A/N; This one-shot is inspired by Howl from Florence + the Machine. It's a short story that could've been much longer about self-denial and obsession. And just like many of my other stories it's a bit dark and twisted.
This story haven't been beta read, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know and I'll correct them as soon as possible.
Alright, I've been so busy for the last half year that I've hardly posted anything. However, now I finally have time to write. So, if you've read some of my other stories, then you can expect an update on one of them very soon.
Disclaimer; I am not J. K. Rowling and I do not own Harry Potter.
H O W L
He felt limitless.
Without end and boundary. Free to roam the forest's endless beauty and greenery. Until the world once again crumbled into control and logic, he was free. Free to run through the night. The dark sky with its millions of consuming stars above him and only heat stealing earth beneath him. Wind rustled though the leaves, whispering into his sensitive ears; 'Come, run with me.'
It was a feeling that haunted him every time he had to change. Every time he had kept himself in his human form until his skin began to itch and burn and he no longer had a choice but to let everything go. Until he had no choice but to let his bones bend and mend.
He was not lycanthropic.
His only curse was stubbornness and stupidity. Or so he always told himself, when he roamed the earth in uncontrolled beauty.
Now, he was paying the price for trying to control the uncontrollable. He was not foolish. He knew that if he ran into the woods more often he would be in control. However, not now. Now, he could see and think but no control could be exercised over his alien self.
Instincts were pulling his traitorous body over boulders, past rivers and deeper into the wild forest.
Harry had shifted willingly once when he had been much younger. When he had been innocent and naive. And he remembered his own fascination and curiousness. How fascinated he had been over something as murderous and dangerous as his own body.
Shapeshifters were not known to be larger than their animal counterpart. However, Harry - always the abnormal one - had been unusually larger when he had first shifted. Of course, it was not a fact he had been aware of when he had let his inner self come out the first time. He had been alone.
He reached approximately 6.5 feet in length, including his tail. And even though grey wolves normally were perceived as large wolves, Harry was enormous, which was slightly humorous - and freaky - considering how thin and fragile his human form was.
Harry was an aberrant form of a shapeshifter.
This particular night was chilly. Dashing over a thin, clear stream, he inhaled the fresh air. Petrichor, the scent that often accompanied the fist rain after a dry period, lingered in the air. The entire situation would have been wonderful if he had been in full control of his own fibres.
Panting loudly, unwelcome excitement surged though him. Blood had been spilled somewhere in the forest, and now the beast within had smelt it. The wolf, not Harry - never Harry - picked up speed and bolted towards the source.
He was hunting.
—øØø—
It had been fully unintentional, he had to admit.
When he had entered the forest, keen on making a lasting business deal, he had planned on letting his client go. So, in a way, it could be written off as an accidental murder if he ever was caught. After all, it sounded better than plain murder to innocent ears.
Not that he would ever get caught. Not with his 'condition'.
Tom Marvolo Riddle looked unconcernedly down at his hands. They were painted red by the life of his client. Such an unfortunate and foolish man. Tom was not exactly known for his shinning mood, so when the man had asked for more than they had agreed on, he had dug his own grave. And a deep one.
He ran his hands though his hair, sighing in indifference and slight annoyance. It was far from a significant loss; his business would not be affected.
Maybe he could use the corpse for his studies? However, he had no use for another body in his basement. And when he thought about it, the fridge was full.
And, last but not least, Ginevra would - try - to skin him alive if Tom ever bought home another one of her kind. She seemed happy enough with all the housework, so who was Tom to go against her wishes. So, he had no choice, he had to let the body lie on the cold ground, waiting to be found.
Poor Gilderoy. He had been amusing - and slightly irritating - when his blood was flowing, but Tom liked him much better when his blood painted the ground beneath him. Like a halo. Death was, and had been as long as he could remember, Tom's greatest pleasure. Nevertheless, Tom would never use a branch for such business every again. The splinters left in Gilderoy's body made it look sloppy and unprofessional.
Tom accepted the fact that he would never be recognised for his pieces, but he refused to leave them in such an unsightly state.
Had he left any traces? Yes, countless. However, it would soon begin to pour down again, just as it had done hours earlier. It had already begun to drip down.
It would rain. And with the rain all traces of Lucius Malfoy would disappear.
Tom smirked, before he pocketed his smooth skin gloves. He had to be careful or else they would tear. The skin was so fragile and Lucius would, without a doubt, want them back as soon as he returned.
—øØø—
He felt threatened. And there was no path he could take to avoid the dangerous threat. After all, there was no way he could avoid himself.
And now he would kill. Again. He would harm something walking on two legs, in the beautiful opening in the forest, not far away from the town in which he lived.
Death clouded the air.
Was it dead? Already? How boring. How selfish. He had looked towards to ripping its throat out.
No, he had not. Harry wanted to live without running freely though the forests.
Let's hunt.
Let's eat.
Enjoy it.
Embrace it.
He dashed into the open area, growling violently. Eyes searching for any form of life.
The liquid of life would pour if the beast had any say.
Red, exquisite and, oh so, warm liquid would paint his teeth red.
Until the next night he was free.
—øØø—
It had been unexpected. Not unwelcome, just not something Tom had believed likely to happen.
However, it had.
As he had considered walking away from the bloody scene, and let the rain do its job, the brushes rustled and a loud, quite aggressive, growl reached his ears.
Tom was given no time to hesitate before the creature attacked. Its intent was clear. It was out for blood. This creature was controlled by animalistic fury.
He threw himself to the side, intent on keeping his current body intact. Sharp claws managed to dig into his shoulder, ripping though his shirt and cutting painfully into his skin. Adrenaline pumped though his veins.
Tom landed harshly on the humid ground.
The dark sky above bouldered loudly, and the rain that had been dripping down on his shoulders disappeared. Calm before the storm.
Hurriedly he pushed his hands into the wet mud to push himself up and away from the animal. The situation felt surrealistic. He, the-one-who-should-not-be-mentioned, was in a position of danger. He was the prey.
The realisation ignited new fury in his chest.
Tom whipped around to glare at the animal, a wolf, bearing his teeth in anger. It growled loudly in reply, circulating Tom in controlled aggressiveness.
He had to do something or else Tom Riddle would perish. Just as the enormous wolf was about to pounce, Tom shoved his hand down into his left pocket, gathering his only weapon. Ripping it out, Tom blew intensely red powder towards the wolf as it attacked.
Then he once again threw himself to the ground, fabric ripping under the stain.
He barely avoided the animal, and now his breath was coming out in short gasps.
Inhaling deeply, Tom glanced over his shoulders. If he had failed then he was as good as dead. Or at least his body would be.
On the ground, only few meters from Tom's legs, the animal was half laying. It struggled, trying to lift its heavy weight, but only managed to lift its head up and snarl in Tom's direction.
Swallowing, Tom stood shakily up. No matter how big his ego was and how arrogant he had been, Tom could not look away from the fact that he had felt threatened by the enormous animal. And the danger it had posed.
The red powder would not kill it, only put it out for some hours, probably less. The wolf's movement ceased slowly, the poison taking effect.
Tom stood locked to the ground, not willing to move until the beast had stilled completely. Reaching up to his shoulder, he brushed his fingers over the bleeding wound. It was not deep, but he probably had to bandage and clean it when he got home.
The wolf had stilled completely, only shallow breaths indicating that it was alive.
Tom reached into his right pocket, where he kept his gloves - or more precisely, Lucius's skin - to get his phone. Who was best suited? Ginevra? No, she disliked violence. Ah, his financial officer would be perfect for this particular task.
Going through his endless contact list, Tom finally found the intended person. It would have been so much easier if he had kept his own employees on a favourite list.
The tone beeped only once, before he answered.
"Yeah?" He sounded annoyed, as always.
"I am in need of some assistance, Severus." Tom demanded, calm now that the threat was under control. "Now,"
He heard Severus sight loudly, his teeth grinding though the phone. "It is not up for discussion." It was better not to give him a choice.
"I have much better things to do than assisting you… there is an enormous stack of papers waiting for me." Severus's irritation was increasing, and Tom wondered why he even had hired Severus in the first place. It was a foolish thought he had every time he tried to make Severus do something else than the man, himself, desired to do.
The man was lucky that he already was dead.
"You will…" Just as he was about to demand Severus's assistance, a couple of large aftershocks went through the animal on the ground. Its legs and muscles twitched and shock.
It was like nothing Tom had ever seen. The thick, black fur began to wither like grass, slowly, before slipping down the creature like ash. And as the fur evaporated, the bones of the creature mended and twisted in disturbing ways unfit for a healthy living being. Bones cracked and painful whimpers seeped out of the unconscious creature. No, not a creature. A man.
A werewolf?
No, there was no full moon.
A shapeshifter.
How?
Shapeshifters were extinct.
They had been extinct as long as Tom had lived.
Swallowing in excitement, Tom continued talking.«No, I agree. You do have better things to do.» Not offering Severus any chance to reply, he shut his phone. He walked towards the man for closer inspection.
He was nowhere close to the size of the wolf. The difference was so big that if Tom had not seen it himself, then he would have scoffed at anyone trying to convince him that the man and the wolf were the same being.
He was a pale and thin looking man, with messy, pitch-black hair. His small statue made Tom believe he was around his 20s, but he could be wrong.
One thing was clear.
Tom could and would not kill the creature in front of him.
—øØø—
Confusion. Confusion and a painful headache was the first thing Harry knew when he returned to consciousness. Where? How? No matter how much he tried, he could not remembered what he had done after attacking the man in the forest. Had he killed him?
No, no, no, no, no.
Harry cracked his eyes open in panic, breath coming out in erratic pants. It was not real. Only a fantasy constructed by the beast.
The ground beneath him was icy, too cold to even be considered earth. No green plants or quiet streams greeted him when he opened his eyes, only darkness. Unforgiving darkness.
He searched his surroundings, trying to find a source of light. A beam of light that could be his anchor. His eyes landed on a long, thin line of light by the ground and as he studied the source, he could see the contour of a door.
A room? How was it possible? Harry had never managed to get home in his wolf - no, the beast had never managed to get into his home before. And did he have a room without any windows? No. He had no such room.
The beast had executed them both.
—øØø—
"You bought what into the mansion?" She whispered in disbelief, before gritting her yellow teeth and yelling. "I refuse to have a big fury animal walking around in the same corridors as I'm trying to keep clean! No, I won't allow it!" Her deathly pale complexion attained a slight pick colour as her anger rose. Tom felt proud. She almost looked alive, he had done a wonderful job when creating her.
Studying her for several seconds more, he sighed. "Ginevra, I choose what I desire to bring into this mansion, it is mine. Is it not?"
Her eyes widened. "But it… it's filthy." She stuttered.
Not wanting to use anymore energy on arguing with his own creations, he waved his hands dismissively as he turned around. "Then wash him, if it makes you feel better."
"You know what? I will!" She yelled at him as he strolled away.
Tom glanced momentarily up at the ceiling in the corridor. Spider webs coloured the wood white and dust was hanging like treads down from the ceiling.
He had no idea why she even complained.
—øØø—
That his next meeting with another being would end in an icy cold bath, had not been what Harry had expected.
She had entered his prison in angry strides. Forced him up from the floor, out of the room, through long and horribly filthy corridors, to a bathroom. It had probably been beautiful when first built, but the room had lost its glory now that dust gathered in every corner and all the mirrors were so dirty that nothing could be reflected in them.
Harry was directed to an empty tub. Not seeing any point in refusing to cooperate, Harry sat down in it. It was incredibly cold. The young woman, whose face he now could see, then went on by pouring several buckets of cold water over his head.
She was muttering angrily while scrubbing him all over. As Harry studied her, he noticed some peculiar traits. Her skin was far too white, and her eyes had no pupils. Only a round pearl of bright brown in different hues.
And worst trait of all. She never took a breath as long as she washed him.
When it all was finished, he was once again locked inside the windowless room. Still without clothes, Harry wondered if he would survive inside the room for much longer. A horrible cold air was constantly blowing into his room from somewhere close by. And he had not been dried after the bath.
Cold, wet and shaking, Harry realised that he had no choice.
He had to change.
—øØø—
Tom felt pleased.
Ginevra had not remembered the needs of a living being. And, as a result, Tom had not needed to lift a hand to get proof of his theory.
The man had changed after one and a half day inside the room.
And the creature was extraordinary.
As a human being, the man had not been anything out of the ordinary. Maybe he would be considered handsome by most people, but if Tom fell for something based on beauty only then he would not have Ginevra in his mansion. Not that she was ugly, in fact she had been a very beautiful woman when she had been alive. However, in death her teeth had yellowed and her nails blackened.
As a wolf, a grey wolf, the man was beyond exquisite. Enormous, powerful and so incredibly aggressive.
The wolf growled, sharp teeth revealed, and pressed its back up against the wall.
Why did it not attack?
Had something changed?
Ah, humanity could be seen in the green eyes. Tom sighed loudly. How unfortunate.
Oh well, he would fix it later.
Now, he would bind the animal.
Bind it to his own soul.
—øØø—
The couch was comfortable and, for a change, clean. No spier webs littered the fabric and the dust had been cleaned off hours earlier.
It had taken him 7 years to get his couch cleaned by Ginevra.
Of course, he could not say she had not tried. She had tried and tried and tried to clean it to a satisfiable degree. However, every time she finished cleaning it, it looked even more covered in dust and web than when she began.
Apparently, her success could only be 'blamed' on Harry's careful guidance in how to clean furniture. She had cried in horror when she had looked at the end result that day. 'I dislike your way of cleaning!', she had screamed and stormed off.
Harry rather liked the result.
Well, he would have cleaned it himself years earlier, if only he had been in his human skin. However, ever since Tom had bound - imprisoned - his soul, Harry had been unable to shift when he desired. Now, his ability to change from wolf to man was dictated by Tom. And Tom liked to keep him in his wolf form.
Harry had been caught, imprisoned and conquered.
Both body and soul.
Now, the beast and the man had calmed.
The endless fight had halted.
For a common enemy.
—øØø—
The rest is up to your imagination.
—øØø—