Warnings: Creepy. Possible trigger: references to paedophilic desires.

Notes: This was written for darkfest, thanks to the mods for running that and thanks to my beta, hereticalvision. Written to the prompts: Character, like a photograph, develops in darkness Youssuf Karsh.

Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar Stood ruled, stood vast infinitude confined; Till at his second bidding darkness fled, Light shone, and order from disorder sprung. John Milton.

Scabbers

I do not love this life of claws and fur. I hate my rat desires. They do battle with my hidden humanity. My whiskers twitch appreciation of rank odours. I am drawn to the putrid. My paws run me into corners. I digest rubbish. I watch, I wonder, I wait.

I wait for my Lord to rise. I will not be a rat forever. When He returns I will be a man again. I will be his man, his servant, his favourite one. He will protect me.

Until then, my disguise is my only protection. I hide, I wait.

I watch from the pocket of the boy. This is the second boy. He is warm. His smells are intense. They are the musk of a boy in development. He feeds me from his own food; he makes sure there is always food around him. He smells of bacon fat and sugar and butter. There are other ways in which he shows me affection: with stroking and holding, with gentle murmurs. I watch from his pocket; I watch him.

When he was this young, the other boy also gave me affection and protection. I was his constant companion then. He has given me up. He handed me over without ceremony. It does not matter. This boy is better.

This boy does not shove me into bags that stink of parchment. He keeps me close.

I know that he is afraid. He is nervous most of the time now because we are here. I was a pupil here like him once and then I was also nervous. We need our friends without ever feeling worthy of them. All the time we fear that they will find more worthy friends. It is necessary to lose them first, so that we will no longer fear their loss. Inside these walls of stone it is the friends we crave and fear.

I watch the boy. His friend is the son of my friend. He should not trust him; friendship is transient.

The friend of my boy looks like his father. His father was my friend until I understood the Truth of my Lord. When my Master returns he will kill the boy as he killed his father. It is what He wants above all things. I will be his favourite servant, for I can deliver this boy into his unmerciful hands.

I watch and wait for the return of my Lord.

My claws scrabble over stone, up curtains, against glass. I can watch everything. I watch my boy sleeping. His mouth is open, bathing me in his thick night breath. I lie on the pillow next to his hair, which fans out strand by copper strand. I lick his hair.

I am with him everywhere and watch every thing he does. It is allowed. I am his pet. I am only an animal. He brings me with him when he washes. The bathroom is full of naked boy-flesh. When I was one of them I had to look behind my lashes, hide my interest. Now I am a rat and I can stand on the slippery porcelain openly staring. All the boys see are my black, beady rodent eyes. Through them I drink in every inch of soft, hairless skin.

The world is lost. Lives are guided by unprincipled pragmatism. Confusion rules. Witches and Wizards scurry like rats in the dark corners of ignorance. They taint themselves with contact with Mudbloods and their offspring, with half-bloods and with Muggles. When He returns they will hear his voice, and wild uproar will stand ruled. At his second bidding dark ignorance will flee. The unworthy will be done away with. His Light will shine, and order from disorder will spring.

His body is young and soft and pale. I have seen it all. He can not know how he has made me feel. I rub myself against his naked flesh. It is allowed.

My boy is beautiful. He is the best of them. He loves me. I am carried in his pocket, fed from his hand. He holds me tight to him. His secret worries and fears all are entrusted to me. I am an animal. It does not matter.

I crawl down into his pyjamas, my claws scraping across his skin. His scent is strong between his chest and the worn flannel. He chuckles and tries to catch me, hands chasing after me. It is the excuse I need to move beyond the waistband, to rub my fur against his hidden places.

He only laughs and pulls me out. If he could see me as I really am, as a man, then he would not let me touch his bare skin. He does not know how easily I could change back and then he would be at my mercy.

My boy loves me; I do not wish to hurt him.

I only wish to make love to him.

Back at his home there were boys and boys and boys. A rat could easily hide on the dark, undusted top of the medicine cabinet of the bathroom. I curled against the warmth of the waterpipe and watched. In the steam the boys were naked. Soap slid over their skin. Hands ran between buttocks and along small, soft shafts so they could clean themselves.

The smells in that house were good. Food scents were strong and always meant scraps for me. Also, there were body smells. The strongest of these was Boy. Boy and boy and boy and boy. Too many to count. All of them pale with taut, young skin stretched over their skeletons.

I love my boy more than anything. I love being held close to him. I love the scratches and the pats that he bestows on me.

If I should change my shape while we were sleeping then I wonder what he would do. What would I do?

I have transfigured myself a few times in safe secret and I know that these rat years have not been good to me. My teeth are yellowed, my finger is missing, my hair is lank and greying prematurely, my belly swells and sags.

If he woke to find that body close beside him, would he scream?

I could borrow his wand; if silencio had been cast then his screams would not matter. I would be free to touch him and show him my love openly. At first he might protest, but I know that he loves me. I would make sure that it did not hurt; I love him.

If my Master needs him dead, though, I will comply. The Lord will restore the world to righteousness. Whatever sacrifices must be made to that end will be suffered gladly. If I am good then I will be rewarded. Perhaps he will give me my boy as a pet.

I would carry him in my pocket and have him run all over my naked body. I would stroke him. I would make love to his fragile, hairless body.

I wonder as I watch and most of all I wonder how that will feel. I await the coming of my Lord when his followers will be free. My Master will give me the boy and return me to the life of a man.