Author's Notes: Ok. I can do this. I mean, I haven't seen any Ron Creature Inheritance work out there, so I just thought, why not? Might as well write it, right?
This is a yaoi fic, so no matter the pairing suggestions I'm only going to accept boys. It can be anyone, too. Harry, Draco, Blaise... Cedric? I'd prefer the suggestions to be a student, but all suggestions are appreciated regardless. It will be pretty harem like in the beginning, regardless. I mean, this was a bit inspired by "The (Somewhat) Inevitable Harem of One Tsunayoshi Sawada" by FruitPastilles. Great fic, by the way. I recommend it.
Chapter One
Hermione
It was eleven o'clock at night, the day before the Hogwarts train would arrive to let the students out for the summer holidays. Ron was in the library, head bowed over a thick book, with several more stacked beside him. He had positioned himself in a nondescript corner, away from prying eyes, and Hermione had had to resort to watching him from between the gaps of the bookshelves. She was developing a crick in her neck from the angle, and her feet ached from standing so long, but she stubbornly refused to glance away from her target.
Unaware of her watchful gaze, Ron yawned as he closed his book with a thump, setting it aside to grab a new one from the pile. Hermione felt the pain in her back pulse sharply, and finally moved to stretch as thoughts whirled furiously inside her mind.
Just what in Merlin's name was he doing?!
The only sound was the crinkling of yellowed pages and her slow, steady breathing. It was driving her mad. If she could just get a glance of one of the titles, she could return to bed and rest easy with a mystery solved. But the books remained elusively blank, old leather covers and twine bindings. And it wasn't as if she could just ask him. It had only been a few hours since their fight in the main hall, and she still fumed at the thought of it. Just because she wanted him to act like a responsible human being and actually pick up a textbook once or twice a month! But then he had to be an absolute dunderhead about it, saying that if she poked her nose out of her books 'once or twice a month,' she'd prefer to stay in the real world, too! The nerve!
A cautiously hopeful idea rose inside her mind, and she peered once more between the books to see Ron staring intently into weathered pages. Could he possibly be studying? She hadn't even thought of that before, the idea too incongruous with the Ron she had known for the past three years. But what if he was? What if her lecture had finally gotten through to him!
Unable to bear it any longer, Hermione silently left her post, coming to a stop at Ron's table. Leaning over the surface, Hermione pointed at the open book's pages. "What are you reading?" she interrogated him, firm but quiet. They were in the library after all, and hours past curfew, to boot.
Ron startled at her voice, obviously unaware of her approach. He quickly shut the text before she could decipher the upside-down writing. "Nothing," he said innocently.
Hermione's eyes narrowed. Moving before he could react, she snatched a book from the pile next to him and opened it to the first page. "It was a sweltering midsummer morning when I had awoken to discover my blood boiling in my veins, animalistic instincts polluting my rational thoughts, and I screamed as inside my mind's eye my hands morphed into those of some light-forsaken creature's-Ron!" she gasped. "Are you researching creature inheritances? Oh, why didn't you tell me!" Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes, her lightning fast mind connecting the dots as to why Ron would keep his research such a secret.
Ron tugged the book from her grasp with a sharp jerk and placed it in the pile, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Hermione, don't cry! It's not for me. It's for Harry." He whispered the name with emphasis, as if trying to impart the gravity of his words. Which was completely silly, in her opinion. If anything, he sounded like a gossiping schoolgirl.
Hermione's tears faded rapidly to make room for reasoning. "Harry?" she questioned dubiously. "But he hasn't shown any signs of having a creature inheritance." Hermione should know. She and Ron had been practically glued to Harry's side for the past several months, what with all the attacks that had been occurring, not to mention the accusations thrown Harry's way, thought it had mostly stopped after the feast and Dumbledore's announcement. Hogwash, all of it.
Harry was much too kind to be the Heir of Slytherin.
"He wouldn't." Ron shook his head, auburn curls bouncing in the candlelight. "Inheritances don't start showing until at least the age of fourteen."
Hermione sucked in a breath of understanding, the pieces falling into place. "Which Harry will be turning this summer." But then she frowned, arguments and logic bounding forth in her mind. "What makes you think he will get one, though? It's vanishingly unlikely for any blood on his father's side to awaken within him, especially considering his mother was Muggleborn."
Ron snorted, raising his eyebrows sarcastically. "Please, this is Harry we're talking about. How likely is it for him to not get one?"
"Just because Harry has had some unfortunate luck the past two years-" she began.
"The spirit of You-Know-Who living inside our defense teacher's head. A one thousand year old basilisk, which, by the way, he can talk to, because he's a Parseltongue, a trait he shares with said Dark Lord along with Slytherin himself. And finally, the completely coincidental vanquishing of the Dark Lord, when he was only one year old." Ron threw his hands up in the air, as if to say 'How's that?'
Despite his heated speech, Hermione still wasn't completely convinced. "None of which is a prerequisite to awakening an Inheritance," she said stubbornly.
"Oh for the love of-" Ron cut himself off. Reaching up to tug one of his ears in a nervous gesture, he began to speak haltingly. "Look," he said quietly. "I get that it's a stretch, Hermione. But what if he does get an Inheritance? What would we do then?" He sighed, hand falling to rest on the table. Worrying his lower lip, her gestured futilely. "I just... I don't know. I got this bad feeling in my gut, and it's not going away." He gestured towards the books helplessly. "What would it hurt to be prepared?"
"Oh, Ron..." she whispered, sympathy and something like pride filling her as she listened to his quietly impassioned words. She picked up a book from the unread pile, and pulled up a chair beside him. "Nothing at all," she said with newfound determination.
Ron cast her a surprised glance at her sudden support, before hurriedly putting on a nonchalant face, as if to forget his earlier sincerity. "Thanks," he said quietly, before grinning. She recognized that grin. It was the wide, daring one he wore when he was about to say something stupid. "Hey, with you being such a bookworm we'll finish this stack in no time!"
"Ron!" she almost shrieked, but quickly slapped a hand onto her mouth as she glanced around at the bookshelves worriedly. She settled for glaring at him, huffing to herself.
He sent a smug, lopsided smile back, and together they began to work.
Ron
Ron was not having a good summer. That niggling feeling in his gut? Well, it had now transformed into a clenching, painful certainty.
Either that, or he had indigestion.
Ron sat up abruptly, blankets pooling around him before he kicked them off to stand. So distracted was he by the pain that he barely noticed how despite the near total darkness, he navigated his messy room with ease.
Stumbling into the bathroom, he began to strip. He wasn't sure why. All he knew was that he needed to be in water, and fast. His stomach roiled in agreement.
He fumbled to turn on the water, coordination leaving him in favor of desperation. What he would have given to have a tub, or better yet, a lake! Anything to submerge himself completely in sweet, glorious water.
As soon as water started to spout from the shower head, he climbed in, not bothering to wait for the icy water to heat up. Somehow, he didn't mind the temperature. All he cared about was the drops cascading onto his face with stinging force, running down his back, soaking his skin. They left cool, soothing trails behind, and only then did Ron noticed how hot he was. Did he have a fever?
It didn't matter. All that mattered was the water. It sloshed around his feet and darkened his red hair, but it wasn't enough. He needed more.
Opening his mouth, he gulped it down desperately. Water sluiced off his shoulders and his back, unexposed to the stream, began to burn painfully. Inside the shower stall he began to twist and turn, soaking all the skin he could.
In a moment of inspiration, he stepped out of the stall to grab several fluffy towels. Even that brief moment caused him to hiss in pain before he stepped back in, the towels in his arms quickly growing heavy and water logged.
Sitting down on the floor, he began to wrap every exposed inch of him in wet towels. His legs hung out of the open stall, and the bathroom floor was becoming a mess, but he kept on going, feet to legs to waist to shoulders. Then, he leaned his back against cool, wet tile and his closed his eyes.
The soothing pitter patter of water hitting the floor lulled him to a deep, exhausted sleep.
When Ron woke up, he was afraid. Everything was wrong. The light was too bright, the shadows too crisp. And worst of all, he was too dry.
He dragged his mummified body back into the shower stall and slowly unwrapped it, the still running water once again soaking his skin. The relief was intense, and somehow his thoughts grew clearer under the stream.
Ron closed his eyes, the disturbing sights around him interrupted by the darkness inside his eyelids. He opened them again, however, when his hand brushed against what felt like scales as he unwrapped his lower body.
He stared.
"What. The. Fuck."
Ron would admit he didn't have the best vocabulary, but he felt especially poetic in that moment. After all, those words so perfectly summed up the situation he was in, they could even be considered right up there with great works such as Alan Pole and Shaky Spheres. Or something like that. He had never listened too closely to Hermione's rants, but he was sure she had mentioned them several times.
As his thoughts grew increasingly hysteric, the copper and gold tail waved its fin mockingly, gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the window. He waved back, feeling strangely distant from the situation.
"Hello," he said out loud. "I think I'll call you Shiny."
The fins curled and fluttered, and thick cords of muscle flexed then relaxed.
"Yeah, me too."
Though Ron was unaware of just what he was agreeing to, and had vaguely noted that he was probably in shock or some other fishy variant, he did manage to feel some curiosity over his new limb. Reaching out a hand, he first pressed his knuckles against the metallic scales, which covered his entire lower body and tapered off around his waist. They were not nearly as hard as he expected, and instead bended flexibly before tough muscles stopped further give under his pressure. Moving on, he ran his fingers across the fins at the side of the tail, and saw a matching pale gold fin on his arm, which he just stared at for a moment, startled at seeing the transformation had extended further up his body. Finally, he turned his gaze reluctantly to the fins at the end of Shiny.
Ron was relieved to see that instead of a girly, flowing membrane, the twin fins were aerodynamic, with curved edges that tapered off into two sharp points. Very handsome, if he said so himself.
"You're very pretty and all, Shiny, but I kind of need my legs back. You know, to walk."
Shiny glinted unhelpfully.
"No, seriously. My family will be waking up any minute now to use the bathroom, and we're kind of in the way."
Not to mention what they would find. Him, sitting in the shower stall, unable to leave the water and a copper tail flapping around uselessly. Defenseless. Vulnerable.
A burst of adrenaline shot through his forced calm, panic swallowing his vision because no they couldn't see him they couldn't he was in danger danger DANGER!
He had legs again, Ron realized. He was also completely terrified. With trembling hands he shut off the tap, the magically conjured water that may have saved his life slowing down to a steady trickle of drops.
Stumbling out, he quickly dried himself off with the remaining towels and cast his gaze across the floor, puddles making the surface shine.
He couldn't leave any evidence, he thought, growing panicked once again.
Throwing on his old pajamas, he peaked his head out of the all before rushing up to his room, carefully avoiding the step that squeaked and oh Merlin what if they heard him last night they knew they KNEW-
Ron sucked in a deep breath and held it. He held it as he crept inside his bedroom, he held it as he grabbed his wand off the nightstand and stalked back to the bathroom, and he almost held it as he cast the cleaning spell until he realized that he needed to exhale in order to say the words out loud.
Well, he thought hazily, that's new.
Two minutes later, the bathroom was spotless. Another two minutes, and he was buried under his bedsheet with a self-inking quill, a piece of paper, and a dusty textbook he had unearthed from the family collection. It was small, just a rickety old bookshelf set under some flimsy blood wards, but he had searched through it as soon as he had returned from Hogwarts and managed to find this treasure.
Sanguis autem Creaturae by Mason Quires. Blood of the Creatures.
He flipped to the aquatic section, which he hadn't read yet, and began scanning each page quickly. "Drake, Hippocampus, Nymph, Mer, Serpent," He came to a stop abruptly, staring at a detailed picture of a beautiful blonde women, entirely nude and her shimmering sapphire blue tail wrapped around herself seductively as she rested against the shoreline.
"Siren," he groaned. "Of bloody course."
Ron started reading, the turmoil in his heart calming somewhat now that he finally had something. Ron wasn't a thinker, like Hermione, or a doer, like Harry. He was a planner. Steps, carefully thought out and executed, with precise outlines and predictable outcomes. Flexible in some areas, but generally firm. Confidence that came with knowing exactly what he was going to do, when he was going to do it, and how it was going to happen.
Sure, the creature inheritance had thrown him off a bit, but he was in his element now. He had a plan.
It went something like this:
Step One: Carry on like normal. No sense spilling everything when he didn't have all the pieces yet.
Ron ignored the voice inside his head screaming of safety and secret and no one could knowknowknowknow-
Step Two: Research. A lot.
Ron had already done some of that step, as on the last day of school he had belatedly realized Harry's horrible likelihood of awakening as a Drakon or Elk or some other ridiculously rare and powerful creature, and had immediately ran to the library in a panic. Which. He supposed some of his best friend's luck may have rubbed off on him.
Packmate, the voice agreed. Safe.
Ron ignored that too.
Step Three: Get a water source. Both at home and Hogwarts. Soon.
The book had been very clear that Sirens needed to swim at least once a week. Not just a quick dunk either. No, they needed to stretch their tails lest the muscles atrophy inside human skin, and water apparently had some really important magical properties and blah blah blah. Ron mentally boiled it down to Water=Life. Simple, yet oh so complicated in reality.
Step Four: Get a pack.
Ron frowned, then crossed that out from his sheet of paper.
Step Four: Get allies.
Much better. Or at least, Ron hoped so.
Sirens, the book had said, simultaneously needed and hated social contact. A secretive race, their loyalty and trust was notoriously hard to earn, and you would never know if you had until a Siren was in front of you, their body stabbed clean through from a killing blow meant for you.
Ron thought that was a bit exaggerated, but he supposed he could relate. Even now, just imagining himself telling his family who he knew would never hurt him sent a terrified shiver straight through his bones.
Besides, the voice whispered, I can't really know that. It doesn't even have to be on purpose. Just one misplaced word, an unaccounted for action 'meant to help,' and his secret would be out. He would be in DANGER. Everyone would want to SEE him. They can't look don't look don't LOOK-
What good was sincerity without trust?
Ron frowned thoughtfully. He... supposed Harry could be Pac-an ally. Harry could be an ally. He was brave, and reliable, and he knew how to keep a secret. Perfect, really.
Alpha? The voice questioned.
Ron made a face.
Equal, he thought, then hesitated. Reluctantly, he added, sometimes Alpha.
Ron refused to think about what that might mean. Harry was a natural leader, after all. Sure, they were best mates, but Ron was the one who followed the other's lead most of the time, especially in recent months, now that Harry had gained some confidence. Nothing more to it.
Hermione was the next obvious choice, Ron knew, yet he found himself hesitating. Ron liked Hermione, mostly. Sure, she could be a bit of a know-it-all, and she nagged him to study all the time, but they were friends. Couldn't they be pack too?
Hermione was smart, Ron though. She'd want to study him. She wouldn't mean bad, but...
The though of Hermione looking at him evoked a primal, fearful response within him, and he shivered.
Not pack, Ron thought. Yet.
It would be hard to hide it from her at school, especially considering how curious she was, but he'd have to. He could only hope he didn't give anything away.
Chewing the end of his quill thoughtfully, he scribbled down another step.
Step Five: Discover abilities. Practice, preferably while swimming. ALoNe.
Ron stared, then hurriedly scratched that out. Deciding to pretend that nothing had happened, he wrote down a list below that, including Transformation, Holding Breath, and Siren Song.
The Siren Song. One of the few topic the book was able to speak at length about. Each Song was unique to the Siren. Some had words, some didn't. Some were beautiful, some resembled the horrid screeching of Mermish. All had magical properties.
None of this told him anything about his song, but he figured he'd find that out when he next sang.
Ron frowned. Would he be able to sing Christmas carols with his family? The Hogwarts song? Or would every time he opened his mouth, the inhuman notes of his Song would spill forth, unbidden.
That...
Ron could probably get away with not singing, citing it as childish or something like that, but still...
Later, Ron thought. He could think of that later.
Committing the list to memory, he proceeded to rip and tear the paper apart, dumping the resulting pile into his wastebasket.
Leave no evidence.
Then he dressed himself, the tantalizing scent of breakfast tickling his nose and causing his stomach to growl in hunger.
Time for Step One, he thought.
Carry on like normal.
Ron was starving.
"Here, Ron, have some more," Molly said distractedly, dumping another serving of bacon onto his plate. "You too, Percy. You're growing boys after all."
"Hey," said one of the twins.
"What about us?" said the other one. Together they batted their eyes pleadingly, somehow managing to look innocently pathetic.
Molly sniffed disapprovingly. "Don't think I don't know about your late night snacking. Really, you shouldn't stay up so late, it's bad for your body," she scolded.
Ron felt his breath seize in his chest and cast the twins a wary glance. Had they noticed anything?
They didn't even glance at him until one of the twins noticed his sudden suspicion and elbowed the other to get their attention. Together they sent him a curious, then mischievous gaze.
Ron looked away first, and resumed stuffing his face full of food, appetite still strong though his blood ran cold in his veins. The only thing worse than a curious Fred and George, was a suspicious Fred and George. Not. Happening.
Instead, Ron took a moment to examine the rest of his family with new eyes. Literally. With his new eyesight, everything looked different. It was surreal, noticing tiny details such as the scar on Fred's right cheek from when a branch had scratched him when he was five. It had since cleared up and disappeared, yet Ron was able to make out a faint line running just under his eye. He could tell the twins apart now, he realized. Huh.
Chewing on a somewhat bland piece of bacon, Ron swallowed and licked his lips, eyeing the pile in the middle of the table. He had already had his third serving, which was where he usually stopped, yet today it seemed that nothing could fill him.
"Already done, Ron?" Molly said, surprised. "One would think you haven't eaten for days, the way you're chowing down. Slow down, and mind your manners."
"Thanks, Mum," Ron said as she tossed some more toast onto his plate, which he slathered in jam. That was another thing. He had always loved sweets, but now he practically adored them. They just sated something inside him, giving him a rush of energy and causing saliva to pool in his mouth eagerly. In comparison meat just seemed... necessary. Something he had to eat, best to be swallowed quickly in order to survive.
That... was fine.
"Quidditch World Cup is two days from now, Mum," Fred said.
"You sure we're all prepared?" George asked, before sending Ron a meaningful glance. Ron stared back, confused, before slapping his forehead in realization.
"I forgot to owl Harry!" Ron said, dismayed. Shoving one last piece of toast in his mouth, he bounded up the stairs frantically, abandoning his empty plate.
"Don't forget to give Pig his treats," George called out lazily.
"He's a very busy owl," Fred agreed.
Now in his room, Ron quickly scribbled out the letter.
Harry - DAD GOT THE TICKETS - Ireland versus Bulgaria, Monday night. Mum's writing to the Muggles to ask you to stay. They might already have the letter, I don't know how fast Muggle post is. Thought I'd send this with Pig anyway.
We're coming for you whether the Muggles, like it or not, you can't miss the World Cup, only Mum and Dad reckon it's better if we pretend to ask their permission first. If they say yes, send Pig back with your answer pronto, and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday. If they say no, send Pig back pronto and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday anyway.
Hermione's arriving this afternoon. Percy's started work - the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don't mention anything about Abroad while you're here unless you want the pants bored off you.
See you soon –
Ron
At the end, Ron hesitated. He knew he should probably tell Harry about his Inheritance, at least let on that something happened, yet...
He'd tell him when they were alone, in a more secure place than a letter.
"C'mere, Pig," Ron whispered to the owl, opening the cage the hyper bird resided in. The owl refused to cooperate, backing away until it was pressed against the wire mesh furthest away from Ron, chest rising and falling with rapid breathing.
Ron hesitated, then stepped away from the cage. Slowly, the owl crept closer, eyeing Ron suspiciously. He reached out a hand slowly, a sinking feeling in his chest, but was wholly surprised when Pig opened it's sharp beak wide and bit him. Hard.
"Bloody shi-" he cut himself off, yanking his hand back to nurse it against his chest. It hurt, but Ron would like to think not as nearly as much as Pig's rejection.
"Guess you don't like me now, huh," Ron whispered. Examining his hand, he was relieved to see the bite had not drawn blood, thought the skin around his forefinger looked decidedly red and angry.
Reluctantly, Ron enlisted Percy's help in tying the letter to Pig's leg. He was understandably suspicious, but Ron managed to bluff through it by saying Pig was mad at him for forgetting to clean his cage yesterday. Which was technically true, but not the real reason.
Maybe hiding his Inheritance would be harder than he thought.
"Alright," Ron said out loud, now safely ensconced in the bathroom. "Time for some revisions."
Step One was working out for the most part, but it was clear it would need some more details.
For one, animals. Or really, any being with more sensory abilities than the average witch or wizard, which was everything. Somehow, someway, Pig was able to see something was different with him. Now he needed to find out what it was, and how to hide it.
Six senses, Ron thought lazily. Taste, Smell, Sight, Touch, Hearing, and Intuition.
Hearing was out unless he sang, and taste probably wouldn't be a problem unless someone tried to eat him. In fact, Vampires were the only beings he could think of off the top of his head that would blow his cover that way, and even then it was more likely they would smell him first.
Smell... A lot of creatures and animals have a heightened sense of smell. Vampire, Werewolf, Elk, Veela, Dracon, Fae, Incubas, Nereid, pretty much all creatures use smell to identify each other. The problem was how to hide it.
Ron spun his wand in his hand, mind racing. Scent blockers? Scent nullifiers? Scent masks? He couldn't just not have a scent. In fact, why was he bothering to hide it in the first place?
Danger, the voice said, and Ron snorted, forcing the sudden jolt of fear away. Despite his annoyance at his own newfound instincts, he couldn't help but agree with it in this case. Most creatures didn't exactly get along with each other without extenuating circumstances, especially when they lived in similar domains, like most humanoid beings.
He could... Take one of his brother's scents, he supposed. Bill would probably be the safest bet, as he worked in Egypt, and wouldn't be covered in another's creature's scent, like Charlie and his dragons. The twins would be most similar to him on account of age and other factors, but it would be pretty suspicious to have all three of them smelling exactly the same to any other creatures in Hogwarts.
And there would be others. Not even including Harry and his damnable luck, which Ron really needed to check up on, but he was sure at least a few of the upper years had at least awakened something.
He wondered if he would sense them, too.
Maybe he could synthesize a scent, mixing the twins' and Bill's together? Any of those options would be hard to maintain, though. He supposed masking it with some other strong scent, like peppermint or lemon, would have to do.
Then there was sight. He didn't think anyone could tell his creature inheritance just by looking at him, but then again, there were at least a few physical factors that must have changed after the awakening. Studying himself in the mirror, Ron went over a mental checklist of common creature traits.
Fangs? No, thank goodness. It wasn't likely anyway, considering Sirens seemed to be at least somewhat herbivorously inclined. The ears as well seemed to be the same, and when he checked his skin it wasn't somehow miraculously clear of the smattering of his freckles. But then again, he didn't seem to have any pimples either...
He didn't have claws, and when he somewhat embarrassedly decided to strip, there didn't seem to be any major changes to his body either. The skin on his legs were somewhat smoother. A bit synthetic, he thought, but not noticeable unless you were looking for it. Again, the same lack of blemishes, though he had kept his little nicks and scars for the most part. He had lost the ones on his legs, with the most noticeable being the scar on his ankle.
His hair was still ginger, his eyes were still blue. Really, nothing seemed to have changed at all. That is, until he tilted his head.
There, on his neck, were faint, almost invisible lines. Three rows on each side, a mocking imitation of gills on human flesh.
He could hide them. Cast some charms, wear scarves when possible. They were nothing, really.
Running his fingers over them and feeling the raised ridges on his skin, he couldn't help but think, with a hint of irony, that they looked a lot like scars. Like his skin had split open and healed not quite right.
Finally, there was his magic. It didn't feel too different, a warm fire burning in the center of his chest, comforting and growing more powerful by the day. Yet, just underneath that there was an undercurrent of something else, something that reminded him of swift undertows and soothing waves.
That wouldn't be so easy to hide. On the flip side, practically no one would be looking at it either. He could ignore it. Maybe powerful wizards like Dumbledore could sense it, or the weird races such as Dementors and Centaurs could feel it, but that was all. He could avoid them.
He could do this.
Alright, that's all for today. The next chapters probably won't be this long. I'm really liking this story, and I have a bunch of ideas for it, though I am a bit in the grey area with the last two books. I'm planning to have a bunch of the main cast get a creature inheritance, or just be generally badass. I'm also really excited about how I'm planning to write Harry, though he may or may not be the final ship depending on you guys. See you soon!