Hello there! Yes, 'm finally back with a story...
Well, I actually have been writing quite a lot of fanfiction, but I have moved all M-rated stories, including Visitor, to a new account, GeMerope, an few months ago... -just put that in bold because I know a lot of people skim the AN-
I had to move everything very quickly because I was searching for work experience and my real name was linked far too easily to elfinmyth when typing it in on google, and thus all smutty HPLV fanfics were also easily found.. / It seems many of you did not see the AN's I put up in the few days before removing Visitor and only a few found it again... But it's still being written, and many chapters have been added!
But enough of that, this is my Samhain/Halloween story of the year, put up mid-october because it'll be a chaptered fic and I hope to finish it on Halloween's Eve. -or a few days after I really don't know how long this is going to be... in between 3 and 5 chapters, probably-
Disclaimer: Do not own HP world or any info about werewolves I found on the internet which will/might be used in this story.
Enjoy!
Frost flowers made intricate patterns on the glass beneath his fingers, but didn't melt at his touch, his fingers just as cold as the small icicles that hung from the windowsill. He glanced inside through the windows, figures twirling gracefully over the floor of the ballroom of his own home. He sighed. It was so tiresome to hold up so many pretenses of civility. He turned and walked away, avoiding the wide, cultivated and neatly maintained paths, instead taking some tracks that led to the wilder areas and were actually only used by house-elves to reach the deeper parts of the garden. He frowned at the grass, which made scrunching sounds beneath his feet. It was far too cold for late October… Last year it had been a pleasant autumn. He was thankful that cold would nevermore touch him as it had when he'd been young.
Such a long time ago… he mused. He was in his sixties now, though that wasn't even half of the lifespan usually granted to a wizard… To him, it would only be a fraction of his endless life. He turned as he heard something, a growling sound, and warily he approached it, drawing his wand. Had someone brought a vicious animal into his garden? Silently he placed his feet down on the gravel, moving like a shadow, weaving through the trees in the direction of the meadow in front of his home. He stopped at the edge of the trees, the shade of the large rhododendron he was standing under hiding him from sight.
The sight made his eyes widen, and he watched in fascination as blood coloured the snow-white neck and chest of one of the peacocks he'd been given by Lucius in an attempt to placate him. It hadn't helped his follower a bit, but they were useful to have, crying loudly at even the slightest hint of an intruder… However, this one had been unfortunate, having been silenced like the rest before the ball started. The beak was open wide in a silent scream and it was flapping its wings wildly until they broke under a pair of sharp teeth.
A pup… but Voldemort was no fool. He had studied every aspect of magic, dark magic especially, and he could recognise a werewolf in under a second, the shape of its snout, tail and ears a dead give-away that distinguished it from any real dog or wolf. The question was what it was doing here… Ever since he had taken full control of the Wizarding world, werewolves were obligated to stay within the gated communities that had been built for them during the days leading up to the full moon until two days after to make sure they had recovered, and because there were some cases who still retained the ability to fully transform the night after, Greyback being the most famous example.
The peacock was limp now, the grass finally melting as thick blood dripped from the feathers before being eagerly licked up by the wolf. Voldemort watched with fascination as the flesh was torn apart by small, sharp teeth. There was something sickeningly pleasurable at the knowledge of that this was a human, brought down to the state of where only animalistic instincts ruled. The wolf played with its food for a while before tearing it apart completely, though not able to finish it all, too small to finish such a large prey. The Dark Lord guessed it must be around a year or eight, nine judging by its appearance.
Suddenly the pup stiffened and sniffed the air. The man narrowed his eyes and tightened the grip on his wand, training it at the werewolf. Pup or not, one bite could have very bad consequences. He didn't want to end up with lycanthropy of all things to suffer the rest of his days with. The pup looked at him, but instead of looking feral like he should have, he merely sniffed a few times again and then run up to him, large amber eyes looking up, tongue slightly out of its snout. Voldemort blinked as it put its paws against his leg and let out an obviously happy sound.
Not one to take more risks than necessary, he merely pointed his wand in between the wolf's eyes and shot a stunner at him. He had opted for a Killing Curse at first, but several children of his followers were werewolves and he did not want them to find out about him killing their children. After all, in the case of children escaping the camp, it was the parents who got punished, not the youngsters. He looked down at the stunned bundle of fur and picked it up by the scruff, not caring about the blood that got on his hands. If he wanted to find out who the child's parents were he would have to wait till the morning…
Feeling oddly pleased, he carried the werewolf into his home again, the two death eaters standing guard looking at him and then each other with wide eyes. "My lord…? Is that…"
"I found a werewolf on my grounds, yes," he said in an icy tone. "Care to explain how anything larger than an ant entered my home without my knowledge? Are you not supposed to guard me? Are you letting enemy Animagi in just as easily?" It was a ridiculous statement of course, the wards would have kept any unwanted magicians out, and the only reason why it had not picked up the werewolf was because it had no access to its magic in this state anymore, but his words had the desired effect. His followers shrunk back and muttered several apologies and did not inquire further. "Also, I do not recall there being a cage anywhere near this area, and it would not be able to draw upon accidental magic in this form… unless it accidentally apparated before transforming or was taken here by a non-werewolf, the surrounding lands will need to be combed out… thoroughly. If a rebellion pack is hiding out here, I want them hunted down and killed."
"Yes, My Lord," they answered in unison, before Voldemort abruptly spun on his heel again and took the large, marble staircase leading to the second floor. He put the pup down on a bed and, with a frown and a wave of his wand, cleaned the fur from dirt and blood. He should go down again, really… It was terribly impolite for the host of a ball to leave mid-way. He just really hadn't been able to stomach it anymore… he knew every single man and woman who was holding up the pretense of being a civil human being, he knew every single crime they had committed, the entrails they had wrapped around their hands as they laughed on the battlefield, the lies and manipulations they had spread…
Monsters… Just like he himself was nothing but a monster. He smiled grimly as he looked down at the small creature on the bed. Shunned by all… yet probably more innocent than he had been at three. Barely tolerated by society… His society. He sighed deeply and rubbed his face. He could not blame himself for the overall prejudice and hatred in the Wizarding world. He'd done what he could to integrate werewolves into this society but he could not influence the opinions of people so much that they would welcome the wolves with open arms, and it would not be a thankful waste of effort to try. People, whether Muggle or wizard, would always fear what they did not understand, what was beyond their own safe social circle.
Knowing, however, that it would take hours still for the cub to transform, he left the room, sealing the door with powerful wards in case the wolf would become human again before he was here and wake up by use of accidental magic. He had, sadly, a ball to get back to.
The familiar aching pain with which he usually woke was expected, but nevertheless unpleasant. He stretched his jaw and fingers, whining pitifully as he curled up in a ball, shielding his still sensitive eyes from the harsh light. He couldn't remember what had happened, only some vague flashes of fathers and blood, and the smell of the forest he had escaped to. Uncle Remus would be very mad at him… He yawned and clawed at the ground, only to find that there was no earth or leaves around him, instead hitting something soft and warm. He blinked, slowly trying to get accustomed to his human eyes, sitting up and looking at the bed in wonder. Wherever he was, it wasn't home.
"I had already feared you would wake," a smooth voice said, and Harry twitched his ears, a wolf habit that always came to the surface even in his human form. Looking over his shoulder, he froze, eyes wide as the strangest human he'd ever seen entered though the door. "But it seems that I did not come very late."
"I just woke up," Harry muttered, finding his voice again, which was still a bit rough. He was aware of that he was naked, and wrapped his arms around himself in embarrassment. The other chuckled and he felt a weight drape itself over his shoulders, looking behind him to find a cloak magically wrapping itself around him.
"Where am I?" he finally asked.
"My home… somewhere in the south-east of England where, as I recall, there are no werewolf reservations. How on earth did you end up here?"
Harry hung his head in shame, reluctant to answer both because the one before him was a complete stranger and because he didn't want to admit to what he'd done. After a few moments of silence though, the man approached him and forced his head up to meet blood-red eyes that compelled him to answer. "I ran away…" he meekly said. "I had a row with my uncle a few days ago and ran away from home… I camped at the tree house me and a friend of mine built for two days but yesterday I was searching for food and suddenly I was in a forest somewhere. I don't know how I got there, but strange things always happen around me… And before long, the moon was out."
"Well, that certainly explains a lot. Your uncle… who is he?"
"Remus."
"Last name?"
Harry hesitated, actually not quite sure. Their pack always referred to him as 'Moony' and his friends as Remus. Harry didn't think he'd ever heard anyone use his uncle's last name. "I don't know?" he said weakly. "We're werewolves, we don't interact with people who'd have a use for our last name," he replied defensively.
"Surely you know your own?"
"Potter," Harry muttered. "My name's Harry Potter." He regretted giving away that information instantly as the man's eyes widened and roughly stroked the bangs out of his face that hid the ugly scar he had.
"Indeed," the stranger breathed with a tone that betrayed utter fascination. "Harry Potter…"
"You know me?" Harry said, surprised, his mind whirling. Why should anyone know him? He was no-one special… he'd lived with his uncle all of his life ever since his parents died and a werewolf who had been present at the attack had bitten him. Apparently he also had a godfather who had been wrongfully imprisoned, but under the Dark Lord's rule it was near impossible to try and get him a fair trial since he'd been a rebel.
Harry shuddered a bit when thinking of the Dark Lord, a monster that had fueled many of his nightmares after hearing countless tales at the camp. It was said that his skin was slimy and green, and a single look could kill like the Basilisk he kept around him like a pet. He knew Remus had also faced him a few times but the man never breathed a word about those encounters, closing off when thinking of it. Luna, one of his only non-werewolf friends, had told him that it was because the brain of whoever encountered Voldemort got poisoned by the small clouds of depression that he sent at his victims. Luna usually said a lot of crazy stuff, but in this case Harry was inclined to believe her.
Instead of thinking further about the Dark Lord, he focused on the stranger who had brought him here, feeling oddly grateful for not having been left in the cold. Despite his strange, slightly creepy features and demanding tone, he seemed nicer than most adults Harry had met. The man's barely distinguishable lips twitched, and he spoke: "Of course I know you. Did no-one ever tell you that you were special?"
"Special?" Harry muttered, confused. "Apart from my curse, there's nothing special about me… Are you referring to my scar…? How did you even know I had it?"
"Ah… that is where you are wrong. You are destined for great things, Harry Potter…" the man whispered, smiling at him. "Did you not apparate though half of the country, only to land on my doorstep of all places? It takes power. Some wizards never learn to apparate… and you did it accidentally." Harry uncomfortably wrapped his arms around himself. He wasn't really used to praise… it was an eaten-or-be-eaten society, and trying to stay on top was merely one of Harry's survival tactics. He'd never thought much of it… Was it really that unusual? "If I remember correctly you have to be… ten, now?"
Harry nodded and said: "Eleven in a few weeks." He wanted to repeat his other questions which the man had either avoided or forgotten about, but the other leaned back, looking as if remembering something.
"Ah yes…" ~As the seventh month dies…~
"That sounds ominous…" he muttered, looking away, not seeing the stranger's head snap up in shock before it became perfectly composed again.
"You'd better head home, Harry… your uncle must be missing you. Do you know the name of the reservation you usually stay at?"
"Oculi… Oculi Sucineus," he said after a moment of thinking. "But I don't want to go back!" he exclaimed, stubborn. "He's still mad at me and probably will be even madder when he finds out what I did…"
"Then he won't find out. You've never been here… I will send someone with you who just so happens to be near your house when you ran away and who took pity on you, letting you stay the night, not knowing you were a werewolf until it was too late, but who thankfully happened to be a sympathiser." Harry frowned, not liking the idea of having to go back, to a month full of chores and studying and boring people. The only ones he looked forward to seeing again were Luna and Ron.
The stranger got up and opened a drawer, taking a small item out that suddenly glowed blue for a few seconds. "This, Harry," the man said, kneeling in front of the bed and carefully taking his hand, wrapping his fingers around the item, "is a Portkey. I trust you know what it is?"
"Yeah… I don't really like them but I guess they're handy," he answered, opening his hand to look at it. Unlike normal Portkeys, which were everyday objects so they would not be seen by Muggles, it was a carefully engraved fang of some animal. Harry squinted his eyes, trying to identify from what creature it was. Certainly not a dog or wolf, he would recognise that instantly, and he didn't think it was from a feline either.
"From your words I take it you do not like the reservation you have to go to when you transform hmm? You can use this to escape from there before you transform and come here. While the reservation is warded against most forms of transport, this one will work even within the gates."
"I… I don't want to be a bother," Harry said quickly. Why would this man even help him?
"Not at all. I haven't had anyone to talk to in a long while. We can do so before you transform, and after I can stop the pain. It hurts, doesn't it?"
"Yeah," Harry whispered, dropping his eyes to the Portkey again. "Very much."
"The password is Umbra. Make sure you remember it."
"I'll write it down when I'm home… What does it mean?"
"Safety, shelter… darkness." Harry frowned, thinking it odd that the same word for safety would also mean darkness. He'd always learnt that dark was evil… all dark magic was only used to hurt others, after all.
"So…" he said, unsure. "I can come here next month? Really?"
"Yes, really," the man smiled, though it was slightly strained. "But now, you'd better go."
Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, having wanted to ask the man to take the pain he was still feeling away, but didn't want to sound ungrateful or demanding. Instead, he carefully moved off the bed, keeping the cloak wrapped tightly around him. It was much warmer than he thought it should be, most likely infused by magic. While he had grown up with magic around him, of course, it had never been quite so… prominent as here. It seemed as if the room, the house, and certainly the owner breathed magic as if it were air. Small details caught his eyes as he stood and looked around. Small, painted birds flew over the glass-stained window, the lights were actually small floating balls of glowing magic, as if someone had cast a Lumos and cut it off from the wand, and several potions were making hissing sounds on small table in the corner.
Reluctantly, he turned to leave, but then remembered that he hadn't even asked the man his name yet! "Erhm, I'm sorry sir but… I actually don't know who you are..?" he asked awkwardly. "You know my name but…"
The stranger took him in with calm eyes, silent for a while, as if thinking deeply. "Marvolo," he finally answered. "My name is Marvolo." A perfect magical name for a magical person, Harry thought. He tried to remember if there had been any other Marvolo's in the family lines he'd had to study, but he didn't think so. On the other hand, he'd never really been good at History of magic. He didn't even understand why he already had to study it… While he wasn't allowed to go to Hogwarts due to his condition, there was no reason to already start this early, he thought. Normal magical children started studying those things at eleven, after all. He'd had books shoved under his nose for as long as he could remember…
He nodded briefly before he was escorted out of the room, eyes widening as they walked down a long, deserted corridor, and he quickly found that the house, or rather manor or castle, was an absolute maze. He wondered why someone who claimed to be alone and who had no-one to talk to lived in such an enormous place. When they finally reached the hall, the stranger told him to wait as he went to fetch someone to bring Harry home. He thought it a pity the man couldn't come himself, but maybe his strange appearance kept him locked up too, like Harry was locked up in his uncle's house and the reservation.
But no longer, he thought as he made a fist around the fang. From now on, he would have a place to escape to.
Lord Voldemort stood at the door even long after the boy was gone, thinking how odd of a twist of fate it was. But perhaps… perhaps it hadn't been a coincidence at all. This boy… a boy who had been hidden from him for a very long time, taken from him right in the middle of his ritual…. That evening had been a disaster, the 31st of October, nearly ten years ago, but thankfully he had escaped unscathed while the boy's foolishly brave parents had found their end… Dumbledore had ruined it all, of course and, he was reluctant to admit, one of his own followers had as well. He sighed deeply as memories took him back…
He could recall it all so vividly, the way he had been roughly interrupted, his soul torn half from his body as he was forced to stop, his last, desperate attempt at killing the child resulting in agonising pain, the killing curse that had rebounded and which he had only narrowly been able to avoid by apparating to the other side of the room. The Order breaking in and his own men joining, battling each other till the walls of the house had been blasted apart, his throbbing skull as he conquered them all and finally, the horrifying sight after his victory, Fenrir Greyback having smelt the blood that leaked out of the wound on the babe's forehead…
He had blasted the wolf off of the child, but while his back was turned and he lost himself in fury and tortured the werewolf, one of the Order members whom he's thought dead managed to grab little Harry and apparated away. It could have gone so differently, in so many ways… If only he had taken care of the child first and punished the wolf later, if only he'd made sure all of them were dead, if only…
But on the other hand, he had been lucky. For what if that killing curse had hit him? His Horcruxes would have kept him alive somehow of course, but how long would it have been until he would have been able to resurrect again?
And now he had found the prophecy-child again, he would not let him go easily… But this would all be oh so much easier if Harry came to him willingly… Once every month should be enough. Enough to learn the child's strengths and weaknesses, enough to influence his mind, enough to plant seeds of doubt against the rebellion. And perhaps in the process, he would find out the secret of Harry's survival.
Well, one of Harry's secrets was out now, though he had suspected it ever since that day. His torn piece of soul had never embedded itself in the intended object… but it was gone, and he finally knew with certainty where. It seemed he had a little werewolf-Horcrux running around.
Fist of all, this will not be a very long story, and in between every chapter there will be some major time-skips. I've written about half of the next, which takes place six years later with some flashbacks.
There will be HPLV romance, but not until chapter three or later... and T-rated.
Read and Review!
xx elfin -ah, it feels good to sign with this again... took me a long time to get used to leaving that out when answering reviews/PM's on my new account..-
for people who didn't read first AN, Visitor and all other M-rated stories have been moved to the account GeMerope.