Title: Walking Away
Summary: The Light was no better than the Dark. So he tore into the barrier between worlds and soon found himself in another place… a place with vampires… vampires that wanted him… only him…
A/N: Tired of Edward/Harry? The whole Fork's scene? I decided to think outside the box :) bare with me, I don't have a beta (any offers?) and I'm not too confident with how these characters are 'supposed' to act. All my information comes from the Twilight Wiki Site. Not a Cullen/Harry fic.
A/N2: Updated with new sentences!
Warning: Slash, Angst, Threesome.
Walking Away
1
They wanted me to walk away.
How could I simply walk away from such a major turning point in my life, or what's left of it…
My wand shakes in my hand and I see it, I actually look at the piece of wood with the core of a Phoenix's feather and notice it's slick with blood. The stains I spent countless nights scrubbing away and finding no solace as the red would stain my own hands and no amount of scrubbing could fix it. None of this can be fixed.
I feel dead inside, it's so very cold and my eyes are hollow points of madness that I couldn't ignore as I stare into dead eyes that are just as lifeless… no spark… no anything but the face. It's etched with a permanent fear and I can hear the pleading still echoing in my mind. Mercy! They all cry. Mercy! They beg. Mercy! There is none, there is no salvation but death, there is no second chances, or time to spew regrets.
.
He became what he despised, he became a heartless killer, a killer that was cheered for, a killer that was pat on the back and showered with hugs and kisses. It was wrong on so many levels but who could he complain to?
Whose shoulder could lean on?
No one's.
He had no one but himself, who could you trust but yourself? Even then can you trust your own eyes and ears when the world was nothing but false smiles and façade's of companionship?
His spine was straight as he waltzed out of the safe house that was the enemy but as his rubber soles touched the dirt from the outside and his lungs filled with fresh air and he exhaled the stench of smoke, sweat, blood, and the uniqueness of death; he was no cleaner than he arrived, he couldn't purge himself from this taint that others forced upon him… the Light side was no better than the Dark.
"Hey Bolt!" a fellow comrade greeted, hand on his shoulder, but he moved away. He couldn't stand to be here any longer. "What's wrong?"
He didn't answer, his pace quickened slightly lest he loose his composure and that wouldn't bode well for the lives around him, the ones who were standing on two feet and chattering as if the raid was some sort of tea party. Bypassing the pile of brooms he continued his trek until he was sure he was far from any sounds, any human life. Heavy dark robes blended well with the night and as he lifted the hood and draped it over he was hidden from any prying eyes he couldn't sense. Ducking beneath a low branch as he veered off course and into a nearby span of trees the young wizard paused.
He stood absolutely still. The numbness that left him unaware of the cold gradually faded alongside the adrenaline the past some hours. How much longer could he stand? How much longer until he collapsed from sheer exhaustion? The long hours, the nightmares, and the façade he kept before everyone was crumbling to nothing. He was cracking, breaking; for sure the others were beginning to notice if the knowing glint in the Leader's icy eyes was anything to go by.
It would only be a matter of time before something binding would be placed on his body or Merlin forbid his magic. The mere thought of someone holding such control over him curled his fingers into fists as the wind began to pick up, circling around gathering the dry leaves and loose dirt. Would he put it past them? No. Without question… the realization was a bitter truth he didn't care to acknowledge and there was no reason not to delve further into that thought.
It wasn't too difficult to see now that he was open to it. All those years he spent at the feet of his master, ugh, he was no better than some Death Eater and the Leader of the Light was no better than the Dark Lord himself. The Dark Lord was methodical, he was smarter in many ways, but he was straightforward and the question was, whom would he live the longest beside?
The answer: Neither.
He was nothing more than a pawn, a commodity, something to boast about to the others and he wasn't a disillusioned eleven year old, he knew that time on either side was limited. He was loved one moment and the next he was hated… the world didn't see him as a person, he was like some farm animal who was fed and patted but eventually he would head to the slaughterhouse. Frowning, he could picture himself with an apple in his mouth while those that smiled to his face licked their lips and lunged for him, their utensils ready to consume every last bit of him.
It wasn't too difficult to see how his friends of old had changed but couldn't the same be said for him?
The cool night air calmed and the rustling of the trees died and he was left again in quiet. The training, the countless hours between some form of education and mock battles with the elite left little time for a social life and the tendril like bond he held with others outside bent and twisted until they completely broke or were tattered to the point of no return.
Distance, that was between him and the world, he didn't fit
into any sort of mold in either the wizarding or muggle world. He needed a plan, some sort of ploy that would break him from this cycle. He couldn't continue onwards like this… "This is it." He muttered to himself, saying it aloud affirmed it; there was no turning back.
The sleeve of the robe fell back as his arm lifted and a finger lazily scrawled in the air. The once stillness moved gently at first and the clear sky above the canopy of lush branches clouded, they pushed together until a true darkness fell along the land. There was a glitter of light here and there until the dancing lights that were high in the trees left their sanctuary, and made their way bellow to the wizard who drew in the air in such an intricate manner it left the Earth itself thrumming.
There was a giant rip, a zigzag where the world once was whole but now was open. A clap of thunder echoed in the sky, the wind blew violently, whipping around the young wizard blowing the hood of the robe away revealing inky black hair and eyes… eyes so dark it mimicked the starless night.
Those eyes stared into the break of time, the break of the dimension, and he didn't quite see. He saw what the darkness wanted to show him but he wasn't aware of his surroundings. His mind was invaded with images and ears clogged by whispers only he could hear and understand. His mind was made up and he was given the privilege to understand that should he take those steps forward his actions would hold consequences and in the end… he decided he could live with it.
There were two distinct pops of apparation. There was the silent swish of wands and glowing tips, balls of magic zoomed outwards and each would have landed true but they were grasped by an unseen force and made to round the still form, swallowed into the rip that sparked and fizzled, burning the very air it sat around. Without another word the wizard formerly known as Bolt moved forward and with bare hands grasped the ragged edges of the tare and forced it wider.
A grunt passed his lips as the seemingly sharp edges cut through his palms and blood dripped to the ground and the sparks that were glimpses of light danced along his skin, snapping and crackling along the jagged edges. The wind gusted, the forceful shoves pushed at the two wizards, both men from opposite sides, their robes wrapping around their legs tripping them – their wands and spells ceasing.
They could only watch as the dark figure before them stepped through the wide gap and as the last piece of fabric slipped through the break that hung unaided in the air there was a moment of absolute stillness, the wind dying quite suddenly and before the two wizards eyes they managed to see the gap sew itself up and with the last stitch a bright light and explosion knocked them over, tumbling them away as a dark slithering magic spread outwards.
The shock of such an occurrence was felt throughout the world. Both sides were left to their own devices and their story beginning and an ending left to their own fate…
.
He couldn't settle down.
It had been well over half a century when he found himself tossed into a new world and he had yet to change. He had yet to grow any older and still as the hours of confusion passed and the hours turned into days followed by weeks, months, and eventually years still he had yet to get over the pain that haunted him.
Though he had to admit the time in his thoughts had healed some of his old wounds and gradually he was working on the ones still so fresh. He couldn't spend the rest of his days stuck in the past – his past. So he ran. He ran night and day until he was so exhausted he could do nothing but make camp and sleep. Running allowed him to think, to gather his thoughts and just be honest with himself.
It was some new year, some new place, and his new companion was that of a small digital gadget called an MP3 player. It had taken some time for technology to catch up to what he was used to but this world was similar to what he recalled in his past muggle life. It helped that he had enough time to incorporate himself into this not so new world. He knew music, knew how to drive… well somewhat, and he knew how to work a computer.
It wasn't too difficult to make his money. As long as he didn't work somewhere that needed any sort of verification he was fine doing odd jobs to keep him busy. If his needs were to be met he had no qualms taking. Sometimes he took small goods that he sold later for a profit. He had become, after many years under his belt, an expert pickpocket and thief. It helped as well he had the use of magic that danced along his fingertips.
Headphones that covered around his ears and plastic slipped behind his skull he listened to random songs he downloaded. The music helped ease the many lonely hours and gave him something else to concentrate on beside his mere existence.
The boat took him overseas and he trekked the land until he arrived in Rome… a place that felt like home. The language was a bit tricky to get a grip on but it wasn't too difficult with a spell here and there until he learned the language as if he was born with it on his tongue. Italy was a beautiful country; the culture, food, music, dance, language, and the scenery were breathtaking. The cobblestone streets, the modern parts of the country along with the old called to him like no place else. It had taken a number of years to take in a fraction of what enthralled him and for once he felt like he could settle down.
.
The night was eerily quiet, still, as if waiting. He wasn't quite sure how it happened but he found himself with a slight reputation. Maybe it was because he truly feared nothing, what was there to be scared of when you existed with little care of yourself and the world around you? It had started with a bar conversation he couldn't help interrupt and correct several gentleman who considered robbing some random bank for a bit of quick cash. Less than a week later those same gentleman pulled off the robbery and bought him a drink.
From then on he had person after person come up to him for suggestions seeing as the police had yet to catch on. He went by the name Bolt; something they all found hilarious considering his scar had faded only slightly, the singular one visible easily plain to see on his brow shaped as a bolt of lightning. The mark of Zeus they called it. It was during one such time when an old man with a trimmed beard and an eerily similar gaze of his former Headmaster turned Master that Bolt tossed back his drink and told the man, "I'm out of ideas."
The old man cajoled him and in the end frustrated, Bolt told the guy off – nicely – and stormed out of the bar, jacket tossed over his arm. The night air was still, the only passerby's were drunken adults laughing and falling over one another. He wanted to go home and sleep off the booze that did nothing to his system; he couldn't even get drunk properly. Only his steps weren't the only ones that night. He didn't need to turn around, look over his shoulder, he knew that he was being followed and by the taste in the air… it was bound to give him some much needed entertainment.
Had he knew that his stride obtained the interest of several hunting vampire's he would have found a dark alley and apparated but he didn't sense them that night. An alley he found, one that was fairly spacious and the dumpsters just freshly emptied. He rested his jacket on the knob of a door and waited.
Eyes the darkest shade of red watched on with interest and pleasure. It wasn't often that human's caught the fancy of the Volturi.
.
The Hall of the Volturi was a large space with some windows that reached from the floor to near the very top, those were draped during the day to keep the sun from directly shining into the room but the night hour was still late and the hustle and bustle wasn't unusual. Two vampires, Demetri and Felix strode to the throne that sat Aro himself speaking softly to Caius. "Master Aro?" Felix, the largest of the group knelt on one knee before standing, his partner doing the same.
Aro smiled softly at his own partner's words before turning his attention to two of his most prized guards. "You haven't fed." The vibrant red of their eyes were nearly overtaken by hallow black and deep circles marring their perfection.
Demetri stepped forward and held out his hand, "You must see Master Aro."
Curious, Aro took the offered hand and his breath caught in his chest…
Four humans, large and intimidating stalked behind another human who eerily enough was familiar to him. Not by his own memories but those of another. He watched in a thrall as the familiar human turned a corner and waited inside an alley.
Aro settled himself in his seat and took his partners hand in his as he dwelled on what he learned.
In the night a vampires eyes were exceptional. He watched as the human took down each and every larger human. Dispatching them in a way that peeked his blood lust. There was the sound of snapped bones, a snapped neck, bodies forced to the dirty floor, an elbow to the jugular leaving a human gargling for breadth, the knife that had attempted to stab him was snatched away in such a curious fashion and used against the last of the group of men.
The blood wasn't neat and Aro replayed as the knife was sliced through fabric and the humans toyed with. Hard jabs to the thighs, arms, shallow stabs at the chest, until a group of drunken humans stumbled across the scene and a scream forced the familiar human to dispose of the men far quicker and cleaner with slits to the throat. And then… the human dropped the knife and disappeared into the night.
"Bring him to me." He commanded.
...TbC...
The Wicked Pairings: Aro/Caius - Felix/Harry/Demetri
More surprises to come, trust me.
Beta'd by the wonderful Would've0Could've0Should've
Mirky
Uploaded 11/26/09 Updated 2/2/10