it is quite questionable on how they manage to examine this
subject if this is the case.
Hermione, in contrast, seemed absolutely startled at the news that books would
not help her this time. Ron snickered quietly.
Trelawney then honed in on Neville,
"You boy, is your grandmother well?"
"Um, I, uh think so?" he answered wide eyed. The woman tuts and looks at him
pityingly.
"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you, dear." Neville gulped and tried to ask
for more information but the professor had already moved on to address the
class again. "We will be covering the basic methods of Divination this year.
First term will be devoted to reading tea leaves. Next we'll progress to
palmistry, fire omens and then finally the crystal ball. Unfortunately, classes
will be disrupted in February by a nasty bout of flu. I myself will lose my
voice. And around Easter, one of our number will leave us for ever."
"Yes, me." Hermione muttered under her breath, "What's the point of even coming
if not all of us can learn from this?"
"Because some of us can get an easy O?" Ron whispers back with a grin while
Trelawney terrifies Lavender Brown with some prediction about something.
"Now, I want you all to divide into pairs." She tells everyone after telling
one of the Patil twins that a redheaded bloke would bring them misfortune.
"Collect a teacup from the shelf, come to me, and I will fill it. Then sit
down, drink, drink until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup
three times with the left hand, then turn the cup upside down on its saucer,
wait for the last of the tea to drain away, then give your cup to your partner
to read. You will interpret the patterns using pages five and six of Unfogging
the Future. Oh, and dear," the professor catches Neville by the arm as he
begins to stand up, "after you've broken your first cup, would you be so kind
as to select one of the blue patterned ones? I'm rather attached to the pink."
Harry looked a little impressed as Neville immediately broke a cup. Either she
was the real deal or she was good.
"I'll pair with Neville," Hermione tells them, "It looks like he needs some
support." They all looked at the trembling boy staring at the dustpan the
professor had summoned for him.
"Um, maybe I should pair up with him." Harry volunteers. Because while the two
were on better standing now, one does not just lightly forgive another for
trying to body bind oneself in first year completely, no matter how nice one
is. Ron, as if reading his thoughts, nodded in agreement.
"Yeah, besides, I forgot where I put my Unfogging the Future text Mione." Ron
says, which effectively got the girl's attention before she began to argue
back. As she began to nag the redhead about responsibility, Harry went down to
Neville and patted his shoulder sympathetically.
Wandlessly summoning two blue teacups, he passes one to the boy. "Come on,
compared to the messes we get up to in Potions, this is nothing."
The Gryffindor smiled weakly at that, "T-that's true huh?"
"Yeah but the professor in potions is way hotter though." Harry couldn't help
but sigh wistfully.
Neville gave him an odd, slightly grossed out look, "You're.. a strange bloke
aren't you Harry?" Harry shrugged. At least the other boy wasn't shaking like a
tiny leaf in a storm now.
With their teacups filled, they went back to Neville's table, right next to Ron
and Hermione's and drunk the scalding tea as fast as they could. Well, Neville
drunk it down like it was an ice tea. Harry had a sensitive tongue okay. "Harry
I think you can stop blowing on your tea now." Neville comments amused as Harry
blows tiny, delicate puffs of cool air into his tea.
The Boy Who Lived tentatively stuck his tongue in the hot liquid before
immediately retracting it back. Secretly Neville thought it was rather cute, it
reminded him a bit of Trevor. Not that he would say that out loud. He wasn't
suicidal.
"Does the tea have to be hot when drunk?" Harry asks irritatedly. Neville
shrugs.
"I don't think so, as long as you drink it I guess it should be okay."
"Thank god." The raven haired wizard sighed and waved his hand over his teacup.
Neville could see the steam dissipating from the drink and felt a pang of
jealousy at the casual show of power. "Huh, this is pretty good tea." Harry
says, surprised, before immediately downing the whole thing.
They swilled the dregs around as instructed, then drained the cups and swapped
over.
"Okay," Harry squints at Neville's tea leaves. "I… don't know what I'm seeing."
"Merlin, good, I thought I was going to be the only one with not a clue." The
other wizard sighs in audible relief. They both grin at their shared
befuddlement.
"Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!"
Professor Trelawney cried through the gloom and smog of the class.
"Um, okay, broaden my mind or whatever," Harry repeats a little doubtfully,
"It's triangular which means," He flips to the pages in the text, "Oh! A
fortunate meeting and good luck. That sounds nice."
"I could definitely use some soon." Neville chuckles a little self-
deprecatingly, "Right, yours looks like a…" He frowns and turns the teacup the
other way round, "A cat or something I think. Apparently, it means that you've
got misfortune coming your way but you'll land on your feet eventually."
The wizard saviour hummed, "Not the best fortune ever but not the worst at
least. Do you think we can get more tea?"
"I don't think there's enough time in this class for you to finish blowing on a
second cup."
Harry laughed and pointed at the other with his cup playfully, "Mean." He
accused and Neville grinned shyly back. Then Professor Trelawney came up,
looking disapprovingly at the pair and snatched up the cup Harry had been
holding out.
"Let me see that, my dear." Everyone went silent, waiting for her verdict. She
swishes the cup and peers in as she announces her prediction. "An acorn,
unexpected but good fortune ahead my dear." She proclaims, causing Neville to
look incredibly pleased, Harry sent him a thumbs up. Good on him. He certainly
needs the confidence.
"Now, yours Mr. Potter," She declares, placing the teacup down and taking the
one in Neville's hands. The woman looks into it and furrows her brow. "Oh my,
yours is far more complicated, more dire, the falcon I see… my dear, you have a
deadly enemy."
The room breaks into hushed whispers, but the loudest of them all was none
other than in the table next to them.
"But everyone knows that," said Hermione, not even trying to hide her voice.
Professor Trelawney stared at her. "Well, they do," she defended. "Everybody
knows about Harry and You-Know-Who."
Harry and Ron stared at her. They've never heard her speak out to a position of
authority like that before, it's like if she doggy eared a page of a book or
something. It just wasn't done. She didn't even speak out to Snape when he was
being obviously unfair and biased in docking points. She set him on fire sure,
but she didn't talk back.
Professor Trelawney wisely did not reply or give any attention to the defiant
student, instead focusing on Harry's cup.
"The club... an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup... The skull...
danger in your path, my dear..." Trelawney gave the teacup a final turn in her
hands, gasped, and then screamed.
"Well clearly my year is going to go just fabulously," Harry sarcastically
said.
Professor Trelawney sank into a vacant armchair, her hand clutched around a
scarf nearest to her heart and her eyes closed as if the visions were too much
for her to handle. "My dear boy- poor dear boy- no- it is kinder not to say-
no, don't ask me..."
"What is it, Professor?" said Dean Thomas at once, because he's kind of a shit
that way. Everyone had got to their feet, and slowly they all crowded around
Harry and Neville's table, pressing close to get a good look at the cup.
"My dear," Professor Trelawney's huge eyes opened dramatically, every professor
was so fucking dramatic, seriously, what the fuck, "you have... the Grim."
"Huh." Harry says blandly. "Well, that's not great."
It seemed that was a rather big understatement, nearly everybody in the class
had clapped their hands to their mouths in horror. Only the muggleborns seemed
puzzled and confused.
"The Grim, my dear, theGrim!" cried Professor Trelawney, who looked shocked and
appalled at Harry's nonresponse. "The giant, spectral dog that haunts
churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen- the worst omen- of death!"
Harry had to fight very, very hard not to laugh in her face.
Well, she wasn't wrong.
Everyone was staring at Harry wide-eyed and with fearful pity, everyone except
Hermione, who had gotten up and moved around to the back of Professor
Trelawney's chair. "I don't think it looks like a Grim," she said flatly.
Professor Trelawney surveyed Hermione with a mounting dislike that could only
be compared to Hermione's own. "You'll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I
perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances
of the future." She replied, her usual misty tone sharp and scathing.
Now everyone was trying to see the grim in the teacup. Seamus Finnigan was
tilting his head at increasingly awkward angles while squinting. "It looks like
a donkey from here," he announced in all his thirteen years of wisdom.
"I still think that's a cat." Neville pipes up, looking at Harry supportively.
Harry grinned and winked back at him, causing the other boy to flush slightly.
Then in a loud voice he says, "I don't know, I think the professor is right. It
does look a bit like a grim." He puts on a 'woe is me' voice and sighs
mournfully, "It's such a tragedy that a beauty such as mine will be gone so
soon after being graced on this earth. I think the only way to distract me from
my impending doom is if all my Christmas and birthday presents for the next ten
years came to me early. You know, since I may die and all."
There's a silence, as no one really knows how to react to the blasé way the Boy
Who Lived had handled that. Then Ron snorts, "Yeah, I think I'll pass on
letting a teacup dictate the amount of presents I'm giving you next Christmas
mate."
Everyone burst out laughing, shoving a mock outraged Harry around playfully.
"I think we will leave the lesson here for today," said Professor Trelawney in
her mistiest voice. "Yes... please pack away your things..."
===============================================================================
One of the worst things about life was that you could produce so much damage in
a second, in a single movement- a raised hand swinging down, a push of a
button, a well placed word- but you couldn't do the same in reverse. Healing
was a long and arduous process that could not be counted in seconds or minutes.
Hours at best, decades at worst.
A good example of this was; it takes only a moment to stab someone with a
basilisk fang but it takes about three month and counting to slowly get over
it.
'Oh come on! You're still upset about that?!' Me Riddle complained.'Aren't you
a god?'
'If you think gods as a whole are forgiving, benevolent and don't hold grudges
to irrational extents then you have clearly not read any mythology of anything
ever.'Harry points out amused. He's more or less over the stabby thing, no
matter how annoying recovery was, but it doesn't hurt to keep the soul in check
now and again.'You're lucky you didn't do this to Hera or one of the Norse
ones.'
' I... are they here too?'
Harry paused and squintingly looked up at the sky. It's hard to feel out the
world while he was still anchored to the mortal flesh of mankind but there's
definitely something godlike out there, he wouldn't say it was a pantheon or
anything though. 'No, there might be a God but I'm fairly sure this time it's
one of those Christian types that just watch and complain about the world and
mourn about how it's headed whilst doing nothing about it.'
'Familiar with those types I see.' The hocrux comments with a cool interest.
'What do you mean by 'this time' by the way?'
'Multiverse theory, don't worry your pretty head about it yet,'Harry dismissed,
'and those types are Gods are unfortunately quite common. We created them in a
fit of our own apathetic wishes, some of it must've rubbed off when we weren't
looking.'
' Sometimes I don't know if listening to you ruin all my preconceived notions
is worth whatever this is.'
Harry laughed, 'You make it sound like you have a choice. How cute.'
Mr. Riddle sulked for the whole day after that as he had nothing to retort
with.
===============================================================================
The thing was, despite what Ron would say, Harry, does not go out looking to
shag every creature he crosses. For fucks sake, it was one centaur, one time.
That Ron was aware of. Would Harry say yes to a vampire or a werewolf or a
veela if they offered? Yes-well unless Severus finally accepts that Harry is
serious about trying out the whole dating thing again with him but that doesn't
seem like it's happening anytime soon so, yeah, Harry would accept.
But that still doesn't mean Harry goes actively searching for some sexy strange
in his life. No. It's not like the moment he steps out of the castle
unsupervised he goes out of his way to fuck a unicorn or to blow a dragon or
something. Harry is thirteen going on fourteen. He knows his body's
limitations... sort of... more like vaguely aware of them until he finds
himself in the hospital wing again.
The point is- getting humped by a grim was not his intention when he wanted to
take a nap by the Black Lake okay? It wasn't.
And yet here we are.
"Fucking intelligent horny bugger aren't you? Heavy too, shit." Harry grunts,
still groggy from his rudely, so incredibly rudely, awakened slumber underneath
the shade of a tree. The large shaggy beast of a dog lay on Harry's back, his
erection hot against the curve of Harry's ass. The only thing between the two
was a thin strip of cotton that was his underwear.
The dog growled, half-feral Harry assumes, but it sounded rather proud of
itself for managing to pull down the wizard's pants. It began rutting down
against Harry frantic and erratically like this was its first heat in years.
Now fully awake, and rather alarmed at this situation he has managed to
unwittingly fall into, Harry begins to try twisting out of the dog's hold. The
beast licks Harry's neck and then nips at his ear and fuck okay, that was a
little hot but there was no way he was going to shag a dog.
Call him old fashioned but Harry would rather he have a fellow being of the
same species take his human virginity ta very much. Preferably a sour faced
professor with hands that make Harry feel things.. many… things… But at this
point, he would settle for 'human'.
"Get off me!" He yells demandingly, his upper body twisting to try to shove the
huge dog with his thin arms. The grim whines piteously but since Harry was the
one getting humped at, Harry wasn't exactly in the mood to feel sympathetic.
It's odd that the animal wasn't listening to his demands, yet still felt the
sway of attraction and power, either the dog had been recently living in some
extenuating horrible circumstances or he was a- "Do not even THINK ABOU- off!
Off you brute!" He screams as the thin fabric of his underwear shifts lower on
his arse. "Off!"
Harry was wary about doing too much magic lest his frail mortal flesh does
something but it wasn't like his physical attributes could overcome the
creature alone. So he thinks maybe just a small nudge wouldn't be too much of a
problem. Just a small- and the grim goes flying. Fuck.
Well, it's not like Harry feels particularly regretful because that was a bad,
bad dog, but still. He needs to learn to fine tune his control again. That's
going tosuck.
"This is what happens when you skimp out on the dinner date mutt." The young
wizard spits as he pulls his pants up properly. Then, feeling immediately a
little guilty because now that he's less groggy from sleep and more focused, he
can see how thin the beast actually was. Matted dirty fur and bones he was.
Muttering annoyedly at how strange this world was, he summons Dobby and tells
him to give the grim a nice hot rare steak when he wakes. He tacks on the
dinner jibe as a message to pass on as well because mean or not, the dog did
jump him when he was asleep and that was so not cool.
"Tell him Harry Potter isn't pleased." He says to a nodding Dobby, looking at
Harry like he was speaking words of prophecy, "But if he barks twice and does
the begging position you, Dobby, will come to him and provide him food.
Understood Dobby?"
"Dobby understands." Dobby salutes with a smile, eager to please. "Dobby will
do exactly as Lord Death says."
"Yeah, right," He sighs, it's been a long week. "Well, at least you're not
doing it in front of other people like I told you."
"Should Dobby also kick the doggy in his special place?"
"…Go with your heart."
As Harry makes his way back to the castle, he curses to himself as he realises
something. Hopefully, not all Trewlawney's predictions won't be so literal the
next time.
Chapter End Notes
     SHOUT OUT TO THE TWO PEOPLE WHO GAVE ME A KO-FI.
     YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. AND WHAT YOU ARE, ARE STARS. CHEERS MATES!
     Also, others, please buy me a ko-fi. You can even request stuff- I
     mean, no guarantee or anything but lets be honest, money can be a
     nice motivator lol. I'm under the name Hweianime as usual :D
     https://ko-fi.com/hweianime/
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