Hello readers! I am writing this at 9:59 am, Wednesday July 10th, 2013. The poll has been tallied, and the winner, by 66% is…
Harry Potter
Now, I know I said that this would be a Ben 10 Crossover, but I think that most of you'll be much more pleased with the change to…
Soul Eater
Thank you for voting at the last minute, I own nothing coming from book, movie, comic, etc. Enjoy! I give you:
Black Blood, is thicker than Water
Harry:
Harry James Potter, Demon Weapon, Darklight class, reporting for duty. The story I'm about to tell you, is…well…soulful.
Hermione:
Hermione Jean Granger, Darklight Meister reporting for duty. The story I'm about to tell you is…well…deadly.
Harry:
It started when I was eleven. I sat on the glossy ruby red train that took me to the promise of a better life. I was raised by my only living family, the Dursleys. My parents were killed when I was one. I didn't why know; probably never would, but the Dursleys hated me. I was like a male Cinderella, only instead of a fairy godmother; I had…other ways of breaking away from the abuse. It was unbelievable how much they hated me. I'm there was only nephew, there only anything really. And still, the assholes couldn't remember my birthday. Not because they just forgot, but because they didn't give a crap. I never got my own clothes, I was forced to live in a closet under the stairway, and my aunt cut off all of my hair, twice, and to top it all off I was there slave.
If they needed dishes done, they called—no—demanded me. If they wanted a meal, I had to do it. If they wanted the lawn mowed, I had to do it. If my cousin Dudley pissed his pants, they blamed me, and then I had to clean it up. If "Mommy Daddy Time" got a little "out of hand", I had to clean the mess. I was like a motel maid.
To make matters worse, I never left the house for anything besides school or for some chore. My Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia loved their son. They loved him more than Black Star loves himself. Almost. And that's great, I totally supported that, I really did. It was just…they had the intention to loved, but in the end, they spoiled him. Give a child disappointment; they will become a good person, a good Meister. Give a child their ever wish; they will become a Keshian. That was the first lesson I was taught. But I should get into that later.
Hermione:
I've always told my friends, from the Mortal world and Wizarding world, that life with my parents was perfectly normal. I lied. I loved my parents and they loved me. We never had any disputes; it's just that, they didn't know how to help me. It's the reason they so unthinkingly sent me to Wizarding School. I was two, just a baby, but I could still remember it just like I remember yesterday. I was getting used to walking, when I fell down. Even though I was too young to have organized non-instinctive thoughts or act on those thoughts, I could remember being tired of always falling down, I wanted to stand. And once I could stand I wanted to fly, to be better than everyone else. But instead of trying again, I tied to cheat. Soon enough, my dog came over; he was a large golden retriever. I somehow climbed on his back and tried to force him to move.
Everything became a blurry memory after that. I could remember him trudging on, desperately trying to move to my commands. As if for his life. Then he collapsed. He died. My parents saw the entire thing. They before even trying to take the dog to the vet, they took me to the hospital. Doctors said that I was fine, and we went home and gave my dog a funeral. I was too young to even remember his name. I was really…rebellious after that. After pre-school, all of the kindness lessons kicked in and I lost my entire deviancy.
Harry:
When I was probably six, my non-biological Aunt Marge visited us. She adored my cousin. She also bred dogs. She brought her favorite (vicious) dog with her. She hadn't even unpacked, and the dog chased me up a tree. They didn't even notice. They went inside, and stayed cowering in the tree. Around fifteen minutes later, the dog showed no sign of giving up. My arms were tired and there were splinters in my face. Something came over me and I jumped down from the tree. The dog charged, and I struck it. It flew back, hitting the shed behind the house. I just sat there. I didn't know why and I didn't know what else to do. I just sat down and looked at the grass, taking splinters out of my cheeks. A few seconds later, the Dursleys came outside. I didn't look up. I heard screams coming from my Aunt Marge, and growls from my uncle.
"LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU, DAMN IT!" he yelled. I looked up, for some reason with a thin grin. In the corner of my eye, I saw my Aunt Petunia covering Dudley's eyes, and my Aunt Marge weeping on the floor. Plastered on the wall, was her beloved dog, sliced open, glued down by his own blood.
Hermione:
My parents and I thought that it was a bizarre coincidence, my dog dying. But in fifth grade, just before I went to Wizarding School, we found out that it wasn't. I was, like how I pretended to be while in Wizarding School, a shy bookworm. And in New York, shy bookworms get picked on. But lucky me, these weren't the average fifth grade bullies, but mid-pubescent middle school student's looking for someone who wouldn't fight back. I was that someone. To them.
I can't remember what exactly happened, but I remember that I didn't like it. Unlike when, I was two, when it seemed like the wrong thing to do, it felt like I had a right, a responsibility to fight back. A fist flew at my face, and before they could hit me, I hit them. All of them. Bystanders came to their aid, as they balled up together, holding their stomachs. I just sat there and continued to read my book. I felt like I had done the right thing.
Harry:
A year or two after that, I started to remember how the giant gash in the dog's stomach appeared. I saw it as he just back-handing the dog away, but I began to remember a metal. It was shaped like a lightning bolt, without the jagged edges. It was laced with a bright green, exotic design bordering the top. Then I slashed. I remember sitting down. The metal shone a bright green, and my right arm emerged from the light as it dimmed down to nonexistence. I started to pluck splinters from my face. The dog whimpered and I said:
"You'll live, not die. This is a warning, you bitch." I cursed for the first time. "If you so much as chase an innocent cat again, I'll cut your scar open, put spiders in the wound, and stitch your scar to a close. Then when the spiders choke to death, and you feel like you're going to die, I'll kill you right then and there, with the very bones you bury. Do you hear me, you mutt?" Then the dog barked, and I took it as a yes. The next time my Aunt Marge visited us, with her favorite dog, alive with a huge scar across its belly. When they weren't looking, I squatted down and spoke to it.
"I'm sorry about what I did; I don't know what came over me." I said, as it quivered in my shadow. "Tell you what, if you don't chase me again, I won't do whatever I said I'd do to you. Deal?" The dog perked up, as if he'd gotten his life back, and affectionately licked me.
"I'll take that as a yes."
Hermione:
When the bystanders had gone to call an ambulance, I put down my book and starred at the bullies.
"Listen to me." I said, clasping one of their faces with one hand, making him face me. "What you did, was pathetic. If you think hurting a little girl will help you at all with anything, you aren't worth the clothes on your backs." I threw his head back on the concrete. I moved to the second attacker, stepping on his chest. "Get your act together. You're big boys; I don't have to tell you how. Am I understood?" The boy under my foot turned his head and groaned. I kneeled down and held my fist inches away from his face. "AM I UNDERSTOOD?" He quickly turned to me and nodded. I moved to the last attacker, standing over him with my arms crossed. "Good. You tell these good people that you just have a stomach virus and you need to go home. If you ever say anything about this to anyone, I'll hunt you down, and beat you in front of your own mother." I kicked the last boy in the ribs, picked up my book and walked back home.
Harry:
It wasn't until a few days later I fully grasped what I had did. I dreamed about the night I attacked the dog I was now friends with. I woke with a start, bumping by head on the short ceiling of the closet. I raised my arm to rub my forehead, when I felt that my hand was inexplicably cold. I opened my eyes to look at my hand and almost fainted at the sight. Running down the middle was an exotic, bright green design that looked as if it wasn't paint, but a part of the structure. My eyes became blurry as they stared at a metal blade, replacing my hand. My eyes pointlessly darted back and forth, looking for the cause of it all. Then with worry overcoming my body, my other arm began to emit a dim green light. It too was beginning to transform. I saw worry turn my body into something else. So I thought that peace would maybe turn something else into my body. Though at that time, I didn't have much peace. So I quietly dashed to the nearest bathroom, and splashed warm water on my face. I felt something tear my skin. My eyes blared open. I looked at a small bleeding wound on my cheek. Both my arms had become identical blades. I then panicked and tried to force the transformation. It worked. My arms glowed bright and my arms emerged from it.
"I can't ever tell anyone, I can't ever tell anyone..." I chanted to myself, staggering to my bed. "I can't ever tell anyone." I said for the last time, falling asleep. What happened that night was only the beginning of my transformations.