Hedeon Potter and the Russian Demoness
(Important notes are in bold)
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the base idea behind the creatures that are mentioned. This is the only disclaimer.
Notes: Yes, I know what you're thinking. Really, Nox? Another story? You've yet to update the others! Do not expect an update on any of my stories. I just have a LOT of free time, and my brain is always giving me plot ideas. I also have ADD, so that doesn't help any...I can't update until Friday, so...
I am an American teenager, so I apologize for any mistakes in American to English/British spelling.
Updates will be infrequent, but this story WILL NOT be abandoned.
Iris is not the only OC, but she is the only one that will stick around.
Warnings: Drug usage by minors (minor), Abuse of minors (minor), Drug abuse (mentioned), Alcohol use by minors, Tobacco use by minors, Starvation, Abandonment, Gore, Torture, Violence, Slash, Fem-slash, Mpreg, and Fpreg in later chapters, Creatures, Kitsune!Iris, (She is yōkai), Half-Werewolf!Harry, Cunning!Iris, Clever!Iris, Sly!Iris, Intelligent!Harry, Sly!Harry, Twin-Like!Iris/Harry, Smart!Dumbledore, Bad!Dumbledore, Annoying!Ron, Annoying!Ginny, Know-It-All!Hermione, Watchful!Snape, Cautious!Snape, Helpful!Snape, Possible OOC!Harry, Grey!Harry, Grey!Iris, Grey!Sirius, Grey!Remus, Soul Mates
Relationships: Harry/Draco, Iris/Luna, Ron/Hermione, Severus/Poppy, Sirius/Remus, Ginny/Multi, Neville/Iris/Luna, Tom/Harry, Draco/Iris (Iris, Draco, Harry, Luna, Tom, and Neville are in a consensual love Hexagon in later chapters)
Iris is pronounced ear-ISS. (Her full name is Irissa Vasilisa Volkov) Harry will be referred to as Hedeon when he is in Russia.
Italics are Russian. I will attempt the accents when it is accented English, but I apologize for any mistakes.
I think that's all.
~Nox
Prologue
Albus Dumbledore was a kind, grandfatherly man that would willingly sacrifice himself for others without a second thought.
This is the description you would get from most. However, if you were in Magical Russia, you would get something completely different. You would be told that the man was none of those things. Words like 'prejudiced', 'manipulative', and 'nosy' are some of the more generous adjectives that you would get. That is to say, of course, you got passed the glares and tense silence. Many people, young and old, would become stiff and silent, their faces blank. They would probably look around, searching to see if anybody heard, and then you would have to get by the Magical Militia, who would be suspicious of anybody asking about him.
The truth of the matter was that Albus Dumbledore was wanted in magical Russia, something Sirius black knew well. He had spent the previous week searching for a country exactly like this one; absolutely no chance of Dumbledore being allowed entry. While he had been searching, Remus had distracted Dumbledore. It had not been easy, but, in the end, Dumbledore was in America looking at a werewolf pack to recruit for when the Dark Lord returned.
Britain had just finished a war, all thanks to the little bundle in Sirius' hands. Of course, tom was still alive. His Horcruxes made sure of that. He was some vapour-wraith-misty-thingy now, and until they—Remus, Severus, Sirius, and a whole myriad of others—could get some of Dumbledore's blood, or find a willing demon, they were stuck with that. Thankfully, nobody on the light side of the war knew of their true allegiances, or they'd be toast. Literally. The light would put them into a dragon enclosure and lock the gate.
Sirius gazed at the orphanage apprehensively. There were a few things he knew about this orphanage, the least of which being the fact that the food was horrible. One of the reasons he chose it was because nobody would look for Hedeon in such a grim place. Half of the building was indeed an orphanage, but the other half was a juvenile mental institution.
It was located in Moscow. It was a banal—as the Russian Magicals called non-magicals—Russian orphanage, which provided further cover for Hedeon. He would've chosen a less conspicuous city, like Khabarovsk or Cherepovets, but there weren't enough people to hide him. Bright, emerald-green eyes and jet-black hair are not Russian traits, so a city with a small population was out.
The orphanage was like every other orphanage he had seen, on the outside at least. There looked to be about twenty-five floors, the attic included, if all of the windows were anything to go by. The institution was on the bottom half, so the kids would have to go through there in order to get out and back in. It was a very smart way to ensure that the kids stayed where they belonged, if a little cruel. The building was made of bricks that were fading in some places, and concrete slabs squared the windows—which were made of very hard, durable glass, so the patients in the institution didn't break them—and the roof was made of slanting, grey-painted asphalt shingles. The front door was a dull red with a silver doorknob, which was chipped in places.
But the décor was not what worried him. What worried him was the orphanage's history, which was full of child abuse, starvation, and drug usage by both the kids and the adults. He truly feared for Hedeon's life and morality, but there was nothing for it. He just had to hope to Merlin and Morgana that Hedeon would make a friend some day that would help him get by.
Sirius walked up to the rust-coloured door and knocked gently, adjusting the little, silent boy on his hip, who was gazing at the orphanage wearily. A man looking no older than thirty opened the door. He had deep brown eyes and brown hair, with a roundish face. He wore a deep grey suit with a tie and all. He most certainly didn't look like he worked at an orphanage or a mental institution.
"Can I help you?" the man asked in fluent Russian, and Sirius was thankful for translation charms.
"Yes, you can. You see, young Hedeon was recently orphaned, and he has nowhere safe to go," Sirius stated, starting to reconsider. Maybe Japan-
His uneasy thoughts were cut off by the man's grunt as he took Hedeon from him, slamming the door.
Chapter One: Light in the Dark
A young boy of about seven was sitting on the old swing set on the playground. The other children were on the wooden carousel or see-saw, laughing merrily and occasionally squealing something in Russian.
The orphanage was the same as it was six years previous when the boy had arrived there, with few exceptions. The largest exception was the playground, which was installed when he was two. The next were that the paint and materials faded even more. The building was now a coral colour. and the door was a light pink. The doorknob was even more chipped, to the point that it showed the base copper. The institution was found out and evacuated. Apparently, the Russian Militia were not happy with the age groups, which included children under thirteen—which was against the law.
Because of this, the children were allowed to go outside more often. The government even installed a new playground, making sure to leave the old one for some reason.
The boy looked up as a girl of about eight approached him.
"Allo. Vat ees Yohrr nahm?" she asked in a heavy Russian accent, obviously proud that she spoke an English phrase. He looked up, smiling slightly at her. Her hair was jet-black and long, reaching her waist, and her eyes were like molten silver, alight with glee. Her face was slightly rounded, as most Russians' were, and her nose was small with a little freckle on it. There were two freckles on her cheeks as well. Her lips were a nice crimson colour, and her teeth were pearly white and pointed slightly. Her skin was very pale, but not unhealthily so. She looked to be about 4'9''. Overall, she would be arresting when she was older.
"My nahm ees Hedeon." Then, he grew timid. The others at the orphanage thought him to be a freak and weren't afraid to voice their opinions—in more ways than vocally. She seemed to know this because she smiled slightly, and the sun glinted off of her teeth.
"My nahm ees Irrissa Vahseeleesa Vohlkohv, boot you cahn cahll meh Irris. Eef you dohn't, I veel keel you een yourr sleehp," she said, still smiling. He froze, the rickety swing going still.
"What?" he exclaimed, and she rolled her eyes at him, also slipping back into Russian.
"I said that if you do not call me Iris, I will kill you in your sleep. It is not that difficult to understand."
Then the implications of that statement settled in, and Hedeon grinned.
"Zat meehns zat ve ahrr frrehnds. I ahm frrehnds vith Eerris!" he told her. She giggled.
"Eet vould seehm soh." Iris grabbed his hand, dragging him into the building to see Miss Ikopov, the woman whom took over after Mister Vitoliv left when Hedeon was four.
"Miss Ikopov!" Iris hollerred for her favourite Matron within the orphanage. Miss Ikopov was the only one in the orphanage that didn't condone drug usage and child abuse. She was very nice to the children, and she was considered a favourite in the orphanage. She was in her late twenties, but looked no older than twenty-two, according to Iris, who may have just been flattering her to get an extra cookie. She doesn't know.
"Yes, little Iris?" she asked the smart little demoness, who may actually be a demoness, now that she thought about it, remembering her sister...
Iris pulled a face at the nickname, but let it slide. For now.
"Hedeon and I—he's my new friend—want to share a room. Can you arrange that?" she asked, causing Miss Ikopov to frown and close her hazel eyes.
"If I allowed that, Iris-" she started, but was cut off by the aforementioned Iris.
"Is that a new haircut? It looks absolutely astonishing on you," she said. Hedeon remained silent as he looked at Miss Ikopov's hair.
No, nothing looked different. It was the same as always—long, dark brown pulled back into a tight bun. Was Iris trying to flatter the Matron?
Miss Ikopov smiled, allowing theyoung girl her wish of having her friend—her only friend—in her room.
"Oh, all right. You can share Iris' room, but-"
She was cut off by a joyous cry from Iris that sounded oddly like the bark of a fox. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly as Iris dragged Hedeon off by the hand.
In a castle in Scotland, an old man many knew as Albus Dumbledore was tapping his fingers idly against a desk in a large, ornate, circular office with silver instruments whirring and spinning every few minutes.
Albus sighed, glancing at the portrait of the former Headmaster, Professor Phineas Nigellus Black, who was sneering at him.
"No news on Sirius' wereabouts, then?" Albus asked for the third time that week. Phineas rolled his eyes.
"For the last time, you old coot, no. I have absolutely no idea where Sirius is." Which wasn't entirely true, but he wasn't about to say that. "And if I did, I most certainly wouldn't tell you." Sirius had gained a spot in his heart when he had told him his and his mate's plan to hide Hedeon.
Phineas knew what Albus would do the moment Sirius and Remus' location—which was France—was mentioned, and he'd kill the man before he allowed that to happen.
Albus sighed, obviously fed up with him, and stood up. His robes for the day were a deep violet with polka dots that glittered when he walked and gave Phineas a migraine. He walked to the fireplace, threw some floo powder in, and stuck his head into the emerald flames, shouting out a location.
"Severus Snape, Dungeons, Private Quarters!"
His head stayed in the fire for all of a minute before be straightened up, wiping imaginary dust off of his sparkly robes.
Severus stepped out of the still-green flames gracefully not five seconds after Albus sat back down.
"What, Albus?" Severus snapped, clearly annoyed at the Headmaster.
"Now, Severus, why don't you sit down."
He grudgingly did so, but refused the offer of "sherbert lemon?"
"So, Severus, I need you to do something for me. You have the Persequor Serum, am I correct?" Albus asked after a few minutes of awkward silence.
"Yes. If you need me to track someone, state their name, age, and give me a DNA sample," Severus replied, exaggerating the requirements on purpose in order to get more information. In reality, the DNA sample was all he needed, but Albus didn't need to know that.
"Very well. Here is the DNA sample," he handed Severus a short strand of jet-black hair, "his name is Harry James Potter, and he is eleven in a week." Albus said this with a steady voice, and Severus' breath left him.
Hedeon? I'm tracking Hedeon? The Dark Lord will torture me slowly before sending me home in a matchbox! I hope Albus knows this...
"Alright, Albus. What shall I do once he is found?" Severus asked, planting a sneer on his face for show. After all, Potter Senior was his enemy. It may be suspicious if he isn't happy to be tracking the spawn.
"Bring him to me. Here is a portkey, it will go off five minutes after you make contact with young Harrison."
As Severus stood up to leave, Albus said one last thing that almost froze him.
"Oh, and Severus, he is probably more like you than you think. Do be kinder, and do not blame the son for the actions of the father."
He left as fast as he could without looking suspicious.
To say Iris was surprised when a bat-like man in black robes appeared in her room while she was changing into her nightdress would be a vast understatement.
"AH HEDEON! THERE IS A VAMPIRE IN OUR ROOM!" the eleven-year-old screamed, dropping the hem of the nightdress, which was a deep black and made of what looked like satin. It had long sleeves and lacy hems and cuffs. When she dropped it, it fell to her ankles. She wore black socks on her feet.
"No, Iris. He is not a vampire," Hedeon replied, coming into the room in emerald pajama bottoms. He had a bruise on his right rib, but otherwise, the skin was unmarred. He was about 5'2'' now, having grown over the four years that he had known Iris, who snuck food from the kitchens. His skin was pale since he never went out, and his hair wasn't as messy as it used to be.
The walls were a dark blue and the floor was carpeted with pure white carpet. In the centre of two cream-sheeted beds was a Pentagram in what looked like black carpet. There was a wardrobe—made of mahogany wood—against the wall by the door, and the doorknob was golden.
Severus groaned when he heard the fluent Russian the boy spoke in.
"Do either of you speak English?" he asked, looking at Hedeon.
He was surprised when the girl spoke in English. It was heavily-accented, but English all the same.
"Yehs. Ee speekh Eengleesh," Iris, ever the faithful friend, stepped in. She had a feeling she could trust this man, and her feelings were always correct.
"Excellent," Severus said, sensing the magic coming from the girl. He looked to the portkey and gasped. It would leave if they did not move quickly. "This is a portkey. It will take us to another place."
"Keend ohv leek zah fahrry tahls ee oosehd toh rrehd." Severus nodded at the young girl, who stepped back.
"What is wrong? I am on a very tight schedule."
"Een ze fahrry tahls, ze cheeldrreen ahr keeld." Iris handed him a book labled "Бутылка". "Eet ees cahlld "Ze Bohttl" een Eengleesh."
The cover was just plain forest green with the title in silver.
Severus set the book down because it gave him chills.
"Vell, ahr ve goheeng ahneevehrre?" Hedeon asked, speaking for the first time since he entered the room. At this, Iris put on a pair of black flats. Hedeon was already wearing his shoes.
"Of course. You may want to put on a shirt, however." Hedeon pulled on a black T-shirt and touched the portkey. He grabbed Iris' hand, who glared at him.
"Ee ahm ze ohnly von zat cahn drrahg you."
They were whisked away with an uncomfortable feeling of tugging behind the naval.