Title: Vanteerian Charm
Author: Lady Treason & Tinkering
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affliates, I'm in no way connected to any of them, I do not mean to infringe on any copyrights or titles and I make no money off of this endeavour.
Warning: What can I say? It's a Harry Potter/Smallville crossover. SS/HP, as if I'd write anything else...and Clex, #fans self# need I say more?
Summary: Mostly HP but then a curious bald headed man and a gangly farm boy wandered into their universe…and were followed. So then the megalomaniac father of said bald headed billionaire started getting even GREATER "disillusions" of grandeur… am I giving away the whole plot here? Dude!
A/N: Lol. I doubt you'll figure out where I'm going from that gabbled mess. If you can I'll give you twenty cyber cookies, five glasses of milk and a stuffed teddy bear…one of the BIG ones! But onto more important things.
Treason and I started this before she left. I'm sorry she isn't here to start it off with me. I guess I'm continuing it on my own now but I'm still including her name in case there's any misunderstandings. If you've read our shared story The Last Vanteera or any responses to her challenge about this new creature you'll know all about its abilities already. You can either do a little background work before coming in or walk in blind (blind is more fun, you get to act all surprised). Even though we have an even bigger legacy of shared stories that no one knows about, they will most likely never be seen. All I can say is I hope you enjoy this one…and enjoy it until you can tell where Treason's ended and I begin alone. #sticks out tongue# Try to enjoy my parts too though!
Vanteerian Charm
By Lady Treason & Tinkering
Disclaimer: All HP characters and places belong to JK Rowling. The Vanteerian Race and stuff belongs solely to me. Ha.
Prologue
Unremarkable.
You all know the story of this soon-to-be seventeen year old boy saviour, Harry James Potter, so I will not bother to repeat it.
You all know that he survived the killing curse when he was but a babe, attacked by the Darkest Lord of all time (how convenient!). You all know that he was then placed on the unremarkable doorstep to this very same unremarkable house, where he was then left in the oh-so-tender mercies of his oh-so-loving relatives (how kind!).
You all know that he was then rescued by a monster-crazed Half-Giant who took him on a wee little trip to London to buy a wand, of all things. You all know, then, that he was told that he was a wizard, and a very famous one at that (How fitting!). You all know that our boy, at such the tender age of eleven, met up once more with the bodiless, hideous, relentless Dark Lord for the second time (Such fun!).
You also know that our boy returned for a second year at this oh-so-safe school (where he was, of course, wrapped up in cotton wool and locked up in the highest room of the tallest tower and taught how to sew). You all know then that he fought the biggest, slimiest, nastiest of snakes (and no, I don't mean Voldemort) with the cruellest of eyes in existence. Our unremarkable boy fought with his enemy through fire, and water, from the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, he fought him, the Basilisk of the Chamber.
(Until at last, he threw down his enemy and smote his ruin upon the stone floor. Darkness took him. Then light… in such a prettiful bird.)
But that's nothing!
You all know what happened in his third year at that harmless magical place where no sorrow is known. Our prettiful little boy found his somewhat-prettiful godfather, a werewolf, a rat and, to top it all off, managed to blast his most-hated, tall, dark (and incredibly handsome) prince charming right into unconsciousness. (Love at first sight.)
You also know that the fourth year brought back that no-longer-bodiless, but-still-hideous and relentless Dark Lord to power. Our Harry helped, of course, being the loving, kind and gentle little boy he was. How could he refuse? (It didn't help that he wasn't even asked in the first place, of course).
And then, the fifth year, where our beloved angel lost his beloved godfather after so little time together. Tears and anger reigned then, frustration and shouts, pain and fear, not to mention Voldemort was somewhere in the background too. But, of course, you all know about that.
But no, I won't bother to repeat his story.
That would make it completely unremarkable.
What you don't know, perhaps, is that in Harry's sixth year, he made two great allies in Lucius and Draco Malfoy. (Who would have guessed?). Out of allies, came friends and then friends grew into family. Our baby grew up, learned a lot, fought for survival and came out beaming and glowing and just oh-so-happy.
But no, I won't tell you about that either, because that was completely unremarkable.
What I will do, though, is tell you a story of the next year of our boy's life. I will tell you of secrets and of joys, of pain and of strife, of love and deceit. I will tell you a tale so incredible that you will find yourself bored with all those other merciless stories, stories where the people pair our loveable boy here with the most horrid of partners. (Who in their right mind needs Het?).
I will tell you a tale that is remarkable.
And I will tell you that tale now…
Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the most eligible bachelor and winner of the Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award, gazed out of the window of a completely unremarkable house, onto a completely unremarkable street. The full moon shone high over the houses, naked to the eye even as the storm clouds drew together overhead.
Rain pounded against this quiet, unremarkable street and bounced off the concrete of the path. Wind howled against the windows fiercely, battering against the glass along with the rain, so hard that Harry wondered if it would break. He didn't hold his breath though. Still, he gazed out and peered through the darkness, not for anything remarkable mind you, no, our dear boy was quite simply bored. How… unremarkable.
He was a quiet boy, quite intelligent, really, which was a surprise considering he certainly didn't get it from his father. He was contemplative, hard working, a great listener and very patient… what more could we ask for in the mortal male species? This was certainly a rarity; boys like this were surely very nearly extinct. He could be a handsome boy, as well, if he bothered at all, if he didn't hide behind such thick lenses, if he didn't wear such rags…
… but our friend here was gay, which again is not really a surprise. All the good ones are gay, or taken, or dead. The latter might not have been thought of as a 'good one' when they were alive, but its surprising how memories and feelings change to suit ourselves when the person isn't there to contest the illusion by breathing.
I do believe I'm getting sidetracked.
He was also a loving boy, of the sort that wore his heart on his sleeve. I think what did it for most, though, were those unnaturally bright emerald green eyes of his.
In just five minutes, Harry would be seventeen years old. He would be of age in the Wizarding world, classed as an adult and, even better than that, he would be able to do magic outside of school. What more could he ask for? Aside from Voldemort's defeat… his parents back … his godfather back … a normal life … no more pain … no more fame … no more Dursleys… not a lot, really.
In just over a month, Harry would be returning for his seventh year at Hogwarts (that wonderful safe haven where he would never be harmed). He couldn't wait, there was so much to do this year, a home to find, friends to keep safe, magic to learn, exams to pass and an evil dark wizard to kill… yes, he really, truly, could not wait.
Sometime before then, he hoped, he would be taken away from his completely unremarkable, private hell here at the Dursleys, and taken somewhere where he was actually wanted, cherished, loved. He didn't particularly care where that somewhere was, but then again, who would?
He glanced away from the window once and across to the once-broken-but-now-fixed alarm clock that was by his bed. Three minutes. He turned back to the window.
The rain fall has not lessened in the least all day, nor has the bitter cold wind. It was a typical British summer. Who needed winter? Harry reached across after a while and pushed the window open, not bothering to step back as the wind and the rain instantly found the hole and tried to chuck as much of each other inside as they could. Almost as if they needed shelter.
The owls had arrived.
He had his wand out and gripped so tightly in his hands that his knuckles turned white, his jaw was clenched shut as he ground his teeth together, seemingly without noticing. His bedroom door was shut tight, as it always was, and he wondered perhaps whether he would get a gift from Voldemort this year … maybe a portkey. It wouldn't surprise him; he was merely astonished that the evil Dark Lord hadn't tried yet.
Even better than that, a cursed piece of parchment that would grow hands and strangle him…
He stepped to the side to let them enter, his emerald green eyes sweeping over the flock intently, mainly to see if there was any there that he didn't recognise. Thankfully, there wasn't, and now he was left to wonder whether he was being a tad bit paranoid.
After a minute of just staring at them, Harry moved forward to relieve the owls of their packages, watching as most of them flew from the house almost immediately, leaving only Hedwig, Pig and Draco's eagle-owl, Archeon.
His bed was absolutely covered with letters and parcels but he ignored them for now, turning his gaze back to the window.
'Why is he staring out there now?' You ask, when it clearly cannot be put down to boredom as it had before. So I will tell you. Our dear boy does not feel so well. For the first time in as long as he can remember … he is ill.
Our brave little soldier here does not normally get swamped with such common illnesses as the flu, colds, headaches and the likes. All of his time in the hospital wing was down to injuries; all of his headaches were down to Voldemort. So why was he ill now? Why, after all these years, did he feel sick, dizzy, lost, alone and with a bitch of a headache?
The main part of the story that I will tell you is the answer to this question, it is not something that can merely be explained in such short and simple terms. If you are disinclined to believe the unbelievable, then I suggest you leave now. For you see, I am to tell you a tale that stretches beyond remarkable.
After a while, Harry shut the window again and crossed the room over to his bed. He knew that he had to sort all of these presents out now, before his Uncle Vernon, woke to find that he actually had friends. Oh no, should his uncle find that out, the punishment for actually being likeable would be too high.
Harry sighed, brushing his hand through his too-long hair as he glanced down at the gifts one last time. If it was up to him, he would throw everything on the floor, curl up in bed and not move for a month. He decided that he didn't like being ill.
Instead, he reached for the first one he came to, this was wrapped neatly in silver paper and he knew immediately that it was from Draco and Lucius. He picked up the letter that came with it and then broke the seal of the envelope before unrolling the parchment.
Harry
Happy seventeenth birthday, Harry. I expect that you are rather excited now, though I must ask what plans you have for the muggles. I'm thinking a nice few hexes should do the trick, are you going to give me details? I don't have long to write, but I'll be seeing you soon anyway. You're cordially invited to spend the rest of the summer at Malfoy Manor, we'll pick you up in two days.
He skimmed down the rest of it with weary eyes, seeing if there was anything else of importance there. There wasn't. The rest merely offered best wishes, pleasant dreams, a wonderful day and the usual drivel.
He unwrapped the present next, surprised to see a nice long hooded cloak, pitch black but made of the finest material he had seen. On the top left hand corner there was the Potter family mark, what looked like a large black cat inside a silver triangle with a P over the top of it. Nothing original really, nothing exciting, nothing remarkable.
He went through the rest of the gifts and letters one by one, unsurprised to find the usual Weasley food package, along with a thick woolly jumper, a beautiful silver chain, a book on chess and a box of pranks. From Remus, he received a few old and tattered books on defence, each of which had notes written in the margins. From Lucius, he received two golden daggers along with a weapons belt, and from Dumbledore he received the golden Gryffindor sword.
So nothing… remarkable.
The sword and the daggers, were something that he had been learning how to use since Lucius Malfoy was discovered as a spy and went to Hogwarts. He had been giving Harry private lessons, and while he was still nowhere near competent, he was getting there.
He regretted not being able to write out a few short thank you notes but felt too sickly so he shooed the owls before he pushed all of his gifts under his bed, hoping they would stay hidden.
So as you can all see now, our prettiful boy had an unremarkable night that night, in an unremarkable room, that had the most unremarkable furniture in existence. He had what appeared to be an unremarkable cold, in the middle of summer might I add, and several unremarkable bruises and cuts over his body.
Yet if only things could have stayed that way for our saviour. If things that stayed that unremarkable way, why, Harry would never have survived the next few weeks, let alone anything else. At 12:19am on the 31st of July is when my unremarkable story turns remarkable…
After shutting the window (again) behind the owls, Harry made his way over to his cold, hard bed, wanting nothing more than to just close his eyes and fall deep into a dreamless sleep for a good while.
About halfway across the room, the ache that surrounded his every muscle and his every joint intensified so suddenly that it left him breathless. He felt like he had just been hit with the Cruciatus curse from behind, but he knew that that was impossible. He hadn't quite gone so far in his paranoia as to believe that there were people hiding in his walls.
He stopped in mid-step and tensed, trying to remain on his feet. He found that he couldn't, nor did he care about that, and fell to his knees. The pain centred on his back and it was almost as if the skin was tearing open, becoming heavier than was natural. He could smell the blood that trickled down, before it began pouring down.
He curled up into a foetal position, cradling his head as he tried to stop the white hot knives that were stabbing him all over. Before his very eyes, though, his fingers seemed to lengthen slightly and then his nails grew … and grew … and grew… until they were claws as sharp as knives.
If that wasn't strange enough, then perhaps the fact that he could feel something growing out of his back would do it for you. He screamed. He couldn't stop himself, and he screamed until his throat was raw. His magic was swarming all around him, throwing whatever useless pieces of broken toys or furniture that were against the walls.
It hurt.
He rolled around, he rocked backwards and forwards, he bit into his hand, he tried everything, but nothing lessened the pain in the least. His scream turned into an inhuman shriek, then into a hiss … and then darkness.
Before he fell unconscious, though, he was made aware of two sleek black wings that were now attached to his shoulder blades.
And so begins the story of the century. A story of a life that starts anew at seventeen years old. A story of secrets and of lies. Our loveable friend received a gift of pure undiluted pain, worse even than the unforgivable, from his favourite entity to ever exist; Fate. Along with that pain, any notion of mortality or humanity that our love had held dear for years now was ruthlessly torn away.
I shall tell you this now: his wicked stepmother, Vernon Dursley, grumpy and just plain pissed off from the screams that had woken him, charged into his nephew's room. He saw the wings and our poor dear became even more of a freak in his eyes.
It was, perhaps, for the best that Harry was unconscious then, for he would not feel the pain of the brutal beating he received until he woke. Vernon kicked and he punched and he kicked some more, then he threw Harry down the stairs and out of the house with all of his belongings, unwilling to let him under their roof again.
Here now is my tale about a remarkable boy, with a remarkable life, and now a remarkable secret. For how long he would survive, is unknown. What he is, is unknown. What is known is this: He is Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the most eligible bachelor; winner of the Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award and he is remarkable.
Let me tell you why…
stupidlinewon'tshowupstupidlinewon'tshowupstupidlinewon'tshowupendsherebtw
This is all Treason. It might remind some of another fic she wrote and published. This was where it originally came from.
A/N: So you know this will be a random update kind of thing and not as regular as smaller chapters. But I've got it all sorted in my head...it'll be cool!
Oh! And if you like Bleach, Naruto or Gundam Wing, don't forget to check out my other new stuff! #grins#