A/N: So...yeah, I really have no excuse for this one. I've never been ashamed of my own writing but even I'm a little embarrassed by this one, despite the fun I'm having with it. It IS kind of cool to be the first to write a certain pairing or crossover though so there's that. Either way, weird as it is, I'M WRITING AGAIN. With all of the health issues and hospital visits I've had recently, that in itself is an accomplishment so I'm going to take it. xD
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Rights are reserved by J.K. Rowling, the World Wrestling Federation and all subsidiaries and involved parties. Don't sue me.
My Tell-Tale Bones
Chapter One...The Ghosts That Haunt Our Steps
'My bones will tell the tale of this life that I will leave, if only my flesh would give up its ghosts.'
The rain was pouring down. It fell against the pavement of the Liverpool city neighborhood with a staccato that I could feel in my bones. Death was all around. In the city it always was. The elderly drawing what would be their last breaths, animals killing one another. People killing one another. Everyone and everything dying slowly day by day. That was what it meant to be, though, wasn't it? As soon as we drew breath cells began the endless cycle of death and birth. Even stone eroded and the oldest of the ancient trees decayed. Whole societies thrived and fell. Everything died. Except for me.
I crept down the street quietly, Tescos bag in hand and coat collar upturned to the rain. Mrs. Appleby's dried up old hydrangeas in the window box nextdoor reminded me far too much of Aunt Petunia's garden the bint had been so proud of. A garden she had watered and kept by my own sweat and blood. That had been several years ago though. I hadn't seen my relatives since I left their house that chilly August at fourteen. Six years it had been now and I hadn't had any inclination to renew the relationship. No, I'm sure the Dursleys were quite happy with me out of their lives.
They hadn't been the only ones I had left behind in past years.
'All of us.' Came the whispered voice of ghosts long dead.
Susan Bones watched me blankly from the reflection of a nearby car, half of her face blasted away into ruin. Cold pale flesh clashed against the meat and blood of what had once been a homely and bright visage. I passed her on with little ceremony. The dead were all I knew now. Some I carried with me. Some walked by my side. Others...well, others were intent only to be remembered, no matter by whom, bodies never recovered from the site of the Last Battle of Hogwarts. Susan's corpse had been dragged into the Black Lake by scavenging mermaids and even the opportunistic Giant Squid, intent on making a meal of the very children it had escorted across the depths as first years.
The Wizarding World had been caught up in it's own wars and terrors for so long that it hadn't noticed the MUggle World drastically moving on without it. Gone were the muggles of my childhood who lived for neighborhood gossip and the latest news or video game. The world had gotten a little more bloodthirsty in my years away at Hogwarts, it seemed. Now modern versions of gladiator arena battles were what drove the masses. Men and women who beat each other bloody in the ring for the entertainment of the masses. Everything was controlled by this syndication now. From kids lunchboxes and games to condoms and drafts, merchandising had taken the faces of these so called "wrestlers" and made it's dirty fortune. As for me, the telly in my small flat had never even been turned on and sat as a testament to the recurring lie my life had become. The parody of life that I had made for myself.
Eat, sleep, breathe, write. Eat, sleep, breathe, refuse to do a book signing from my longsuffering publishing agent. Again. Eat, sleep, breathe, buy a new goldfish because I killed the eighth one again. Not on purpose, of course. Things never did seem to stay alive around me for long. Story of my life. Or story of their death? I suppose they were one and the same, weren't they? Semantics.
Lightning flashed, thunder crashing from above, and as I came to the mouth of the Kingsway Court alley, I saw him. From out of my peripherals I saw a man sprawled half on a rubbish bin and half on the ground, hair black as the night plastered to his face by the downpour and eyes closed somnolently. If I had been anyone else, I would have thought he was dead. But no. Death was all I knew in this life, if one could call it life, anymore. I could smell death on a human. The closer to their imminent demise they were, the stronger the scent would linger in their breath, on their skin.
This man...This man was something else.
Neither dead nor dying, he poured the feel of death magic so strongly, it nearly bowed the spine. Power radiated from him despite the aura feeling weak and sludgy at the moment. It trickled around my legs almost wistfully, wisps beckoning me closer in the air as if it were a sentient thing. The power tickled along my skin like electricity, cool yet tinged with warning.
Make the wrong move, it said, and you will regret it.
It reminded me of the feral cat that I occasionally would leave food out for. Every once in a while, it would even get a dear, recently departed goldfish. The thing was entirely wild and lashed out at any movement too quick or any millimeter too close. This power tasted of the same untameable wildness and barely restrained violence that cat did. Coming slowly closer brought more of the seemingly unconscious man into view.
I had stopped hearing the rain or noticing the smell of overripe, wet refuse. No. This strange man took up all of my attention now.
Rain mixed with blood that trickled down his over-pale face in rivulets, smearing across his neck almost as if someone had tried to beat in his head and then strangled him with their bloodied hands. Black hair hid the bulk of his features save for the neatly trimmed facial hair that showed through as dark as the rest. His clothes were sable as well, a long duster now sopping wet and an old fashioned sort of cowboy hat in a similar state that lay loosely on his lap.
The second thing I noticed was his size. Dear Merlin, the man had arms as thick as my thighs and a chest like a tank. Some sort of gym junkie? Well, I would give the man one thing. Even lying in filth on the wet ground in some back alley, he was a paradigm of masculinity. I had been wired more like my mother, to my deepest resignation: thin, lithe and wispy. The older ladies in my building kept trying to feed me mince pies and hams to "put some weight on those bones, dear, you're looking as thin as a twig these days!"
How embarrassing. Still, they were good natured and appreciated me stopping by to pick them up their scripts and the latest gossip rag on my way back from my outings. I could only imagine the gossip Mrs. Bedelia and Genevieve would get on if the two elderly sisters saw me heaving a hulking, wet man up to my flat.
Oh, Merlin, there it was.
Sitting in the back of my brain and beginning to prod me viciously.
My trademarked 'Saving People Thing'. Licensed and registered. Even now, Hermione's words still stung at me. I use to hate admitting she was right. Now, now, it just annoyed me and made me feel...tired.
I couldn't just leave an injured, unconscious man out in the pouring rain, could I? He was bleeding.
But that power...The same power that reached out, serpentine and crooning towards my own. Hungrily.
What if he was a wizard? Worse yet, what if he recognized me? But could I live with myself if I did nothing?
Setting my Tesco bag on the grimy pavement, I knelt down to the stranger's level, careful not to touch him. Goddess only knew if he had any curses or protective enchantments on his person.
His aura flexed for the briefest of moments like a tendon, nearly sending me sprawling backwards on my arse in surprise. The muscled figured didn't move the slightest but his magic...His magic certainly did. That electric feeling began to undulate slowly in the air, reaching out in the small distance between us. That small distance became the most fascinating thing in all of the worlds because the power that even now reached out to me, drew out my own in turn. It was something that I hadn't felt in years, something that had gone from being normal and every day to as rare as an eclipse.
My slumbering magic woke, and rose up.
It was the swelling of a tide within me that I had almost forgotten existed. A muscle memory that responded at an unconscious need. It was a taste on the back of the tongue and a tugging deep within all at once. How long had I been without the feel of my own magic? How many weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds? The feel of it tore a shuddering gasp from my throat. When a near sobbing sound from my lips broke the still of the street night, the man's eyes flew open with an almost audible sound. The smell of ozone filled the air as my own acidic green eyes met with a pair of fathomless grey, pupils blown wide and as deep as the dark depths of the pit.
This was no wizard.
At least no wizard as I had ever known.
Those eyes...Those eyes were like none that I had ever seen. They were the gaze of demise, the empty orbs of the spirits of the lonely places. It was the same vision that stared out at me from car windows at the sights of grisly accidents, from out of the puddles of still running fire hoses outside of flaming homes. They were the eyes of death.
A single large hand shot out of the blackness before I had a chance to take so much as a breath.
Fast. He was so damned fast.
Could he be...a Shtrige?
The furious voice that growled out at me from between clenched teeth held all of the lethality of a venomous bite, wrapped up in a sound that was like boulders grinding against one another. It was a voice that rose straight up from the earth, born of damp soil and clay.
"Who are you? What are you? You will answer me!"
Goddess, he had a voice that made the very air vibrate. The strong, calloused hand at my neck gave a threatening squeeze, reminding me of the demand that had been leveled at me.
Choking slightly at the pressure around my windpipe, I somehow managed to cough out something resembling the King's English.
"I'm a local! I saw you back here while I was going home and just wanted to see if you were alright!"
His cold expression was one of disbelief. I couldn't exactly blame him I suppose. Someone had clearly worked him over. Blood was still oozing from a large wound on his scalp somewhere and, now that I was seeing him more clearly as he shifted, there were countless other abrasions, cuts, and injuries all over him.
"Bloody hell…" I breathed, unable to even hide the wincing on my face at the sight.
It was nothing compared to the wounds I had seen in the past but for one person to be conscious, in what was surely indescribable pain, was remarkable.
Eyes as stormy as the night sky above flashed with unrepressed anger. Danger danced within his magic as surely as the rain was wet. There was the slightest hint of increased pressure against my neck as my captor pressed his advantage just that much more. I fought not to choke, stilling as much as possible in his grasp. Something told me that I did not want this man to see me as a threat. Just because I couldn't be killed didn't mean that I couldn't be hurt.
'You won't die...You won't die...You won't die…' The voices of the forgotten dead whispered, their quiet voices the sound of wind through skeletal branches.
"Silence." The stranger hissed. Silence? But I hadn't said anyth-
Without warning the voices halted altogether. For the first time in many years, the sensation of shock washed through my system like a virus.
He hadn't been talking to me.
He'd been talking to the dead.
"You can hear them? You-...You can speak to them?" I'd thought I was the only one. The only one hounded by the violently dead, the peaceless deceased. Goddess above, it wasn't just me. It wasn't just me.
"Who do you think you're talking to, boy? Now I won't ask again. Tell me who and what you are and maybe I won't crush your skinny throat." He growled with anger coating his words as surely as blood covered his body. Speaking of…
A trail of red life was sliding down my clavicle, leaking from a deep cut on the pad of his hand. As I felt the hot fluid slid down my skin, it's host's eyes took on an almost fevered and disoriented look. His breaths began to come in short, labored bursts. The hand holding me captive spasmed and released me but not before the man attached to it, leaned sideways and began to heave up spittle and stomach acid.
It was...a pitiful sight. How could I not have sympathy for someone in such desperate need of help? My patented 'Saving People Thing' be damned. A long-suffering sigh joined the rain now beginning to come down in sheets.
Another cough had to be forced out to reopen my abused airway before words could make it out.
"Listen, I really am just a local. People around here know me as Nemo but my name...My name is Harry. As for what I am, well, that takes a bit of a longer explanation and I'm wet enough without wanting to do it in the rain. Besides, it seems you've been worked over pretty well. I think you might have a concussion so I can at least take you inside. I can't very well leave an injured man in some alley where a stray cat might very well finish you off." There was a snort but other than that he made no reply. He made no refusal either. Taking it as as good a sign as I was likely going to get, I shrugged.
Leaning down, it took every bit of my not considerable strength to get the man's arm around my shoulder and get him to his feet. Merlin's balls! What did he weight, three-hundred pounds?! He was heavy as dragon shite! Fortunately for me, he was aware enough to give me a bit of help. If the blighter had been dead weight, we never would have made it off of the ground. Blessedly, the alley also happened to be formed in part by the building that housed my flat.
It was an older tenancy, a large house that at one time over it's many decades had been remodeled and made into three separate small flats. Each had its own miniscule kitchenette, bathroom and single bedroom. Laundry services were shared between tenants in the basement. Though it was a bit dated and the carpeting thinning in places, it was cozy and held a homey atmosphere that had reminded me at once of the Burrow. It was no Hogwarts. Hell, it was no Private Drive, but the elderly ladies who lived there were sweet and mild mannered and the aging owner was more than willing to take money off of rent for any help with repairs or home improvement that I could lend an assist with.
To my immense relief, neither of the nosy but well-meaning ladies were awake this time of the evening. That or they were in Mrs. Bedelia's flat watching "The Wheel" as they called their favorite American show on the telly. Either way, we made it up to my home unaccosted and with minimal bumps and bruises.
I eased the gent down onto my gray sofa as lightly as could be managed, careful of his dubious condition. I'd just managed to relieve myself of my burden when what could easily be mistaken as two small ponies galloped into the room, ready to nearly bowl me over. I thanked the heavens again for the two elderly women's casual deafness downstairs.
Instead of paying any mind to the bleeding and strange man lying nearly sprawled on my sofa, the Vizsla and Golden Retriever pair, "Fruit Loop" and "Land-Seal" respectively, rushed over to me as if they hadn't seen me in a year.
Did they want love? Did they want pats on the head or even to question what took me so long?
Nope.
The pair immediately shoved their heads into my discarded Tesco bag and, like furry heat-seeking missiles, began to sniff out the pack of their beloved snausages.
"Oi! Mind your manners! We have company!" Bag contents now scattered on the floor, the two looked up at my objection. Fruity put on her best puppy-dog eyes. Land-Seal simply panted happily, without shame, the plastic bag now covering his entire face save his joyful blonde nose.
'What little gits,' I thought fondly, grinning a the pair that had shared my life these last two years. Turning to my bleeding guest I grimaced, suddenly feeling not a little bit awkward at the situation.
"Erm...These two shites are Fruit Loop and Land-Seal. They don't bite or anything so no need to worry about them. They'll likely just nose you to death before anything. Dogs, this is Mr…" The awkwardness overwhelmed me and I realized, flushing a bit, that I had never even gotten the man's name. I didn't even know who the person was that I had brought into my home.
The inhabitant of my suddenly strangely small looking couch gave me a blank and rather frank look that made me feel like an idiot. Who brought random bleeding strangers into their flats anyways? And then, of all things, introduced them to their derangedly named dogs. People who didn't fear death, I suppose. What did I have to fear from something that affected me as much as Mars did?
'Mars is bright tonight…' Came the old adage.
On second thought, bugger Mars.
A/N: Oh Goddess. Don't tell me how bad it is. I already can't believe i wrote a freaking wrestling/Harry Potter crossover. Bad author. My inspiration is...a strange and terrible privilege.