Going On a Demon Hunting Trip

Disclaimer & Author's Note: I do not own Harry Potter, the world of Harry Potter, or any and all official characters from the Harry Potter series itself. J.K Rowling, the woman behind the series, owns this genre along with other companies and whatnot that help make this series enjoyable in the world. I do not own the Devil May Cry Series, the world of Devil May Cry, or any and all official characters from the video game series (and its animated series). Capcom has official contract of Devil May Cry. All I own is any form of Original Characters that show up as filler.

This story comes from another story I read... and the bold below is what the rest of this story is based off of, almost similar to Rorschach's Blot's Make A Wish fic, except mine goes in a COMPLETELY different direction. You'll understand by this introductory chapter...

"We will all need to do our best, stress and resources we have available to us, any contacts we know of; but we must find Harry Potter before his kidnappers lose their use for him," said Dumbledore gravely.

"Are we certain the egomaniacal twit didn't set this up?" grumbled Snape. It was bad enough he was going to have to probably tell the Dark Lord about this. But now it was likely some third group had arrived, and was going to cause even more trouble. The glares he got reminded him all too well of his tenuous relationship among the Order. From all but Sirius, at least...

"You know, I can see him doing that," the Animagus mused. "Running away from those bloody muggles, and having a good old relaxing holiday."

Remus smirked. "But he couldn't use his own name on a holiday- everyone in the world knows who he is. He'd probably use your name."

Sirius chuckled. "My godson, Mr. Black; that does have a nice ring to it..."

Moody's upper lip twitched. "Spending his summer holidays traveling, finding rare and powerful magic, killing dozens of Death Eaters by accident..."

Even Dumbledore got into the joke. "Then he'd come back, vanquish Voldemort in an anti-climatic battle, and live happily ever after."

There was a brief moment of silence, before the whole room burst out laughing, Sirius in particular."Well, not for another year or so, I think. But seriously, where is he?" At this moment, a motorcycle that can fly was speeding down the highway.

The person who rode the motorbike appeared to be only fifteen years old, or was he sixteen? He was close to turning sixteen. Anyway, his name was Harry Potter. He had dark raven hair in an unruly fashion, vivid emerald green eyes, and on his temple of his forehead, has a lightning bolt-shaped scar. He was wearing a protective biker helmet, goggles to keep the whipping winds out of his eyes that were big enough to also keep his glasses on (if he was wearing any in the first place), and had one hand slowly going towards his right hip. He was coming right up against a big rig. So, Harry pushed the bike on, and speeds right past the trucker's vehicle. The man inside his truck heard nothing as he was listening to British Oldies on his radio. Therefore, he only saw a "crazy dumb arse" biker speeding past him and his blind spot, and not the giant centipede-like demon that was disintegrating into burning ash and sand off the side of the big rig truck.

"They're getting worse... need to deal with it before Europe's overrun by demons, or Voldemort tries to control them in some way..."

Holstering his specialized weapon entitled Cerberus, he continues to ride. But a lingering thought in his mind was on two surviving Marauders.

They'll understand... one day, he surmised, and banished those worries from his head.

If only the Order of the Phoenix understood that their little joke would eventually come true but not in the way they envisioned...

Harry some odd hours later rolled to a stop in a small nondescript town, to what looked like some old pub in a dark grungy part of the neighborhood. His watch registered 1:23 AM as he pries his helmet off. Opening Sirius's flying motorbike's compartment, the magically-expanded space inside contained the case of a guitar, which he takes out and carries with him. Pocketing his wind-blocking goggles, he opens the door and enters the smoke-inhabited environment and was blasted with its stench of cigar smoke, the stench of booze, and for some reason felt a foreboding emotion trying to overcome him. Some conversation in the old pub quieted down, and some were discreetly eying him, taking in his appearance. The clothes this stranger wore were odd.

The black pants were leather-made, and a bit tight around the crotch, and on the left thigh, were three belts strapped as mere decoration. The red-brown and black boots he was wearing looked like custom-made military footwear. However, the white laces are tied, and closed at the top with a slate gray buckle. The black muscle tank was impressively tight, showing off washboard abs worthy to become yaoi fangirl bait, which over that is a type of thin armor-padded shirt. The trench coat is a forest green color, with flame designs around the wrists and split coattails in mixed blue, red, and black. The collar is buckled by two belts, left unzipped, and the short zippers on the sleeves are also unzipped.

His ears are pierced with small gold rings, but while his right ear has a small metal stud earring positioned next to it, the left ear has three slightly larger stud piercings along the left cartilage. Those whom got a good look of his face were slightly entranced by the vivid color of his green eyes.

Harry ignored the soft silence, as he walks up to the barkeep. "Hey... have any Fire Whiskey on you?"

"... Fire Whiskey, huh? What the hell is that kid? And are you even legal age?"

Harry smiled bit as he crosses his arms and leans against the counter.

"Well... Fire Whiskey is supposed to be a drink that feels like pure fire when you swallow the red amber liquid. It's a very delicious, if intoxicating 180 proof drink, and useful to keep warm if you're stranded at either of the poles. And I got I.D."

Harry reaches into his wallet and takes out his fake I.D. he stole from Dudley's wallet (plus a generous not-knowing donation from Uncle Vernon) and flashes it to the barkeep. The barkeep makes a sneer at him.

"You don't look eighteen years old, boy, unless you suddenly lost five hundred pounds and dyed your hair black. I call it fake so go back home to your mummy and daddy."

Harry pockets his wallet.

"Sorry, but I have no parents. A megalomaniac psychopathic criminal who proclaimed himself the second coming of Hitler's Nazi Regime murdered my family but killed himself trying to kill me in a freak accident. I got no one to go home to even if I left... although, if I did leave, I'll be locked away by some old goat and his bird club believing my running away was so I can get away from adult authority, and lock me away with magic."

The barkeep laughs.

"I heard worse slurs before from drunken idiots, boy. But I insist you leave before I call the Bobbies and the men with white coats, or something bad may befall you..."

"Che..." Harry scoffed at the adult's tone. "Well, fine... but not until I kill you all..."

All activity in the old pub stopped, and some guys were looking at him from a dark half-lit corner of the pub.

"After all... the sooner you guys are dead, the faster I can save another human life from being devoured by a group of human-masquerading demons from hell."

The barkeep had reached under his counter, and pressed a button, locking the door and cross-barring the windows.

"So... the question to you all," Harry speaks aloud, "who makes the first move?"

He pulls out his tri-barreled gun and cocks Cerberus. He dodges the thrown chair, and fires, blasting the skull of a man by the pool table into mush. Like that, they all charge Harry who smiles in amusement and retaliates. Gunfire rang true, and the cries of death echoed, somewhat heard from the outside. In the next few seconds, that is all is heard, before the final gunshot rings out, its spent bullet blasting the brain matter and the fountain of blood from the barkeep's head.

"Idiots... try again."

And they did, shedding their human disguise. They were red, black, or dark green in color, with gross-looking inhuman faces and toothy mouths, and elongated incisors. They had blood-shot yellow eyes and zigzag metal pieces encompassing the neck and sides of the heads, long spider-like fingers, and goat-like legs with claws for feet. They wielded their long knife-like claws, mouths stretching out to an inhuman shape, as their long lizard tails cracked like whips.

Harry swings his guitar case, smashing one in the jaw and breaking the demon's many sharp fang-like teeth. In a sweep of rapid gunfire, they backed off. Harry undid the single clasp, and out pops an Imperial-styled Japanese Katana. But it didn't look like any Japanese sword. The blade was at 28", overall 40¾", with the handle double-folded with a protective black leather grip. The polished blade was not the bright silver tint; it was instead the color of ruby, the sharp upper edge lined a blue silver tint, with the center of the blade oddly enough filled with a rough crystal fill. The blade itself had a thin serrated plate look, the guard resembling a serrated dagger in a squared ring. The end of the handle was topped with the chrome finely-detailed craft of a dragon's head with red eyes (To a wizard or witch, he or she will recognize it resembled the Hungarian Horntail, with a short silver spike jutting from its mouth).

Dropping the guitar case, and the customized wide sword sheathe inside it, he immediately spins, slicing the whipping tail off and spraying blood. The crystal begins to glow as Harry resumes the offensive, alternating explosive gunshots with sword attacks. Even if the demons had shed their human skins, they still were unable to claim their so-called "ensnared victim". Harry looked around when the last demon fell, its greenish red blood spilt along the already stained floor of the old dusty pub.

"Heh..."

He easily sliced the steel bars keeping him imprisoned in the pub, and left with his guitar case, politely shutting the door behind him. He then rams his sword straight through the wood. The thump of his target hitting the glass is heard, as the demon breaks it, and tries to claw him despite dying. Harry however had already taken aim with Cerberus.

"Go to hell," the green-eyed teenager smoothly states.

BANG!

Shhhink!

He returns the sword back to its sheath, and locks it into his guitar case. Making a note to have it cleaned later, he stores it away.

"I need to go to France... then I'll get out of the radar of the Ministry..."

Harry revs his motorcycle, and soon he speeds away from the now quiet bar filled with the gray ash of dead demons. He didn't want to hang around in case someone outside heard the noise, and had ran looking for a phone to dial 999...

Bold Paragraph written by Innortal and Atlan: s/3761766/3

I thought it had some merit. And of course, reading it, my mind begins to craft up some strange plotlines. Hell, when I read fanfiction, I tend to get ideas to write my own story. Gabrielle doesn't get used enough in some Harry Potter fanfictions, so... Gabi's paired with Harry in this. Now, how to properly explain Harry's "secret Devil Hunting lifestyle" without it sounding cliché? Heheheheheheheheh... oh, and I stole Vincent's gun and gave it to Harry for this story, so look up Vincent Valentine's gun online to see what it looks like.