Title: Silent Butterfly
Disclaimer: I don't own. Anything. Except the general thought. Story was originally thought up after listening to Smile.Dk's 'Butterfly'.
Summary: In retrospect, a voice wasn't so much of a loss, as long as he accomplished his goals. If he still had his voice, he would've said the spell again because it did the task.
A/N: As the disclaimer says, the original plot was thought up (and revolved around) the song 'Butterfly'. In the past two days, that plot bunny has morphed into this creature. So... this should be interesting. The RORequirement can have a DDR machine, right? (sweatdrop) This is my first dip into HP fiction. With most likely contain HPDM somewhere along the way. So now here we go. And please be kind to Ted and Harriet. (huggles them)
ONE
Harry stretched as he slowly woke up, a single fist rubbing his one eye as he attempted to convince himself to wake up. With deliberate ease, he swung his feet over the edge of his bed at Number 4, Privet Drive.
He knew what today was—his birthday.
Aunt Petunia had cornered him yesterday under the guise that she needed him to weed the garden. What she really wanted to tell him was that she was going to make sure that the family (sans Harry, of course) was going to be gone all day on his birthday, and for a few days following that. That was perhaps the best present that he could had been given from the horse-faced woman that had only recently attempted to bridge the gap and form some semblance of tolerance.
On the first day back, she had given him a book that had been her adopted sisters that had helped with many things that he had been pondering and that had helped him and invariably save his life halfway through summer holidays.
Outwardly, she was still the same unloving woman—though the scraps of food that found themselves inside Harry's room late at night proved otherwise.
To be sure, they weren't big enough to be missed, but they did take the edge off his hunger.
Still sitting at the edge of his bed, Harry gently closed his hand and gave it a slight pull back to his body, drawing Hedwig towards him. She gently perched on his shoulder, her claws not even digging into his thin cotton shirt.
He smiled and tenderly ruffled a few feathers at the top of her head. She hooted in laughter at this game that they played, chaste affection passed between them-between a familiar and a wizard. She could take a human form, but she was mute in that.
And Harry wouldn't want to wish that on anybody.
His head tipped down as his eyes closed, concentrating on the innate power that lay just beneath the surface. Cupping his hands together, a small globe of green light took shape before he opened his eyes and it became a rolled up parchment, complete with a wax seal in green.
He gave Hedwig a small smile as she hooted and nuzzled his cheek before her form shifted slightly into that of a white eagle. He passed the scroll to her and she took it in one claw before jumping off and passing through the wall.
He sat at the bed yet for a bit, leaning back on his arms for support as he stretched out in a line, ankles crossed in an unconscious movement. He gave a somewhat melancholy smile before he shifted his weight to his left hand and snapped the fingers of his right, not making a sound.
Like a tidal wave of black, starting at his feet, black cloth surged upward, claiming his body as it flew higher. It flew up his torso, and then stopped at his neck before teeing off and rushing to his fingertips.
Now 'dressed', his gloved hands fingered the silver band around his neck before he turned to look outside...to the world he would never truly know. Altogether, the outfit looked impressive, all sleek black lines and not a wrinkle of fabric insight. For a while, Harry had thought that the outfit was skintight--until he realized that skin-tight made even more wrinkles. Basically, it looked like a smooth mix of spandex and cotton, without the tag of slut or swimmer...but more like the tag of fighter. What was even more impressive was that the entire outfit was all one piece. On the upper left arm though was a blue something that would have surprised anyone to see it.
He got up and walked to the window, small clouds of dust rising from his silent footfalls. A breeze slipped in past him, ruffling the pages of the one book that sat open on the desk.
Butterflyes are a practically unknown race that are thought to have originated in Japan-though which one no one it sure which. They consist of one family, and their genetic makeup is what determines if there is enough magical blood in them to introduce them to the fold of Butterflyes.
Among the Purebled, it is a serious offence to speak of the Butterflyes. Thus, those of muggle heritage know nothing of them.
Harry grinned as he turned away from the window, snapping his fingers for everything in the room to be packed.
A moment later, all that was left of Harry's that was not in his trunk were a pair of brother wands, sitting inconspicuously on his night table, along with a pair of glasses.
He picked up each item gently, running his fingers over each. With a silent sigh, he held each item to the blue cutout on his arm, waiting moment before they were absorbed safely and securely within.
He snapped his fingers at his trunk, shrinking it before placing it against the cutout as well. He smirked at what was left of what had been his room, now bare and empty without his presence.
It was still early yet, and the sun had barely risen. Perching on the windowsill, he looked around, and then swept the area for any magical presence. His smirk deepened to that worthy of a Slytherin at the band of what he assumed to be Death Eaters coming this way.
Frankly, it made sense. They would expect him to be gaining his inheritance and weak due to having to go through it alone.
Idiots. The Potters and Helens had always gotten their inheritances early.
The Death Eaters must be trying to curry favor with their Lord.
Harry snickered at that.
Summoning a ball of crimson this time, he threw it at the wall, watching with satisfaction as it exploded and dripped words down the wall. He quickly tied a timer into the spell as well, so that it would disappear a few minutes after they left.
He grinned as he escaped out the window, hearing it latch behind him from the inside.
It looked like he had left the Death Eaters a note in his own blood.
---
TBC
A bit odd, I know, but I like it all the same.